The Globalist Rebellion

The Globalist Rebellion

A Story by Tabitha A. Lieu
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Officer Corey Thompson has been assigned by a man from the future to help prevent the destruction of the Earth, but things go awry when he realizes he's been working for the wrong side.

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The Globalist Rebellion

by Tabitha A. Lieu


Bradley Donnelworth showed up in 2005 with a list of people to eliminate, claiming they were orders from the future; absolutely necessary in preventing global nuclear annihilation, headed by an organization called the Globalist Rebellion Party. Everyone was skeptical at first, but he had very convincing footage of major events we'd never heard of, much less had record of. Incidentally, he’d also had footage of the future General Commander of the U.S. army asking us, the police force of the present, to remove these people on the list from the picture before they could affect any change in the future. So, after much planning and preparation, we set out on what was supposed to be our noble, unquestionable mission for the next fifteen years or so.


Our first task was Sean Bell. We didn't mean to over do it that way, but we weren't properly coordinated, and we were warned on multiple occasions that he would eventually grow to be one of many ruthless cop killers, and for all we knew, he was already halfway there. So, once we were sure he was our target, we all shot him at relatively the same time.

Many of us threw up right after. For most of us, it was the first time we had killed someone on purpose. Many knew they could never see this mission through to the end, and so they quit after signing a few non-disclosure agreements. And the rest -- they became hungry. Instantly, they became more alive and enthusiastic after the Sean Bell incident. They thirsted for more excitement, and could hardly wait for the next task.

I’m sure that’s where it started, the change in history. Knowing now what Donnelworth's end goal was, I doubt he would have come back if his timeline had looked anything like this. Absolutely slaughtering this one guy, sparked maybe ten or twelve followers. A dozen believers in the blatant erasure of colored people.

In the next five or six years, we continued on a smaller scale, murdering more of these people with less bullets. And in most of us, there was a part that knew we were doing what we had to, but there another, darker part that began to enjoy it. It didn't happen to all of us at once, but gradually, we all came to believe that we were on the right side of things, and why shouldn't we enjoy eliminating future evils? But we didn't know the real reason we were doing this. We didn't realize how sinister this whole plan really was.

It was only when we were given the name and location of Trayvon Martin, that I began to realize just how many of these people were non-white. And at the same time, it also hit me just how much we were pushing those stupid stereotypes. Trayvon Martin was wearing a hoodie in a gated community, and that’s where we were sent to ensure his death. Strangely, though, we weren’t the ones to do the killing this time. “This is George Zimmerman” Donnelworth said, introducing a pudgy, balding white man none of us had ever seen before.  “He’s not an officer, but he’s agreed to be our informant for the time being. The future Globalists are simultaneously getting more suspicious of people in uniform, so we need people like him to be our eyes on the street for a little while.”

I didn’t realize at the time he’d actually meant until we could discard our flimsy charade of moral standards and sound justice.

“Your next target’s name is Trayvon Martin.” Donnelworth continued, passing around a photo and a couple documents. “Zimmerman, you’re actually the perfect informant for this job, because Mr. Martin apparently has a stepparent living in your community.” Zimmerman nodded silently, looking like he felt more important than he was. I already had a bad feeling. “The address is on that paper you’re holding. I need you to report immediately when you see him. It will take time to set this up, so every second counts. As for the rest of you,” His attention turned to the rest of the large room. “We no longer have to worry about being discreet. The plan has successfully come along far enough that it no longer matters which stories are picked up by the media. Even though the Globalists are suspicious, the influential news stations have agreed to give us good publicity. We can start picking up some more speed now that we don’t have to be as careful. I’m talking two targets at a time, guys. This is the beginning of the end, and we’re going to finish strong.”

Or so he said.


Zimmerman reported swiftly, managing to catch Martin when he first arrived in the gated community, and we set to work, putting everything in place over the next couple of days. Things were running smoothly, until Zimmerman got paranoid. He was supposed to report to us when Martin passed his checkpoint so we could finally execute or plans and move on. But Zimmerman became too invested.

“He’s turning the corner now, going up Millwood Drive.” he’d said over the conference call we’d set up.

