You've managed to make your way into the Oval Office. In front of you sits Traitor Trump. You can smell the piss as this weak, small handed, limp-dicked fool pisses himself at the sight of you.
The place is flush with things you can use as weapons. There's a [[coffee table]], [[a vase]], [[his desk]], and even the [[knife]] in your hand.
Of course, there's always the option of taking him out with nothing more than [[your bare hands]], if you're the visceral sort.You grab that pompous bastard by the scruff of his fat neck and drag him out from behind the President's desk. A moment later you're listening to the sound of his skull shattering on a solid-wood coffee table and relishing the copper scent of fresh blood filling the air.
You let his lifeless body slump to the ground, spit on his corpse, and wait for the secret service to arrest you. They never arrive and well after dark you walk off into te city, wondering why you were allowed to kill Trump.
"Oh! Right! He's a giant piece of shit and no one wants him to stay alive! It all makes sense now!" you say, shaking your head and hopping into a bus to take you home.
**The End**You spot a rather large vase in the corner of the Oval Office and walk over to it. Trump's eyes follow you, locked on the knife in your hand, the entire time. You hear him sigh in what you figure is relief when you sheath your blade, but his sigh is cut short as you pick up the vase and lift it over your head.
The water and flowers within spill out onto the floor and splash onto your clothes as you stalk towards your prey.
"Who they hell are you? Don't you know who I am?! I'm the fucking President! You can't just come in here and-"
You cut his words off short, bringing the vase down on top of his yellow head. It shatters, some large pieces sticking out from his scalp. You laugh at the sight of his blonde hair being dyed red with his own blood.
"Wh- What's going... going on?" he stammers, still alive despite your best effort.
"You're getting killed," you say, the cold calm of your voice even sending a shiver up your own spine.
You pick up one of the larger shards of the vase and test the edge, slicing your thumb on it.
"This will do," you say and stand back up.
"Do... Do what?" Trump asks.
"This!"
You lunge forward and shove the shard of pottery into his throat. For a moment you think you missed the mark, but when you yank the fragment free, blood sprays out like a little fountain. He tries to speak, but the blood can't make it to his brain and it comes out as little more than gibberish.
Soon, you're looking into his empty eyes, smiling at your own reflection.
You spend a few minutes arranging shards of pottery in his skull to make it look like he's wearing a grotesque crown. Once the amusement has worn off, you step back out into an empty hall.
"I can't believe there was no security leading here. It was almost like they cleared the path for me," you mumble as you walk back out of the White House and wonder when or if you'll ever be arrested.
**The End**You run three steps forward, leap into the air, and land on his desk in a vicious, yet cool, crouch. He's so distracted by your awesome acrobatic feat, that he doesn't notice when you grab hold of his tie until you're already pulling him forward with it.
"What- What are you doing?! Don't you know that I'm the fucking President? You- You can't do this to m-"
His complaints are cut short as you grab hold of his hair and slam his face down onto the hardwood desk.
"My nose! Whaf arf you doinff? Guarfs! Helf me!" he shouts, but the only response to his cries for help is another crack of his skull against the desk.
Within a few bloody minutes, his face is completely caved in, his yellow hair dyed red, and a steady drip of blood flows over the edge of the desk to the carpeted floor.
You hop off the desk and make your way to a chair where you stretch out and relax, wondering how long you'll be in prison before you die. However, no matter how long you wait, no one ever comes. Eventually, you decide to go looking for someone.
"Hey... You a guard here?"
"Yeah, I am," says the uniformed man.
"Uh... Look... I just killed trump so-"
"Oh, thank God! Here, let me escort you to your car. We've all been waiting for someone to do that. Don't worry, we'll just blame the Russians."
**The End**You feel the cool handle of the knife in your hand slowly warm as you stalk towards Trump's quivering, gelatinous body.
"I- I'm the fucking President! You can't do this to me!" he shouts, but you are not dissuaded from your path.
You grab hold of his yellow hair and pull his head back as he whimpers and shakes, begging for mercy.
You could [[slice open his throat]], [[stab deep into one of his eyes]], [[stab his heart]], or simply [[strike wildly]].You slide the blade across the loose folds of his throat. Your first attempt only cuts through a couple layers of skin and his screaming only gets louder, despite the blood running down his shirt and staining his tie.
"Shut your fucking mouth," you say, stabbing into his neck and then pulling the blade through, splattering the wall with gristle and blood.
Trump's voice turns into gurgles and wet gasps as he tries to breathe for a minute, then his eyes glaze over and her falls face forward into a puddle of blood on his desk.
You lodge your knife into his back, hop out the window, and wonder if his security will even bother looking for you.
*"I told them I was here to kill that bastard and they took me straight to him!"* you think to yourself while laughing. *"He must be the most hated 'President' of all time! Well, he* **was** *the most hated."*You lift the knife up into the air and then swing down, driving it deep into his eye. There's a light popping sound. The milky fluid of the eyeball mixes with blood as it runs down his face.
He almost screams, but it comes out as an unintelligible string of gibberish.
"Hard to think with a big piece of metal cutting up your grey matter, huh?
With a twist of the knife, you decimate what little brains he has and he jerks one last time before becoming still as wax. You try to pull the knife free, but it's caught on some piece of skull, so you give up and leave it in place.
After posting a photo from your phone to 4chan, you toss the phone into the corner of the room and push the corpse out of the chair.
