Microstory 2038: Maryland and D.C.

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It takes a long time to adopt a child, especially one that is in the situation that I was in. My parents put in their application right away, but it was almost three years before it finally went through! I lived in an orphanage while I was waiting, and the people in charge had to first find out if there was any way to get me back to where I was born. In the year 2016, and evil man started to run for president. He doesn’t like people who look like me, or who are from countries like my home country. He thinks that everyone who wasn’t born in this country is automatically bad. Even if they were born here, if their parents weren’t, he just doesn’t like them anyway. He believes in a lot of other bad things, and a bunch of people wanted to vote for him, because they felt the same way. My fathers are good people, who feel nothing but love for everyone. So while they were waiting for me to come into their lives, they drove down to Washington D.C. to protest against the presidential candidate. Washington D.C. isn’t a state, it’s a district, but it’s pretty much in Maryland, and my fathers’ hotel was really close to the border, so they spent a little time over on that side of it, and I think that it counts. They marched on the streets to let people know that they didn’t want this man to win the election, and guess what, he didn’t! He was never a president, and I say my fathers had something to do with it. They obviously weren’t the only ones who protested, but as my grandma will say, every voice counts. I think that’s probably true. If you feel a certain way, and you want people to know it, then you should say it. That’s what it means to be in a free country. Even the bad man had a right to say what he didn’t, even though it was all bad stuff.

Microstory 1965: Aggression

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Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software

Leonard: Hey. This is a nice jet. How did you swing this? To be honest, I don’t know where our department gets any of its money, full stop.

Reese: The government didn’t have a black budget in your version of the U.S.?

Leonard: Yeah, I guess it did; I just didn’t give it any thought, because I didn’t work for any entity that would use it. So the public doesn’t know how much we spend?

Reese: They don’t know how much we spend, but they know the current pot for the entirety of the black budget, which is eight hundred billion dollars this year.

Leonard: Jesus, that’s a lot.

Reese: Yeah, so that pretty much makes the cost of this jet a rounding error. You don’t ever need to worry about our funding. National Command takes the largest portion, and we’re a part of that. The Office of Special Investigations enjoys both a transparent, and a black budget, because the Director reports directly to the National Commander.

Leonard: I see. Well, anyway, that’s not why I came over here. I wanted to learn about Mississippi before we landed. Everybody groaned when you told them that that’s where the mission would be. Where I’m from, the state suffers from a lot of racism, but it’s certainly not universally despised, like it seems to be here.

Reese: Did your version of the country have legal slavery until the eighteenth century?

Leonard: It actually lasted through the nineteenth century. About halfway through.

Reese: Oh. Well, it didn’t take us quite that long to end it, and preserve the union, though we did not come out of it unscathed. I am no historian, but what I do know is that it came at a cost, and that cost was the state of Mississippi. Even after the U.S. Internal Conflict of the 1790s was declared over, the southern National Commander would not let go. He chose Memphis as his capital, because it was at the border of the three most steadfast secessionists during the war, and the years leading up to it. Because of this, Tennessee, Arkansas, and Mississippi refused to accept that the south had lost. They continued to enslave people, and fight against anyone who attempted to put a stop to them. They lost eventually, but the post-war is considered by some to be bloodier than the main conflict. Arkansas and Tennessee finally admitted defeat, and started getting with the program. The southern NatCo and Mississippi did not. They held all of Memphis hostage, and—long story short—the union ultimately gave up and gave in. The city, and some surrounding lands, were absorbed into the half-state, half-independent nation. Again, long story short, it currently exists more as a territory than a state, and did later abolish slavery. You noticed that we crossed over into Colorado and Wyoming on our first mission without issue. Mississippi’s borders have only recently opened up. Until a few years ago, it was no one in, no one out. Now we can move back and forth, but we have to register. This team is technically on a diplomatic mission, which means that only the jet and the pilot registered—they don’t know that you and I specifically are on it—but we’ll have to be careful while there. If anyone we run into finds out that we’re not Mississippians, they may have some feels about it. It’s not illegal, but...

Leonard: Wow. This is a strange world. We had slavery for longer, but we kept the union intact. Though racism has lasted for the better part of two centuries after that.

Reese: I wouldn’t say we have all that much racism. It’s all a matter of perspective.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 1, 2398

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When Angela Walton was first alive, she was a pretty submissive girl, as was common in those days. She didn’t believe in the things that her family did, but she wasn’t outspoken about it either. Her father was patient enough to let her wait to marry a man she loved, but that was about as lenient as he could tolerate to be, and he lost that patience when her fiancé disappeared. She would marry who he chose, and that was final. It wasn’t until after her death that Angela started to find herself. The interesting thing about the afterlife simulation is that it wasn’t millennia beyond the technological limitations of the living world. For most of its history, it was only ever moderately more advanced, despite the fact that the devisers were from the future, and could have always included modern tech. They chose not to in order to keep the residents comfortable, and feeling safe. Teaching a mammoth hunter to use a microwave oven is probably just asking too much. So for the longest time, the virtual worlds pretty faithfully resembled the real world, because that’s all those people knew. That would change in the future, when science fiction began to open up people’s imaginations, but there was always one thing that was shockingly progressive.

According to Tamerlane Pryce, he put no effort into regulating the way society manifested itself in the construct. He claimed to have let the people decide for themselves. This is likely not entirely true, but not totally inaccurate either. Based on some few and far between studies that dead researchers tried to conduct over the centuries, it would seem that the act of death alone is enough to alter an individual’s worldview. That is, they gain perspective simply by passing on, and often lose a lot of the prejudices and hate they once lived with. The theory was that this process was fostered by the fact that everyone dies alone. When John Doe makes the transition, he does so removed from all the people who fueled his beliefs and preconceived notions. The people he meets now have either been there for some time, or they came from other parts of the world. That’s what philosophers imagine Pryce regulated—knowingly or not. He set up a system that grouped newcomers together through a filter of diversity, and studies have proven that living in a diverse area is the number one cause of acceptance and love. What this all means is that racism, sexism, and other biases are harder to hold onto when borders have been removed, gender roles have been ignored, and no one can rise to power without deserving it.

