THE ROOM is cold, dark, and still. A single light bulb hangs dangerously from the ceiling, suspended only by the thinnest of metal chains, but it is off, and provides no sanctuary from the darkness. The crack under the door, too, is plugged carefully with rubber, rendering it nearly invisible. Karla's feet slide forward with a loud whoosh as she regains consciousness, rattling her chair's wobbly, steel legs. Her eyes flash open but see nothing in the pitch blackness. She flails her arms instinctively, but they do not budge. Her limbs are tied carefully to each other in complicated knots of wet rope that smell like a dog's coat does after it has gone for a nice, long swim...in a swamp. 

The wealthy, young Trumpet is disgusted. 

She screams in protest, but the only sound that she manages to produce is a muffled "mm!" She finds, to her dismay, that a thick swathe of duct tape is wrapped around her mouth, causing a terrible itch above her upper lip and preventing her from articulating any kind of intelligible speech.

Karla resentfully notes that her kidnappers haven't even taken the trouble to acquire an actual gag. 

"Looks like the princess is awake," comes a rich, male voice from somewhere to her left, in response to her vocal outburst. This statement is accompanied by bursts of laughter from various sources. Her chair squeaks as she jumps in surprise and fear, realizing that she is not alone in the room. She wonders how many people are present, and if they have her surrounded. For all she knows, they could be armed. 

"Mm!" she growls, stomping her foot ferociously. 

"Isn't she a feisty one?" a second man laughs, and Karla hears the slap of someone patting someone else roughly on the back. "That's a surprise. I thought old Dump liked the women who shut up and mind their own business. You know, the pretty ones with slow heads who'll spend the rest of their lives idolizing him." 

Dump. There's only one group of people who would still dare to refer to the esteemed President in such a derogatory manner. In this moment, Karla's worst fears are confirmed. 

She has been captured by the Resistance. 

She clenches her fists as this thought crosses her mind, feeling the sticky underside of her duct tape gag stretch as she frowns. Her aversion to the rebels is not as strong as that of most Trumpists; after all, the one they aim to destroy has very recently forced her to drink human blood. However, when a group kidnaps you and ties you to a chair in the dark while they taunt you under the cover of invisibility that this darkness provides, it doesn't take much to dislike them. 

Karla squirms and kicks her feet, trying to make as much noise as possible. She can't have been taken that far during the time she was unconscious. It felt like mere minutes to her. For all she knows, she's in the White House basement. 

Clearly, the Resistance reads this differently than she intended it. 

"Okay, okay, calm down you little Republican billionaire. We'll let you talk," one of the rebels sighs, and she hears his footsteps approaching. She bites back a pained yelp as he roughly yanks the duct tape off her face, leaving it feeling raw and numb. 

"Multi-millionaire," Karla mutters, rubbing her lips together in an effort to regain the sensation in them. "But I'm slowly and steadily making my way up to that big billion, no thanks to our sexist country and people like you." 

"Okay, your sass is starting to get on my nerves. How do you survive up in Washington with the Dumpster?"

"I'm going to resist the urge to find that funny, because you kidnapped me and I'm supposed to be mad at you," Karla replies. 

"You sound way too young to be working with our antique President. What are you, eighteen?" the rebel asks, shocked. 

"Oh, he isn't an antique. Those are actually valuable. Plastic would be a more accurate comparison- the stuff's worthless, but it takes forever to decompose," another rebel adds. 

"I'm twenty eight," Karla mutters through gritted teeth, but no one pays her any mind. 

"We can roast Dump all we want later. For now, let's get a good look at this kid," the first rebel says. Karla hears a long creak before the rubber stopper is kicked out from under the door by a foot that she can now see wears a very large, red tennis shoe. The knob turns with a soft noise and the door gently opens, revealing a steady stream of natural light from some kind of a hallway outside. The passageway's plain, gray flooring looks far too drab to belong in the nation's capital, causing Karla to wonder just how long she was unconscious. 

She squints as the light reaches her her face, illuminating her body and her surroundings. She notices that the room she's in is completely bare save the chair she sits in and a single table pushed against the wall, against which the two rebels lean. They are of contrasting builds and dispositions: the first is tall and lanky, with a deep scowl etched into his face and the wispy beginnings of a beard outlined against his chin, and the second is squat and wide with a generous belly that spills over his thick, leather belt. 

"How much do you want?" Karla sighs, looking sadly at the disheveled, poorly dressed men. They are far less scary than they were in the dark, and she now knows that they carry no weapons and do not appear to possess exceptional strength. They are slouched over, a sure sign that they are not of much importance, and wear tired expressions. Judging from what she has seen of them, they cannot be agents of a Resistance that was powerful enough to give the US military a good fight for over six years. They are nothing but simple thieves. 

Karla is almost disappointed. 

"We don't want the money you stole from working class Americans, Trumpet," the first rebel snarls. "We want to take the Dump back to his namesake. We want to end the Trumpet regime, and you're not leaving this room until you help us do that." 

Karla pauses at this, thinking. The men are probably just angry liberals, but there's always the chance that they are truly members of the Resistance...people who actually have a chance of fixing the mess the Trumpets have caused. In previous years, her conservative mindset has blinded her to the evils of the Trump administration, but now that she has reached its core, she's beginning to see things in a different light. The immigrant blood was the last straw. 

She decides to take a chance. 

"Well, you've definitely found the right Trumpet."