“Are you following him?” My partner asked, rightfully so. That wasn’t his job.

“Yeah”

“We don’t need you to do that” Someone said from another cruiser. He was going to jeopardize everything we’d done in the past 48 hours.

“People like them, they always get away” He’d replied, and then much too clearly, we all heard the click of a weapon.

“Zimmerman!” Donnelworth yelled. “George Zimmerman! For Christ’s sake, not one person noticed he had a concealed carry?!” There was silence, then arguing in the distance, and then, finally, gunshots. My partner sighed and shook his head. “Team 23,” Donnelworth said in an uncharacteristially hard voice. “Go check it out. The rest of you, fall out.”


Donnelworth didn’t seem too pissed the morning after. He’d gotten the end result he’d hoped for, albeit he lost an almost competent spy along the way.


We pushed forward with Donnelworth’s carefully designed plan, flat out murdering left and right, and if we didn’t murder them, we beat them until they wanted to be murdered or we locked them away where they could not influence anyone, or change anything, or become anything. Not publicly, at least.

The next really big target was Eric Garner. Originally, he was meant to be thrown in jail and obscured from the world. The only problem was, we’d arrested him 29 times, and each time he was released somehow. Then, the 30th time, one of the prison security officers said too much. I was on my way to meet with Garner’s attorney. Donnelworth was getting especially interested in why she was so good at getting Garner out of Jail.

Even in uniform I had to leave my gun and taser at the front. I didn’t feel unprotected without them, so I didn’t mind all that much. I grew up in the Bronx, so I’d had my fair share of fist fights. I was stopped at a security checkpoint when I overheard someone speaking at the end of the hall.
“Mr. Donnelworth is going to enjoy taking care of you.” he sneered through the cell bars.  “We’ve been trying to pin your n****r a*s in here for a long while. You think your rebellion is gonna save you? You’re in this cell for good this time. This is where you belong, you and your monkey kind. Waiting for someone to come deal with you like a dog in the pound. And whites like me were meant to rule over you. To handle you like the pets you’re supposed to be.

“Just you wait; Mr. Donnelworth’s got a plan - one much bigger than you - and he’s only getting started. By the time we’re done, the world outside won’t be safe for your kind anymore. See, we whites don’t like to lose, so we only play the game if we know we’re on the winning side. You black folk were on the rise for a little bit there, with your civil rights movements and petitions and junk. I almost mistook y’all for an organized bunch. Almost. Us whites, though, we only need a little reassurance. No marching. No protests. Just a dead black boy here and a few beatings there to remind everyone who the supreme race is. And before long, we’ll start coming out of the woodworks.

“You know, in my hometown, we still like to have a good lynching party now and then. A little family tradition we kept alive from the good ol’ days. We can’t string real bodies up like we used to, so its not as fun, but that’ll change when Mr. Donnelworth succeeds. In fact, I can almost hear the sweet sound of slow n****r suffocation already.

“You blacks think you’re so strong and powerful and equal but just you f****n’ wait. Once the rest of the real Americans wake up we’re gonna stomp out the likes of you savages, and we’ll get right back to plantations and whippings and good old fashioned servitude. You think some anti-racism laws are going to help you? By the time we’re barely halfway done, spitting on your kind won’t just be legal, it’ll be right. And that daughter of yours? I’ll personally make sure she’s the first one on the list for slave breeding.”

As much as I wanted to punch him in the jaw just then, I brushed it off. At the time, I assumed that he was just one of a few bigots on the force, that he didn’t represent the mindset of the entire mission we were trying to accomplish. Or, I wanted to assume. But as I kept it pushing down the hall, something pulled at my gut, telling me not to be so naive.


I walked into the conference room to find an attractive dark-skinned woman, well dressed in navy blue slacks and a matching vest. She had dark brown eyes, full lips, and natural, kinky hair that was pinned up in a neat bun that completed her professional ensemble. "Hello," she said. "You must be officer Corey Thompson”

I nodded. “And you are Garner’s attorney?”

