The year is 2054 and what was known as Nazi Germany in the past has now became the present day America. America’s new world leader believes in a pure, white, aryan blood society. He gains popularity through his rhetorics and propaganda of how the Black Americans are the sole threat to this country. How Black fatigue in America will turn into a new project, Black Extermination. Jews, Arabs, Indians, and pretty much anyone not of full white descent are also targeted. Far right wing ideologies take steps pass nationalism with America propaganda being filled with more Extremist, Fascist, and Accelerationist, with blacks as the prime targets. In this world leaders cabinet will be a courthouse filled with just as much hate and evil, led by his VP who will go down as the most evil woman in America to have ever lived.

Chapter 1: A Smile Before the Storm

The Oval Office cast a long, ominous shadow over the bustling city outside, its stark white walls and sterile atmosphere a stark contrast to the chaos that reigned beyond its fortified doors. The room hummed with the constant flicker of propaganda screens lining the wall behind the President's desk, displaying a never-ending loop of an idealized America: white picket fences, smiling Caucasian families, and the stars and stripes waving proudly in a clear blue sky.

Interspersed with these idyllic images were stark warnings, bolded and underlined, proclaiming "Black Threats" and "Non-Whites: The Enemy Within."

Tonight's speech was going to be a masterpiece, the final nail in the coffin of America's "black problem." He practiced his delivery, his voice echoing in the cavernous room.

"Ah, Victoria," Thorne greeted, his voice a low purr. "Right on time."

Victoria, his chief strategist and lover, smirked. "Always, Thaddeus. Always." She walked over to the bar in the corner, pouring herself a glass of whiskey. "You're looking particularly...

excited today," she said, taking a sip of her drink. "Preparing for the big speech?"

Victoria asked, her voice laced with a hint of sarcasm as she raised her glass towards him. Thorne chuckled, his eyes never leaving the mirror-like screen.

"You know me, Victoria. I always aim to please."

She took another sip, her eyes scanning the room. "Just remember, Thaddeus, the world is watching. We can't afford to seem... too eager."

Thorne turned to face her, his smile fading slightly. "Eager? Victoria, this is our magnum opus. The culmination of all our hard work.

The final solution to the black problem. The rebirth of a pure, white America."

Victoria nodded, but her expression remained sober. "And what of the dissenters? The ones who refuse to see the 'light'?" The “traitors?” and liberals

Thorne waved a dismissive hand. "They'll be dealt with. We have the military, the police, and the public on our side. Fear is a powerful motivator, and we've been very successful in cultivating it."

He walked over to the bar, pouring himself a glass of water from a crystal decanter. The liquid rippled with his steady, confident movements.

He took a sip, his reflection in the glass showing a man in control. But Victoria's gaze didn't waver.

"What about Ike Johnson?" she asked, her voice low, almost a whisper. "He's becoming a thorn in our side. A symbol for the resistance."

Thorne's smile vanished. He turned to face her, his eyes cold. "Ike Johnson is a problem we will address. But not yet. That nigger serves a purpose, for now."

Victoria nodded, setting her glass down on the bar. "And what of our...

other projects?" Victoria asked, her voice dropping to a low murmur, her eyes flicking to the closed door as if checking for eavesdroppers.

Thorne's gaze followed hers, a flicker of paranoia passing over his face before he regained his composure. He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "The House of Genesis is on schedule. Anya is... enthusiastic in her work. She understands the importance of our mission."

Victoria's lips curled into a cold smile. "And the subjects? Are they... cooperating?"

Thorne's eyes gleamed with malice. "Cooperation is not a requirement.

Some niggers chimped out, as usual, and had to be put down," Thorne explained, his voice as cold as the marble beneath their feet. "But the rest understand the stakes. They're cooperating, aren't they, Victoria? Their screams are music to our ears."

Victoria nodded, her expression unreadable. "Indeed, they are." She paused, her gaze returning to the screens. "Speaking of which, I've been reviewing the latest reports from the House of Genesis. Some of the subjects are showing signs of... resistance."

