Ronald Reagan was the infamous and undisputed Daemon Sultan of the planet Simi Secundis, nestled on the unfashionable Western end of the Eye of Terror. Even though the Chaos Undivided planet was a Tzeentch-backed autocracy, Ronald Reagan enjoyed holding an election every four years to reaffirm his right to lead the planet and raise his stature in the eyes of his people. Each election cycle, 99% of the population voted for his ongoing Presidency. This isn't their story, however. This is the story of the 1%.
Cultist-chan awoke to the loudest, most disharmonious cacophony she'd ever heard outside the aristocratic Bluth's family annual Cinco de Quatro day festivities. She went to her window to see the source of the clatter, and then wiped a thick layer of bodily fluids and grime from the window with the bridal gauntlets that went with her one and only outfit. To her dismay, she discovered that it was once again Election Day. Every four years the citizens of Simi Secundis were required by law to vote in the Presidential election. Time and time again, she accidentally voted for perennial challenger Ross Perot; she couldn't to read the paper ballots so she simply penciled in scantron bubbles at absolute random. No matter where he was listed on the ballot sheet, from page 367 to page 1098, she somehow managed to check the box selecting Perot for President without fail. Cultist-chan associated post-election festivities with verbal abuse, assault, and even rape, which was the traditional way of celebrating infamous Daemon Sultan Ronald Reagan's reässumption of power. Cultist-chan naturally had little love for Election Day.
Before she could settle down for a nice bowl of things she found moldering in the kitchen drain plug, there was a loud, insistent knock at her door. Sure enough, it was the local Election Participation Committee representative come to drag her to the polls.
"Cultist-chan!" the bureaucrat greeted her with feigned delight. "How have you been, honey? I haven't seen you in ages."
"Noth since the latht election," Cultist-chan replied acidly.
The other woman was humanoid, and might have been mistaken for human if her eyes weren't glowing bright red. Her name was Harmony and she'd been their neighborhood's Committee Representative for well-nigh 100 years. She had blonde hair, a thin white blouse, and a blue pencil skirt that complimented her shapely thighs. Neighborhood scuttlebutt had it that she was a defective Tyranid prototype who fled from a Hive Fleet after she'd been scheduled for biomass reabsorbtion. There certainly was something a little strange about her, but that was nothing unusual on the planet of Simi Secundis.
Harmony grimaced. "Sorry, love, I've just been so busy with the HOA. I meant to come to your wedding or party or funeral or whatever but so many things came up. Look, are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"
"Huwath the hard way?" Cultist-chan asked sarcastically, out of spite rather than genuine curiosity.
"We've been through this," Harmony answered, rolling her eyes. "The hard way is I drag you down to the Center for Indoctrination and Morale, flay the skin from your bones, rape you with a rusty coat hanger, and force you to fill out a ballot anyway. You can save us both a lot of trouble by just getting with the program, okay, sweetie?"
Cultist-chan sighed. Harmony had the authority to do all that and more, and the woman was zealous about community participation. Cultist-chan peered over Harmony's shoulder at the rest of the group of malcontents and stragglers that she'd managed to round up. There was an Ork, who despite wearing a t-shirt that proudly proclaimed "Ronald Reagan for President!" still stood sullenly with his hands stuffed in pockets of his jeans. There were three chattering daemonettes wearing the insignia of the Chi-Chi-Chi sorority. Another Tyranid, this one a small Hermagaunt that must be literally retarded without a Synapse creature nearby to direct it, stood towards the back and drooled on itself. Then Cultist-chan spied Nurglebro, another ungrateful member of the unwilling band of community participants.
"Heyy!" Cultist-chan scurried over to her buddy. "Hwath up?"
Harmony was relieved that it wouldn't come to violence, and she shut Cultist-chan's door and ushered the crew of miscreants down the stairs of Cultist-chan's apartment building. Nurglebro and Cultist-chan chatted in the back.
Nurglebro sighed, "It's that time again. Are you voting for Reagan, Cultist-chan?"
"Huwe don't know," the girl admitted. "Huwe just check the firth box that appeals to hus."
"Well, I always vote for Ross Perot. I don't really care who wins, mind you, but I'd rather not feed the tyrant's ego any further."
