Trump was escorted from the ruins of Mar-a-Lago by a rough-handed orc. The beast reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite place it. All he knew was that he wanted to ask it questions, to ask it advice. It was far more attuned to this world than he was, seeing as how the world seemed so different from the one he had known less than three hours ago.
“You’ll take me to your leader?” he asked the orc. “Wait, what am I saying? I am your leader.”
The orc merely grunted, pulling Trump’s arm so that what was attached to it would follow. The group of orcs stopped at a circular steel door several blocks away.
“I hope this was made with American steel,” Trump said, glancing at the green beast. It didn’t respond. Trump was hauled before a short man wearing a tattered vampire’s cloak. The man had his back turned to the President.
“All is well, I presume?” Bannon’s voice seemed to rotate his body to face Trump.
“Steve! Thank god! I haven’t seen you in hours! How’s the country holding up?”
“Oh you know, we’re that thin dividing line between civilization and floating in space.”
“I took a chance with you, Bannon. Glad it’s paid off. You served the country well in the few hours I’ve been gone.”
“It’s been a hundred years, you cuck.”
“One hundred years?! You shittin’ me?!”