As I rapidly switched between my Discord chats they only became more confused. I tilt my head in earnest disbelief as I backread into the chat, realizing that a mistake had been made. As I questioned the mental stability of my friends, a quiet knock erupted from the door. I quickly stood up making my way to the handle before the door was kicked open. In a moment of shock, I couldn’t comprehend who had come in. My eyes adjusted to the light and they saw Barack Obama, 44th president, standing in their doorway. “My fellow Americans…” The luscious dark-haired man started. My ears clinged to every word, before I could hear no words at all. In a split second I was laying on the floor in pure agony. Obama had shot me. Obama shot me. You’re probably wondering. “If Obama shot you, why are you typing this right now?” Well, the truth is, Obama was on a mission. A mission he failed. And now I’m on a mission. To find the 44th president, and give him a taste of his own medicine.