•Mercy's point of view•

"Good morning, brother dear." I greeted my younger brother as he stumbled down the stairs with his glasses perched on his face for once. The August sunlight filtered through the windows, hitting his hair in a way that made the red in his bangs stand out.

"What do you want." He grumbled, heading to the table.

"Absolutely nothing. It's your birthday though, so happy sweet sixteen, you little shit." I grinned at him.

"Really? Hmmmm. Okay." He shrugged it off and sat down. Prince bustled about with Dad, baking the cake for later so they could decorate it and making various breakfast foods from the shop Prince worked at.

"And what can I get you to eat today, your majesty?" Prince asked.

"Can I pick off the menu of your shop?" Stitches asked.

"Yes."

"Uh...a honey knot roll will do." Stitches mumbled as Prince poured him some coffee.

"Here you go. Happy birthday, kiddo." Dad hummed, kissing Stitches on the forehead as he deposited a knot roll in front of Stitches.

"Thanks, Dad." Stitches replied, biting into the bread.

"So...wanna try time-travel today? I know you wanted to snipe Trump, but you were small when those riots for BLM and the 2020 shit happened." Jeff asked.

"Oh fuck yes! Let's do it." Stitches screeched, standing up and running to get dressed.

"Are we gonna regret this?" Alastor asked.

"No, I'm going to protect him and we're taking Vags, Fae, Cal, Mercy, and Dad. If Prince wants to come, I'm perfectly happy to take him." Jeff explained.

"I'll come." Prince said, drying his hands as Stitches came down the stairs, fully dressed in his emo clothes and holding a fabric mask in his hand. Dad got out the box of spare fabric masks that we keep just in case and handed it to Jeff.

"All right, Prince, Stitches, Mercy, and Cal. Get in the truck, we're gonna pick up some other bitches and go the the past so we can assassinate that carrot-lookin' motherfucker." Jeff said.

"I really fucking hated learning about 2020 in history class, so this is fine by me." Stitches growled as Rat, Fae, and Nathaniel got in the car and Jeff started up the thing that Baxter made(and tested) for time travel. Instantly, we were parked a few miles away from a protest.

Fae put protection spells on us and Jeff passed out weapons that we were to keep hidden until absolutely necessary. We all put on masks and put on bags filled with first aid supplies, water, and rocks to pitch at the police cars. We held signs. We were still in our fully demonic forms, knowing that this year would be one of the years where the cosplays got so realistic. We could pass as angry cosplayers who considered our cosplays to be our ass-kicking outfits.

Stitches held a bow in his long fingers, a quiver on his back. He was absolutely ready to break shit.

We walked to the protest, Stitches making a battle plan as Jeff figured out where we were. We were in Washington DC and apparently, Trump was hiding in his office behind hundreds of police as the Gen Z kids raged against the police outside. A few teens at the edge of the crowds greeted us as "fellow cosplayers" and introduced themselves, wondering if Fae's legs were real or not(because he half goat).

"I'm Sparrow(she/her) and this is my partner, Grim(they/them)." Said a cosplayer who was wearing fairy mushroom freckles (white freckles on red eye shadow/body paint) and a mushroom cap on her head. Grim was a plague doctor who greeted us with a hello in ASL.

"I'm Mercy(she/her), nice to meet you." I replied. We all politely greeted the odd pair of cosplayers before pushing through the crowd with the two right behind us. Grim loaded a rifle and stared at Sparrow until she kissed them lightly on their cheek.

Stitches had already set himself upon the police, standing on top of a police car and speaking loudly to the crowd. He didn't even need a megaphone, he just...spoke and the crowd could hear. He started a battlefield chant of all the names of black people who died and didn't have their stories told like the white people on tv up and soon the streets echoed with angry chanting to the Heavens, to the police, to the carrot man, to the people who were too cowardly to come down and stand up for what was right.

"DON'T FUCK WITH THE GENERATION WHO WILL CHANGE THE WORLD, YOU MUSTY CHEETO-DUSTY-LOOKIN' BITCH." Stitches bellowed at the White House, to Trump who was peeking through the curtains with feigned anger in his fearful eyes. "YOU MCFUCKEDUP WHEN YOU TOLD US THAT THE TRUMP DISEASE...or as you call it, the "ChInEsE DiSeAsE"...WOULDN'T BE A PROBLEM. SIR, I SEEN IT. I SEEN WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DON'T STAY AT HOME AND STOP BEING A PLAGUE RAT, YOU ABSOLUTE STEVE CARLSBERG. HELL IS FULL OF SINNERS WHO WERE BEING PLAGUE RATS RIGHT NOW. THEY LEARNED THEIR LESSON AND AT WHAT COST?! THEY ALREADY DEAD, BITCH. NOT ONLY THAT BUT THOUSANDS OF MEXICAN CHILDREN ARE BEING TAKEN AWAY BY I.C.E., LOCKED IN CAGES, BARELY FED, AND THEN EITHER DEPORTED, KILLED, OR SENT TO SEX TRAFFICKING. Y'ALL BOOMERS WHO ARE SO BLIND TO CURRENT EVENTS ARE FED THE NEWS THROUGH A STRAW WITH NO FACT-CHECKING AND YOU ALL LET IT HAPPEN, WHY? BECAUSE IT'S WHAT NEWS IS SHOWN NATIONALLY BY YOUR FAVORITE BRIGHT ORANGE WANNABE DICTATOR. IN AMERICA YOU CAN BE SHOT BASED ON THE COLOR OF YOUR SKIN FOR SIMPLY EXISTING. THIS IS NOT OKAY. ABOLISH I.C.E. MAKE IT ILLEGAL TO SHOOT OUR BLACK SIBLINGS UNLESS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY." Stitches shouted over the crowd, which was still chanting. "YOU GUYS SAY THAT OUR FASHION IS WACK BECAUSE WE HAVE HOLES IN OUR JEANS THAT WE PUT THERE AND SOMETIMES MEN WEAR WOMENS' CLOTHES. I HAVE A QUESTION FOR YOU. NICE HOLES IN THE OZONE LAYER, DID YOU PUT THEM THERE YOURSELF? DON'T YOU SEE THAT YOU'RE FUCKING UP THE EARTH AS WE KNOW IT?"

