That Time the USA Got Transported to Another World!

Chapter 6: The President's Car

Two men (hired by the king) drove their dainty carriage across the muddy trail; they both sat in front, wearing brown, dirty robes; one—who had a bald head—held a rotting string in his hand, manipulating the horse. The other, having a full set of blonde hair, sat on the rough wood seat, slouching; he said:—

"I can't believe we're doing this: driving the ruler of the Land of Warriors to the capital. I don't think I can handle the stress."

"Relax," the bald man said; "I'm sure we'll be fine. After all: we should be grateful that the most powerful person to ever live will be in our presence."

"How do you know he's the most powerful person to ever live?"

"Simple," the bald man exclaimed: "this is the prophesied 'Land Of Warriors'; if this truly is a nation made entirely of men trained for battle, then—naturally—the king would be a barbarian like no other: a seven-foot-tall giant with a gargantuan magic sword!—a man who's killed thousands of foes until only he remained." This only made the man next to him quiver in his seat, slouching even further down. Twiddling his thumbs, he said:—

"Y—you don't think he'll kill us... right?"

The bald man said: "eh, who's to say; it's just a
hypothesis; he could be the exact opposite: a skinny, short man who can barely lift a haystack."

"Let's hope so." The bald man squinted his eyes: in the distance was a big, black object: yet, he couldn't make out what it was. He commanded the horse to stop; it let out a snarl in protest, but (reluctantly) caved in. He looked closer: twenty more black objects came into view, some big (but others small); then, he saw in front of the first black object was a man on a bike. Odd, he thought. Could the king of this nation be so humble as to take the weakest form of transportation?
However, that thought did not last, for not a second later, he saw it... it was no ordinary bike... it moved way too fast for that!—and that sound it made: a deafening cascade of hellish noises. Not only that, but the tires... they seemed far bigger than anything he had ever seen. Behind him were the rest of the black objects... but what were they? Some type of carriage?—no, it can't be that—no horses could be seen. They all moved in such an efficient and synchronized way. The man who rode the bike (alongside the carriages) stopped in front of the two men, who looked up in amazement. The bald man said:—

"Are you... the king of the Land of Warriors?" The man on the bike raised one eyebrow; then (pointing his finger behind him) said:—

"You mean the president?... he's in the car behind this one." Car?—they thought. The bike, alongside the 'carriage' behind him, drove out of the way, exposing the main attraction: unknown to the two men, what laid before their eyes was none other than the president's car: the beast, a tank that masqueraded itself as a limo; it had every self-defence mechanism imaginable. On the front of the car stood two flags: the American flag, and the flag of the POTUS.

Inside the limo, Alfred and James laid back in their seats, letting the warm air from the cushions absorb into their bodies. Alfred, being the stylish and fashioned man he was, wore a white tie tuxedo, complete with a peaked lapel jacket, a white shirt with a similarly matching white tie, and a top hat that nearly touched the roof. James (being far more lazy—yet extravagant) wore a pin-striped suit and gold cross earrings, with three bulky gold rings on his fingers; he wore no tie, opting to keep his top button open.

"You're always so stuck up and formal," he told Alfred with a snark.

Alfred, in response, said: "You're the man who decided to dress like a gangster."

"It's my style!" James said.

"No, it's not; I've known you for fifty years, and the only time you go all out is when your trying to impress someone: but, when you're with me, you look like an utter slob." James said:—

"Whatever... let's just get this state dinner over with." They both opened their doors, jumping out of the car; with a grin on their faces, they approached the two shocked men; Alfred said:

"Greetings... you must be our driver?" The bald man nodded. "Good, I'm President Brown, the ruler of the United States of America... or 'The Land of Warriors' as you apparently call us."

"And I'm Vice President James Lindon, second in command to President Brown." They both lifted their arms for a handshake, but neither of the two men in the carriage moved; this was the first time anyone from this world had seen a car, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.