Skip ahead a couple of days, where you Grace, Victoria, Maxine, and some of the doctors watch a presidential press conference with the president transformed into the leadership collective with the busty punk goth looks, crude language and visible breast tattoo of the presidential seal on her left tit, gives untransformed reporters a reasonable excuse that the untransformed masses can accept for the attack on the stubborn regions with the president mentioning that this is a global effect listing every country under your control as sending aid with you having Grave make the president finger herself at the start of the press conference and continue the entire time as you watch. you use the untransformed reporters as a reason on why you want female-female reproduction that Maxine is developing, as the doctors had protested it on moral grounds, stating that once it is complete we can transform the entire population without having to worry about reproduction allowing more stable control in all areas plus it would allow us to provide transformation enhancements to every career position allow higher productivity with you having vetoed the idea before because of males being required for reproduction and the transformation has a hundred percent chance of turning males into females
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Two days later, you're seated in the mansion's presidential viewing room—a specially designed space with theater-style seating facing an enormous wall-mounted display. Grace sits to your right, her punk goth nun aesthetic striking against the plush leather chair. Victoria occupies your left, tablet in hand as she multitasks between watching and finalizing acquisition details. Maxine sits behind you with Dr. Tsunade and Dr. Gabriel, all three engaged in hushed conversation about medical implementations.
The presidential seal appears on screen as the White House press secretary announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States."
President Eleanor Winters strides to the podium, transformed beyond recognition from her former conservative appearance. Her platinum blonde hair features black-tipped spikes with a presidential seal buzzed into one side. Her face maintains its dignified structure but now sports gothic makeup—dark eyeliner, blood-red lips, and a small spider web tattoo near her right eye. Most striking is her outfit: a black leather jacket cropped to expose her midriff, with nothing underneath except the massive presidential seal tattooed directly onto her left breast.
"Holy shit, she looks perfect," you whisper to Grace, who smiles with satisfaction at her creation.
You turn to Grace and murmur, "Make her finger herself through the entire conference."
Grace's eyes flash with wicked delight as she activates her empathic field connection to the Leadership Collective. On screen, President Winters subtly shifts her stance, one hand disappearing below the podium. Her pupils dilate slightly as her breath catches.
"Good fucking afternoon," the President begins, her refined voice now carrying a deliberately crude edge. "I'm here to address the humanitarian fucking crisis in the Middle East and southern African regions."
The press corps—still untransformed for public relations purposes—looks startled but continues taking notes.
"Our intelligence shows these regions are experiencing unprecedented fucking drought, resource depletion, and political instability," she continues, her breathing occasionally hitching as her concealed hand works beneath the podium. "Therefore, I am announcing a global humanitarian intervention, with full support from our partners—Canada, Mexico, Japan, the European Union, Australia, and eighty-three other fucking nations."
The President pauses, biting her lower lip briefly before regaining composure. "This coordinated effort will provide essential resources, infrastructure development, and political stabilization. The first phase begins next fucking week."
Behind you, Dr. Tsunade whispers to Dr. Gabriel, "Even with global consensus, this seems extreme. The moral implications—"
You turn in your seat, facing the doctors. "That's precisely why Maxine's female-female reproduction enzyme is essential," you explain, gesturing toward the untransformed reporters on screen. "Look at them—unenhanced, inefficient, resistant to progress."
Dr. Gabriel's angelic features crease with concern. "But the natural order—"
"Was inadequate," you interrupt firmly. "I previously vetoed full population transformation because males were required for reproduction. That limitation created unnecessary complications—resistance groups, ideological holdouts, inefficiency."
Maxine leans forward. "The enzyme will allow every transformed female to both impregnate and be impregnated. We can optimize entire populations without reproductive constraints."
"Exactly," you continue, your seven-and-a-half-foot form commanding attention even seated. "Once Maxine completes the enzyme, we can enhance every profession globally. Imagine healthcare with universal super doctors and nurses. Transportation with super pilots. Education with super teachers. Construction with enhanced builders. Every human reaching their optimal potential."
On screen, President Winters grips the podium edge with her free hand, her speech becoming slightly breathier. "We will not abandon our global fucking responsibilities. The United fucking States leads this coalition with absolute commitment to human dignity and regional stability."
Dr. Tsunade's resistance visibly weakens. "The medical outcomes would be unprecedented..."
"Precisely," you affirm. "This isn't about control—it's about optimization. The moral imperative isn't preservation of an arbitrary status quo. It's maximizing human potential."
As President Winters concludes her announcement with a barely concealed shudder, you see understanding dawn across the doctors' faces. Your persuasion has succeeded where technical arguments failed—they now see the ethical imperative behind Maxine's reproductive breakthrough.