When Angela rose to power, it was after centuries of hard work. She had to shed her old identity, and her old personality, and pretty much become a completely different person. If not for the fact that she looks the same as she always has, no one who knew her before her death would recognize her now. She doesn’t take other people’s crap anymore, and she doesn’t just do as she’s told. If you want her to trust in your choices, you have to prove that you’re worthy of making them, and if you don’t, she’s going to decide for you. Maintaining a normal job in a mundane world is a skill that Marie honed for four years before the rest of her team showed up. She learned to listen to the words of lesser men, because she would lose it all if she didn’t. Angela has yet to learn this lesson, and her meeting has demonstrated just how far she has yet to go. None of Marie’s training could have prepared her to suffer through all that bullshit. She speedwalks to the bathroom at her first opportunity, and retches into the toilet.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 18, 2398

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They’re sitting in the bunker again, just as helpless as they have been most of this week. Fairpoint has not gone back on his word, but it’s Saturday now, so he can’t get in to see Heath and Angela-slash-Marie until Monday. All they can do is wait and hope. God, Mateo hates relying on other people to get things done. Fairpoint is not part of the team, and he can’t be trusted. In the future—and Mateo isn’t sure if he remembers why he knows this already—there will be a new member of this team that can disguise others using her temporal power. When they look at each other, they’ll see their real faces, but when others look at them, they’ll see whoever the team wants them to see. They will be able to turn themselves into anyone, which is a power that he could use right now. He would waltz into that police station, looking like the president of the United States, and order them to release his friends. Then he could end religious war, racism, and all the other global issues. Yeah, it would probably be that easy.

“He doesn’t want kids,” Marie says out of the blue, breaking the silence. She doesn’t look anyone in the eyes, though. She stares straight ahead.

“Heath?” Leona asks.

“It’s like Fairpoint said, Heath is not a zealot,” Marie goes on. “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t religious at all. In his culture, certain people are allowed to have children, and certain people aren’t.”

“What’s...the criteria?” Leona asks tentatively. Is that okay to ask?

Now Marie faces her friend. “Skin color. He’s too light. His bloodline ends with him, because it’s been diluted.”

“That’s...not okay, Marie,” Leona says.

Mateo and Ramses decide to stay out of the conversation.

“I know. Believe me, it was rough learning that about how he was raised. Lighter skinned people have a place. They have responsibilities. So it’s not like he was shunned. Genetics is really complex. It’s not as easy as saying, you can’t have a baby with a white person, though they do say that. And before you think they’re the worst of the worst, plenty of white denominations have similar rules, and some of them are pretty horrific about it. There’s been a history of...I don’t even wanna say the word.”

“It’s okay, we get it,” Leona assures her.

“Anyway, light-skinned babies come from dark-skinned parents all the time, and they just have to assign them certain roles because of that, and disallow procreation to keep the rest pure.”

“How do they feel about you?”

“They’re fine with me,” Marie insists. “They don’t have a problem with white people—though, they would change their minds if they knew my father was a slave owner, as was my arranged betrothed. He promised them he wouldn’t have any kids, and they accepted the risk.”

“What will happen to your baby?”

Marie is silent for a long time, and nobody tries to force her to continue. “I do not have a baby,” she explains. “I have a clump of cells in my uterus.”

“Marie...” Leona doesn’t know what else to say. There is probably nothing she could say.

“I’m not going to carry it to term. I’ve told you I’m happy, but that’s only because of him. I’m not happy here. This is the worst reality we’ve been to. At least the warmongers in the Fifth Division were honest about who they were. They didn’t hide behind divine mandate, or passive aggressive pseudo-tolerance. You’ll see. Stay here for another few months, and you’ll see.”

“We can get you out,” Leona told her. “You and your baby, we’ll get you out of here.”

“And then what?” Marie questions. “Heath can’t come with me down the fourth dimension, so I’ve lost him. There is no guarantee the baby will be like me either. I wasn’t born like this, and we don’t really understand how all that works. I didn’t even think I could have children. I told him as much. I didn’t lie, but I suggested he would have nothing to worry about. Now I have this thing inside of me, and I can only think of one halfway decent outcome.”

“I’m not going to try to convince you to make any particular choice,” Leona begins. “But I’m going to tell you that if you decide to have that child, I’ll love and protect it to my dying breath. Mateo and Ramses can make the same assurance, as I’m sure Olimpia would. Angela has already proved as much. It’s important you know this.”

“Thank you,” Marie says. “I’m pretty convinced already, and I plan to make an appointment with the doctor once I get my identity back, but it’s nice to know you’re by my side.

Leona leans forward, and opens her arms, but doesn’t initiate the hug. She waits for Marie to make that choice too. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Were I you,” Mateo says to all of them.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 12, 2398

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They could spend a lifetime comparing every little difference between the Third Rail, and the main sequence. The Beatles don’t exist, just like a certain movie, except no cognizant singer is going to revive the catalog. Geography is shockingly similar after considering how deep in the past the point of divergence must have taken place. They have evidence of this from the completely foreign botanical world. The trees and plants may look like the kinds they could find back home, but upon closer inspection, they’ve clearly evolved and been bred differently. Even the buildings have a slightly discrepant architecture. It took them a little time to recognize this, because they’ve seen variations before. Every world they go to—be it a planet, a virtual construct, a parallel reality, or even another universe—has had unique design schemes, and this one is no different in that it’s also unique. Now that the team has been here for a few days, they see that technology isn’t as stilted as they once thought. The people here seem to have advanced in some ways faster than others. You couldn’t call it steampunk, but it’s in that same vein.

As far as energy goes, the culture managed to pretty much skip over fossil fuels, and focus on renewable sources. Different regions have different strengths, but wind power is pretty popular. They also have no apparent problem with nuclear power. You’re never more than fifty miles from the nearest nuclear power plant. Despite these developments, space travel is practically non-existence. There are tons of satellites in orbit around Earth, but they haven’t even put a rover on Mars. From what little Angela was able to gather in her capacity as self-appointed team historian, war has been the number one issue globally. Civilization just survived World War VI not thirty years ago. Why haven’t they destroyed themselves in a nuclear holocaust? Religion. Yes, it’s religion that saved them, if you can believe it. All ancient religious texts speak of some kind of sun that’s compressed and trapped in a box, and the venerated few charged with containing and protecting it from evil. While atheism and agnosticism are recently on the rise, superstition regarding these sunboxes only increased once scientists realized that real sunboxes were within their grasp. Never before had a faith been so spot on in regard to something that might happen in the future, with certain sects being eerily detailed with their descriptions of how a sunbox might work.

