“You need 1.6 billion dollars for what?”

“The design is solid, Mr. President. It can be operated by a team of four. One driver, an engineer for the drill and the rear blowtorch, and someone expendable to sacrifice themselves for the greater good if the need arises.”

“This is all happening so fast. Are you certain we need to resort to such drastic measures?”

“This is a global crisis, Mr. President. If we don’t do something soon, our environment will become completely uninhabitable.”

“It’s just a little white powder on the planet’s chocolate coating. My head advisors have already reassured me that this is just a simple case of sugar blooming. It’s only a matter of reintroducing moisture back into the—”

“I’m afraid we’re beyond that, Mr. President. If my calculations are correct, what we’re experiencing are the early stages of a full-blown fat bloom epidemic!”

“Why, that’s absurd! Do you really expect me to—”

“It’s the gooey center, Mr. President. At this point, the core is almost completely cool while the coating remains relatively warm. This is no dry, spotted chalkiness we’re dealing with here. This is the streaky, greasy reality of fat blooming. And if we don’t do something, our planet will become extremely unappetizing… maybe even inedible.”

“But what would drilling to the gooey center even hope to accomplish?”

“If my team can make it to the planet core, melting behind us as we go, we may be able to reheat its gooey center with a small nuclear explosion.”

“Why, this is a suicide mission you’re talking about! Even if you did manage to restart the planet core, there’s no guarantee this would reverse the fat blooming, let alone the possibility that you could liquefy the entire planet!”

“If we don’t try and get that nougat up and churning again, the very foundations of our world will crack open, swallowing whole cities and crumbling beneath our feet in a disgusting white powder. Is that what you want, Mr. President? Or do you want a chance to give our children a future on this crazy Lindor Truffle we call home?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Does that mean I have approval to start building?”

“Yes, damn it. But just remember one thing: you screw this up and it’ll be your ass. You understand me?”

“If I screw up, Mr. President, it’s all our asses. I just hope we’re not too late.”

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