“Who are you going to call Black? No one’s going to take a slave like you seriously. Go back to Africa where you belong,” Sergeant Cole yelled. He didn’t even ask her name, just saw her skin and let the venom do the talking. General Regina M. Cal blinked, confused by the tone more than the words. The way that man looked at her as if she were scum, as if her rank and dignity meant nothing. “Sorry,” she replied firmly, without raising her voice.

“What’s the problem, officer?” “The problem is you’re in a car that isn’t yours, dressed like you’re playing soldier.” Officer Henkins chimed in, laughing. He walked around the vehicle pretending to inspect it. “Pentagon plates, who gave them to you? Your pimp.” Regina felt her blood run cold. Now two cops who couldn’t even read a badge were talking to her like she was garbage. “My name is General Regina Mcal. You’re committing a crime.”

“Shut up,” Cole yelled, pulling out the handcuffs. “I don’t care if you say you’re the Black Michelle Obama. This car is stolen, and you’re under arrest.” Before she could reply, Regina was yanked from her seat. The cold metal of the handcuffs bit into her skin as they shoved her. “Don’t cry, baby,” Kins whispered in her ear with a disgusting smile. “Hopefully, they’ll treat you better in jail than we did, or they’ll make you clean toilets. Give me my phone now.

You’re going to wish you’d never touched me.” “Your phone,” Henkins mocked, rummaging through the SV as if it were his property. “What’s this? A damn government iPhone. You, man, this country’s gone to hell.” He pulled the device out like someone finding drugs in a bag, held it up, and waved it in front of Regina as if he were showing her a trophy. “Who gave it to you, black? Did you steal it or take it from some soldier after you slept with him?”

Sergeant Cole let out a harsh laugh, that bitter tone that only came from years of unfiltered, pent-up hatred. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s part of those army inclusion experiments,” he said as he tightened the handcuffs even more, squeezing them until they left red marks. “They give uniforms and titles to any monkey these days. And look, they even learn to speak properly.” Regina swallowed. Her eyes were fixed on the hot asphalt. “You’re violating federal protocols,” she managed to say, her voice strained.

“And you think I care, ape?” Cole retorted with a smirk. Crooked. The only law that matters here is mine. And on my shift, no stuck-up black bitch is riding around in a car like this. Henkin leaned out of the car door and opened the glove compartment, throwing out papers, IDs, and folders like they were trash. And look at this, Cole. Does she have classified documents or what she thinks are documents? This bitch sure knows how to play the big shot.

Maybe we should call immigration, Cole added, laughing again, or animal control. Regina couldn’t move. She felt the burning in her wrists, the heat searing her skin, her uniform crumpled, and that damn Henkin going through her life like it was worthless. You have no idea what you’re doing, he repeated, this time more quietly. Henkin came closer, took her face in his dirty, rough hand, forcing her to look at him. All I know is that you’re going to spend the night in the women’s cell, without your uniform, without your name, and without that “I’m worth more than you” face, because Out here, you’re nobody.

Cole began reading aloud from one of the documents he’d found, a letter from the Department of Defense addressed to MCAL. “Look, Henkins, this says Brigadier General Regina MC Cal.” “Uh-huh. You believe this?” “Yes, I believe it,” she finally said, barely lifting her chin. “And if you have half a brain, you’ll give me back that phone.” “Now.” Cole slapped her without thinking. A sharp, quick blow that left her reeling, even though she was still handcuffed. “One more, black,” he whispered in her ear.