The morning sun pierced the gray of Washington D.C., casting long beams through the columns of the newly revitalized Jefferson Forum—a hall renovated to host public deliberations on the proposed constitutional amendments.
Once a forgotten historical site, it had become the beating heart of the rebirth.
Inside, hundreds of delegates—teachers, factory workers, veterans, students, artists—were seated around a circular dais. There was no central podium, no elevated judge's bench. It was designed that way.
Deliberation would be eye-to-eye, not top-down.
And seated quietly among them, disguised in a simple gray suit with no lapel pin, was Elias Monroe.
He had stepped back from the front of the stage—and stepped into the circle.
Not as President.
But as a citizen.
---
Three proposed amendments had passed committee and were now entering the debate floor:
1. The People's Vote Act – Legalizing national digital referendums triggered by verified petitions.
2. The Balance in Office Act – Imposing 12-year cumulative term limits for House and Senate members.
3. The Transparency First Act – Making lobbying expenditures, political donations, and classified legislative riders public after 90 days.
Elias listened.
And for once, he didn't speak.
He watched a 19-year-old tribal youth from Arizona argue with a 67-year-old retired Marine about defense budget transparency.
He watched a Texan rancher propose a clause to protect rural voices in digital referenda.
He watched a Brooklyn poet draw cheers when she said: "We are not dismantling history—we are finishing its sentence."
The atmosphere was electric.
Like watching the Constitution breathe for the first time in centuries.
---
But across the city, smoke gathered in backrooms.
Senator Alastair Merrick, a longtime architect of backdoor politics, watched the proceedings with disdain. His office was dimly lit—only the screen in front of him glowed, displaying public polling.
78% support for the People's Vote Act.
83% support for Term Limits.
A death knell for power as he knew it.
"This is a virus," Merrick spat to his Chief of Staff. "A populist virus cloaked in patriotism."
He poured bourbon into a glass.
"They think they're founding fathers. They're just children playing in the ashes of an empire."
He made a call.
---
That evening, while Elias reviewed security protocols with Alina and his Secret Service chief, news broke:
A military convoy had been rerouted in Nevada. Two bases went into lockdown.
The Pentagon issued a vague statement: "Cyberattack risk mitigation."
But Elias wasn't convinced.
He summoned his cybersecurity director, Elisha Kwon—a genius codebreaker who'd once helped dismantle a terrorist communications network in Southeast Asia.
"What's the real story?" Elias asked.
Elisha hesitated, then tapped her tablet.
"They weren't attacked. They were triggered. A sequence in the defense grid was activated remotely—by an internal key. Someone inside the system primed it for escalation."
Elias stood silently.
Then: "They're trying to create a state of emergency."
---
Within twenty-four hours, public fear swelled.
News networks, some owned by opposition conglomerates, ran stories about "possible foreign interference" in the constitutional proceedings.
One ran a headline: "IS MONROE ENDANGERING NATIONAL SECURITY?"
Another claimed: "PENTAGON WARNINGS IGNORED BY PRESIDENT'S TEAM."
Elias responded with a national address, delivered not from the Oval Office, but from the Lincoln Memorial steps.
"This isn't a crisis," he said calmly. "This is a manipulation. A well-funded, coordinated attempt to scare you back into silence. But I will not call a state of emergency. I will not silence your voice to protect their seats."
The nation held its breath.
Then cheered.
---
Days later, the final vote tally from the Jefferson Forum was broadcast.
The People's Vote Act: Passed 341–57.
The Balance in Office Act: Passed 326–72.
The Transparency First Act: Passed unanimously.
Amendments would now go to states for ratification.
Within a week, twenty-four states ratified the first two. Fifteen more began emergency legislative sessions.
It was happening.
The new America was being written.
---
But then—the explosion.
A car bomb detonated outside the Seattle field office of the Department of Civic Technology, killing three staffers and injuring dozens. The attack came just hours before the state's legislative vote on the People's Vote Act.
An unknown group calling itself Liberty Vanguard claimed credit.
Their message: "End Monroe's rewrite or face fire."
Elias flew to Seattle immediately. He stood among the rubble. Refused the bulletproof shield. And gave the speech that would become legend.
"They think violence will erase your voice. But you are louder than bombs. Stronger than threats. And tomorrow, when your legislators vote—they will prove that liberty does not cower. It stands."
The next morning, Washington State ratified all three amendments unanimously.
---
Back in D.C., Elias called a private council.
Alina. Elisha. Director Ramos from the FBI. General Lyra Hayes of Homeland Strategic Defense.
"It's time," Elias said, "we bring the war into the open."
He authorized Project Beacon—a task force uniting federal, state, and civilian forces to hunt and expose the shadow networks funding domestic terrorism and constitutional sabotage.
Targets included:
Offshore financial accounts used by Liberty Vanguard.
Communications relays tied to Mr. V's ghost network.
Political figures with encrypted contact logs linking to known disinformation nodes.
Within weeks, the task force had uncovered dozens of shell companies laundering bribes, contracts, and dark campaign funds.
The web was unraveling.
---
And yet… Elias remained uneasy.
That night, walking alone along the quiet National Mall, he paused at the WWII Memorial. The soft glow of the water reminded him of something his grandfather once said: "Power never leaves empty space—it waits."
Elias knew the reforms were only the beginning.
He had torn down pillars of the old empire.
But what came next... would define the soul of the nation.
Not just what was destroyed.
But what was built.