There is a Room in DC

There is, right now, a room somewhere in Washington, DC. Maybe it is in the White House, in the offices of Musk's vigilante agency Department of Governmental Efficiency (DOGE). Maybe it's in a hotel somewhere nearby. Maybe it's not exactly one room, but a suite, or a rotating series of suites.

For now, let's say it's a room. And in that room, the DOGE boys are partying.

Elon Musk, the world's richest man, has an open and widely acknowledged drug problem. This is one of the only relatable things about him. Less relatably, he probably has a handful of personal prescribers, like all rich people do, and so gets most of his drugs completely legally. But frankly, this is more a matter of convenience. Legality does not apply to him.

Elon Musk has been moving in DC with what journalists have referred to, with incredible generosity, as a group of "Lieutenants". These men are all in their early twenties– except for one, who is a nineteen year old Northeastern Freshman– and at least one of them is a confirmed groyper. It would be shocking news if any of them were proven not to be Nazis.

If it is sad that the 53 year old richest man in the world, Elon Musk, at a moment when he is arguably also the most politically powerful man in the world, is so unpleasant that he has no one else in his life committed to his project or himself, and so he has to get a bunch of much younger fanboys, basically interns, or maybe flunkies, to hang out with him and do his work with and for him, well, the world is sad sometimes.

But one thing that is true about 20 something men is that they like to party. And if they're miserable, lonely, hateful weirdos like Elon clearly is and most Nazis tend to be, then getting fucked up is likely one of the only pleasures available to them at all.

And so, once they're done with a long hard day of coup'ing the american government, they retire to this room to refuel, recharge, and let it all hang out. In this room, no doubt, there are some computers. Likely at least one of the computers they brought into the treasury and connected directly into the government payment systems. Last night it was confirmed that they have read and write access to the code that manages all payment systems for the US government, which is $5 Trillion worth of payments.

It is likely that no one in human history has had as much immediate direct access to world shaping power as people with access to those computers do. Just looking at the computers gives Ethan a hard-on, although he has to get very drunk before he'll admit it to the others.

So imagine the room now. Maybe it has faux-federalist style couches, austere and architectural with brown leather cushions and brass tacks running along the sides of the armrests; or maybe it has the generic black upholstery and dark wood furnishings of the situation room, of "serious governance"; or maybe again the calm anonymous soft-lined beige on beige of modern hotel luxe. There are, let's say, two couches, and three arm chairs surrounding a cherry coffee table in the center of the room.

The computer is sitting dead center on the coffee table.

Next to the laptop there are also a few lines of ketamine, fat as can be, laid out on a small rectangular slab of stainless steel– it came straight from the same roll of steel as the first Cybertruck, and if he can help it Elon never snorts off of anything else. There is a 3D printed box with a picture of a huge breasted Asuka from Evangelion on the lid, sitting half open beside the steel plate, inside it are visible baggies of powder, and prescription bottles full of pills and capsules.

A bar table in the back corner of the room has a variety of booze, but these boys don't really like cocktails, too bitter. A few bottles of extremely expensive red wine, Elon's affectation, sit ignored and unopened beside crystal wine glasses. On the other side of the room is an abandoned beer pong set up, the High Life going stale in the solo cups. Some extremely out of date EDM is playing, but Elon wont let anyone else "touch the aux". The boys are ribbing him for his terrible taste between lines, and they're punching eachother in the shoulders, laughing. (Gavin tried to tease him by calling him "old man" once, a few days ago, but the room went ice cold, silent, and even though Elon made a big show of laughing and pretending it was all good after a few seconds, no one referred to his age again).

Luke, the serious one– he vapes sure but he doesn't touch the pharmaceutical stuff, he imagines himself explaining to a girl– he's sitting in the corner on his phone. He is watching the delight spread out on Nazi message boards and X. No one on 4chan believes he is who he says he is, which is a hilarious treat. He was worried when their names were revealed, but Elon has reassured him that he's got the best people on it, they are going to sue the everloving fuck out of everyone who doxxed them.

"What if we just shut down all payments to Iowa!" one of them yells, laughing.

"Fuck that, those are good people. Maybe Jew York City!"

They laugh

"I think tomorrow we should make a list of all the Jewish names and social security numbers and just release them to Nick Fuentes"

"Or we could get the addresses of all the bitches on welfare."

Elon laughs loudly at that one. They play it cool, as well as they can, anyway, but they're all watching him like a hawk. When he laughs like that it means that's the direction to move in.

"Yeah, I bet they're all fucking ******* anyway"

Knock at the door. It's the girls, the escorts Elon assures them are the best in the business, highly recommended by the DC elite. As the girls come in the DOGE boys freeze up, become awkward. Akash who has answered the door tries to maintain his swagger, "welcome ladies" he says, doing a mock bow, but even in this state they all know it's extremely lame.

The girls take in the situation in a glance. They've seen this room a million times before, at a thousand different conferences and summits and conventions. Some of the men are even wearing ID lanyards.

"Oh, so you boys like to Party party" one of the girls says, generously, doing a big stage smile and plopping down on the couch before the box and between two particularly nervous looking guys in ill-fitting polos. This immediately breaks the tension, although the girls will find the socializing that night significantly more taxing than the extremely quick, awkward blowjobs and missionary that follow.

Later on, Gautier, who they refuse to call "Cole" no matter how much he asks, is in the next room with one of the sex workers. Her fake moans are just audible underneath the pounding beats. "He's in there losing his virginity" Elon says, folded over the Cyberslab, chuckling. Gautier, what a loser. But when no one laughs he looks up, anger flashing across his face.

Akash is sprawled out half naked on the couch across from him, snoring. There's no one else. He's lost track of the other guys: they must've retired to get some shut eye, or maybe just some privacy with the hookers. That's good, they're gonna need their energy. Other than Akash he's alone in the room.

But Elon never stops working, more than 3 hours of sleep is a waste of perfectly good efficient time, and as he pops another Modafinil he gets a great idea. If they can isolate the disability payments, they might just be able to cross reference the bank accounts they're deposited into with the socials, and they could probably, with a few lines of code, forever improve the breeding stock of the United States and its white race. He grabs the laptop and starts typing a furious series of prompts into Grok.

"I love you guys" he says, beaming. The words sound sincere, but no one is there to see the smile fail to reach his eyes.

(Sincere apologies to the probably perfectly nice people in the creative commons stock photo on this post)

(this is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real events is purely coincidental)