The winds howled across the pins of Iowa, carrying whispers of change—no, not change. Conquest.

  In Washington, the st of the feminist organizations had folded, not by force, but by absorption. The Six Commandments Party, with its ironcd ideology and relentless discipline, had swallowed them whole. "Equality through obedience," they called it. "Liberation through structure."

  Resistance had crumbled like old brick

  Now, in a dimly lit community center in Des Moines, the conservatives of Iowa gathered. Men in fnnel and women in modest skirts sat in folding chairs, their faces tight with unease. Pastor Jim Reynolds stood at the front, gripping his Bible like a shield.

  "They’ve taken the left," he said, voice low. "Every feminist group, every progressive collective—now they march under the Six Commandments banner. And if they’ve taken the left…" He let the silence hang.

  A farmer in the back cleared his throat. "What’s next? Us?"

  Murmurs rippled through the room. The Six Commandments Party didn’t tolerate dissent. They didn’t debate. They assimited.

  Mary Wilcox, head of the Iowa Mothers’ League, stood. "We have to organize. Not just meetings—action. Before they decide we’re… incompatible."

  The conservatives of Iowa had gathered again, this time in Cedar Rapids—the st major city untouched by the Six Commandments. While Des Moines had already seen their bck-and-gold banners hanging from government buildings, Cedar Rapids stood defiant. No indoctrination centers. No mandatory re-education seminars. Not yet.

  Pastor Reynolds adjusted his gsses as he addressed the crowded church basement. "They've taken Des Moines. They've taken the universities. But Cedar Rapids? This is where we hold the line."

  A map of Iowa was pinned to the wall, half of it marked in red—Six Commandment territory. Cedar Rapids was a lone blue dot.

  Sheriff Dan Calloway, a burly man with a voice like gravel, stood up. "We’ve got allies here—business owners, cops, even some old-school union guys. They don’t like this ‘New Moral Order’ any more than we do."

  Mary Wilcox nodded. "Good. But we need more than just dislike. We need a pn. If they come for Cedar Rapids, we have to be ready."

  A young man in the back, barely out of college, raised his hand. "What if they don’t come for us? What if they just… convince us?"

  Silence. That was the real danger. The Six Commandments didn’t always use force. They offered stability. Order. A cure for the chaos of the modern world. And people were tired.

  Pastor Reynolds closed his Bible with a thud. "Then we remind them what freedom costs."

  In a backroom of a Cedar Rapids diner, the remnants of Iowa’s resistance gathered—not just conservatives now, but libertarians, securists, even former feminists who had fled the Six Commandments before their organizations were absorbed. They called themselves "The Unbroken Circles"—a promise that no matter how much the Party tightened its grip, they would not close.

  Pastor Reynolds unrolled a handwritten list. "We've identified three major factions standing against the Six Commandments in Iowa," he said.

  1. The Heartnd Militia

  A loose coalition of farmers, preppers, and veterans who had seen enough of authoritarianism overseas to recognize it at home. They weren’t ideologues—just men and women who believed in the right to be left alone. "They don’t give speeches," said Sheriff Calloway. "But if the Party sends enforcers into their towns, they’ll meet buckshot before bureaucracy."

  2. The Free Press Underground

  Journalists, bloggers, and rogue radio hosts who refused to let the Six Commandments control the narrative. Their printing presses were hidden in basements, their broadcasts shifted frequencies weekly. "They’re the reason Cedar Rapids still knows the truth," said Mary Wilcox. "If we lose them, we lose our voice."

  The Free Press Underground (FPU) operates in the shadows, keeping the truth alive in Iowa despite the Six Commandments Party’s propaganda machine. These are their most influential figures:

  Eleanor "Nora" Voss – The Veteran Journalist (Age: 58)

  Role: Editor-in-exile of the Iowa Crion, now an underground broadsheet.

  2. Javier Mendez – The Pirate Radio Voice (Age: 32)

  Role: Host of "The Night Frequency," a rogue AM/FM broadcast that hijacks Party airwaves.

  Leah Carter – The Hacker (Age: 24)

  Role: Cyber-operations lead, running encrypted forums and leaking Party documents.

  Strengths:

  Former cybersecurity student—knows how to breach low-level Party databases.

  Manages "TruthDrop," a dark-web site where whistleblowers submit evidence.

  Elusive—uses a constantly shifting network of proxies to avoid detection.

  Weaknesses:

  Paranoid—trusts almost no one, which slows down colboration.

  Burnout risk—works 20-hour days, surviving on stimunts.

  Wanted for "digital treason"—if caught, she’ll be disappeared into a re-education camp.