Unfortunately, there was a major downside to this. Even though multiple religions provided people with the same prophetic warning about nuclear bombs, they failed to generate any other reason for unity. Different kingdoms, nations, and races glommed onto different denominations, and dig their heels in deeper when they perceive a threat from some other. That’s why they keep fighting, and why racism may be worse today than it was in the main sequence circa early 21st century. Angela and Mateo are even more convinced now that they are not the only time travelers here. At least one of them either created the reality itself, or capitalized on an opportunity to mould it to their liking. They may have always wanted society to be like this, or things just got out of hand. Regardless, the team feels compelled to fix it. It’s going to take them longer than any mission has, so they better prepare themselves, do their research, and take their time.

Microstory 1875: Or Dig a Bigger Grave

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I didn’t have any friends in high school. I had a stutter, so I didn’t like talking to people. I would wish I liked it, and I think the other kids would have been nice enough about it, but I was too self-conscious. One day in literature class, the teacher had us read a story together. Each student would take a paragraph or two, and then she would call on the next kid. I was so scared, and didn’t pay any attention to them, as I was just trying to figure out how to not embarrass myself. I couldn’t even start. I couldn’t say the first word, so I asked the teacher if I could opt out. She said it wouldn’t be fair to the other kids who never had that option. A cursory glance at my classmates suggested that they couldn’t care less, because they didn’t have speech impediments! She refused to listen until my hero swooped in to defend me. She scolded the teacher for being insensitive and unfair, and I never had to read out loud again. I was also in love for the rest of grade school, and into university. We happened to go to the same institution, where she would smile and wave at me on the occasion that we  passed each other, but we didn’t speak and I didn’t ask her out. After we graduated, she married someone else, and moved to a different country for work. Maybe a decade later—no, it was more like fifteen years—the internet created this new thing called instant messaging, and I pretty quickly reconnected with her on the most popular platform. I was over her by then, and mostly over my stuttering problem, but it was cool to be nostalgic a couple times a week when I had time. After a few years, I found myself scheduled for a business trip in her area, told her as much quite innocently, and was immediately invited to a small dinner party. And small, it was. She and her husband had only invited one other guy; a coworker of hers.

The dinner was great, and so was the company. It was nice, showing her how much my life had improved, and being able to finally have the nerve to thank her in person for what she did for me that day. It was a nice moment, which will forever be clouded by the darkness that followed. The other dinner guest had been sweating and rocking for a time, but trying to power through. But then, after convulsing for a few minutes, he fell off his chair, and died right before our eyes. We were all shocked, but I sprang into action. After checking for a pulse, I grabbed the phone, and desperately asked the couple what the emergency number was in their country. It wasn’t like I could just look it up. They didn’t want to tell me, and I eventually got them to admit that they were afraid of the authorities believing that they had anything to do with it. I argued with them, but they would not relent. They said he was already dead, and there was nothing we could do to undo that, so I might as well help move the body. I continued to argue but they told me they could blame it on me, since I was the one who brought the tea. I questioned that, and soon realized that this was no accident. It was murder, and my tea was the weapon. They revealed that they had secretly added something called yew seeds into his cup, and they told me they had to do it because he sexually assaulted her at work numerous times. I didn’t want to help them, but I didn’t think I had a choice. Once we were finished digging the grave—which I did mostly by myself—they apologized, and admitted that I drank a lower dosage of the poison, which meant I would die too, which was why they made me make such a large grave. That was the week I learned that I was at least moderately immune to yew seed poisoning. Bonus, I didn’t even go to jail.

Microstory 1874: Statistic

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Hi, my name is I’m not supposed to tell people that. Mama and daddy said I shouldn’t tell people anything, but I don’t get why not, because I like people, and they seem to like me. They always smile at me when we pass them, pushing my own stroller. I think they think it’s cool how I get out and push it myself. A lot of other kids still don’t like to walk. I see them reaching up to the nice lady, so she’ll pick them up, and sometimes she does it, and sometimes she doesn’t. As soon as I figured out how to work these things under my butt, I do it all the time. Shh, don’t tell mama I said butt. I’m not supposed to say that. There’s a lot of things I’m not supposed to do that my parents don’t like. I don’t remember them, though. They’re always yelling at me like I’m supposed to know something already, but I don’t always. For like, there are kids in my class—well, there were kids in my other class, but I don’t go to that class anymore, ‘cause my parents took me out. I don’t think it’s a class, is it? We learn things, but people call it something different, I don’t remember. I’m not old enough for real class. I see it on TV, big kids sitting at really tall desks, and they’re writing things down. I can use a pencil, but I can’t, like, write a book, or something. I don’t know what they’re doing all day. I can read books, and some other kids just look at the pictures, but I like the letters. I like how each one means something, and when you put them together, they can mean something else! Is that what people are doing all day with their pencils, they’re writing the books I read? What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, I was in a—preschool! That’s what they call it! They said, you’re not in real school yet, this is just preschool, which I don’t know what that means. It’s got the word school in it, so I think it’s school. What was I saying?

Okay, so I was in a room, and there were lots of other kids in it, and then my dad got real mad, and he said some things, and they said I couldn’t say those things too, but I can’t remember what they were anyway. This was a loooooooong time ago, like, many days. So they took me out of that room, and now I think we drive to a different building, and there’s a different room, but everybody looks like me. That’s what I noticed, there were other kids in the other room who looked different. They had different skin colors, and I saw one boy in a dress, and the other kids made fun of him for it. I didn’t really know why it was funny. I don’t see that boy anymore, or the other kids with other skin. I guess that’s fine. I don’t really know. Oh, that’s what my daddy said, he said, don’t talk to those colored kids, and don’t—hold on, I’m tryna ‘member. It was, stay away from that faggity fag. I don’t know what that is, but since I’m in a different room, I don’t think that happens anymore. I like to learn. I mean, I like to have fun, but I like to learn too. There’s so many things in the world, have you seen them? The other day, I was alone in the house. Well, I wasn’t alone, but my daddy was gone, and my mama was asleep, I think. I went into a room I never been in before. I saw my daddy go in there, but he wasn’t there then, so I went in. There were all sorts of things there that I didn’t know. I’ve never seen them before. There were books, though, which is what the big kids write all the time. I pulled one off the bottom shelf, and it was heavy, and I couldn’t read it, because the words were really long, and it was hard. I’m back in here today, because I think if I just keep trying, I will figure it out. But see, here there’s something shiny on the table. It’s black, and really heavy too, and there’s a hole, and what does this butt—