“Giselle Hart” she extended her hand and I shook it, briefly wondering if her firm grip was a general lawyer thing or if she’d developed it of her own accord. “I understand there are some questions you’d like to ask me, but if you don’t mind, I’ve got some questions for you as well”

I raised my eyebrows. FIgures that the lawyer would have questions for me. “What kind of things would you have to ask me?”

“Just a few things about a man named Bradley Donnelworth”

My hand instinctively went to my empty holster. F**k. “What do you know about Donnelworth?”

She smiled like that was the reaction she expected. “More than you think” she replied with confidence. “I’m part of the intelligence branch in the Globalist Rebellion Party.” My blood ran cold. I had just walked head first and weaponless into a room with one of the top operations in a cop killing organization and only one exit. It crossed my mind that many of the staff in here could actually be other Globalists, waiting to take me down if I somehow managed to escape.

“You can relax, officer Thompson” she said, interrupting my thoughts. “You look like a deer in headlights. I don’t know what kind of pictures Donnelworth has been painting, but from the look on your face it couldn’t have been anything close to the truth.”

“Right,” I muttered. “Sorry if I’m not completely relaxed moments before my death”

“Your death?” She raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m here to kill you? Might I remind you that you called this meeting?”

“Well, what exactly am I supposed to believe about a terrorist organization who kills cops in cold blood?”

She snorted at the word ‘terrorist’. “The Supremacist agenda is to murder and incarcerate thousands of colored people to push their own plans forward, but the Globalists are the terrorist organization. That’s really original.” She dropped any pretense of her formerly friendly facade, trading it for a more stern expression. “Listen, I don’t think you know who you’re working for, or even what you’re actually doing when you carry out his orders. So why don’t we start from scratch and I’ll tell you about what’s really going on in 2032.”


It turned out, Donnelworth had only told us half the story. And, unsurprisingly to me, he lied about a lot of it. It was true that the Globalists intended to eradicate the entire globe with nuclear weapons. But they hadn’t just up and decided that was the plan from the beginning.

“The Supremacists intend to enact slavery on a global scale. But, worse. They want to shave our numbers down, just enough to classify colored people as an endangered species. That way they could enslave us, separate us evenly among the continents, and keep our population numbers controlled.”

“Controlled?” I asked incredulously.

“Their target ratio is one to seven”

“What purpose does that serve?”

“We might never win another war against them. We might never survive another rebellion. We could never have influence on the laws that govern us ever again. Slavery would be permanent. So I, and about seventeen others, followed him back to this era to hopefully keep him from changing enough history to make that happen.”

I sat quietly, shocked into silence. Seven white people to one colored. Those were pretty steep odds. A plan like that, with the strength of the U.S. police force, could be carried out easily enough with Donnelworth at the head of it. I was beginning to understand why destroying the Earth was the last solution. “Why are you explaining all this to me?”

“You’re one of us. You deserve to know”

“Because I’m black, I deserve to know how it’ll end up for us” I mused, nodding.

“You misunderstand, Officer Thompson. In my timeline, you are one of us: a Globalist. You’re assigned to launch the missiles in the U.S.”


For a long moment, I was speechless, but my mind was running a thousand miles a minute. There were so many questions to consider. I was a Globalist? Or rather, I was going to become a globalist? Would I still be a globalist in the future? Why would I? I was hardly a radical thinker. I didn’t exactly like racism, but I’d never been charged up enough about it to go to any protests, and rallies, and demonstrations.

“H-how?” I finally uttered. “Why?”

Giselle looked somber all of a sudden. “Back in 2009, you were supposed to meet my sister, Ophelia. You used to be stationed in the Bronx, right?”

“Yeah, I used to stop for coffee at a local bagel shop in my neighborhood, but since Donnelworth took over, I’ve been all over the place. Now I just get my coffee at the Dunkin Donuts closest to the precinct I’m stationed at.”

“You were supposed to meet Ophelia in that bagel shop. She and I were standing in line in front of you, and you couldn’t take your eyes off her. Three years later, the two of you got married. Just a little thing in a corner of Prospect Park. And four years after that, she was killed, along with 17 other people, by a supremacist with a semi automatic in a tiny neighborhood grocery store.” Giselle drew a shaky breath and her eyes began to water as she stared at something that wasn’t in the room. “My baby sister… she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time...” She shook her head and came back to the present. Pulling a tissue from her purse to dry her eyes, she looked at me with a sudden fiereness and determination that made me apprehensive, but also gave me a strange sense of confidence.