Fae had been recording the whole thing with a clear smile on his face behind his mask. He was proud that Stitches was stating the facts that the government blatantly ignored while healthcare workers were struggling not to get sick themselves.

"YOU TELL 'EM, BRO." I shouted as a masked figure brushed past me. I focused on the mask and the figure. It was Anonymous. Oh my god. They stood next to the car which Stitches stood on, aiming a gun at anyone who tried to get Stitches off in any way, shape, or form.

The police turned to trying to hurt all the teenagers who really wanted to die, launching tear gas canisters into the crowd. Grim grabbed a canister, throwing it so hard that it broke a window of the White House. We high-fived them all around before seeing that Calypso hijacked a police horse and was now passing out water bottles to the teens who got pepper-sprayed so they could wash their eyes out.

"Oh fuck yeah." Jeff growled, taking flight with another canister and he dropped it directly on an officer's head. Stitches had taken to dancing like a stripper without taking anything off and a few other teens had joined in with dances from TikTok. It was exhilarating.

Stitches jumped off the car after breaking a window and dropping a lit match into the drivers seat. He and Prince pushed the car over as it went up in flames.

Sparrow apparently had a speaker in her mushroom cap and started blasting music that basically called people to action and hyped us up. We continued to chant the names of our dark-skinned brothers and sisters and Prince added his mother and father to the mix with tears in his eyes. I added Grandma's name in before standing up on a pedestal where the statue of a racist had been torn off, calling attention to myself with a black and white microphone that appeared in my hand.

"Caught in the crossfire, huh? No. I don't think so. My black grandmother, Zoey Glass, was straight-up murdered in 1925 by a black man while my father watched. Her case remains closed. Mr and Mrs Austin were killed a few months ago by a white police officer. Their case remains closed, but they were goddamn HOMELESS with a child. That child is on the brink of starvation right now, living in a small house in New York that people avoid because of how haunted it is. Madeline F Mia was killed by police in cold blood in the fifties. Her case remains closed. She was so sweet to everyone and I can't imagine why anyone would do something like that to her. Valerie Trelai, a black transwomen who was not out to the public, was sexually assaulted several times a year since she was ten and murdered at thirty when she had finally stabilized her life in the late sixties. She was adopted into my family and I referred to her as my aunt. You think this is a joke? My son could be killed if I let him outside in any place like this. I didn't bring him because he doesn't deserve that much trauma at such a young age when I want him to grow up happy. Am I fucking wrong to not want him to grow up happy?" I asked. "Should Barron Trump deserve to live with his father because of how racist and sexist and homophobic and transphobic the carrot is? Trump is a goddamn white supremacist. Am I wrong?"

I received a resounding no from the mob.

"My girlfriend is black. I'm a quarter black. My son is almost purely black because of my ex boyfriend. We all have some chances of being killed based on appearance and the color of our skin. I'm still rather dark for being half-Italian and a quarter Irish. Do you all see the problem? Trumpy, black is beautiful. Whites had been described as absolutely disgusting by the Native Americans when y'all whites came over from England. We shouldn't even exist as white. White skin happened because of gene mutation since our ancestors moved from the equator. Now, come here like a good boy and accept your public vibe check." I crooned "...and one more thing: I CAN'T BREATHE." The crowd echoed my final statement, raising their fists in unison.

Trump disappeared from the window and he walked out of the White House alone, his hands up. His guards and the police tried to stop him, but he shook them off.

He had accepted his fate. Grim led him up to the pedestal, forcing him to climb it.

"Does anyone feel any regret for what we're about to do?" I asked. The crowd of Gen Z teenagers screamed no. Anonymous approached with Stitches. Stitches drew back the string on the bow, nocking an arrow before letting it fly into Trump's forehead.

Trump was still alive.

Prince took the bow and shot an arrow into Trump's abdomen.

Trump crumpled to the concrete and we set the angry teens upon him with a shrug.

Five seconds later, an angry black chubby gay transman held Trump's head on the end of a stick.

"That was fun. Wanna head home now that it's late afternoon somehow?" I asked my younger brother who was grinning like a child on Christmas. He nodded. We said goodbye to Grim and Sparrow before we went back to our time and home.