Thorne's eyebrows furrowed, his hands tightening into fists. "Resistance? I thought we had them under control."

"We do," Victoria reassured him, her voice steady. "But some of them... they're different. Stronger, both physically and mentally.

They've been subjected to extreme conditions, and yet, a select few are still defiant. It's... intriguing."

Thorne relaxed, his hands unclenching. "Intriguing? You mean, they haven't broken yet. That's all."

Victoria sighed, her expression almost bored. "Yes, Thaddeus. That's all. But we need to keep an eye on them. Make sure they don't inspire the others."

Thorne nodded, his mind already moving on to the next topic. "Speaking of inspiration, I've been thinking about our next propaganda campaign.

We need something that will truly unite the whites and drive a wedge between any remaining sympathizers," Victoria said, her voice laced with determination.

Thorne's eyes lit up, intrigued. "Oh, I like the sound of that. What did you have in mind?"

Victoria walked over to the desk, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She leaned against it, her eyes locked onto Thorne's. "A hero. A symbol of white strength and superiority. Someone the masses can rally behind."

Thorne raised an eyebrow. "And who might this hero be?"

Victoria smirked. "I was thinking...

you, Thaddeus. The nation needs a hero, and who better than their fearless leader? A man of action, a man of vision. A savior."

Thorne chuckled, a self-deprecating sound that seemed out of place in the sterile room. "Me? A hero? Victoria, my dear, you flatter me. But I'm not sure the public is ready for that level of... exposure."

Victoria pushed off the desk, walking towards Thorne. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch light yet possessive. "Thaddeus, you underestimate yourself. You are the face of this movement.

You are the one who has brought us to this precipice. The people love you, Thaddeus. They crave a hero to follow, and you are it."

Thorne's cheeks flushed slightly at her words, but his expression remained stoic. He placed his glass down on the desk, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm on the cool surface. "Very well, Victoria. Let's make me a hero."

Victoria's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. " Excellent. I'll start drafting a plan immediately. We'll need to stage some... incidents, create some... challenges for you to overcome.

Situations where your leadership and decisive action will be crucial."

Thorne nodded, a gleam in his eyes. He was already visualizing the headlines, the adulating crowds, the power that would come with being a hero. "And what about the resistance? They'll see through this, won't they? They'll know it's all a farce."

Victoria waved a hand dismissively. "Let them see through it. Let them know that even their efforts are futile. It will only serve to demoralize them further. Fear is a powerful tool, Thaddeus.

And if we can turn you into a symbol of white strength and resilience, the resistance will crumble. They'll see that even their most heroic efforts are no match for the force of your will."

Thorne grinned, his eyes sparkling with ambition and a touch of madness. "I like the way you think, Victoria. Make it happen."

Victoria nodded, turning to leave. As she reached the door, Thorne called out, "Oh, and Victoria?"

She paused, looking back at him. "Yes, Thaddeus?"

"Make sure it's memorable.

Something that will make history," Thorne said, his voice echoing in the cavernous room as he turned back to the screens.

Victoria nodded, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she exited the Oval Office, leaving Thorne alone with his reflection and the flickering images of his utopian America.

The door clicked shut behind her, but not before Thorne caught a glimpse of a figure darting into the shadows of the hallway outside. He blinked, squinting at the screen, but the figure was gone, swallowed by the stark white walls and harsh fluorescent lights.

Thorne's brow furrowed, a sudden prickle of unease crawling up his spine. He wasn't one to be spooked easily, but the brief glimpse of the figure set his nerves on edge. He dismissed it with a shake of his head, attributing it to the late hour and the weight of his responsibilities.

He turned back to the screens, his eyes flicking over the stream of propaganda and live feeds from across the country. The streets were filled with protestors, both for and against his regime, their faces a blur of anger and fear. He could feel the tension simmering, a pot ready to boil over.

But he was in control. He had to be.

