Chapter Text
For days, all Tucker knew was misery.
He couldn’t forget what he’d seen that terrible day, after he’d fought back the piercing anguish and the barrage of notifications long enough to check the rest of Green’s social media. It hadn’t just been the shoes - the horrifically unsexy sneakers were just the beginning of the nightmare. Next to her username, like a declaration of war, Green had added two terrible, earth-shattering words: “she/her”. It was a knife through Tucker’s heart, the ultimate betrayal. She may as well have written “fuck/you”.
It was this final act more than any other that had driven him to near madness.
He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. He certainly couldn’t work, and this was the worst of it; what would happen to the American people without his voice? How would they know who to trust, who to fear, what to believe? He knew the country was lost without him, but he couldn’t bear to check the news each day to see how far the nation had fallen. It felt as if he were falling apart, too. His mind was caught in a relentless loop of confusion and anger, followed by an all-encompassing grief that felt as if it would never subside.
The internet had practically exploded, of course. Every conservative pundit from Washington to Alabama was talking about Tucker’s disgrace. Hannity had dedicated an entire segment to Green’s betrayal. Even Mark Levin, normally relegated to the fringes of AM radio, had come out of the shadows to viciously mock Tucker’s pain. Perhaps worst of all, his old nemesis Jesse Watters had taken to the streets the day after the news broke, polling soccer moms and tech bros alike on the same question: How do you feel about the Green M&M’s new look?
The answer had been largely and inexplicably the same: “I just don’t care.”
How could the world not care? How was it that Tucker’s entire world was falling apart around him, and no one cared?
- - -
“You have to snap out of it. Because, theoretically, this could spell disaster.”
Tucker grit his teeth and tried not to scream. Why did I pick up the phone?
“Yes, hypothetically speaking, this could be the end of the world. But, just for the sake of argument, it also might not be,” Ben Shapiro said, his voice grainy through the speakers. “You still have a chance to turn this around.”
Ben Shapiro, ever the pragmatist, had been calling Tucker incessantly ever since the news broke. He’d rejected every call and text, trying to postpone the inevitable conversation in which Ben tried to debate him into attempted reconciliation with the woman who’d broken his heart. Ben was an excellent debater, a master -bater, even; and this was exactly why Tucker had been avoiding this conversation.
But he’d been sitting alone in his silent kitchen for nearly four hours now, staring at his haggard and broken reflection in the window, wondering at the meaning of his life and coming up empty. So when Ben had called for the sixth time that day, he’d finally picked up the phone, if only because he had nothing better to do.
“Ben, I can’t,” Tucker said, staring dejectedly at the bottom of his Black Rifle coffee cup, the dregs long gone stale. His extra-hot 1776 Mocha had burned like whiskey going down, but at least the pain in his throat was distracting him from the pain in his heart. “It’s over. She’s…” He choked back a sob. “She’s gone woke.”
“And it’s terrible,” Ben said sympathetically from Tucker’s iPhone. “But you can’t just give up. Let’s just say, hypothetically, that we just let every woman do whatever she wanted. What kind of world would that be? Where would it end?” More emphatically, he continued, “It’s up to good men like us to stop women from making dumb choices. If we don’t, who will?”
Tucker sighed, running a hand through his unwashed hair. “I know, but–”
“But nothing. You’re always saying it’s up to you to save the American people and keep them from going to the dark side. How can you save anyone if you can’t even save her?” Tucker didn’t answer, and Ben seemed to take this as an invitation to push harder. “Look, you can’t just let this happen. It’s like a domino effect. First she’s wearing sneakers, then she’s asking for equal pay. Hypothetically, that leads to demands for more scholarship opportunities for so-called ‘inner city’ girls, and then they’re eating babies in the streets. Theoretically? It leads to complete and total anarchy.” Ben’s voice continued to rise, edging now on desperation. “Is that what you want, Tucker? Equal pay and anarchy?”
Tucker had to stop and consider this. Ben was right; it was his job as a red-blooded American male to keep the populace on the straight and narrow, lest they fall into complete and total corruption. A rebellion this public, from such an important cultural icon, could only lead to disaster.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced. It was true that he still had a job to do.
“But…I don’t even know where to find her,” he finally replied. “She’s blocked my number. She deleted her Parler and she’s not answering me on X. I don’t know where to begin.”
“Facts don’t care about excuses,” Ben snapped. “And the fact is, Tucker, that we are the last line of defense standing between the American people and the downfall of society. That is just a scientific fact. And if, hypothetically, you let this go without even trying to stop it, you’ll have failed us all.”
Tucker sat with this for a moment, thinking hard. Where was he supposed to start? If Green wouldn’t pick up his calls, there wasn’t much he could do, barring an on-air plea - and that was simply out of the question. Open communication had no place in the world of conservative talk show entertainment.