“After her funeral,” she went on. “We joined the Globalists together. We moved up the ranks quickly, since I had valuable access to certain things as a lawyer, and you had valuable skills and information as a lieutenant.”

Somehow, I knew what she was going to say next. I could see it in those determined, defiant eyes. And I was ready. Ready before she even asked, because I believed her. I believed that I’d had a whole life in some other timeline that I might never get to experience. A companion, a promotion, happiness. All taken away by some madman extremist, itching to own me and people who look like me.

“I want you to join the Globalist ranks in this timeline too” she said. “The rebellion could really use your help.”

“I’ll do it,” I replied without hesitation. “I’ll join the Globalist Rebellion Party”


The next day, I quit my job on the Supremacist police force. Not too long after, Eric Garner was killed -- strangled by a cop in broad daylight for selling loose cigarettes.


Without a job, I was able to put all my energy into the rebellion cause. Thanks to Giselle’s connections in high places, the Globalists took care of things like food and shelter for me, so I could work hard without worry. It was baffling to see how big the organization was already, despite Donnelworth’s efforts to keep it from growing. Their influences were spread far and wide across the country, getting more and more noticeable every day. Donnelworth may have had the media under his thumb, but the Globalists had the public reaction on their side.

So I did my best to contribute. Sitting in on meetings to offer inside intel on how squads were set up and where people were most likely to be targeted. Joining raids on known supremacist companies when we needed supplies. That sort of thing. And we saved a lot of black lives that would have otherwise been destroyed or taken away completely. But we lost a great many too, including young Tamir Rice, whose death hit me the hardest.


“Doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Giselle asked as she took a seat next to me in one of the Globalist offices to watch the latest news report on the 12 year old boy.

“He was just a kid” I replied numbly. “Didn’t even make it to high school.”

“In my original timeline, he grew up to be our youngest, brightest weapons and raids expert. It was like the world was his chessboard, and he knew exactly what pieces to use to get what we needed.”

I shook my head. “Now what? This death...it’s just so depressing. How do we even continue to fight after this?”

Giselle handed me a tablet I hadn’t realized she was holding. “I came across this fairly new movement, something called ‘Black Lives Matter.’ Started by these three girls” She tapped at the screen until a window came up with a picture of three beautiful, black women captioned with their names. They looked strong and determined, and serious despite their smiles. I could almost imagine Giselle right there in the picture with them.

“Alicia Garza, Patrisse Cullors, and Opal Tometi” I read. “Looks like they’re one hell of a team”

“That they are. I met with them to find out more about their movement. It was the attack on Trayvon that inspired them to create this. More specifically, Zimmerman’s acquittal.  People have been hashtagging it and captioning their photos with it. And we are about to give it some well deserved publicity. ”

“What, we’re going to reblog it to kingdom come? What’s that going to do?”

“Think bigger, Corey. We’re not just going to reblog. We’re going to print this on t-shirts and hats in big bold letters. Posters and banners with an official logo. Organized rallies for the express purpose of stating that Black lives really do matter. No one will be able to go three city blocks without seeing or hearing the phrase.”

I nodded, starting to understand her vision. “Okay. Let’s do it.”


I had to admit, Giselle was kind of a genius when it came to inspiring people into action. With her guidance, the Black Lives Matter movement exploded in the public eye. Within months, #BlackLivesMatter was everywhere. Social media, clothing stores, picket signs, TED talks, television commercials, even bumper stickers. People made videos and performed poems and held demonstrations all over the country. People of color were beginning to act. They were noticing patterns and questioning things, attempting to hold authorities to the standards they claimed to uphold. And it was beautiful. Every day brought new Globalists to the cause.

But it seemed the Supremacists were ready for us. Not long after, two new movements developed. The first was Blue Lives Matter, to recognize police officers for their services, and the other was All Lives Matter, which was pretty self explanatory. Both movements seemed perfectly engineered to take away from the urgency and seriousness of the Black Lives Matter movement, and unfortunately, it was working.

