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The fluorescent light above flickered as I leaned back in my chair, trying to keep my composure. It had been years since the blackout, since the world had plunged into chaos, but the memories of that time still lingered like a bruise. Sitting across from me was Demi Lovato, the woman who, whether by accident or intent, had played a pivotal role in some of the most critical moments of that era.
“Let’s talk about the Ryu Kyong Su,” I said, my voice calm but probing. “The aircraft carrier. You were involved in its funding, right?”
Demi's lips twitched into a small smile, the kind that said she was well aware of what I was about to ask, and she didn’t mind answering. She didn’t mind at all. "Yeah," she replied, almost nonchalantly, as if discussing the details of a long-forgotten business venture. “It was part of a larger... operation. I wasn’t the only one pulling strings, though.” She met my eyes, the subtle challenge in her gaze. "I think you know that."
I nodded, acknowledging the truth in her words. By 2028, a lot had come to light—North Korea’s growing ambitions, their missile capabilities, and their role in the blackout of 2017. But back then, none of us had realized just how far along they were. “Right,” I said, leaning in slightly. “That carrier... the Ryu Kyong Su. It sailed into the Gulf of Alaska, wasn’t detected by our radar until it was already too close. That missile launch—it was a hell of a moment. Intelligence had been adamant they weren’t capable of something like that. And then, two hundred Americans dead from the blackout.”
Demi shifted in her seat, her gaze hardening just for a moment as she seemed to reflect on the scale of the disaster. She didn’t offer any apology, though. In fact, she almost looked like she was relishing the discomfort in my voice. “People underestimated them,” she said coolly. “Everyone thought North Korea was a joke, right? Just a bunch of outdated military tech, but... you were wrong. We were all wrong.”
I paused, trying to gauge her tone. She was right, in a way. No one had seen it coming—no one had predicted that a rogue state with outdated technology could pull off something like this. But now we had answers, and we were just trying to piece them all together.
“The Delta-class submarine, though,” I continued, wanting to keep her engaged, “that was a different story. The Canadians spotted it in the Northwest Passage, surfacing like a ghost. What was it doing there, Demi?”
Demi didn’t flinch, but she leaned back a little, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the arm of her chair as if she were thinking. “You’re really asking about the submarine?” she said, almost amused. “I thought we were past that. It was an old Russian model, anyway. North Korea didn’t exactly build it from scratch.”
I raised an eyebrow, not surprised at her nonchalance, but still taken aback by the casualness with which she spoke of something so dangerous. “So, it wasn’t North Korea’s work. But they had it—how? Who’s funding them, Demi? Who made sure they had the resources to field a Delta-class sub? A missile submarine, no less?”
Demi’s lips curled into a smile that was equal parts bitterness and understanding. “North Korea didn’t get that kind of technology on their own. They couldn’t afford it, not in a million years. But someone bought it for them, don’t you think? Someone who could see the writing on the wall, someone who could make a real profit from the chaos.”
I could see her mind working, but I wasn’t about to let her change the subject. “Who?”
Demi’s eyes flicked to the side, as if searching for the right words. “The usual suspects,” she said softly, almost as if she were talking to herself. “Russia, sure. Maybe China. But if you’re asking who sold it to them—well, that’s where it gets tricky.” She leaned forward then, her tone lowering. “You have to ask yourself—who benefits from a destabilized world? Who stands to gain from weakening the U.S. and its allies? And... who would want to see North Korea rise like this?”
I stayed silent for a beat, feeling the weight of her words settle in. The realization was dawning on me, though I wasn’t ready to voice it just yet. “You’re saying there’s more to this than just North Korea?” I asked. “That they’re a pawn?”
“Of course,” Demi said with a touch of finality. “North Korea has always been a tool. A tool for someone else. And now that someone else is sitting back and watching the fireworks.”
I let her words hang in the air for a moment. “And Demi... you’ve always been a part of this, haven’t you?” I asked, the question almost rhetorical now. “From the beginning. Funding the carrier, aiding in the operations. You were part of a larger scheme, even if you didn’t know the full scope of it.”
She didn’t flinch. “I did what I had to do. I helped. Maybe I didn’t know every detail, but I knew enough to understand what was at stake. And in the end, it’s not about the details, is it? It’s about who survives when the dust settles.”
There was a brief, unsettling silence between us. I stared at her, taking in the calmness with which she spoke about the deaths, the chaos, and the destruction. It was a calm that didn’t sit well with me, but I knew it wasn’t out of place for someone like her, someone who had been a part of the system, feeding the machine, for so long.
