Location: Bielefeld City Hall

  Event: "The Great Political Awakening" Rally

  Elise Carter steps to the mic, cd in a modest white dress (a nod to Elena Torres’ sermons).

  "Today, I renounce the party of degeneracy! I join the 6 Commandments Party—the only path to salvation!"

  Behind her, 200+ former Democrats burn their party cards in a ceremonial pyre.

  Li Vane embraces Elise, whispering for the cameras: "The future is female… if females know their pce."

  Lydia Shaw live-streams, overying text: "WATCH: The Democrats’ colpse starts HERE."

  Within 48 Hours:

  6CP becomes Iowa’s fastest-growing party (thanks to "voluntary" church sign-up drives).

  Mayor’s approval plummets as 6CP-aligned protests erupt at his doorstep.

  ***

  Location: Hezri’s Private Hospital Boardroom

  Elise stood, her usual icy composure slightly frayed. "Three Republican council members defected—yes. But we’re facing backsh we didn’t anticipate." She pulled up a holographic dispy of trending narratives:

  1. "Cult" Accusations Going Viral

  Problem: Mainstream media frames 6CP as a "sex cult masquerading as politics."

  Example: "Why Are Republicans Joining a Polygamy Party?" (NYT headline).

  2. Feminist Counter-Mobilization

  Problem: Underground networks are organizing "6C to 6B" protests (B for Burned).

  Example: Sabotaged 6CP voter drives with fake registration stalls.

  3. Religious Skepticism

  Problem: Even some devout Christians reject downgrading Jesus to "prophet."

  Example: A megachurch pastor called it "heresy wrapped in a Ferrari."

  4. Legal Threats

  Problem: GOP wyers are suing for "party sabotage."

  "Enough pying defense," Hezri said, his voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. "We strike at the roots."

  ***

  "The Trinitarian Church Buried the Truth. We Exhume It."

  The book unch was held in the grand hall of Bielefeld’s old university, a pce once dedicated to secur schorship, now draped in banners bearing the 6 Commandments Party’s golden ring emblem.

  Dr. Edwin Voss, a once-obscure historian, stood at the podium, holding up his newly published work: "The Lost Christianity: How the Early Church Worshiped a Prophet, Not a God."

  "For centuries," he decred, "the Trinitarian elite suppressed the truth. The earliest followers of Jesus—the true believers—saw him as a man, a prophet, a herald of divine order. Not a deity."

  The crowd—a mix of academics, clergy, and 6CP loyalists—leaned in. Cameras rolled. Elena Torres, radiant in white, stepped forward to bless the text. "This is not just history," she murmured. "This is revetion."

  Behind the scenes:

  Hezri’s money had funded Voss’s "research," along with three other schors handpicked for their willingness to "reinterpret" early Christian texts.

  Sophie Cheung had ensured any dissenting voices in academia were defunded, discredited, or disappeared.

  Lei Cohen’s art collective had already mocked up "ancient" manuscripts to be "discovered" in a few months’ time.

  The narrative was set. Jesus was being demoted—and the 6 Commandments would fill the theological void.

  The three ex-Republican council members sat stiffly onstage, bathed in the glow of camera lights. They looked like penitent saints—or hostages.

  Maya Reynolds had scripted every word.

  Councilman Harris, a once-staunch conservative, spoke first, voice trembling with manufactured conviction:

  "I didn’t leave the GOP. The GOP left decency behind. I stand with the 6 Commandments Party now—the st bastion of true values."

  The crowd erupted. Lydia Shaw’s livestream hit 1M views in minutes.

  Behind the scenes:

  Harris’s secret gambling debts had been erased.

  Councilwoman Graves’s lesbian affair was now "protected" under 6CP’s "loyalty guarantees."

  Councilman Riggs, the only true believer, had been promised a state senate seat.

  Maya watched, satisfied. The narrative was fwless:

  Tweets trended: #GOPTreason #6CPsalvation

  Memes circuted: Side-by-side photos of GOP leaders at parties vs. 6CP members in prayer.

  The message was clear: The defectors weren’t opportunists. They were prophets.

  By month’s end:

  The "Lost Christianity" book was a bestseller.

  The feminist resistance had splintered, its leaders either silenced or co-opted.

  The GOP was in freefall, its remaining members branded as "degenerates" in the press.

  ***

  The sun was setting over Bielefeld as the 6 Commandments Party moved in for the kill.

  The invitation had been elegantly simple: "Private dialogue over coffee. No cameras. No tricks." Rachel had expected a trap, but not this.

  The moment she stepped into the penthouse suite of Vault & Brew, the keys gleamed on the table—a Ferrari Portofino, fire-engine red, her dream car since college. And beside it, a deed: Celestia Apartment #4201.

  Elise Carter smiled like a wolf in pearls. "We’re not monsters, Rachel. We reward brilliance."