Microstory 1804: Good Opinions and Right Choices

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I was raised in an extremely hostile environment. My parents were racist, hateful, and mean. When my older brother was first growing up, he tried to rebel against them. He didn’t go full liberal—because he didn’t know what that meant—but he didn’t agree with the kinds of things they would say. And they weren’t super obvious about it. They didn’t go around claiming that black people were inferior. They just used very unclever cover words like urban and hoodlum. They weren’t as inconspicuous as they thought they were, though, and my brother wanted no part of it. Unfortunately, they decided they weren’t going to give him a choice. They verbally abused him until he stopped talking all that lovey dovey nonsense. The world didn’t use terms like snowflake and libtard back then, but they would have loved it if they had been alive to learn them. Anyway, when I was old enough to start possibly making my own decisions, my brother realized how similar we were. He taught me to pretend to be like our family. I let them think that I was all about letting poor people die on the streets to save the dollar in my pocket, and not getting upset about the injustices we would see on the news. I did a really great job, blending in as the good little conservative boy that I was expected to be. I did too good of a job, actually. They were so proud of me. My brother and I had about the same grades in school, but since they were so disappointed in him, it was like I was the second coming of the messiah. I also had to pretend to believe in the messiah. I wasn’t an exceptional student, or person in general, but I could do no wrong, and my parents did what they could to give me the opportunities they felt that I deserved.

They paid my way into a preparatory school, which led me to a really great college. I hated every minute of it, but I figured I would take my free education, and do something positive with it. The problem was that I was so used to pretending to be an entitled prick that it was too hard to turn off at this point. I let them get me conscripted into a secret underground brotherhood, which was designed to foster a network of good ol’ boys who help each other go places, and get out of jams. It was so rough, being around people with such wrong opinions. I know people say that there’s no such thing as a wrong opinion, but those people’s opinions are wrong. There is a right way to think about how the world should be run, and a very bad way. It was impossible to walk away, though, and not because the only way out would have been in a bodybag, but because it was so tempting to accept their gifts. With their help, I was poised to step on a lot of heads, and make a lot of money. At that point, I didn’t really care that everyone who was helping me get there disgusted me to my core. Because maybe they didn’t. Maybe they weren’t so bad. None of my brothers were violent or outwardly intolerant either. They were great at hiding it, and some of them probably weren’t even that conservative at all. That’s obviously how the secret society formed, but we all make our own choices. I had to make a choice too. I had to do something to become my own man, and stop letting my family dictate how the world should see me. The brotherhood fed into a militia. Not everyone joined it, but it was an option. I continued to pretend, and took the path towards that anti-government group. They accepted me, and armed me, and it wasn’t long before they decided to plan an attack on the capitol. Before they could, I warned the authorities, and got the place raided. I finally made the right choice, and it was my last.

Microstory 1728: Jim Crow

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Your Honor, my name is Jim Crow. My first name is not James or Jacob, or anything like that. It’s actually Jim. My parents were named Beckett Crowley, and Geraldine Devlin. When they got married, instead of my mother taking my father’s last name, they decided to shorten it to Crow. When they had me in 1984, they named me Jim. Believe me when I tell you that this was no accident, nor coincidence. My parents are two of the most racist people I know, and they knew exactly what they were doing. They believe in white supremacy, and they believe in segregation. They may even believe that all black people should be exterminated. They’ve hinted at such evil thoughts on more than one occasion. I literally witnessed them spitting on a young black girl just because her family wasn’t around, and no one could stop them. When I was a child, my mother told me a story she made up, about how the people of Africa so displeased the Lord that he glued dirt to their skin, and forced them to live in filth from then on. Their skin isn’t black, it’s that there is actual grime all over their bodies. I never bought into it, obviously. Had I grown up during the actual time of segregation, I might have seen no other choice, but I developed my sense of right and wrong during the 1980s. My relatively small city in Maryland was not at all without its racism, but I had something that some people in the past did not. I had Star Trek. I remember seeing Whoopi Goldberg on The Next Generation. Here was this black woman who had standing on the ship...who people trusted, listened to, and cared about. That very night, as young as I was, I thought long and hard about who my parents are, and what they were trying to teach me. I made a conscious decision to reject their hatred, and come to my own conclusions. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of informing my parents of my intentions.

They started to punish me. They withheld dessert, and when that didn’t work, they took away my dinner, and when that wasn’t enough, they stopped letting me have water. They eventually realized I was going to die if they didn’t do something, so they changed tactics. They developed their own Jim Crow laws. I was allowed to eat, but I had to make it myself, and I had to find somewhere else to do it. An old lady lived next door, so she let me use her kitchen. I did try to explain to her what was happening, but she was senile, so she barely understood, and never remembered. She introduced herself to me every day. She wasn’t abusive, but about as racist as my parents, so I didn’t want to spend much time over there. Still, she had a bathroom I could use too, which was nice, because I wasn’t allowed to use mine anymore. Basically what my parents did was show me what it was like to experience segregation. I can imagine the non-racist parents of a racist child doing the same thing to teach them a lesson, but my parents didn’t see it that way. They figured I would grow tired of the restrictions, and finally admit that it was both easier, and better, to be white. Of course, their methods only enforced my conviction that they were completely wrong about everything. When I was seventeen, they started to see that they were losing me, so they maneuvered the legal system, and had me declared unfit for independence. I was a ward of the state for the last twenty years under false pretenses, and it has taken me this long to get out. That, Your Honor, is why I’m only now getting around—as you put it—to changing my name. I haven’t been allowed to until now. I don’t think it’s unreasonable for you to grant me this.

Microstory 1708: Auriga Itineraries

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When I graduated from college, the first thing I wanted to do was reward myself with a trip to Europe. I wanted the full experience; the hostels, the backpacking, the food. I wanted to be surprised, and have an adventure. It was one of the most expensive mistakes of my life. The hostel was disgusting, and I felt unsafe at every second. As it turns out, I’m not much of a hiker. And I seemed to always get bad advice about where to eat. I was listening to the wrong people, and making the wrong decisions. What I didn’t use better was the internet. I didn’t look up reviews of places, and find out where exactly I should go. I didn’t learn enough about customs and conventions, and I was totally lost the whole time. I never want that to happen to you, and while you could go off and look up all this information yourself, why bother? Hi, my name is Malone Lamb, and I would like to be your next trip planner. At Auriga Itineraries, we know that when you’re on vacation, all you want is to relax and have fun. You shouldn’t worry about being overcharged, underserviced, or mistreated. So, what is it we do here? Well, we help you get to where you’re going, and have the best experience possible...for your budget. You pick the place, we handle everything else. Want to go to Asia? We can do that. We’ll find the best flight with the best airline. Africa more your speed? We book flights there too. Europe? South America? Even Antarctica. For us, nothing is off the map. We know where all the happening spots are. We know where you can enjoy the most delectable local pleasures. (Or the usual tastes of home, if you just want a break.) So come on down to Auriga Itineraries, where we...roll you to your destiny.