President Reagan's biggest sponsor was, of course, Tzeench. Some of his major campaign contributors included Narcotel, a massive interplanetary smuggling and narcotic dealing ring; a rogue group of Muslim Fundamentalists who worshiped Khorne as Allah, and, of course, the weapons contractors at the Dark Mechanicus. Ronald Reagan had been promoted to immortal godhood after carrying out Tzeench's will in life; the Warp deity had been especially pleased with the Chaos that resulted when the President Reagan cut all social services to the mentally ill and sent them to eke out a living on the mean streets of America. Nobody knew who Ross Perot's sponsors were, though rumor had it that it was actually Tzeench itself. It would be just like the sneaky bastard to control his own opposition.
Harmony picked up a few more contentious objectors on the way, dragging one unwilling daemonette along by her tail. Nurglebro rolled his eyes. The polling place itself was thoroughly crowded with the detritus of Chaos; voting was mandatory, and there were far too few facilities for the number of Chaos spawn required to vote. Cultist-chan, Nurglebro, and the others took up places in the long queue under Harmony's watchful glare. There were telescreens both inside and outside the polling place itself broadcasting carefully-selected highlights of the most recent Presidential debate.
"Mr. Perot," famous news anchor Iva Toguri inquired. "You've criticized President Reagan numerous times over the course of the campaign on his environmental record. Can you please elaborate?"
The camera panned to Ross Perot, a fat, bald, tired man who looked like he'd long since given up all hope and was continuing onward out of nothing more than a misguided sense of duty. "Just two months ago, there was a fire that burned over 3500 homes and businesses! I have laid out before the people of this world a ten point plan to begin restoring our rivers and forests to a pristine - or indeed even living - state. With a little Simi Secundis can-do spirit and willpower, we can get this planet's precious natural resources back on the road to recovery. It only takes a little bit of self-sacrifice if everyone is willing to participate."
Toguri asked, "Mr. President, would you care to respond?"
Ronald Reagan had the firm torso of an actor in the prime of his life. His black hair was greased back immaculately, and it was molded around the two stubby red horns growing out of his temples. The lower half of his body had been entirely replaced by some kind of scuttling, crab-like creature, and a long devil tail curled on the floor near his numerous red legs. Ronald Reagan lifted two of his forelegs in triumph.
"Fuck nature!" Ronald Reagan shouted to the cheers of the crowd. "What has nature done for us lately? If you see a tree, chop it down! If you see two trees, bulldoze them and build an all-Secundian shopping mall with a great big monster of a flag out front. What is my opponent, some kind of fucking tree hugger? Does he want everyone to think he's a fag?"
"Yeah, ya queer!" shouted a pansexual Slaaneshi cultist in the crowd who had revolutionized theories on making love to cacti.
The crowd booed and jeered at Perot, and a few threw half-full cups of soda at the stage. Perot, for his part, endured the barrage stoically. At the polling place, the queue inched forward another meter.
"I'd like to thank you both for your answers, and the crowd for its enthusiastic response," Toguri announced over the din. "For my next question, I'd like to ask about foreign policy. How will each of you, if elected, deal with the Cadian Gate problem?"
"I'd like to refer the good people of this world to my Warhammer plan," Ronald Reagan interjected before Perot could reply.
Toguri objected, "But that plan has been underway for over forty years, with no appreciable benefit to the taxpayer and it has widely been accused of being a source of graft and government waste."
"I think a good foreign policy is the natural consequence of good domestic policy," Perot said, but no one was listening to him.
"Fuck you Toguri!" Reagan screamed in outrage to the collective cheer of the crowd. "The Dark Mechanicus has made unprecedented strides in getting the Warhammer missile offense spear operational. If reëlected, I am committed to getting the Warhammer system online before the end of my next term, and then we can smash the Cadian Gate once and for all and bring all glory to the Chaos gods!"
Raucous cheers. Even Iva Toguri seemed impressed. Ronald Reagan flicked the air triumphantly with his forked tongue.
"Mr. Perot, would you care to respond?"