Debates started breaking out, questioning why “blacks think they’re so special”, and “what about the cops who are risking their lives”, and why “blacks get their own movement - what about whites” and why it always has to be about race. Supremacists and their sympathizers were popping out of the woodworks by the dozens, trying to bury any chance of a Globalist recovery from Donnelworth’s timeline influences.

Luckily for us, people of color nationwide proved to be resilient beyond imagination. Rather than be quieted, they became angry. They protested, they rioted, they protected each other, they stood up for each other. And every loss of life made for gain in momentum. I wish that had been enough to win the unspoken war between races.

But of course it wasn’t. Police officers became more brutal more often, even in broad daylight. Videos would pop up all over the news and the internet, depicting officers body slamming teenagers and arresting and electrocuting unarmed men. The cops would get paid leave, and if they got a court hearing, they would leave without so much as a week in jail. And then civilians began to take matters into their own hands.

“Dylann Roof” Giselle said, looking at me and about twelve others sitting around a large table in an office that faced the Manhattan Bridge. “Why didn’t we have any previous intel on him? Mariah, what are your people in P.D. doing?”

A broad shouldered woman with long, tiny braids in her hair straightened up and spoke. “As far as they know, Dylann Roof is some white man’s version of a one time vigilante. Upon his arrest, the statement he gave was that he wanted to start a race war, so he took his parents’ gun and set out to open fire on a church well known for being predominantly black.” Mariah frowned. “He won’t have police protection, but the department psychologist is already forming a story that he was a ‘troubled lone wolf’ and will likely be considered to have some degree of insanity at his court hearing.”

Giselle pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Her dark hair was beginning to turn white at the roots near her temples from stress and overwork. “The general colored public’s response will most likely be favorable to our cause. But we need more than that. All the moral support in the world will do us little good if the Supremacists still have all the corporate and governmental power.”

Everyone in the room was quiet. Of course we all knew what the problem was but, short of mass homicide, there were very few ways we could solve it. We could rally and protest until our lungs collapse, but it hadn’t been doing us much good lately. In fact, more and more people were getting arrested and mistreated with each new demonstration. The brutality sparked riots now and then, which caused even more people to be incarcerated and killed.

Giselle shook her head. “We just have to work harder. We have to find Donnelworth and put an end to him. Soon.“ Her attention went to a hispanic man sitting to my right. “Miguel, whose name is next on the list?”

“Sandra Bland,” Miguel reported. “Very heavily involved in civil rights activism. Currently in Prairie View, Texas”

“Then we go keep a close watch on things in Texas. Everyone meet at the airport in two days.” She took a last look around the room. “Meeting adjourned.”


We failed to save Sandra Bland. She was pulled over for failing to signal a lane change, then taken into custody for getting angry about it. And before Giselle could take her on as a client, Sandra Bland was found hanged to death in her cell. The official story became that she committed suicide, but those of us who knew Donnelworth existed were never too sure. We scoured the city for his presence before Bland was arrested, while she was in custody, and after she died, but the man was like a ghost. If he was around to direct the officers, he was very good at being inconspicuous about it.


It wasn’t until about a year later that we found him, at the Charlottesville Riot.


After Donald Trump won the presidential election, Supremacists weren’t the only ones to aid Donnelworth and his plans. Caucasian civilians everywhere began to hold rallies of their own, proclaiming the generosity and wisdom of their new president. They were excited to see how he would cleanse the country of immigrants and build walls to keep them from coming back. Despite his obvious lack of political ability, he could do no wrong in their eyes.

The unexpectedly large support for a blatantly discriminate president took a heavy toll on the impact of our movement, and an even heavier toll on our numbers. Many resigned from the Globalist Party, for lack of motivation, lack of resolve, or lack of will to live. I could hardly blame them. Who could stay positive in a country ruled by someone who outwardly invalidates your citizenship based on your race or color? Who could continue pursuing justice when the leader of your home country has everyone believing you are incapable of doing the same work as everyone else?