How was that? No, I don’t think it’s racist to have African people doing their traditional dances behind me. Well, it’s a watermark, because I can’t afford to buy the stock footage. Do you have any idea how much that costs? If it were illegal, then they wouldn’t use a watermark at all, the video just wouldn’t be available until you click purchase. Obviously the idea was to shoot on location, but I’m just starting out, so I can only afford this green blanket. What do you mean, you don’t know what the business does? I told you the other day. I can’t fit all that in the commercial, it’s only thirty seconds long. I think I said everything that needs to be in there. We plan people’s vacations; booking flights and hotels, finding attractions and activities the client would like. We tailor every trip to their particular proclivities. I don’t know how we’ll find out, I suppose we’ll ask them questions. Yeah, I guess I could come up with a questionnaire, but I don’t know how to do that, do you? They should make a company that does what I do, except they help you write questionnaires and stuff. Look, I don’t pay you to poke holes in my advertisements. I pay you to get me on TV so I can start drumming up some business. Yeah, the check’s gonna bounce, because I don’t have any customers yet! That’s why I told you to wait a month! Of course other companies do what I do, I never claimed to have invented the industry. What sets me apart is that I handle every case personally. Yes, you’re right, I shouldn’t say that they’ll come down to us since we operate only online. See? This is good, these are good notes. I could do without the criticisms and judgments, though. I’m trying to do something with my life, and help people who might need it. If I could just get one client, I know that word will spread, and they’ll start showing up by the bucketful. Now help me tweak this commercial.

Microstory 1654: Wide Eyes

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After Wyatt Bradley retired as White Savior, the world went back to the way it was. Cops were murdering black people, and giving free passes to civilians who wanted to get in on the action. If someone was caught committing a crime on camera, there was a decent chance that they would pay for it, but unlike the way things were handled on other worlds, there was no guarantee. It wasn’t unusual for the judge to just decide that the photographic evidence was irrelevant, and he didn’t care one way, or the other. This was pissing a lot of people off. While Wyatt Bradley’s actions were largely considered counterproductive, both his appearance, and his disappearance, gave a lot of people some much needed perspective. Things actually did get moderately safer for black people while he was around, and the fact that racist crime went back up after he left proved that it was real. To put it another way, as a problem, it was a lot harder to ignore than it once was. He shined a light on the problem, and the afterglow would last forever. No one suited up and became a vigilante, but they did start fighting for change. They organized peace rallies, and protested police violence, and a major surveillance trend began. They called it the Wide Eye Movement, after the product developer that started it all. Cops were not obligated to wear body cams, though they did exist, and they sparked the idea for regular people to wear them. They sold them at an extremely low price, and it was not uncommon to wear multiple ones, to get different angles. Whereas before, everyone had a cellphone they could pull out, and document a horrendous crime, now they didn’t even have to do that. Accountability became this world’s resting state.

Recordings were sent to the Wide Eye servers, and kept for a period of time before being overwritten. Day-length storage space was free to all, and extra storage subscriptions came at an affordable price, though they weren’t usually necessary. Anything that needed to be kept could be downloaded to some other device. If someone believed that something unjust had happened to them, they could post their experience for all to see on the Wide Eye app. They could also technically save a clip of something fun or interesting that happened to them, but they would have to download it to their own device, and upload it somewhere else, if they so wanted. That was not what the app was for, and other users helped distinguish the important, from the less important, or the not important at all. The purpose of this was to make sure no one hurt anybody without being seen. Every customer was required to have at least one trusted buddy, who would receive their footage if they were to be killed, be it by murder, or anything else. The cameras were motion sensitive, so if a user stopped moving for a week—or the cameras were turned off without being suspended virtually using proper procedures—their buddy would end up with proof of whatever had happened to them. If the police weren’t going to police themselves, then the people were going to have to do it for them, and if the courts did not accept such evidence as legitimate, then the offending party was at risk of being crucified by the court of public opinion. The problem wasn’t fixed overnight, but it made it a hell of a lot harder for racism to go unnoticed. Even snide remarks were uploaded to the Wide Eye site. They weren’t labeled as urgent, but people still saw them, and this forced many to be more careful with their words and actions. Of course, this was not without its consequences. Even embarrassing moments could be uploaded to other places, and Wide Eye Services had a hard time regulating this. They tried to exclude such behavior in their Terms of Service, but it was nearly impossible to enforce. As a result, people were afraid to be themselves around others, for fear of being ridiculed for walking around with a stain on their shirt, or tripping on the steps. Fortunately, the age of Wide Eye was limited. Offenders were weeded out of the system, and replaced by decent human beings, with good training in things like sensitivity, and open-mindedness. Policies were changed, and the right people were voted into the right public offices. Twenty years later, Wide Eye Services deliberately shutdown, and ended support for their products. Bad things still happened after that, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it was in the olden days.

Microstory 1604: White Savior

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This next one is a very sensitive topic, the answers to which I do not claim to know. I hesitated to tell this story, but have determined it’s better to let the truth be out there, than to pretend that it didn’t happen. Like I’ve explained, I am a voldisisil, which makes me a spirit type of human subspecies. I was born this way, due to the existence of a third parent that participated in my conception unbeknownst to my biological parents. But there are other spirits, in other universes, with different reasons for being. Some would be considered good, while others are pretty clearly bad, but most end up in a gray area. Unlike mutants and witches, spirits sometimes don’t take sides. They let their soul guide them, and don’t necessarily try to rationalize against their impulses. This doesn’t mean that they’re evil, but they don’t always think things through, and they actively repulse any attempt at criticism. There’s one man in particular that I believe we should discuss. His given name was Wyatt Bradley, but once he discovered what he could do, he started going by the moniker White Savior. Different versions of Earth have different historical experiences with race and nationality. Some are undeniably worse than others. Wyatt Bradley was born to one of these. Racism was prevalent, insidious, institutional, systemic, and seemingly insurmountable. He saw it all over the place. Everyone saw it, and anyone who didn’t see it was lying. Do not think that Wyatt discovered his abilities, immediately threw on a white suit, and started running around. He wrestled with the idea, and ultimately succumbed to his urges, which is what I was talking about. He surrendered to his soul, and did not heed the lessons that the wise people around him taught him as he was growing up. There is a reason that humans are a trinity of mind, body, and soul. All three are required to make a person. A mind alone is a computer, a body alone is a pile of viscera, and a soul alone is a ghost. None of them is meant to be without the other two.