The beleaguered candidate took a deep breath. "There can be no doubt that the fascists of the Imperium pose an enormous threat to our way of life. However, constantly going on the offensive against them has proven to be a failure of policy time and time again. Here in the Smiling Nebula, we're largely safe from their incursions, and taking a defensive posture from a fortified location gives us a strategic advantage against the enemy. The best thing we can do to protect our world from the ravaging forces of Order is to build a safe, happy, and harmonious society of peace and mutual respect, while still maintaining a strong planetary defense."
The crowd grumbled angrily. They wanted red meat and blood, not Perot's mealy-mouthed tofu slinging. Cultist-chan felt a strong hand shove her forward, and she turned to glare at Harmony. The woman simply pointed to the big gap in the queue that had been opened while the girl stood transfixed by the telescreen. Cultist-chan considered stomping on the other woman's carefully polished high heels, but decided against it; the Committee Representative really did have the authority to make her life a living Hell, so she begrudgingly stepped forward to close the gap in the line.
Ross Perot and Ronald Reagan had gotten into a shouting match, egged on by the crowd.
"Everything you say about small, sane government is bullshit!" Perot howled, losing his temper. "You want the government to spend unconscionable sums on dubious crusades while cutting services to the taxpayer to pay for it!"
"And you're a wang!" Reagan retorted.
The assembly went apeshit. A few tried to actually storm the stage, and they were brutally thrown back into the crowd by towering Chaos Marines who stood guard over the proceedings. Some of the spectators drew guns and fired wildly into the air, at one another, and a few Khorne worshippers even shot themselves in their breathless enthusiasm to support their President.
"What an asshole," Nurglebro muttered to Cultist-chan.
Cultist-chan just shrugged. She didn't pay much attention to politics.
On the telescreen, the Chaos Marines had finally restored some semblance of order by wading into the crowd and literally cracking skulls. The floor of the convention hall was smattered with pools of blood and littered with teeth and dismembered limbs. A giant Ork traded blows with a World Eater Marine and both seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it.
"Is a man not entitled to the blood of his foes!?" Ronald Reagan demanded, appealing to the crowd.
Ross Perot answered, tiredly, "I have a sixteen point plan to detoxify the oceans of Simi Secundis and shield the planet from some of the radiation coming in from the Warp storms above."
"Worshippers of Slaanesh, do you care about sixteen point plans? Do you have a sixteen point plan when you rape an Imperial guardsman? I think not! Worshippers of Khorne, do you demand paperwork in triplicate before running an Ultramarine through with your chainsword? Of course not! Worshippers of Nurgle, do you have a vast government bureaucracy to tell you how to breed billions of parasites? Hell no, you just do it! And worshippers of Tzeench – well, you do have sixteen point plans, but I'll bet they have nothing to do with environmentalism."
There was a chuckle from the crowd at Ronald Reagan's joke.
"I say fuck no to all that!" Reagan added.
There was another unhinged cheer and once again the Chaos Marines lost control of the mob. Many of the assembled had to be gunned down before they could overrun the dais. One camera was knocked out of commission by the surging Chaos worshippers, and the broadcast was cut from 3D to 2D to compensate for the loss.
Meanwhile, it was finally Cultist-chan's turn to enter the voting booth. As always, the ballot itself was around 3 inches thick, stuffed with an innumerable sum of regulations and propositions that the voters could vote on as if it made any difference whatsoever; Ronald Reagan was the unquestioned autocrat of Simi Secundis, and it was his word, not the ballots, which ultimately decided what was law. The very first page of the ballot was taken by a demand that the voter cast his ballot for Ronald Reagan.
Vote for Saint Ronald Reagan!
Protector of Simi Secundis, exalted of Tzeench, Daemon Lord of the Eye of Terror!
A vote for Reagan is a vote for Chaos!
Don't throw your vote away on a second party candidate; you don't want to be some kind of loser, do you? I didn't think so. Only losers vote second party – losers and Imperium collaborators. We'll find you if you vote for anyone but Ronald Reagan. We'll find you and make you regret it. We have hundreds of psykers standing by.
Vote Reagan! Reagan loves you and wants you to be happy!
Ronald Reagan will give you free beer.
Have you ever stubbed your toe? Ronald Reagan vows to end all toe stubbings forever!
If you don't vote for Reagan, the Imperium wins.
