The 12 Labors

"Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. So, I suggest we send all these repulsive beasts to space and find out!" Mr. Ellis said. The three other white men around the table burst into laughter. The men were known as the Patriarchs, the country's leaders.

Lines of white powder, credit cards, and rolled hundred-dollar bills decorated the table. The room was filled with cigar smoke, loud music, and the lewd and tarnished's scent of lust and sex thick in the air. The men clinked their glasses in celebration and drank them, feeling the burning sensation of whiskey traveling down their throats.

A woman entered the room, navigating through the sea of nakedness and smoke. Announcing to the men that it was time for their speech. The men walked through a hall. The sound of an excited crowd of thousands grew louder with every step they took.

As they exited the hall, the men were welcomed to a stage filled with cameras and reporters. It was a cloudless day. The unrelenting sun-bathed all in attendance. A massive Ferris wheel in the background provided the only shade on the grassy field. The smell of hot dogs and fried batter interwoven with sweat and body odor sailed through the air. Children holding balloons, paint on their faces, were too distracted to notice the men on the stage.

The Patriarchs stepped to the podiums.

"Mhm, hello, my fellow countrymen," Mr. Walker said, addressing the crowd. Walker was the oldest of the patriarchs, evident by his hunched posture and legions of white hair escaping from his ears and nose.

"We gather today to, mhm, celebrate the most important day in the history of this nation, July 4th, 2050. Mhm, the day the Lord almighty returned this nation to glory. The day this nation was finally returned, mhm, to Christian values. The day we, the purebloods, mhm, were chosen by God as his true heirs. His people!"

Cheers and "alleluias" came from the crowd in agreement.

One of the other Patriarchs continued.

Mr. Ellis.

"And yet, as we meet here today, a growing threat endangers every blessing the Lord has given us,” Ellis said, his pupils dilated, sweat pouring from his head. “Every blessing our forefathers fought relentlessly for. The gifts they died for. To return this country towards God," he continued, his words like a cheetah chasing its prey, his muscles tense.

"On that day, our ancestors entered an agreement with those of tarnished blood. Amending the constitution and giving them a chance to become our equals,” he continued as the crowd booed.

"Fear not, my sheep, as, for more than 200 years, the tainted haven't made any progress in their quest to ruin this country. That's because the Lord has never led us astray. And he never will because we are his children!" Ellis said, his voice rising. “He would never let these disgusting animals replace us because we are the chosen ones!" he proclaimed as he pounded the podium, his face red and veins bulging from his temple.

Everyone in attendance cheered, then chanted, "The tarnished will not replace us."

"Mhm, reverend Huxley, can you lead us in prayer?" Mr. Walker asked.

Huxley was the third member of the Patriarchs. A fifty-something white man who had made a fortune preying on the weak and the desperate by asking for money in exchange for prayers and miracles from God. He wore a custom-made black suit, a golden cross on the lapel that matched his shining watch. His hair was jet black, a desperate attempt at seeming younger, and sleek with too much product. He adjusted his microphone as he instructed the crowd to bow their heads in prayer.

"Lord, thank you because you have chosen us. We know we are God's favored people. Thank you for returning the United States to glory. We will do our best to do everything you ask of us. We will uphold your laws and continue to walk down the path you have laid for us. We pray in Jesus's name. Amen."

"Beautiful, reverend," the fourth man said, short of breath.

Mr. Taft.

Taft stubbornly wore a one-size-too-small navy suit and a once white shirt, now damped with so much sweat it had become see-through. A white cowboy hat and sunglasses decorated him. He presented himself as a rugged, self-made man while hiding his past as a spoiled, silver-spooned child.

"Some of the media will have you believe…" He paused for breath. "...that the way we treat the tainted blood is inhumane," Taft said, short-winded. "But this couldn't be further from the truth. You cannot treat that beneath you as an equal," Taft said, gulping for air. "But we have spoken for too long. Without further ado, the moment you have been waiting for, guards!"

A dozen guards armed with stun batons walked onto the stage. They pushed and pulled four cloaked figures, guiding them to the middle of the stage. The covered silhouettes stood shoulder to shoulder, their wrists and ankles bound, the crowd booing at their mere existence.

"These wretched creatures will risk their worthless lives to complete the 12 labors. In three weeks, we will transport them to Demonien Vankila, where God made Lucifer and its legion prisoners," Ellis said, his words still fast.

One at a time, the guards removed the hoods from the figures on stage. First was a young man with golden skin. Short hair replaced what were once long braids in an attempt to strip him from his pride. Then, another young man with dark brown skin. Tall and wide as an oak tree. Followed by a tall young woman with light almond skin, long black hair, and deep amber eyes.

Every time a sinner was revealed, the public erupted with vile hatred. But their world changed as the guards uncovered the last prisoner, causing silence to replace the viciousness coming from their mouths.

Those in attendance witnessed what they thought was impossible become a reality, the sight of a young, fair-skinned woman.