Wyatt wanted to do something about the racism in his country, and perhaps the world, and it felt to him like his soul powers were the best way for him to accomplish his goals. He was an aidsman, meaning that he was called to action against injustice, but in a literal sense. He possessed a general psychic connection to the human collective, and could let himself be drawn to pockets of extreme civil unrest. On the surface, he simply appeared to be a teleporter, but he couldn’t just go wherever he wanted. He could only go to these places of turmoil, or back home. Like I was saying, he put on a white suit, and wore a steel mask. Basically, he wore a fencing uniform. But he was not a fencer. The weapons he carried were all blunt instruments, and tasers. He used these to attack people who were attacking minorities, and this regularly meant attacking the police. Wyatt’s public identity was extremely controversial, but he paid no attention to his critics, even members of the black community who saw it as wildly offensive, and altogether unhelpful. He didn’t think that he could conquer racism with his methods, but he believed he could deter some of the more violent components. “If the white cop is worried about getting a dose of his own medicine, he’ll stop giving it to his victims. If he does it anyway, he answers to me,” White Savior was once recorded saying in a rare case of him saying anything to anyone. He was predominantly quiet, though not mute, instead allowing his baton to do the talking for him. They eventually got the message. Whether or not any given individual respected this message was another story, but Wyatt’s actions were not without a little progress. Instances of police brutality against minorities dropped within months of White Savior’s arrival. It would seem that law enforcement was taking notice, and changing tactics. Unfortunately, this meant that they learned to be more subtle with their racism, because he was only drawn to the violence, not general mistreatment or abuse, and definitely not systemic oppression. After a few years, his activity took a toll on his body, and his sanity. I’m not sure if he ever admitted to himself that he wasn’t really helping, but he retired just the same, and withdrew from society completely. Within the year, everything was back to normal.

Microstory 1561: One Last Ride Along

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Prompt

I wanted to grow up to become a law enforcement officer right up until I watched a video of a cop literally murdering an innocent black man on the street, and ultimately getting away with it...

Botner

...after abusing the trust of his office, the public, and the justice system. And you can’t unsee something like that. I have an impulse to get back to my kind of gun culture (I have no interest in owning an assault rifle) because I don’t like the mindset that is starting to take hold where guns are the problem when they’re not. We need to get our heads on straight about where this is all going. Please don’t take my desire for peace away because of my prejudices. I have friends who belong to different groups than me and they’re great. But when we lump all those groups into the same population, I don’t want to be part of it. It makes me want to question my own bias a little bit because how can I be anti-gun when I grew up with them? I have a friend who is a responsible gun owner. He owns his own gun, is a hunter, and is an NRA member. We’ve been friends for years and I’ve known him long enough to know his background. He wasn’t raised in a religious environment (he’s raised his children as Jews) but he became religious later in life. He’s still able to function as a Jewish man and raise his children in that environment. He’s a pretty decent guy who hasn’t been in...

Conclusion

...a lot of debates about responsible gun ownership. He avoids them. Like me. I can’t avoid them anymore, though. Not with a new travesty seemingly popping up in the news every day. We need to hold people accountable for their actions, and cops should not be immune to this expectation. Today is going to be awkward. I’m scheduled for another ride along. I live in a large metropolitan area, which means I have a lot of different police stations at my disposal, and I’ve been going to each one of them, to see what a day in the life of an officer is like. They’re more different than you might think, because they each have their own area to cover, and different officers handle the same kind of situation differently. I’ve always loved it, and the more experience I can get before the academy, the better. I don’t know if I can continue to pursue this career, though. I’ve wanted this my whole life, but everything changed when I watched that video. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t change my mind immediately; it’s been the outcome of a long period of self-reflection, discussing it with my parents, and getting input from a black retired police officer who lives three blocks down from us. I thought about cancelling this last ride along—and it really will be the last, as I have seen every other outfit within reasonable distance—but I chose not to. It’s located in a dense urban area, not unlike the one shown in that horrific video. I’ve decided to take this opportunity to ask the hard questions, even if it makes me uncomfortable; even if it makes them uncomfortable. There is still a slight chance that I’ll change my mind back to the uniform, and I’ll be using this as my deciding factor. How this one cop responds to my unapologetically unfiltered questions could sway me one way, or the other. We’ll see...

Microstory 1380: No Remorse (Part 4)

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Celebrity Interviewer: Thank you all for sitting down with me. My audience is very interested to understand the reasoning behind this arrangement. I’m very sorry the warden was not able to be with us today.

Producer: Yes, I just spoke with him, and he has some important business to take care of with the government, but he sends his regards.

Ex-Cop: A private prison owner’s job is never done.

Celebrity Interviewer: Quite. Now, let’s get into it. Whose idea was it to make a film about Ex-Cop?

Producer: That would be me.

Celebrity Interviewer: And who decided to cast Ex-Cop to play himself?

Producer: That would be me as well.

Celebrity Interviewer: That wasn’t Casting Director’s responsibility?

Casting Director: I was responsible for securing the casting, but it was an executive decision. I wasn’t even part of the project yet.

Producer: Yes, my vision started in my head, and I didn’t tell anyone about it until I had a really good idea of what I wanted to do.

Celebrity Interviewer: That makes sense. But, Casting Director, you had to convince the warden to go along with it, correct?

Casting Director: It was a team effort, but I was his primary point of contact.

Celebrity Interviewer: Tell me about the film. Where does it begin?

Producer: We start before the beginning, actually. The first five minutes follow Mr. Ex-Cop’s parents as their relationship evolves, from their first date at the zoo, to the day Ex-Cop was born. The next five minutes follow Ex-Cop’s upbringing. He has said that he knew he wanted to be a law enforcement officer because of a presentation an officer did at his middle school in eighth grade, so that’s where we stop moving so quickly through the narrative. We keep it linear, though. We don’t have any flashbacks.

Ex-Cop: That was my idea. Flashbacks, honestly, confuse me.

Celebrity Interviewer: I’m not surprised by that. Walk me through the reasoning behind not casting any other actors for the role. Are you using visual de-aging technology for Ex-Cop? How does that work? Can you really make a full-grown adult look like a child with CGI?

Ex-Cop: I’m not doing any CGI.

Celebrity Interviewer: So, you just haven’t cast the younger parts yet?