Finally, with a sigh, he realized the painful truth: there was only one option.
“I have to go to her in person,” he announced, no longer sure if he was addressing Ben or himself. “I have to track her down and save her from herself.”
“Good man, Tucker,” Ben crackled from the phone. “So where is she?”
Tucker frowned, thinking hard. Where was Green? He honestly didn’t know. There were a thousand liberal ratholes she could have crawled into, from San Francisco to Austin; but as horrible as they all were, he doubted that many of them could have caused such a disturbing change as the addition of pronouns to one’s Instagram bio. Portland may have been a hellhole, but such a betrayal of common sense went far beyond vegetarianism or anti-litter laws. Everyone knew that pronouns were the last foray into madness, the final step before oblivion. They were an evil that was downright otherworldly.
Tucker suddenly sat up straight, gasping. Otherworldly.
“Tucker?” The iPhone’s speakers hissed. “What is it?”
His heart raced, hands going numb. “I know where she is.”
“Where?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Listen, man,” Ben drawled, “there’s not one thing about this situation I do like. All I care about is the facts.”
Tucker took a deep breath. Once it was out, there was no going back.
“She’s on Mars.”
“Mars? Tucker.” Ben’s voice, usually so steady and assured, shook slightly. “Are you sure?”
Tucker wished he weren’t.
For decades, there had been whispers of a conservative promised land, a Mecca for all those who believed in the sanctity of Christmas and the intrinsic importance of eating red meat. This betrothed Elysium had been put in the sky by God Himself - The Red Planet, a land free from rules and regulations and anti-discrimination laws. A utopia meant for the true believers and them alone, where they could build a more perfect traditional society from the ground up. For so long, it had been only a beautiful dream - that is, until Elon Musk came along.
When the great visionary explorer had first announced his intent to colonize Mars, the Republican Party had been ecstatic. Finally, a chosen one had arrived, a Moses to lead them to Zion. They’d envisioned castles of red sand, emblazoned with star-spangled banners; here the chosen leaders would rule in absolution, guiding their followers to a better tomorrow without the interference of so-called checks and balances and pesky term limits. With Musk’s help, the Republican Party would conquer The Red Planet in the name of the greatest country on earth, and establish on its unspoiled surface an even better country. And there would be no sissies allowed.
Tragically, that wasn’t what had happened.
The first SpaceX voyage was a disaster. Musk had barely escaped with his life, and in the process he’d made a laughingstock of the entire operation. But it was the reason for Musk’s failure that had plunged the dream of a conservative utopia into darkness and left the Republican Party hopeless.
Somehow, the Democrats had gotten there first.
When Musk and his team of brave pioneers returned, they told tales that at first seemed too terrible to be true. According to the survivors, blue-haired feminists roamed the planet, hunting white men for sport and eating them alive. Teenagers in cat-eared headbands and furry tailed belts ran about on all fours, spouting nonsense about leash laws. And, perhaps most unbelievably of all, some citizens of the fallen planet even wore masks.
The leaders of the Republican Party had balked, refusing to accept that something so horrifying could be real. Their God-given planet could not have possibly fallen into such a sinful state. But when the SpaceX team unveiled a photo of a woman with dyed hair and piercings wearing a pink hat and eating a black bean burger, the Party had finally had to admit defeat. The dream was dead. Mars had fallen to the liberals. The planet was declared a no-fly zone for anyone right of center, and it was an accepted fact that no conservative who set foot on its once hallowed red surface would return alive.
Tucker knew in his heart that this was a suicide mission. But if he didn’t follow his principles, then what did he have to live for?
“I have to go, Ben. There’s no other choice.” He tried and failed to hide the tremor in his voice.
Ben was quiet for such a long time that Tucker started to wonder if he’d hung up. But then, Ben said, resolutely, “Then I’m going, too.”
“What? No, Ben, it’s too –”
“Dangerous? Fear is just a feeling, Tucker.” Ben’s voice was surprisingly steady.
Something about this statement made Tucker sit up straighter. He glanced out the window, eyes drifting inevitably toward the great beyond. Somewhere on the other side of the mocking blue sky, his destiny was waiting. That was just a simple, undeniable fact.
“And facts,” Tucker finished for his friend, “don’t care about your feelings.”
“Exactly,” Ben said. “If anyone can do this, we can. Although, theoretically…we will need a little bit of help.”
Tucker picked up the phone, taking it off speaker and holding it to his ear. This was no longer a casual conversation. “What are you thinking?”
“There’s only one man who can get us on and off that planet in one piece,” Ben said thoughtfully. “Although…he might not be too excited to return.”
Tucker drew in a sharp breath, pulse racing once again. “Do you mean–”
“Yes,” Ben said. “We need the great pioneer. We need Elon Musk.”