  4. Reverend Samuel "Sam" Hayes – The Firebrand Preacher (Age: 45)

  Role: Uses sermons to spread coded resistance messages.

  ***

  Leah Carter’s breath hitched as the cold reality of the morning crashed over her. The pillow pressed against her bare skin did nothing to shield her from the weight of Hezri’s demand.

  "As promised," Hezri murmured, tracing a zy finger down Leah’s spine. "Tell me how to destroy the Free Press Underground."

  Leah’s mind raced. Last night had been a blur of adrenaline, stolen liquor, and Hezri’s intoxicating confidence—a calcuted seduction, not a moment of weakness. Or was it?

  She forced a smirk, buying time. "You think I’d just hand it over after one night?"

  Hezri chuckled, reaching for a tablet on the nightstand. A screen flickered to life, dispying a live feed—Javier’s hidden transmitter van, Nora’s safehouse, Reverend Hayes mid-sermon. All marked for termination.

  "You already did," Hezri said. "Your impnts have been transmitting data since you walked in. But I’d rather hear it from you. Confession is good for the soul."

  Leah’s blood ran cold. She’d been hacked by her own tech.

  Leah Carter exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around the pillow. The weight of betrayal should have crushed her—but instead, something hotter coiled in her chest. Hezri’s smirk, the way his fingers had traced her spine like she was a system to be cracked… God, she wanted to crack him right back.

  "You’re right," she admitted, voice low. "The impnts gave you breadcrumbs. But I’ve got the whole damn bakery." She leaned in, close enough to taste st night’s whiskey on his breath. "You want the FPU? I’ll burn it down for you. But not like this."

  Hezri’s eyebrow arched. "Oh?"

  Leah Carter’s fingers hovered over the final keystroke. The holographic screen pulsed red, awaiting her command. Hezri stood behind her, his presence like a bde between her ribs.

  "You wanted the heart of the resistance? Here it is."

  She uploaded the st batch of files—dozens of names, faces, and fatal weaknesses—each one a carefully calcuted sacrifice.

  Lillian "Lily" Cho (Age: 29) – The Ghost Courier

  Background: Former medical student turned FPU’s top smuggler. Moves people and data through underground tunnels.

  Isaac & Naomi Varga (Ages 34 & 32) – The Code Twins

  Background: Hackers who built the FPU’s encrypted chat network.

  Weakness: They communicate via chess moves in an online forum. Their next match is scheduled for midnight.

  Current Location: IP masked, but their physical safehouse is a repurposed church attic.

  ***

  Lillian "Lily" Cho's fingers dug into her own cheeks, the heat of shame burning through her palms. The bnket barely covered her thighs, but she couldn't bring herself to care about modesty—not after st night. Not after the way Hezri had dismantled her defenses with whispered promises and rough hands.

  Lillian "Lily" Cho's breath came in short, sharp gasps as she stared at the man who had unraveled her. The bnket pooled around her hips, her bare skin prickling under the morning light. She could still feel the ghost of Hezri’s teeth on her colrbone, the way his hands had mapped every scar, every weak point—just like he’d mapped the resistance.

  Hezri leaned against the bedpost, watching her with a predator’s patience. "You promised," he reminded her, voice smooth as a bde sliding between ribs. "Help us fight the opposition, and you’ll never have to crawl through another sewer again."

  Lily’s nails bit deeper into her cheeks. I did promise.

  Hezri's mouth was hot and possessive against hers, his tongue tracing the betrayal before it even left her lips. Lily melted into it—let him think he'd won—then pulled back just enough to whisper:

  "Everything."

  Lily's voice didn't shake as she spoke. The words tasted like gunpowder and liberation.

  "The FPU supply line beneath the meatpacking pnt? It's not a route—it's a tomb. Four tons of ammonium nitrate, rigged to blow the moment your boots hit the grate."

  Hezri's smile froze.

  "The library basement? White phosphorus in every children's book. Burn your lungs before you even smell the smoke."

  His hand twitched toward his sidearm.

  "Hayes' daughter?" Lily ughed, sharp as broken gss. "She's been ashes for months. And the good Reverend? He prays with detcord under his vestments now."

  "As for Leah's backdoor..." She tapped the screen—WRONG PASSWORD fshed once. "One more try, Commander."

  Hezri's gloved fingers paused over the tactical dispy as Lily's confession hung in the air. Then his lips curled into something too sharp to be called a smile.

  "Perfect."