Casting Director: I can explain this. Ex-Cop is going to be playing himself throughout the entire film, and no digital editing will be employed to make him look younger. In fact, he’s not even going to be wearing makeup. This is a gritty, true-to-life experience. We want the audience to see him as the real world does, so they better understand what he’s gone through.

Ex-Cop: That was my idea too. I don’t wear no makeup. Do I look like I got titties?

Producer: Ex-Cop, we talked about this.

Ex-Cop: Whatever.

Celebrity Interviewer: No. I want to know what he has to say. I think you’re right that it’s important the audience sees him as he is, rather than some cartoon on the screen. And to that, I’m still confused. The world sees him as he is today, but when he was six years old, they saw a six-year-old. Sure, you could never find a single-digit child who looks exactly like he did when he was that young, but how exactly can you claim this to be an authentic portrayal when you have a fifty-year-old running around in diapers?

Ex-Cop: I’m not fifty!

Celebrity Interviewer: Assistant, please make note of the time. We’re going to want to put a fact-check up on the screen, making sure my audience knows Ex-Cop is indeed fifty years old.

Assistant: Yes, sir.

Ex-Cop: You go to hell, the both of you!

Celebrity Interviewer: Don’t talk to her like that.

Producer: He didn’t really mean it.

Celebrity Interviewer: No. I want him to apologize. He can say whatever he wants about me, but he will leave my assistant out of this, or he’s gonna wish the state had just sent him to some hole in the ground where I can’t find him.

Ex-Cop: Fine. I’m sorry.

Assistant: Thank you.

Producer: Let’s get back on track. I understand where you’re coming from, but Ex-Cop expressed to us that he’s always felt more like an adult, so we wanted to illustrate that by having him play his younger selves as well. It’s a creative choice, and I stand by it.

Casting Director: As do I.

Celebrity Interviewer: And do you stand by casting a convicted murderer in your film at all?

Casting Director: I’m sorry?

Celebrity Interviewer: You should be.

Producer: I would like to clarify this. We’ve obviously heard all of the criticisms. It’s not my job to judge whether Ex-Cop is racist, or if he’s guilty of his crime—

Celebrity Interviewer: He’s guilty. He was found guilty by all six peer arbiters, all four professional arbitrators, and a highly respected adjudicator. He’s considered guilty by the majority of the country’s population, and then some. The film that started this all—the one that shows Ex-Cop pounding his fist into the head of Innocent Victim until he dies—proves that what they said he did, he did.

Ex-Cop: You can’t talk about me like this!

Celebrity Interviewer: On the contrary, sir, I can. You gave up your rights when you abused your power, and murdered an innocent blackman on the streets of Hillside. This film is outrageous! This private prison is outrageous! And you, Ex-Cop are the most outrageous of all. Why, if I had—

Assistant: Celebrity Interviewer? Your boss is on the phone. He’s watching the closed stream.

Ex-Cop: You’re in trouble now, bitch.

Celebrity Interviewer: You fucking piece of shit. I’m gonna put you on the ground. Why you runnin’? Get back here, coward!

Producer: Stop.

Celebrity Interviewer: Get your hands off me. You’re as bad as him, because you validate his sentiments!

Assistant: You better take this call.

Microstory 1379: No Remorse (Part 3)

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Ex-Cop: I don’t even wanna be here.

Prison Counselor: I understand that, but if you want to stay in protective custody, this is how its done.

Ex-Cop: I’m a cop, I should be in protective custody no matter what, and since I’m a cop, I know that this is not how it works. I shouldn’t need a psychological assessment to see if I’m fit to not be murdered by some big black man.

Prison Counselor: This isn’t a psychological assessment. This is regular counseling that’s required for you to maintain your right to protective custody. It doesn’t matter what you stay here, as long as you agree to these sessions, the warden will let you stay.

Ex-Cop: So, I can say whatever I want?

Prison Counselor: I understand that it is your instinct to rail against minorities, and all the other people that you believe are responsible for you losing your job. But we won’t get anywhere until you admit that what you did was murder, and wrong. First step towards that, I believe, is admitting that you’re no longer a law enforcement officer.

Ex-Cop: Once a cop, always a cop.

Prison Counselor: I can see how you would feel that way symbolically, metaphorically. But literally, you are not. I’ve read the court transcripts. You expressed no remorse for your actions. Has anything changed in that regard?

Ex-Cop: Yes, absolutely.

Prison Counselor: Oh, good.

Ex-Cop: I regret that I didn’t notice that bitch holding her cellphone camera at me sooner, and that I didn’t rip it out of her hands as soon as I finally did see it.

Prison Counselor: You’re referring to Innocent Victim’s boyfriend, who identifies as a man. Acceptance of non-heterosexuality is another thing we’ll need to work on.

Ex-Cop: Where do you get off telling me what we need to work on? I’m fine. I just need to stay away from all these black people who keep trying to kill me in here.

Prison Counselor: You are protected now. This is a safe space. You can be honest. I want you to be able and willing to change, though. That’s what life is, a constant progression towards an improved state.

Ex-Cop: If I’m not willing to change, you’re gonna kick me back to gen pop?

Prison Counselor: That’s right.

Ex-Cop: Is that even legal?

Prison Counselor: No one behind these gates is guaranteed protection. Do you think you can do this? Do you think you can entertain the possibility that you’re wrong, and that you need to become a better person? Or are you convinced you’re an infallible god?

Ex-Cop: I never said I was a god.

Prison Counselor: ...

Ex-Cop: Yes, I can do that. I suppose it’s possible that I’m just a little bit racist, and that there’s a slight chance I haven’t been my best self.

Prison Counselor: Great. Now, let’s start from the beginning. What do you remember your parents teaching you about race, ethnicity, and skin color when you were a child?

Microstory 1378: No Remorse (Part 2)

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Crime Reporter: Take me through the event, from start to finish. When did you first notice Innocent Victim, and what was going through your head in that very moment?

Ex-Cop: I was doing my job, protecting the protestors from themselves—which I was glad to do, by the way, even though they were mostly black, so that proves I’m not racist.

Crime Reporter: I don’t think it proves that.

Ex-Cop: Are you going to let me tell my side of the story, or what?

Crime Reporter: Well, you see, the problem is—never mind. Go on, tell your side.

Ex-Cop: Thank you. So, I’m doing my job, protecting this city, when a car comes out of nowhere. I didn’t have my radar gun, because I wasn’t planning on doing any traffic stops, but I think they were speeding. Then they suddenly almost come to a complete stop. Now, why would they do that? It’s suspicious, right?

