"Welcome. I've been expecting you," said Obama as people slowly entered the top floor. "You no longer need those," he said, cutting off guests' entry wristbands.

"Um, sir? Do you want to give your guests a tour, perhaps enjoy some hors d'oeuvres?" said an aide, clad in red. "There will be several more groups of old friends coming through."

"I assure you, we are quite safe from your friends here," retorted a smirking Obama. "Oh yes. I'm afraid this deflector shield will be quite operational when your friends arrive."

"Umm... so should we let the next group in, Mr. Obama? They'll be here any minute."

"You mean the imminent arrival of the old 'Gang of Eight'?" replied Obama. "They are walking into a trap. It is I who allowed them to discover the location of this battle station."

"Sir, didn't you invite them to your library's grand opening?" asked the befuddled aide.

"I can feel the hate swelling in you," smiled Obama. "Give in to your anger. With each passing moment, you make yourself more my servant."

"Sir, I'm literally paid to be your butler," responded the aide.

At publishing time, Obama had asked for someone to please kill Biden and take Joe's place at his side.