Suddenly, the intercom on his desk crackled to life, startling him. It was Victoria's voice, sharp and urgent. "Thaddeus, we have a situation. In the streets. You need to see this."

Thorne's heart pounded as he strode over to the desk, pressing a button to open the line. "What is it, Victoria?"

"There's... unrest," she said, her voice barely concealing her alarm. "Protestors are clashing with the police.

It's... bad, Thaddeus." Victoria's voice was tinged with a rare note of panic.

Thorne's fingers tightened around the intercom, his knuckles turning white. "Send it to my screen."

The screens behind his desk flicked, one of them now showing live footage of the streets outside. The scene was chaotic, a sea of bodies clashing in a cacophony of screams and sirens. He watched as a group of black protestors, their faces painted with defiance, were tackled by a line of riot police.

Their signs, which read "Black Lives Matter" and "No More Silence," were torn away and trampled beneath the boots of armed officers. The camera panned over the carnage, showing more protestors being beaten, arrested, and dragged away.

Thorne's lips curled into a sneer, his hands clenching into fists. "This is what happens when you let them have an inch," he muttered to himself. "They take a mile."

Victoria's voice crackled over the intercom again. "Thaddeus, we need to respond. The world is watching."

Thorne's eyes narrowed, his mind racing.

"Victoria, inform Sergeant Harper that I want the National Guard deployed immediately.

I want those streets cleared, and I want every single one of those damn niggers arrested or killed. Kill the leaders, make an example of them. Let this be a lesson to those who dare to fight back."

Victoria's voice was barely audible over the intercom, a hint of unease creeping into her usual stoic demeanor. "Thaddeus... are you sure? Deploying the National Guard will escalate the situation. The world--"

"I don't care what the world thinks, Victoria!" Thorne roared, slamming his fist on the desk. "This is our country, our people, our rules. We can't let them think they can challenge us.

We need to send a message," Thorne spat, his fist still clenched on the desk, knuckles white with rage. "Victoria, I want a drone strike on the protest hotspot. Take out the leaders, make an example of them. Let the world see what happens when you defy us."

Victoria's pause was barely perceptible, but it was enough to make Thorne's eyes narrow. "Thaddeus, with all due respect, a drone strike? That's... extreme. It could cause civilian casualties, draw international condemnation--"

Thorne cut her off with a wave of his hand, his voice cold and calculated. "We'll spin it, Victoria. Self-defense against armed insurrectionists. The world will believe what we tell them to believe."

Victoria took a deep breath, the slightest hint of doubt in her voice.

"Thaddeus, I... I understand your desire to make a statement, but are you sure this is the right course of action?" She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the chaos unfolding on the screens. "Civilian casualties could--"

Thorne's gaze bore into her, his voice like ice. "Victoria, we are at war. And in war, sacrifices must be made. We cannot let sentimentality cloud our judgement."

Victoria's expression hardened, her resolve strengthening as she met his gaze. "You're right, Thaddeus. The ends justify the means. I'll make the arrangements."

Thorne nodded, a cold smile playing on his lips as he turned back to the screens. "Good. And Victoria?" she replied, her voice now steady and determined.

"Make sure the world sees it.

Stream it live, Victoria. Let them watch as we bring this so-called resistance to its knees."

Victoria nodded, her expression now as cold and determined as Thorne's. "Consider it done, Thaddeus. The drone strike will be executed immediately."

She turned to leave, but Thorne called out after her. "And Victoria?"

"Make sure it's memorable," he said, his eyes flicking to the screens, where chaos was still unfolding in the streets. "Let this be a day that will be remembered in history I want these niggers grandchildren’s children to know of it." "It will be, Thaddeus. I promise."

With that, she left the Oval Office, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Thorne turned back to the screens, his mind already racing with the implications of his decision. But as he watched the chaos unfold, he felt a pang of unease. This was going to be a bloody night, and he needed someone by his side who understood the stakes.