Needless to say, the presidency put a lot of courage into the hearts of quite a few alt right supporters, and on a warm night in August, they began marching through the streets of Charlottesville, Virginia with literal torches in their hand, protesting the removal of a monument dedicated to a racist man. A group of us had been standing on the sidelines a little ways along the march route, posing as counter protesters. One of our inside sources suggested that Donnelworth would be in town to observe the riot, and so we were sticking as close to the action as we could get in order to spot him. We never thought he’d be there at the back of the line, egging people on and flagrantly encouraging their bigoted beliefs.

But rather than spring into action, we laid low, and followed him. After following the crowd for a few miles, he broke away and headed into a backstreet, moving with a sense of purpose all of a sudden. Giselle and I followed close behind while others took other routes to run ahead and cut him off. But before he reached the end of the street, he ducked into a building. Giselle ducked in after him without a moment’s hesitation. I tried to stop her, but she was too quick, and I didn’t want to risk alerting Donnelworth by calling her name aloud. I thought about waiting for the others to round the corner before going after her, but I had no idea what this building was, or what was waiting inside, and every second I waited was a second spent losing Donnelworth’s trail and possibly putting Giselle in danger. So, gritting my teeth, I slipped into the building as well.

And immediately regretted it.

Several well built men were waiting for me. One of them was Donnelworth. Two of them held Giselle, and two grabbed me before I could react. Three others watched the door for any other possible intruders. It was a damned trap the whole time.

“Officer Thompson!” Donnelworth greeted in the annoying way that white people do. “I thought that was you. How are ya?”

I didn’t answer. What does one say to the man who intends to methodically wipe their race off the face of the earth?

“I haven’t seen you in a while. I thought you might have been dead!” He put his hands on his hips and shook his head, grinning. “But not you, you cheeky b*****d. You show up out of the blue with friends and expect to overpower me!” He was laughing now, apparently enjoying this. “Did it even occur to you that I might notice you? I mean, Jesus, I know you all look the same, but you didn’t think I would notice the best strategist I ever had, who just up and quit three years ago? After I sent you on a solo assignment to meet with this one? Oh, come, Corey. Give me some credit. You’re killing me here!”

Giselle struggled uselessly against the men gripping her arms. “Did you bring us here to gloat, you son of a b***h, or was there actually a worthwhile reason for going through all this trouble?”

“Well, I figured you had some questions for me. You’ve been searching for me for so long,  after all. I don’t mind answering your questions. My influence in this country is already too great for you to do anything substantial to stop me, so giving you a few details is harmless to me now.”

What an arrogant b*****d. “What the hell did you come back here for?” I blurted out. “Why bother to do all this a second time?” I hadn’t meant to ask out loud, really, but some part of me wanted to know.

“Well, I realized where I failed the first time. We were met with too much resistance. The Globalist Rebellion was successful because people were more outspoken in supporting them. Sean Bell, Trayvon Martin, Philando Castile, Freddie Gray; those men became powerful speakers against our efforts. Reminding blacks that they could be powerful. Insisting that systematic oppression was an outdated model for society. And time had finally moved so far from the first slave renaissance that whites were beginning to listen. They began considering the idea that negroes warranted respect too. Considering that darker skin tones didn’t make them dumb or scary or less human. Considering that the idea of mistreating blacks was losing its appeal.

“Even still, I had managed to get just enough support to start slave trade in the underground communities of France, and Libya, and a small corner of Australia. Just enough. And if I’d had a little longer, my business would have exploded across the Pacific. But some American a*****e undercover pig took a trip to Libya on an anonymous tip about some well known drug lord who escaped Riker’s and stumbled upon one of my auctions instead. By the time I realized who he was, he was long gone, back to his own country to report to his superiors. By some stroke of luck, I managed to dismantle my operations in Libya and ship everything to Uruguay. Every last captured mudman. Every last shred of evidence.  And despite the near hiccup, slave trade in South America flourished. But it was too late. Whispers were already starting in the U.S., spreading far and wide about whites starting up another round of slavery. And they got angry very quickly. Too quickly. And with all those negroid speakers shoveling misplaced confidence in their brains, and whites, sticking to the shadows like we had something to be afraid of…” his hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white, and when he took a deep breath and unclenched them, I could see the indents of his short fingernails on his palms. “Scott and Garner, they met up with a few others and created the Globalist Party, to blatantly speak out against my plans, and to encourage people to stop me at all costs. But by the time they’d gotten enough support to even try to stop me, slave trade was already happening in the deepest corners of the Earth, moving from underground to broad daylight in some countries. It was too late to stop me, even if they killed me. So instead, they decided to kill everyone. And would have succeeded. They managed to get the nuclear codes from seven countries. I couldn’t believe it. Nuclear threats world wide from seven different countries.

