"Congratulations Mr. Romney! As your campaign advisor it brings me great pleasure to tell you that the presidency is once again yours! We sent that pit bull Clinton packing that's for sure."
Mitt smiled, his advisor Dave had always been a sparkplug, a man with boundless energy and endless optimism. Mitt recalled many a day during that auspicious first election when things looked bad, Dave had kept him and his whole team going.
"You make it sound like we crushed her Dave. Remember we lost Ohio." Mitt said reclining into his chair. Modest, Mitt was always modest but in truth he had license to brag as no man had bragged before. In only four years the economy was back on track and the American people were finally beginning to live their lives in a meaningful way again. Yet in spite of all the good he had done one thing haunted him. It was not a policy decision or a tawdry temptation he took, but a flick from the fickle finger of fate. Mitt's brooding was interrupted by a phone call, on the red telephone, that portend of black doom. With cat-like agility he plucked the phone from its plastic cradle.
"This is Romney, go ahead." The president coolly intoned.
"Mitt we've got a situation, better get down to the war room."
Click!
The phone line went dead and the beleaguered president sat back down in his chair and pushed a concealed button under his desk. Instantly his dark leather seat lowered into the floor, sending it's occupant down a long elevator shaft. The president was lowered into a concrete bunker; dozens of computer workstations were arranged in a circular amphitheatre style, surrounding a single massive monitor.
After a few moments of waiting the cyclopean screen flashed to life, revealing a dignified looking military man with a white handlebar mustache.
"Thank you, Mr. President for making time for this short briefing." Grumbled the mustachioed man.
"You know our nation's security has always been my top priority. Now what's the situation?" Mitt asked.
"Our intelligence intercepted several pamphlets advertising a school for monsters. Of course we didn't believe there were actually monsters, but Japan has often played host to several strange cults. We enrolled a few of our younger looking privates, outfitted with sophisticated recording software… This was their first and last transmission."
The image on the screen cut to black and then displayed a scene that looked like Transylvania on drugs, the soil was gunmetal gray and in the distance a gothic looking building loomed. A group of young men, who Mitt took to be the aforementioned soldiers were in a panicked whisper, the audio was poor but he heard them say one word over and over again monster. Suddenly there came a crashing noise from the nearby woods and what looked like a massive orc came charging out. What came next made even the cool and calm Mitt squirm, the orc grabbed the soldiers and tore them apart with his bare hands, showering himself with their bloody debris. The brave young men were quickly picked apart until there was only one survivor. The whole room gasped in shock as the orc ate the last brave private alive.
Mitt covered his eyes with his hands, "Jesus."
The general came back on-screen his eyes averted to some unseen corner, "I think you know what you have to do."
For several seconds Mitt remained motionless, gradually his hand removed itself from his face, his expression of shock no longer alighted his face, replaced instead by a mask of grim determination.
"Prepare Air Force One, I'm going to Japan."