Vivek Swamirami #1

The Mushroom Meltdown

The first rays of dawn pierced through the curtains of Vivek Swamirami’s palatial bedroom, but he barely noticed. Vivek sat on the edge of his bed, his silk robe loosely tied, clutching a porcelain teacup that had gone cold hours ago. His perfectly manicured fingers trembled as he stared at his phone, his anxiety mounting with each unanswered call.

“Straight to voicemail,” he muttered, his British-accented voice tinged with desperation. “Always straight to voicemail!”

It had been three days since Egon Tusk, his eccentric billionaire husband, had disappeared. At first, Vivek had assumed Egon was off on one of his usual whims—a spontaneous retreat to a yurt in Mongolia, perhaps, or locked in a sensory deprivation chamber while brainstorming the next phase of humanity’s “evolution.” But three days of silence? It was unheard of.

Adding insult to injury, none of his calls to Maga Logo had been returned either. The White House staff treated him like a nobody, and the press corps had practically camped outside his estate, speculating wildly about Egon’s arrest.

Vivek’s stomach churned as he switched on the television. The news anchor’s polished voice filled the room:

“Billionaire Egon Tusk, known for his bold claims of interplanetary colonization, was arrested yesterday on charges of drug possession and trespassing on federal property. Sources report his behavior at the time was, quote, erratic.”

The screen cut to a blurry photo of Egon being led away in handcuffs, his hair wild, his clothes wrinkled, and his trademark grin still plastered across his face.

Vivek’s teacup shattered against the wall as he hurled it in frustration. “Erratic? He looks like a madman! What has he done now?”

A Call to Action

In a flurry of silk and indignation, Vivek grabbed his phone and dialed their lawyer, Reginald Prescott IV, a stuffy man with a reputation for untangling the legal messes of the world’s wealthiest.

“Reggie, it’s Vivek,” he snapped when the line connected.

“Good morning, Vivek,” Reginald said, his tone as polished as his cufflinks. “I trust this is about Egon?”

“Of course it’s about Egon!” Vivek shouted. “Why else would I be calling at this ungodly hour? He’s been arrested, Reggie! Arrested! I want him released immediately!”

“I’m already working on it,” Reginald said smoothly. “The charges are flimsy, and the judge is amenable. I should have an order for his release within the hour.”

“See that you do,” Vivek snapped, hanging up without a goodbye.

The Skid Row Wino

True to Reginald’s word, the release order came through, and Vivek wasted no time. Dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, he climbed into the back seat of the family’s luxury sedan and barked at the driver to take him to the Secret Service office where Egon was being held.

When he arrived, Vivek stormed inside, his presence commanding the attention of every agent in the room.

“I am Vivek Swamirami,” he announced, his British accent cutting through the murmurs. “I am here for my husband, Egon Tusk. You will release him immediately.”

The agents exchanged skeptical glances, clearly unimpressed. One of them, a burly man with a coffee-stained tie, stepped forward. “Sir, Mr. Tusk was arrested on serious charges—”

“Spare me the lecture,” Vivek interrupted, thrusting the court order into the man’s hands. “I have the judge’s release order right here. Now fetch him before I make a call to your superior.”

The agent grumbled but disappeared into the back. Moments later, Egon emerged, looking like he had spent the last three days in a dumpster. His hair was matted, his shirt was stained, and his shoes were mismatched.

“Vivek!” Egon exclaimed, his voice cheerful despite his disheveled state. “What a surprise! I was just about to negotiate a treaty with the Secret Service when—”

“Get in the car,” Vivek snapped, his tone icy.

The Ride Home

As the sedan glided through the city streets, Vivek’s carefully maintained composure began to crack. His hands gestured wildly as he unleashed a torrent of frustration.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he shouted, glaring at Egon, who sat slumped in the seat with a dopey grin. “You’ve humiliated yourself! You’ve humiliated me! Arrested for drugs, trespassing, and God knows what else—what were you thinking?”

Egon shrugged, unbothered. “It’s all part of the cosmic plan, darling. The mushrooms—”

“Stop right there,” Vivek interrupted, his voice sharp as a knife. “This is about the mushrooms again, isn’t it? I’ve told you a thousand times, Egon! They’re ruining you. Ruining us.”

“They expand my mind,” Egon said, waving a hand lazily. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s about transcending the mundane and embracing—”

“They’re turning you into a lunatic!” Vivek shouted, his hands clenched into fists. “I married a genius, Egon, not a raving madman obsessed with going to Mars! Do you even care about the radiation? The calcium loss? You could get cancer, for heaven’s sake!”

Egon chuckled softly, his head lolling against the seat. “Vivek, my love, you worry too much.”

“Because you don’t worry enough!” Vivek snapped.

The argument raged on, Vivek’s voice growing louder with every accusation, until finally, Egon’s head lolled forward. He had passed out, snoring softly.

Vivek stared at him in disbelief, his chest heaving. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Utterly unbelievable.”

As the sedan pulled into the driveway of their sprawling mansion, Vivek made a silent vow: if Egon wouldn’t change, he would have to find a way to force him.