He pressed the intercom button on his desk. "Seraphina, I need you here. Now."

The reply was immediate, her voice smooth and calm, despite the urgency. "On my way, Mr. President."

Thorne released the button, his gaze flicking back to the screens. The protest was escalating, the sounds of sirens and screams filling the air. He knew the decision he had made was harsh, but he believed it was necessary. The resistance had to be crushed, and an example had to be made.

The live stream began, broadcasting to every screen, every device, and every platform across the nation. News anchors seized the opportunity, their faces contorted with a mix of excitement and horror as they reported on the drone strike in real-time. The footage was raw, unfiltered, and visceral. It was a warzone, and the world was watching.

Seraphina entered the Oval Office, her heels clicking against the polished marble floor. She moved with an air of quiet urgency, her eyes never leaving Thorne's as she took her seat across from him. "It's begun, Mr. President," she said, her voice calm and collected despite the chaos unfolding on the screens behind him. "The live stream is up, and the world is watching."

Thorne nodded, his eyes glued to the footage.

He watched, his expression impassive, as the drone approached the crowd. The world outside the Oval Office was a silent witness to the carnage playing out on the screens.

The first explosion rocked the streets, sending bodies flying through the air like rag dolls. Screams echoed through the speakers, a cacophony of terror and agony that seemed to tear at the very fabric of reality. Thorne didn't flinch, his eyes scanning the chaos, searching for the leaders.

Seraphina watched him, her expression unreadable. She knew Thorne well enough to see the calculations playing out behind his cold, blue eyes. She tried to keep her voice steady, but there was a hint of uncertainty in it. "Mr. President, are you sure this was the right course of action? The international backlash--"

Thorne cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"The world will come around, Seraphina. They'll see my vision after this. That's at least 8,000 dead niggers and 10,000 white liberal traitors. Soon, once the camps are up and running, we'll have 8 million blacks gone. This is just the beginning."

Seraphina's eyes widened slightly, but her expression remained composed. "And the world will see this as progress, Mr. President?"

Thorne turned to her, his eyes burning with fanatical zeal. "They will see it as a necessity. As a way to preserve our great nation. They will see that I am the one who will lead us into a new era of purity and strength. They will see my vision."

He turned back to the screens, his gaze locked on the carnage unfolding before him.

The drone strike intensified, the sky above the protestors darkening with the swarm of incoming missiles. The scene on the streets erupted into pure chaos, the once organized protest now a maelstrom of terrified bodies desperate to flee the relentless onslaught.

Seraphina watched in horror as the streets filled with screams, the air thick with smoke and the acrid stench of explosives. The live stream was a symphony of terror, each explosion sending a fresh wave of panic rippling through the crowd. She turned to Thorne, her voice barely audible over the cacophony, "Mr. President, we need to stop this. This is--"

"Too much?" Thorne finished for her, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he watched the carnage unfold. "No, Seraphina. This is not enough.

We need to make a statement. Thorne’s eyes narrowed as he watched the drone unleash its payload, the screen shaking with the force of the explosions.

“Increase the strike radius, Seraphina. I want to ensure that not a single leader escapes. We need to obliterate them, and anyone who dares to defy us.”

Seraphina hesitated, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Are you sure, Mr. President? The collateral damage--”

Thorne cut her off with a sharp gesture, his voice a low growl. “I am sure, Seraphina. You of all people should understand the importance of sending a message. We cannot afford to show any weakness, any mercy.”

His eyes were fixed on the screen, watching as the drone adjusted its trajectory, the targeting reticle expanding to encompass a larger area.

The streets filled with more screams as the crowd realized the intensity of the attack was increasing. Thorne's lips curled into a satisfied smirk, his thirst for power feeding off the terror playing out before him.

Seraphina, her face pale and her eyes wide with shock, couldn't bear to look away as the second wave of missiles descended. The streets were now a living hell, an inferno of destruction and despair. The live stream was a nightmare in real-time, broadcasting the raw, unfiltered horror of Thorne's reign of terror.