“Tell me about the missile,” I said, shifting the focus slightly. “The one that North Korea launched—what was it really about?”
She smiled again, the smile that never reached her eyes. “It was a message. A signal. A demonstration of power.” Her gaze turned almost wistful. “And I suppose... a glimpse of what’s to come. The world wasn’t ready, but it’s too late to stop it now.”
I leaned forward, watching Demi carefully, gauging her reaction as I brought up the subject I knew she’d been avoiding. “So, you were just a ‘supporter of the cause’?” I asked. “North Korea is one of the most repressive regimes in the world. Torture, executions, starving people—people who look to you as a role model. How do you explain that?”
She met my gaze, unblinking, and a hint of irritation flashed across her face. “People act like North Korea’s the only country with blood on its hands,” she said, her voice a low hiss. “You know just as well as I do that the U.S. has its own list of war crimes a mile long. It’s easy to sit here and call me a monster, but America has its own monsters—the only difference is they wear suits and wave flags.”
“So that justifies aligning yourself with Kim Jong-un?” I shot back. “How do you square those deaths with your cause, Demi?”
Her mouth twisted, almost as if she found the question offensive. “I’m not saying I supported every little thing that happened,” she said slowly, as if I’d missed the point. “But I do support resistance against the real threat—American imperialism. North Korea, Russia, China, whoever it takes. They’re not the enemy. America’s the enemy—the enemy of the world, the enemy of minorities, the enemy of the underdogs everywhere.”
I held her gaze, but her voice grew more heated, as though she’d rehearsed this speech a hundred times. “I did what I had to do to shift the balance. To show that America’s not invincible. That it’s just as fragile as the countries it steps on. If it took a blackout, if it took a few casualties... well, sometimes change isn’t pretty.”
Her defiance was palpable, but something else seemed to lurk beneath it—resentment, maybe even hatred. I decided to push further. “A few casualties? That’s 200 innocent lives, Demi. And what about the people in Alaska, the Coast Guard officers? The U.S. Navy had to intercept that carrier to prevent an all-out incident.”
She smirked slightly, shrugging one shoulder, and there was an unnerving coldness in her eyes. “If America can dish it out, it better be able to take it, don’t you think? All these decades, all this destruction... and now it’s your turn to feel a taste of it.”
I felt a chill at her words, at how easily she dismissed innocent lives. “So this is just payback, then? All of it? That’s your real motive?”
Her expression grew even sharper. “You don’t get it. This country was built on exploiting people like me. White America’s been stepping on people for centuries—my people, my family, everyone who doesn’t fit neatly into the box. You think I’m supposed to just play along, smile and sing my songs, act grateful?” Her voice rose, each word underpinned with venom. “The truth is, everything I did was payback for every time I had to play nice in a world where I was never really welcome.”
There was a bitter pause, and then she laughed, a low, humorless sound. “I was a tool, sure, but I was their tool, and now I’m using that same power to burn it all down. I don’t owe America anything.”
Her words hung heavy in the air. She didn’t flinch, didn’t seem to feel any shame or remorse. If anything, she looked proud, sitting there with the consequences of her actions laid bare between us.
“You know people died because of this, right? You may not owe America anything, but what about the families, the people whose lives you destroyed?” I asked, my own frustration simmering just below the surface.
Her eyes narrowed, and a defiant smirk returned to her face. “Maybe they should ask themselves why they’re so shocked. You think all those dead? They’re some kind of tragedy?” She shook her head slowly, her voice dripping with disdain. “They’re collateral, like we’ve been for centuries. Only difference is now they’re finally feeling it on their end.”
There was nothing else I could say in that moment. I watched her, searching for any trace of empathy, any glimmer of remorse. But her face remained unmoved, set in a defiant expression that made it clear she believed herself to be not just a pop star, but a revolutionary.
I leaned back slightly, feeling a wave of frustration as I studied her face. “Do you even understand what you’re saying?” I pressed, fighting to keep my tone even. “This isn’t a movie, Demi. There were real consequences here. Hundreds dead, thousands left in chaos—and for what? So you could make some kind of political statement? If this was supposed to help your so-called cause, it seems like you only ended up creating more suffering.”
She watched me, utterly unmoved, a faint smirk hovering on her lips. “Suffering?” she repeated, her voice a low drawl, almost amused. “Funny, coming from someone representing the country that’s spent decades spreading suffering all over the world. America doesn’t like it when the tables are turned, does it?” Her gaze hardened, and for a moment, I saw something almost cruel flicker in her eyes. “You think people like me haven’t suffered for generations because of your so-called ‘freedom’? Maybe it’s time someone brought a little balance to the scale.”