  Then the door opened.

  Jenna.

  Her little sister, barely 21, wearing a 6CP pin, gushing about her new job with Lydia Shaw. "They’re actually listening to me, Rach! You could be part of this too!"

  Rachel’s hands shook. The abortion records, the depression meds—they’d all be leaked. Jenna’s future would burn with hers.

  "Director of Women’s Outreach," Elise purred. "A voice at the table. Or…" She didn’t need to finish.

  The pen felt like a branding iron in Rachel’s hand. She signed.

  Danielle knew they’d come for her.

  She’d been careful—burner phones, encrypted emails, never the same route home twice. But she’d forgotten one thing: her dog needed insulin.

  The vet clinic was supposed to be safe.

  The syringe slipped into her coffee while she comforted her trembling greyhound. By the time she felt the dizziness, it was too te.

  The note beside her body was perfect: "I can’t live with what I’ve done."

  Lydia Shaw’s tearful TikTok eulogy had 2 million views by dawn.

  The envelope was on her mother’s doorstep before Naomi even woke up.

  Photos. Fake texts. A USB drive of her voice (Sophie Cheung’s forgery) ughing about "stupid church bitches."

  The call came at noon.

  "Your mother cries so prettily during communion," Sara Croft mused. "Imagine her face when the pastor pys these."

  Naomi’s defiance sted 13 hours. Then she was in front of Lydia’s camera, reciting lines about "feminist lies," her hollow eyes screaming.

  Priya Kapoor’s New Life

  They let her pick out the Ferrari first. White Roma. Custom interior.

  Then the shopping spree—60,000 in one afternoon, Maya Reynolds ughing as Priya twirled in couture. "This is power, darling. Not those grimy protests."

  The apartment was the final hook. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A walk-in closet just for her new wardrobe.

  "One condition," Maya said, handing her a script. "Your first video drops tonight."

  Priya didn’t hesitate. The caption wrote itself:

  "Why I Left the Toxic Feminism Cult."

  By week’s end:

  Rachel Mercer was hosting 6CP tea parties for "reformed" feminists.

  Danielle Cole’s autopsy was filed under "suicide."

  Naomi Patel’s mother hugged her at church, oblivious.

  Priya’s viral redemption arc had #TraitorToTruth trending.

  ***

  Rachel Mercer adjusted the strap of her bck dress—too tight, too revealing—but that was the point.

  The 6 Commandments Party had given her a script, a role, and a Ferrari Portofino as her prop. Now, they demanded one final performance.

  "Seduce Vanessa Cross. Bring her into the fold. Or lose everything."

  Vanessa didn’t trust her.

  That much was obvious from the way the ex-Marine’s hand hovered near her waistband—where Rachel knew a knife was sheathed. The dim light of the underground bar painted Vanessa’s scars silver.

  "You sold out," Vanessa spat. "You’re their pet now."

  Rachel let the insult hang, swirling her drink. Py the game.

  "I woke up," she murmured, leaning in just enough for Vanessa to catch her perfume. "The feminists used us, Vanessa. They don’t care if we live or die."

  A lie. But a pretty one.

  Vanessa’s jaw tightened. "Bullshit. You’re just scared."

  "I was," Rachel admitted, letting her voice tremble. "Until I realized—we were fighting the wrong enemy."

  It took three weeks.

  Three weeks of "chance" meetings, of lingering touches, of Rachel letting Vanessa see her cry over "what she’d lost."

  Then, the invitation: Celestia Apartment #4201.

  Vanessa came armed.

  She didn’t expect the champagne. The silk sheets. Rachel in nothing but the moonlight.

  "You don’t have to fight anymore," Rachel whispered, tracing the scars on Vanessa’s knuckles. "We could be free. Together."

  Vanessa’s breath hitched. Rachel’s lips found hers—soft, insistent, drowning reason in heat.

  The knife cttered to the floor.

  Hezri watched from the surveilnce feed as Vanessa signed the pledge, Rachel’s fingers ced with hers.

  "Good girl," Elise Carter purred, stroking Rachel’s hair like a prize hound.

  The reward was immediate:

  Vanessa received a Ferrari Roma (bck, like her soul).

  Rachel was granted "ownership" of her—officially named Vanessa’s "spiritual guide." (Unofficially: her lover.)

  That night, Rachel traced the 6CP tattoo on Vanessa’s wrist—branded there just hours before—and wondered when the guilt would fade.

  It never did.

  But the Ferrari’s engine roared loud enough to drown it out.

  Epilogue

  Vanessa Cross became the 6CP’s enforcer, her brutality now theirs.

  Rachel Mercer woke up every morning to a woman she’d betrayed, a bed she’d bought with lies, and a future she no longer recognized.

  The worst part?

  Vanessa loved her.

  And Rachel—

  Rachel pyed her part.