Fill this bubble to vote for Reagan: ○
Or this one: ○
Or this one: ○
Have you voted for Reagan yet? It's safe, fun, easy, and mandatory.
Fill out any of the bubbles above or the one below.
Thanks for voting for Reagan!
More bubbles provided for your edification and so you can practice your right to vote!
Since Cultist-chan was illiterate, all the threats, promises, and exhortations were entirely lost on her. Instead of being encouraged to vote for Reagan she was actually put off; the bold font and oversized text intimidated her. Instead, she flipped through the thousand-page document randomly, filling in bubbles without any understanding of what they meant while Harmony watched her disapprovingly. Still, the Committee Representative was a firm believer in the full, free, and fair democracy of Simi Secundis, so she only cleared her throat and kicked Cultist-chan's shins a couple of times while the girl hectically filled out her ballot. Once again, Cultist-chan inadvertently voted for Ross Perot - the bubble for his candidacy was hidden in 6 point font on the bottom of page 784. When she was finished, she deposited the ballot into a big black trash bag with all the others.
"Very well, Cultist-chan," Harmony told her primly. "You are dismissed."
Cultist-chan stuck out her tongue but she was happy to leave the polling place anyway. The line was still out the door and halfway down the block, and she waited outside the small Tzeench church where the ballot was being held until Nurglebro finally came out and joined her.
"Those fucking bastards," Nurglebro said to her. "They hid Perot halfway through the ballot once again. It took me forever to find the damn thing. Who'd you vote for?"
"Huwee don't know," Cultist-chan answered entirely honestly.
"Well, it doesn't matter a damn anyway, we both know who's going to win anyway. Want to go get a beer or something?" Nurglebro asked hopefully.
He'd still not given up his ambition of fucking the girl. And if Papa Nurgle was as merciful as he claimed to be, she'd end up getting some kind of gangrene that finally amputated her tongue.
"Noth thoday, thorry," Cultist-chan told him. "It'th not thafe for a girl to be out tonight."
Nurglebro grunted. "You're probably right. Want to reschedule for tomorrow?"
Cultist-chan thought about it, and then answered brightly, "Hokay!"
He still probably wouldn't get into her pants – that is, panties and torn skirt – but at least if he got her drunk he'd have a better shot. "Meet me at… no, I'll just pick you up, gods know you're too stupid to remember an appointment for an entire day."
"Hyup!" she answered happily.
Nurglebro watched her ass as she wandered away back towards her apartment. He found his attraction to her maddening. He hated spending time with her, he hated her more each time she spoke, but he couldn't seem to get rid of the attraction to her that made his cock writhe in his pants and his maggots writhe on his cock. It was a hopelessly frustrating situation. Maybe he could perform some operant conditioning on himself with a heavy rock…
Cultist-chan hurried back to her apartment, trying to be discreet. Back home, she kicked out the pair of daemonettes having a threesome with a biting, angry Khorne cultist on her mattress, and she pocketed 20% of their fee for her trouble before letting them leave her apartment. The three complained bitterly on their way out. She played dardth against her pock-marked wall, took a nap, masturbated to a grotesque yet strangely sexy carnival on public access television, and waited nervously to hear the results of the election.
Bursts of gunfire informed her of the victor at the same time as her telescreen. The results of the election were invariably tabulated by 18:01, one minute after the closing of the polls. Once again, Ronald Reagan had won the election in a landslide. Cultist-chan sighed and took off all her clothes; there was no doubt she'd be raped repeatedly by rampaging hordes of celebrating Chaos maniacs, and there was no use in losing another outfit along with the indignity. Firetrucks blared outside the windows of her apartment but they weren't actually on their way to put out any of the numerous, spreading acts of arson overtaking the capital. Their crews were just making noise to add to the din of fireworks and bolter fire echoing down the streets of the beach district. A male Slaaneshi cultist burst into her apartment with a hungry look in his eyes, and Cultist-chan obediently lay down on her mattress, feeling surprisingly cheerful. Maybe it was the violent, carnival atmosphere taking over the city, maybe it was the camaraderie she felt for another cultist of Chaos, or maybe she was just horny; whatever the reason, she met what was going to be a very long night with unexpected gusto.