Thorne's phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up with a stream of notifications. He picked it up, his gaze never leaving the carnage on the screens. The messages were from world leaders, allies, and even a few foes, their words ranging from condemnation to cautious support.

Thorne's grin widened, his mind already spinning the narrative that would absolve him of any wrongdoing. He knew then, that he could get away with blaming this air strike on the Middle Eastern nations. Another fuel to his plan to remove all non-whites from his newly envisioned society. He would blame this attack on the impending World War, using it as a pretext to drum up support for his crusade against the so-called "enemies of the state."

He turned to Seraphina, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "See, Seraphina? The world is already buying it. They're blaming the usual suspects—the Middle Eastern terrorists who have always been out to get us. Our allies are expressing their 'concern' but 'understanding' our 'necessity' to defend ourselves.

Our enemies, on the other hand, are calling for an international investigation. We'll need to be prepared for that, Mr.

Thorne glanced at his phone before tossing it onto the desk, his eyes never leaving the carnage playing out on the screens. "I'm not worried about any investigation, Seraphina. We'll spin this as a retaliation against a terrorist attack.

The room fell silent for a moment, the only sound the distant hum of the screens and the faint whirr of the drone's propellers. Thorne's eyes remained glued to the footage, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and tension. He knew that the world would be watching, and that his actions would be scrutinized. But he also knew that he had the power to shape the narrative, to spin the truth in a way that would serve his purposes.

"Increase the strike radius," Thorne ordered, his voice echoing in the silent room. "I want to ensure that not a single leader escapes. We need to obliterate them, and anyone who dares to defy us."

Seraphina's fingers hovered over the keyboard, her expression a mix of horror and disbelief. "Mr. President, are you sure? The collateral damage--"

Thorne cut her off with a sharp gesture, his voice a low growl. "I'm sure, Seraphina. We cannot afford to show any weakness, any mercy."

Seraphina's fingers moved hesitantly over the keyboard, her eyes never leaving the screens. She entered a command, and the drone's payload adjusted, the targeting reticle expanding to encompass a larger area.

Thorne's eyes widened, a tinge of satisfaction in his voice. That's more like it." Seraphina, her heart pounding in her chest, hesitated for a moment, her fingers poised over the keyboard. But she knew better than to defy Thorne when his mind was set. She complied, sending the command to the drone, sealing the fate of the protestors below.

The streets filled with more screams as the second wave of missiles descended, the air thick with smoke and the acrid stench of explosives. The drone's camera zoomed in on the carnage, capturing every scream, every desperate attempt to flee the onslaught.

Thorne watched, his expression cold and calculating, as the lives of those below were snuffed out in an instant. He turned to Seraphina, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. "I want Doctor Anya to perform procedures on at least two dozen survivors. The rest... are to be disposed of immediately."

Seraphina's face paled, her stomach churning at the thought of the atrocities that would be carried out in the name of Thorne's twisted vision. But she knew better than to question him. She nodded obediently, her fingers already flying across the keyboard to send the orders.

"Yes, Mr. President," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Consider it done."

Thorne turned back to the screens, his mind already moving on to the next phase of his plan.

He picked up his phone and dialed a number from memory. It was answered on the first ring.

"Yes, Mr. Anya Petrova's voice was clipped, her accent a mix of Russian and something else, something darker. Thorne glanced at Seraphina, who was still watching the screens, her face pale.

"Anya, I have a new assignment for you. I need you to perform procedures on at least two dozen survivors from the drone strike. The rest are to be disposed of immediately." Thorne's voice was cold, his expression unreadable.

Anya hesitated, a faint crackle of static on the line. "Procedures, Mr. President? What kind of procedures?" Her voice was steady, but Thorne could sense the tension underneath.

"You'll know what to do, Anya. Just ensure that they are... compliant.

Yes, Mr. President," she replied, her voice devoid of any emotion. "I understand."