  The Countermove

  Meatpacking Pnt

  Instead of raiding, Hezri leaks false intel about a "rebel weapons cache" at the pnt

  FPU scouts arrive to relocate the supplies—right into the waiting sights of sniper teams

  Result: 17 FPU operatives captured alive for interrogation

  Library Trap

  Commandments forces flood the building with fireproof drones first

  White phosphorus ignites harmlessly against ceramic shielding

  Bonus: Security footage of the "terrorist weapons" airs statewide by dawn

  dawn

  Hayes' Demise

  Hezri sends a child lookalike to the interrogation chamber

  When Hayes breaks down weeping, they surgically remove his vest

  Masterstroke: The footage breaks the Cedar Rapids resistance's spirit

  The sheets still smelled like sex and sweat when Leah propped herself up on one elbow, watching Hezri dress in the pale morning light. Lillian Cho y unconscious beside them, her wrists bruised from where the restraints had been.

  "The password," Hezri reminded her, buckling his belt. "Unless st night was just for fun."

  Leah exhaled smoke from a stolen cigarette, her bare legs swinging off the bed.

  "It’s ‘EdenFall’," she said. "All one word. Capital ‘E’, capital ‘F’."

  No hesitation. No lies.

  Hezri entered it.

  The system unfolded like a flower.

  The fallout was swift. Brutal. Beautiful.

  Within six hours of Leah Carter and Lillian Cho’s betrayal, the Six Commandments moved like a scalpel across Iowa.

  The FPU didn’t colpse—it shattered into a thousand paranoid pieces.

  Militia cells turned on each other, convinced they’d been sold out

  Smugglers abandoned routes, leaving refugees to die in the tunnels

  Hackers wiped entire servers rather than risk Leah’s backdoor.

  No tricks. No hidden codes. No st-minute redemption.

  Leah stood beside Hezri in the Central Command Hub, her fingers dancing across the holographic dispys as she systematically dismantled the st remnants of the Free Press Underground.

  She gave them the ciphers to decode FPU’s encrypted messages.

  She handed over the names of deep-cover operatives still hiding in pin sight.

  She personally rewrote the algorithms hunting down rebel transmissions, making them ten times more efficient.

  There was no hesitation in her eyes. No regret. Only cold, surgical precision.

  Lilian Cho – The Willing Betrayer

  Addicted to Hezri’s approval—and his touch—Lilian talked. And talked. And talked.

  She revealed the Heartnd Militia’s fallback positions, leading to a massacre at the Grinnell farmhouses.

  She exposed the FPU’s st remaining printer hubs, where underground newspapers were still being made.

  She even gave up the Recimers, the ex-Six Commandments defectors who had helped the resistance.

  Each confession spilled from her lips like a prayer. Each betrayal brought her closer to Hezri’s favor.

  The Result?

  The FPU colpsed within days. Isoted cells, cut off from leadership, were picked off one by one.

  Public dissent crumbled. With no underground press, no Javier on the airwaves, and no Nora to expose the truth, the people fell silent.

  ***

  The st free minds in Iowa gathered in the belly of a rusted grain silo, the air thick with the scent of diesel and despair. A single oil mp cast long shadows as the remnants of the resistance took stock of the devastation.

  Present:

  Marcus "Doc" Rainer – Blood still crusted under his nails from the test round of field surgeries.

  Isaac Varga – His twin sister Naomi was captured yesterday. He hadn’t slept since.

  Colonel Elias Brandt – The old soldier’s hands shook as he unfolded the test casualty reports.

  A nameless teenager – The only survivor of the Grinnell massacre.

  Agenda:

  How to survive when the revolution has been betrayed from within.

  The Damage Report

  Communications

  Leah’s betrayal had poisoned every cipher, every frequency.

  "We’re deaf and blind," Isaac spat.

  Safehouses

  Lily’s confessions had led to 80% being raided or burned.

  "We’re down to three locations. And one of them might be compromised," Brandt admitted.

  Morale

  The executions were public now. Broadcast on every screen.

  "They’re calling us terrorists," the teenager whispered. "My little brother believes it."

  ***

  Naomi Varga clutched the thin bnket to her chest, the ache between her thighs a brutal reminder of st night's "negotiations." Hezri sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning his immacute uniform jacket, watching her with the detached interest of a man reviewing a spreadsheet.

  "I'm going to betray my twin brother," Naomi whispered, her voice raw. "Listen to me."

  Hezri's eyebrow arched. "You expect me to believe that?"

  Naomi ughed—a broken sound. "Isaac always was the sentimental one. I'm the one who built the kill-switches into our systems." She leaned forward, letting the bnket slip just enough to make Hezri's gaze flicker. "Let me prove it."

  The razor-sharp tension in the room softened as Naomi exhaled, her fingers loosening their grip on the bnket. The fire of defiance in her eyes dimmed, repced by something colder—more calcuting.

