Obama and the battle for the Obamaprism: The Rise of Reagan

Chapter 1 - Star-Swallowing Dread Looms in the Night

"What we do in these next four days will not just decide the next four years, but the future of this country. Let's choose hope over fear - I'm counting on you."

A booming, confident voice resounds throughout the chamber as the general of the Democratic Army of Vietnam, Barack Hussein Obama Jr, concludes his speech. Turning, Obama strides away from the microphone and off of the polished oak podium, exiting the room in a flash.

Obama, passing through the doorway, enters an all-too familiar hallway. As he trudges through the worn passage, his plastered-on smile fades to a troubled frown. His pace slows as he sighs, drifting into his thoughts.

When will this war end?

For as long as Obama can remember, the Democratic and Republican parties have been warring for control over Vietnam. Every few years, a war breaks out between the two parties, lasting a few years and ending in a draw. However, the wars have recently grown more and more intense as both sides develop new technologies and as populations increase.

The deadliest of these wars is being fought right now, with both sides in the conflict taking tens of thousands of casualties - more than a quarter of Vietnam's population, dead in a struggle for power.

Rumors have recently arisen that the leader of the Republican party, Ronald Reagan, has begun investing resources into a dangerous new weapon that he plans to unleash upon the Democratic army, which is the reason why Obama is travelling down this passage - he is going to meet the leader of the Democratic army's information unit, George Geef "Goofy" Goof.

Quietly opening the door to his old friend's office, Obama sweeps his eyes over the stacks of papers thrown carelessly around the darkened room. Obama sighs, and calls out to the hunched figure typing away at an ancient computer.

"Still using that rusty old thing, Goof?" Obama asks as he flips on the light switch, illuminating the room in a flash of yellow.

Obama's friend of many years pokes his head up, blinking a few times as his eyes readjust to the sudden surge of light. Wearing an orange shirt, his thin figure is offset by his oversized fists. His head is that of a dog; floppy black ears and a long snout shelter his large eyes, under which dark purple lines weigh down his eyelids. Two oversized teeth protrude from his snout. His appearance gives off a silly vibe, contrary to his serious and analytical personality.

"It's antique, Obama," Goofy calls out, "my grandpa gave me this thing. Of course I'm going to hold on to it!" Goofy takes a sip of coffee, recoiling as it hits his tongue. "Bitter. I should have added more cream-hyuck."

"Alright, I get leaving it around as a keepsake, but that doesn't mean you can't use a better one," Obama responds, laughing.

"Whatever," mumbles Goofy, bringing his tired eyes back to the computer screen as he resumes typing. "What did you need? There's no way you came here just to check on me-hyuck."

"True, true," Obama nods before resuming, "I was hoping if you had any updates on Reagan's plans."

Goofy turns to his computer, squinting as he maneuvers his way through folder after folder. "'I've got nothing else so far, but..." Goofy narrows his eyes further as he reads a q-mail, "it seems like Yodes has got something to tell us-hyuck."

"You know he doesn't like that nickname, Goof."

"And you know that I don't care.

"Yeah, yeah. Where does he want us to meet him?"

Goofy scans the message again, curtly responding to Obama's question with "says here he wants us to go to Big Mike's Bar and Grill at three-hyuck."