Thorne paused, his eyes still on the screens, the chaos now beginning to subside as the drone's payload had been expended. That's good, Anya. I have full confidence in your abilities."

Suddenly, Thorne's phone rang, the screen flashing with an incoming call from an international number. Thorne picked it up, his expression shifting to one of calculated politeness.

"Yes, this is President Thorne," he said, his voice smooth and confident. "Ah, Prime Minister Singh. How good of you to call. I trust you're well?"

Seraphina watched from across the room, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. She knew that the call was likely in response to the drone strike, and she braced herself for the inevitable backlash.

The screens flickered with a new broadcast, switching from the live feed of the chaos to a news anchor's grave expression. Seraphina's eyes darted from the screens to Thorne, who was still speaking in a smooth, confident tone.

"...I'm aware of the situation, Prime Minister Singh," Thorne said, his voice steady despite the tense atmosphere. Seraphina's gaze shifted to the screens, where the news anchor was speaking in rapid-fire English, the subtitles appearing beneath her in a flurry of text.

"...repeat, we've just received word that the United States has carried out a drone strike on its own soil, targeting a peaceful protest in the heart of New York City. The death toll is expected to be in the thousands, with countless more injured. The world watches in horror as the once-great nation descends into tyranny..."

Thorne's face remained impassive as he listened to the Prime Minister Singh's voice on the other end of the line. "...I must express my deepest concern, Mr. President. This is a breach of international law, a violation of human rights, and a blatant display of your administration's disregard for decency and humanity..."

Seraphina watched Thorne's face, noting the barely perceptible tick in his jaw as he maintained his composure.

The news anchor's voice quivered, her eyes wide with shock and outrage as she reported the carnage playing out in real-time. "...repeat, we have just received video footage confirming that the drone strike was deliberate and precise, targeting protestors and civilians alike. The United States government has yet to release an official statement, but sources within the administration have confirmed that the order came from the highest levels of power..."

Seraphina could see the muscles in Thorne's neck tense as he continued to listen to the Prime Minister Singh's impassioned tirade. "...I cannot stress enough, Mr. President, the gravity of this situation. The international community is outraged, and rightly so. This is a war crime, a monstrous act of aggression against your own people.

I demand that you take immediate action to address this atrocity and bring those responsible to justice."

Thorne's expression hardened as he listened to the Prime Minister's words, his grip on the phone tightening. He could feel the weight of the world's gaze upon him, the condemnation pouring in from every corner of the globe. But he refused to show fear or remorse. Instead, he clenched his jaw and spat out a calculated response.

"Prime Minister Singh, I understand your concern," Thorne said, his voice steady and cold. "But let me make something clear. This was not an act of aggression, but rather, a necessary response to a terrorist threat. Our intelligence suggests that the protest was infiltrated by extremist elements who were planning an imminent attack on our soil.

The drone strike was a preemptive measure to neutralize this threat and protect our citizens. I assure you, Prime Minister Singh, that we take the safety and security of our people very seriously."

Thorne's voice was as smooth as silk, his words dripping with convincing lies. Seraphina watched him from across the room, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that the world would not be so easily swayed, but she also knew that Thorne was a master manipulator. He had a way of turning situations to his favor, of bending the truth to fit his narrative.

He knew the power of words and how to wield them like weapons.

"I understand that this might seem excessive, but I assure you, it was necessary to prevent a greater tragedy," Thorne continued, his voice dripping with false sincerity. "We have evidence that the protest was being used as a cover for a planned terrorist attack. We had no choice but to act swiftly and decisively to protect our citizens."

Thorne's eyes flicked to the screens, where the news anchor was now speaking in a hushed tone, her expression a mix of anger and disbelief.

"Our sources have confirmed that the United States government has been suppressing evidence of a planned terrorist attack, using the drone strike as a cover-up for their own incompetence. The international community is calling for an immediate investigation into these allegations, and the United Nations has convened an emergency session to address this blatant disregard for human life..."