“Well, you know I couldn’t have that. So I and four of my most trusted colleagues escaped through time to start over with a new plan; we had to eliminate the figure heads before they could do any damage. Every last bright idea-ed influential piece of s**t in that goddamned organization. But it wasn’t enough to do just that. See, you negroes are like hydras. Cut down one head and two more annoying s***s step up to the plate. So for everything to work as we need it to, we had to find the exact moment people started losing interest in segregation and fuel that fire again.

“And boy did we fuel it! I mean, Donald Trump as President of the United States? A happy accident! In my original timeline, he hadn’t even been part of the campaigns. But because those rebellion leaders were eliminated rather than allowed to live and speak out, the people who supported our movements from the shadows gained confidence. They were not discouraged from expressing their true colors and giving their wholehearted support to our cause. People like Trump who don't know a thing about real politics suddenly feel like they can do anything. And when powerful people feel like they can do anything, not so powerful people follow suit. Nazis resurfacing from their underground hiding places. That beauty of a massacre by that Dylann Roof kid. The alt-right campaigns stepping into the center spotlight. ” Donnelworth sighed, satisfied. “And it wasn't easy, you know. I mean, in theory, it was. But in practice? So many unpredictables. For everything to work the way it’s supposed to, I had to pinpoint that exact point, and help it pick up speed again. And the exact moment was so crucial. Too late, and people are already realizing how cruel this plan actually is. Too early, and the wrong people get power hungry. They start to enslave whites and blacks alike, so long as it means they get ahead. But this time �" this time we will have proper and sufficient support. In fact, I think we already do.”

Donnelworth pulled a phone from his pocket and tapped the screen a few times before turning it so Giselle and I could see. It was a world map, littered with red and yellow dots. “See all those little red dots? Those are the countries I’ve reached out to that have agreed to participate in the second slave renaissance. The yellow dots are the ones who have yet to answer me. But they will, in due time. As I’ve said, my influence is great.” He put his phone away, and Giselle seemed to shake with anger. “Now, did you have any other questions?”

“What are you going to do with us?” Another question I didn’t mean to ask, but still wanted to hear the answer to.

Donnelworth smiled insincerely. “I don’t have to do anything with you. Not right now, anyway. I do hope you survive the upcoming slaughter  though. I would love to have a couple of strong-willed bodies like yours to help out around the house.” With that, he headed toward the door to leave. “Gentlemen, would you kindly ensure these two don’t follow me out? I’d like to travel alone tonight”

Before I knew what he meant, I was knocked out cold.


I woke up a few hours later to Giselle shaking my shoulders. She was surrounded by a few other Globalists who all seemed as concerned as she did. “Corey,” she sighed with relief. “How do you feel?”

“Frustrated” I answered almost automatically.

“No, fool. Physically. Your head hurt? You feel like going back to sleep? Maybe some sharp pains in your abdomen?”

I shook my head. “The base of my neck feels pretty sore, but I’m fine.”

“Good.” She said, her eyes darkening as she stood. “Because we’ve got work to do.”

“Work?” I asked, baffled. “Giselle, it’s too late. You saw-”

“I did. And he’s right. His influence is spread too wide.”

“So what ‘work’ do we have to do anymore?”

Giselle looked at me with the same determined expression she’d worn when I first met her.


“We’ve got to get those nuclear codes.”

© 2018 Tabitha A. Lieu


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Added on March 18, 2018
Last Updated on March 23, 2018
Tags: Time Travel, Trigger Warning, Police Brutality, Racial Slurs, Harsh Language

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