  "I was bluffing," she admitted, her voice quieter now, stripped of its edge. "I thought I could py you. But I was wrong."

  Hezri watched her, his expression unreadable. "And now?"

  Naomi let the bnket slip further, her bare skin a silent offering. "Now I understand the reality. This war is over. And I'd rather be on the winning side."

  He studied her for a long moment before reaching out, his fingers brushing her cheek—almost tender.

  "You’ll send the message tonight," he said. "And when Isaac arrives, you’ll be the one to hand him over."

  Naomi lowered her eyes, the perfect picture of submission. "As you command."

  Naomi’s breath hitched as she dropped to her knees before Hezri, the cold floor biting into her bare skin. She kept her eyes lowered, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "I lied again."

  Hezri went very still.

  "There is no secondary exit in the sughterhouse," she admitted. "But the explosives aren’t rigged to the main door—they’re under the floor. Pressure-triggered. The moment your forces storm in, the whole pce goes up."

  A beat of silence. Then—

  "What else?" Hezri’s voice was dangerously soft.

  Naomi swallowed hard.

  "The message I sent Isaac… the real phrase was ‘bck rabbit runs at dawn.’ It’s not a surrender code. It’s a signal to attack."

  She finally looked up, meeting his gaze.

  "But I’m telling you now because I don’t want to die for a lost cause. I want to live. With you."

  He crouched down, gripping her chin.

  "One st test."

  A pistol pressed into her palm.

  "Isaac’s in Cell 14. Prove your loyalty."

  Naomi’s fingers trembled—just enough to make it convincing—before steadying.

  "Yes, Commander."

  The gunshot echoed through the halls at dawn.

  Only Hezri saw the empty chamber she’d loaded.

  Only Naomi knew Isaac was already gone.

  The st free souls in Iowa gathered in the corpse of a burned-out church, their faces lit by the glow of a single cracked tablet. The air smelled of wet charcoal and blood.

  Those Present:

  Colonel Elias Brandt (67) – His left eye was a ruined mess from the st interrogation.

  Marcus "Doc" Rainer (51) – Now suturing his own arm with fishing line.

  The Teenager (17) – Fresh from executing their own Six Commandments recruiter.

  A Woman with No Name – Face melted on one side from white phosphorus.

  Agenda:

  How to bury an empire when you have no shovels left.

  The Situation

  Naomi’s "Betrayal"

  The sughterhouse was a graveyard.

  Isaac was missing. Presumed dead.

  "She’s either the best actress alive or we’re fucked," growled Brandt.

  Leah’s Shadow

  Every intercepted transmission now ended the same way:

  "EdenFall protocol active. Stand by."

  No one knew what it meant.

  The New Reality

  92% of Iowa now flew the Six Commandments fg.

  The remaining 8% were either corpses or ghosts.

  **"

  The Teenager’s fingers dug into Naomi’s throat, her vision spotting with bck as her nails scrabbled against his wrists.

  “Please—” she choked, voice ragged. “Someone—help—”

  Then—the click of a safety being thumbed off.

  The Teenager froze.

  Vanessa Cross stood in the doorway, her pearl-handled revolver pressed to the back of his skull. “That’s enough.”

  And behind her—Hezri.

  Hezri crouched, gripping the Teenager’s hair to yank his head back.

  “You were supposed to report her location.” A pause. “Not py executioner.”

  The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space.

  The Teenager colpsed.

  Naomi didn’t flinch.

  Vanessa lowered her weapon, satisfied.

  And Hezri—

  He offered Naomi his hand.

  “Welcome home.”

  ***

  The Heartnd Militia never saw it coming.

  They had gathered at their st stronghold—an old grain co-op outside Des Moines—preparing for what they thought would be their final stand. Colonel Elias Brandt stood over a map, his ruined eye aching in the cold, when the radios crackled to life.

  "All units, fall back! It's a—"

  Then the explosions started.

  Leah’s Gift

  The militia’s encrypted comms had been compromised for weeks.

  Every rally point, every supply cache, every escape route—id bare.

  Lilian’s Touch

  She had personally identified their weak points:

  The diesel generator (now a fireball).

  The sniper nests (now colpsing under drone strikes).

  The Six Commandments used the militia’s own weapons against them.

  Crates marked "For Freedom" now fueled the fires burning them alive.

  Colonel Brandt died holding the co-op doors—his body was found with seven bullets in the back. (Friendly fire? Or something worse?)

  The survivors were lined up along Highway 30 and shot into unmarked graves.

  Leah and Lilian watched from a command van, sipping coffee as the thermal scans confirmed the kill count.

  ***