The room was spinning. No, it wasn't just the room—it was everything. The sky, the ground, the distant murmur of students in the halls. Lumumba's vision blurred as he stood outside the principal's office, the pain in his side from the earlier fight only amplifying the disorientation. His chest felt tight, his thoughts swimming in a thick fog of exhaustion and anger.
If I could just get away. If I could disappear from this world…
He didn't even bother knocking. The principal wouldn't care. It was the same routine every time—a lecture about self-control, a reminder that "violence doesn't solve anything," followed by a suspension and a warning to "fit in better."
As Lumumba entered the office, his head felt heavier. The walls seemed to close in, suffocating him. He blinked, but something was wrong—his legs were trembling, the cold creeping in from his fingertips to his bones. Was he...sick? No. It was something else, something deeper.
The principal didn't even look up from her desk. Mrs. Carver sat there, typing away, her eyes glued to her computer screen, as if she had more important things to focus on than a student bleeding from his knuckles.
"You again," she said flatly, still not looking at him. Her voice was as cold and dismissive as ever. "Take a seat. I'll deal with you when I'm finished."
Lumumba didn't sit. He just stood there, staring at the back of her head, feeling the weight of everything crash down on him all at once. Michael's sneering face, the laughter of his classmates, the cold eyes of the teachers who couldn't care less, the apathy of a world that seemed designed to beat him down. It all circled in his head, pounding louder and louder, like an endless storm that wouldn't let up.
"I don't want to be here," he muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear.
Mrs. Carver paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Finally, she glanced up, eyes narrowed in that way teachers have when they know they're about to give you a lecture.
"You don't have a choice, Lumumba," she replied, her voice hardening. "None of us do."
The words hit him like a slap. No choice. Of course, that's how it always was. In this world, people like him never had a choice. They were stuck playing a role someone else had written for them, forced to follow rules made by those in power. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside, the same anger that had been building for so long.
He clenched his fists, trying to control his breathing, trying to keep from exploding. But the pressure was too much.
"I'm sick of it," he said, louder this time, his voice shaking with something raw. "I'm sick of all of this."
Mrs. Carver sighed, rubbing her temples as if this was just another inconvenience in her day. "That's life, Lumumba. You're not special. Now sit down and wait."
But he didn't move. The world was spinning faster now, the edges of his vision darkening. His heart pounded in his chest, a loud, rhythmic drumbeat that drowned out everything else. Was this a panic attack? He didn't know. He'd never felt anything like it.
"I'm tired of being stuck here. I'm tired of being nothing. Of being this," Lumumba spat out, his voice cracking. "You people don't care. You never cared. You just want me to fit into whatever mold makes it easier for you to ignore me."
Mrs. Carver's expression shifted—mild confusion, maybe even a hint of concern, but mostly annoyance. "Lumumba, that's enough. You're only making things harder for yourself."
But the words barely reached him. His body was heavy, his legs weak. The cold in his fingers had spread now, crawling up his arms and wrapping around his chest like an icy vice. His head throbbed, the pounding unbearable.
And then, in an instant, the world tilted.
Lumumba's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. His head hit the cold tile floor with a dull thud. Mrs. Carver jumped up from her desk, her chair screeching as it scraped against the floor.
"Lumumba!" Her voice was muffled, like she was speaking through water. Everything was distant now. Fading.
His vision went black.
Darkness.
For a while, there was only that. A cold, endless void, stretching out in every direction. He couldn't see, couldn't feel. It was like being submerged deep underwater, except there was no sense of drowning. Just...nothingness.
Is this it? Am I dead?
It didn't feel like dying. At least, not how he'd imagined it. No dramatic flash of his life before his eyes, no out-of-body experience, no glowing light calling him to some otherworldly paradise.
Just silence.
Then, slowly, there was something else. A voice.
"Do you want power?"
The question came from everywhere and nowhere at once. It echoed in the void, distant but clear, piercing through the nothingness like a sharp blade.
"Do you want revenge?"
Revenge? The word struck a chord deep within him. Something stirred in the blackness, a flicker of the anger that had burned inside him for so long.
"Yes," he whispered, though he wasn't sure how. His voice didn't make a sound in this empty space, but the word resonated, vibrating through him.
The voice spoke again, closer this time. "You've been powerless all your life. Powerless in the face of hatred. Powerless against cruelty. But you can change that."
The darkness shifted, swirling around him, coalescing into something more tangible. Lumumba couldn't see it, but he could feel it—the weight of something ancient, something vast, pressing down on him.
"I can give you what you want," the voice whispered. "Power beyond your wildest dreams. Strength. Invincibility. And the freedom to make them all pay."
Lumumba's mind was spinning, thoughts whirling in a chaotic storm. Power? Freedom? He could feel it—his blood pulsing with rage, his fists aching to strike out at the world that had caged him for so long. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything.
But then, there was a flicker of doubt. A small voice in the back of his mind, quieter than the booming echo of the void, asking a simple question: At what cost?
"I don't care," Lumumba thought, his jaw clenching. He was past caring. There was no room left for doubt. No space for hesitation.
The voice chuckled—a low, deep sound that vibrated through him like a drumbeat. "Then take it. Take the power you desire. And with it, reshape your destiny."
And just like that, the darkness shattered.
Lumumba gasped, air rushing into his lungs as though he'd been drowning. His body jerked upright, eyes wide and wild, but the world around him wasn't the one he'd left behind.
He wasn't in the principal's office anymore. He wasn't even in the school.
He was...somewhere else.
The sky above him was a deep, stormy purple, clouds swirling in ominous patterns that crackled with electricity. The ground beneath him was rough, uneven stone, dark and jagged. All around him were towering structures—monolithic spires, twisted and warped like they had been carved out of nightmares.
And then there was the smell. The heavy, metallic scent of blood hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Lumumba pushed himself to his feet, still shaking, trying to make sense of where he was.
"What...what is this place?" he muttered, more to himself than anything else.
This is your new world, a voice echoed in his mind—the same voice from the void.
Lumumba turned sharply, searching for the source, but there was no one there. Just the wind howling through the jagged landscape.
Welcome to your rebirth, Lumumba. Or should I call you...Ubuntu?
The name sent a shiver down his spine. Ubuntu. It felt right, like a second skin he hadn't known he needed.
He looked down at his hands—scarred, calloused. But they were different. Stronger. His entire body felt different. Lighter, faster, like a coiled spring ready to snap. And there was something else. A power humming just beneath his skin, like a fire waiting to be unleashed.
"What...what happened to me?" he thought, his mind racing.
You wanted power. Now you have it, the voice replied. You are no longer a slave to the weak, pathetic world you once lived in. You are more than that now. You are...a force.
Lumumba—or rather, Ubuntu—looked around again, taking in the strange, nightmarish landscape. There was something primal about it, something dangerous.
"And what am I supposed to do here?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
Whatever you want. After all, isn't that what freedom is?
A slow smile spread across Ubuntu's face, sharp and dangerous. For the first time in his life, he felt it—true power. And with it came the one thing he'd wanted more than anything.
Revenge.