The twenty-second of May began like every other day. Every other ordinary day. The sky was blue, and the air was brisk. The grass was trying to peek through the dusting of snow that remained. Denying any thought of an early summer, many stayed ignorant while hearing rumors of an uprising; a revolution. Some were confused as to what needed to be revolted against. And few agreed that whatever it was, they would join.

The masses gathered in the streets later that night. One side mixed, the other explicitly white, separated by feelings of malice and vengeance. Words of distaste spewed from the first tongue moments later, originating somewhere in a sea of charged melanin. Anguished voices spoke of oppression and what was owed in repentance for America's woeful past. While many colorless were still confused, one man stepped into the spotlight. Jackson Jones was known better to the pigmented community, who had referred to themselves as the Reclaimers, as The Savior. He told story after story about the hardships endured by the non-white, some recent, some the sorrows of their ancestors. The segregation. The racism. The torment. The Savior said this was their time for retribution.

"Tonight, we turn the tables on White America. Tonight, we take the reins."

The first drop of blood did not spill, however, until the next morning. May 23, 2019 to be exact.