"I wonder how long until someone comes to arrest me," you say, leaning back and settling in for what you assume will be a short wait.
No one ever comes. You fall asleep in the chair, wake up when it's pitch dark outside, and eventually, decide you might as well head home.You pull back his chair and then give it a kick, sending him to the floor on his back. While he's still dazed and trying to figure out what's going on, you leap on top of him and lift the knife above your head, gripping the handle with both hands.
A moment of terror and confusion flicker's across Trump's face before your blade swings down and pierces his chest. His heart pumps for a moment, sending blood gushing out, before stopping completely.
"Well, look at that. Looks like you weren't *'heartless'* after all. Won't it be nice to have everyone know that?" you ask the corpse.
The corpse, of course, does not answer.
You stand up, glaring down at the dead body of the man that meant to kill the entire planet and feel the deepest satisfaction you've ever felt.
The door to the office swings open and a man in a black suit steps in.
"I suppose you're here to arrest me," you say.
"No. This is exactly what needed to happen. I will ask you to come with me now, though," he says.
You hear a crackling electric noise and turn to see a swirling portal forming where the man in black is pointing a small box he holds in his hand.
He steps through beckoning you to follow.
You shrug. "Might as well see what's over there," you say and step through the portal.
**The End**The excitement overtakes you and you find yourself sprinting across the room swinging the knife back and forth through the air before you're anywhere close to Trump's quivering body.
You leap the last three or four feet, land on his desk in a perfect crouch, and slice across his forehead with the blade.
His screams echo off the walls, but it only goads you on. Slice after slice, his flesh flying to the corners of the room, deep thrusts of the blade, cracking bones and rupturing organs with each strike. You don't know how long you've been hacking away at his body, but eventually, you regain enough of your senses to realize he's been a corpse for most of it.
"Where's your money now, Trump? Huh? Is your money gonna bring you back from the dead?!" you shout, lodging the blade in his heart and sitting down on his desk.
Your entire body is covered in his blood, you can taste it on your lips. For a moment you worry about all the STDs he has but figure you won't have long left anyway. *"Isn't the penalty for killing a standing president death? Well, he was sitting at the time anyway."*
You laugh at your lame joke.
*"When is security going to get here?"* you wonder.
A few hours pass, but eventually, an old, grizzled, security guard opens the door and walks in.
"Well, you made quite a mess of that jackass, didn't you?" he asks.
"Huh?"
"Trump, that asshole, we been wondering if you've finished him off for a while now. Looks like you got it done pretty quick. Didn't want to interrupt until it was done though."
"What? Huh... So... are you here to arrest me, or..."
"Arrest? Fuck no! We let you in to do this shit. We can't give you a medal, but don't worry. We're sending you to a little private island with a few suitcases of his cash. You're a goddamn hero, even if we can't let it out publically."
"But what about him?" you ask, hopping down from the desk and gesturing towards Trump's corpse.
"Don't worry. We're going to blame the Russians. It'll be fine."
You follow the security guard to a car with dark tinted windows. Inside you find five suitcases full of cash in various denominations.
"I wonder which ocean the islands they're sending me to is in," you wonder as the chauffeur takes off towards the airport.
**The End**You sheath your blade and crack your knuckles as you stalk towards the so-called President. You can smell his fear in the air. Well, you can smell his piss. You're sure he's just pissed himself.
"Who- Who the fuck do you think you are?! You can't just barge in- in here and- and-"
"Shut the fuck up, you lying, filthy, sack of pig-shit. Just shut your fucking, dumbass mouth!" you shout.
Trump stutters to a halt and glares at you while you make your way to his side of the desk.
"I'm- I'm the fucking President. You can't- can't talk to me like that!" he says, regaining some of his bravado.
You answer him with a backhand that leaves him and his chair sprawled out on the floor behind his desk.
"What was that, shit head?" you ask as you straddle his fat body and pull back to take another swing at his face.
"I'm the fucking pres-"
Your fist strikes right into his open mouth,k breaking a few of his false teeth. There's a slice across your knuckles, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much as it bleeds.
"You're a fucking worthless sack of shit," you say before punching him again and shattering his nose.
Trump tries to argue for the first few punches. He even manages to swing back a few times, but you easily dodge and block his blows. As your blows rain down on him, he goes from bravado, to begging for it to stop, to weeping like a lost child, to moaning. Eventually, even the moaning stops.
You grab a paperweight from his desk and deliver a series of hard strikes to his skull, making sure it splits completely open.
"No reason to half-ass this. Gotta make sure the asshole is dead."
After you wipe most of the blood off your hands onto his shirt, you stand back up and look at the door to the Oval Office.
"I wonder why no one stopped me from getting in here? I wonder why there's no one here to stop me right now," you ponder out loud.
You kick the corpse a few times and spit on its shattered face. Then you set the chair upright behind the desk again and take a seat.
Security never arrives. You wait for hours. You wait until it's pitch dark outside. However, not a breath of security, not a whisper of an alarm, ever comes.
You finally decide you might as well head home. An eerie walk through empty halls leads to a crowded street where a huge crowd has gathered.
"You fucking did it! Holy fuck! That was awesome! Finally! That piece of shit it fucking dead!" A bald man says, gripping your right hand and shaking it.
The crowd, full of senators, security guards, police, CIA agents, citizens, and every other kind of person you could think of lets out a glorious hoorah.
You're a world-renowned hero.
**The End**