The Courtyard, The HQ of the Executive Branch
"OPEN FIRE!!!!" Screamed the seventh president.
Few men know pain as well as Andrew Jackson, America's former president number seven. He never knew his father. His dad died three weeks prior to his own birth. He joined the military at age thirteen, then he never looked back. He was captured by the British along with his brother. They both contracted smallpox. And Andrew was slashed by the sword of a British officer.
A sharp crack rang through the air as Andrew Jackson's skull exploded.
No one dared question old hickory when he issued a command. Not even when it was to destroy him. Several men lowered their guns as they awaited the return of the gruffest president ever's face.
Like clay being molded, the cells of his face returned and rearranged themselves into something recognizable. With that done, he reached his hands up, grabbed his chin, twisted, and crikked his neck.
"Attention," a calm voice from Andrew's watch called. "This is Mr. Roosevelt. There is to be a briefing in the conference room in ten minutes. Your presence is required."
That said, Andrew dusted bits of himself off of his shirt and then stood tall.
"At ease!" He called, motioning for the men to leave while he did the same.
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