The sun beat down on his back. He looks over, craning his neck to watch over his two teenage sons, strong and bold. Their physiques were athletic, and bronzed by the sun. His wife smacks her lips, grabbing his attention once again to his laborious task. The oranges were ripe for picking, and the lily white blossoms scented his glistening skin. "The last basket is full. I think we're done for today" She spoke, in a Latino twang, spicy and vibrant. As they descended down the ladders propped against the tall sturdy tree, they saw her coming down the grove alley, lightning spritzing from her eyes. The family lined up, knowing like breathing what to do. The electric lady landed ten feet in front of them, raising her hand in the air, illuminating sparks fired off, and whales and screams immediately heard. The lady stood firmly and smiled, but only for a second. The masses gathered in front of her, as she paced in front, back and forth, back and forth like she was worried. "We have just received a massive order, so you will continue working, until the rest of the grove is bare. That is all." She turned away from the variety of faces; some stunned, some livid, others just bleak and bare. The man did not budge his neck, but his eyes went to slits watching the older of his sons, attempt to lunge at the woman. She did not turn, but clenched her fist sending a shock to the adolescents neck collar, instantly stopping his heart. No one reacted. No one cried. Instead, they allowed the electric lady to go about her business. And as the families went on to work, the boys own, stayed praying over his body, lifting him, and carrying his body to a set of prepared graves. This was the world today. As metahumans ruled over humanity. Slavery has been reinstated and there was only one rule. No mercy, for humans, or for betrayers.
The White House 2015
Atticus Blaire watched out of his window as snow began to fall. He counted the flakes one by one, before they were too many for his eyes to watch. He hoped that it would stick. The natural order of things had remained so in a one hundred mile radius, while the rest of the country was controlled by meta populace in order to maximize production of the localized export. This country had seen a skyrocket in exports, and an almost non existent importing stream, all thanks to the human-slave labor force within the nation.
The window begin to frost, and he looks down at his mahogany skin, smiling, and knowing that once upon a time it was he that would have been under the foot of oppression. But for too long it was the minority that had suffered for being different, and he had welcomed the change of servitude, or he guessed it was a regression. Whatever it was, Atticus was content with how things were. Metahumans lived practically cost free, while humans did all menial and tedious labor. They were bought and sold as if the lives they lead were only that of livestock. The leniency of it all was that he even allowed for them to stay together as a family, whenever bought or sold, they would go together. Cruelty wasn't strong in his bones.
Was it a dream? This reality was nightmarish, and yet he watched himself be as disgusting and as monstrous as any demonic entity could be. Once in a while the Book of Loyalty would show him worlds and alternate timelines in order to guide him, but this was different. There was a deliberate message, and the old adage suited: "Absolute power corrupts absolutely". He was surrounded in a cocoon of darkness, not by his own creation, but by the books, no telepathic intrusion, no cosmic folly would tamper with this session. Atticus was being shown a side of him that he never thought he had, knowing all too well that what he saw was in fact himself only years in the future.
Snap. The darkness faded, and he sat in a lonely chair in his home in Alexandria. Alone as usual, remnants of the vision echoed, change, change, change. It was meant for him to stop himself, altering the course of his life would in turn save the lives of millions. But now would he, he knew of one person that could.