Duel of the Fates
The battle ended, after a night and a day, to the roar of engines. Joe Biden blazed into Atlantic City in his 1967 Corvette, his diamond body glittering under the rays of the dying sun. He leapt from his vehicle and interposed himself between Obama and the challenger.
“Get out of here,” he warned, as he took off his sunglasses. Trump, in his dark suit, stepped back from the Vice-President and glared. After a moment he turned and jumped off the tower, to be caught by his golden 747 and whisked off to another one of his luxury fortress-hotels.
“You should not have come, Joe, for now all my effort has gone to waste,” Obama grimly said, “For months I have baited him with the promise of my long-form birth certificate into challenging me directly, so that he can be destroyed, but now he is fled and will not reappear in this election cycle.”
“What threat can one such as he pose now?” Biden thundered, smacking his chiseled abs. “He is an entertainer, a gladiator in the fighting pits of reality TV. Had he succeeded in gaining your birth certificate he would have gained control of you, was the risk truly worth it to defeat him, when there are threats to the Office itself?”
Obama sat on the edge of the roof and looked across the golden city, which even now began to dull and flake as its lustrous master abandoned it. In the distance the neon lights on a casino labelled “Pleasure Palace” flickered out, briefly leaving behind the mocking words “sure lace”. Such was Trump’s power: awe-inspiring and grand, but ultimately fleeting.
“I fear we have not seen the last of Donald Trump, and that his threat will persist beyond just this one cycle. But, alas, I have neither the time nor the energy to pursue him and must prepare my strength for the proper challenger.” Even now, in the jungles of Florida, the warlords of the Red House gathered as they had four years before. They had waged a brutal and relentless guerrilla campaign across America since he claimed victory over the broken body of the Mac Cain, resisting his efforts to lift America out of the dark ages.
That was the true fight, his advisors said. But, looking out across the city, he watched the shadows grow longer.
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Trumperdammerung is coming.