Crime Reporter: Well, according to the video, they weren’t aware that there were going to be protestors on that street. Evidently, the road wasn’t blocked off properly?

Ex-Cop: Well, that’s not my job. I was in charge of the people, but not the streets themselves.

Crime Reporter: Fair enough, but I think that’s the answer to your question of why Innocent Victim slew down. The video doesn’t support the speed of the vehicle, one way or another, so I’ll give you the possibility that you thought they might be speeding.

Ex-Cop: The point is, it made me nervous, so I flagged Mr. Victim down. He stopped immediately, I will give him that. He made the right call, but I could just see in his eyes that he would have bolted if he thought he could get away with it. But his little girlfriend was filming, so he would have been in possession of proof of the hit and run.

Crime Reporter: I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to pause you there. The person filming the incident was his boyfriend, not his girlfriend. You know that same-sex couples exist, so don’t add fuel to the fire. Also, they could have just deleted the video, so I’m not sure that argument holds up. I also don’t believe your supposition that he wanted to run would hold up either, since we don’t prosecute people for the actions they take in alternate realities.

Ex-Cop: Whatever. So, I usher him out of the car, and proceed to try to start a conversation. I just ask him routine questions about who he is, where he’s going, and who that is in the car with him. Well, that’s when I see his friend’s camera, and now I’m real suspicious. It’s becoming abundantly clear to me that these people are driving around town, looking for cops to antagonize, so they can film it, and get us in trouble. I ask the friend to shut off the camera, and he doesn’t even get the chance to comply, because then Innocent Victim attacks me. You can see it in the video.

Crime Reporter: I think what I saw in the video was him raising his hands demonstratively, as many people do when they talk.

Ex-Cop: Yes, demonstratively. That’s the word I would use. It felt very much like he was a dangerous demon.

Crime Reporter: That...oh my God.

Ex-Cop: What?

Crime Reporter: Forget it, let’s fast forward. Why did you beat him to death? Assuming you had legitimate reason to arrest him, why did you continue to pound your fist into his head, and his head against the asphalt, even after he stopped moving?

Ex-Cop: You don’t understand what it’s like to be out there. When you’re a cop, every corner carries a threat, every person is an enemy. I risk my life every day, and I can’t worry about whether I’m up against an innocent person, or not. It’s not worth the possibility that he could kill me, or someone truly innocent. I would rather knock out an innocent person I thought was a criminal than let my guard down in front of a criminal.

Crime Reporter: What you don’t understand is that I was a cop, and I do know what it’s like out there. I spent more time on the force than you have—or, sorry, more than you did, because you were fired, and you will never spend another day on the job. None of our training involves beating suspects. A fight should only break out between a civilian and a law enforcement officer when the civilian instigates it, and refuses to relent. I don’t mean resisting, I mean actually fighting. They have to throw a punch or kick first. We only use potentially lethal force when there’s reason to believe the civilian possesses a weapon.

Ex-Cop: Well, let’s say I thought he might have a weapon.

Crime Reporter: That isn’t in the report.

Ex-Cop: Well, of course hindsight is—

Crime Reporter: No, I mean you didn’t put it in the report that you feared a weapon. This is the first you’ve ever brought it up.

Ex-Cop: Aren’t you supposed to be unbiased?

Crime Reporter: I am, yes. But I’m also friends with the man holding the camera to me right now, so I can just edit this out. You’re here because you weren’t, and you couldn’t. So, let’s talk about that. What do you have to say about the fact that you didn’t just turn off your bodycam, but that you weren’t even wearing it?

Microstory 1377: No Remorse (Part 1)

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Crime Reporter: Hm. An ex-cop who was the subject of a scandal involving an innocent black—

Ex-Cop: Allegedly innocent.

Crime Reporter: Sir, footage proves that the victim was not part of the protests, and was on his way home from work.

Ex-Cop: Well, I think it’s up for interpretation.

Crime Reporter: His boyfriend was filming the protests from the passenger seat, and the victim was talking about how the protests aren’t doing the community any good, and they’re better off waiting until the next vote. He was clearly doing nothing wrong.

Ex-Cop: I stand by my actions.

Crime Reporter: You do? You were charged with homicide.

Ex-Cop: Allegedly.

Crime Reporter: No, sir. It is a fact that you were charged in the homicide of Innocent Victim, police brutality, and related charges.

Ex-Cop: Those are bogus charges, and you know it. We all know it. This is just another ploy by the black man, trying to get sympathy for a so-called hard life.

Crime Reporter: Um. I’m not sure how to respond to that.

Ex-Cop: It’s the truth, so I imagine all you have to do is open your eyes and ears.

Crime Reporter: This isn’t an identity studies debate, so let’s get back to the interview.

Ex-Cop: Fine by me.

Crime Reporter: Your report on the incident claims that you felt threatened by the victim, and that you had no choice but to beat him to death.

Ex-Cop: I did not say I beat him to death.

Crime Reporter: No, sorry, I was mixing it up with this social media post you released later that day. I quote, “what the black man will newer [sic] understand is that cops arent profiling the color of his skin. We’re looking at a history of crime perpetrated by those with similar skin color. There is a huge difference there. I beat him because i had to. He died because he broke the law.”

Ex-Cop: I deleted that post. How did you get your hands on it?

Crime Reporter: Magic.

Ex-Cop: Earlier, I said I stand by my actions. I also stand by my words. It’s not racial profiling. Black people are incarcerated at a much higher rate than white people. They commit more crimes, so I was just doing my job.

Crime Reporter: First of all, you literally defined racial profiling in the same paragraph where you refute that that’s what it was. Secondly, incarceration rates are based on the actions of law enforcement, and not criminals. Those rates include those who are later found innocent, and technically those who are never found innocent, but are anyway.

Ex-Cop: Well, I don’t believe any of that.

Crime Reporter: You don’t believe innocent people go to jail?

Ex-Cop: They might go to jail, but they don’t go to prison. The system is flawless.

Crime Reporter: I can’t imagine that’s your real position.

Ex-Cop: It is. Look, everyone wants me to apologize for what I did, but I don’t apologize. I would, if I ever did anything wrong, but that ain’t me. I didn’t make a mistake, or take it too far, or abuse my power. I did everything by the book, and I’m proud of the work I did with the Hillside Police. I’m going to be fighting these charges, and I’m going to get my job back. Or I’ll get a better one somewhere else.

Crime Reporter: Okay. Well, let’s talk about the evening in question. 

Ex-Cop: Ask away, sweet thing.

Crime Reporter: Don’t call me that.