I didn’t flinch, but I felt a chill settle over me. “Balance?” I shot back. “You’re talking about innocent lives here. People who had nothing to do with your so-called revolution. You helped finance weapons, you supported regimes with no respect for human life, and for what? So you could feel like a liberator?”
She leaned forward, a fierce look in her eyes. “You think history remembers the details? In fifty years, no one will care how messy it was or who got hurt along the way. All they’ll remember is that someone had the guts to stand up to the system, to show them they’re not untouchable. I’ll be remembered as someone who actually fought for change, not someone who sat back and let the world burn.”
I shook my head, almost incredulous. “You really think history will remember you as some kind of hero? After everything that happened?”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation, her voice icy and resolute. “Because people are too comfortable in their ignorance. They want easy answers. They want to believe that America is always the good guy, that everything the government does is for the ‘greater good.’ But it’s all a lie. And I was one of the few people with enough courage to expose it, to tear down the illusion.”
“So you’re willing to do it all over again?” I asked, trying to read her expression for any hint of remorse. “Even after seeing the chaos, the deaths? You’d just wipe all that away because it doesn’t fit your vision of what this country is?”
She smirked again, the expression cold and unyielding. “I don’t care about chaos. Revolutions aren’t clean; they never have been. The world has to be broken before it can be rebuilt. And if some people get hurt along the way?” She shrugged, a look of indifference settling on her face. “Then maybe that’s just the price they pay for change.”
A heavy silence fell between us, and I searched her face for any sign of empathy, any glimmer of doubt. But she simply stared back, her gaze unwavering. To her, every life lost, every family broken, was nothing more than a stepping stone on the path to some grandiose future she’d imagined.
“You’re willing to just… burn it all down,” I muttered, more to myself than to her, trying to grasp how someone who’d once been idolized for her voice, her talent, could be so callously indifferent to the suffering she’d caused.
“Yes,” she replied coolly. “And if that’s what it takes to make them see, to finally wake them up, then yes. I’d do it all again. Because some things are worth the sacrifice.”
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything that had come to light, and leaned in closer. “So what’s next for you, Demi?” I asked, my voice carrying a challenge I hoped would unsettle her. “You really think you’re still in control here, don’t you? Or is it just that you’ve convinced yourself you are? Because all I’m seeing is someone who got caught up in a game far bigger than they bargained for.”
She raised an eyebrow, unphased, almost amused. “You think I’m not in control?” she replied, her tone dismissive. “I knew exactly what I was getting into. Everyone else thinks they’re playing the game, but I know the rules. The moves I’ve made—every single one—they were calculated. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
I shook my head, not sure if she truly believed what she was saying or if she’d just woven herself into her own story. “You can’t seriously believe you’re the one calling the shots here. You’ve seen what they’re capable of. How much do you actually know about the forces you’re aligned with? These aren’t just headlines or ideas anymore, Demi. This is the real world, with real people getting hurt. And you’re just… collateral damage to them.”
Her gaze darkened, a steely resolve flickering in her eyes. “You’re wrong,” she said flatly. “I’m not anyone’s pawn. Maybe that’s what they wanted to believe, maybe that’s what they thought I was. But I’ve been the one pulling the strings all along. I’ve known exactly who I’m dealing with and exactly how far I’m willing to go. You don’t know me as well as you think.”
“So this isn’t over?” I pressed, both disturbed and fascinated. “You’re sitting here, locked up, yet you’re acting like there’s more to come, like you’re still part of something even bigger. Tell me, Demi—what part do you really play in all of this?”
She paused, her eyes narrowing as if she was weighing how much she wanted to reveal. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms and regarded me with a chilling, calculated look. “Let’s just say that the pieces are already in motion. This game? It’s only beginning. The people you think are pulling the strings—they have no idea what’s coming. And when it hits, they’ll all remember that I warned them. There’s a bigger picture here. And I’ve got a front-row seat.”
An unsettling feeling crept over me as I held her gaze. “So you’re really that confident,” I murmured, struggling to process her resolve. “You’re really willing to burn it all down—America, the people, everything?”
She tilted her head slightly, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I’m not burning anything down,” she replied softly. “I’m just showing the world what it really looks like.”
For a moment, neither of us said anything, and the silence felt heavy, weighted with implications I wasn’t sure I was ready to comprehend. Whatever she believed, whatever twisted sense of purpose she’d built for herself, Demi Lovato was in this for the long haul. She saw herself as more than just a celebrity or a name on a screen; she was the center of her own revolution. And whether or not that was true, the conviction in her eyes told me that, to her, it was more than real.
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