The skies above rural Mississippi glowed red at midnight.
Elias watched from the Situation Room as real-time drone footage displayed what looked like an abandoned farmstead—until the infrared scan lit up the truth: over seventy armed radicals gathered in the barn, loading crates of explosives and transmitting encoded messages to other compounds across the South.
They wore white masks. They bore Iron Republic symbols. And they were preparing for war.
General Hayes stood by Elias's side. "We can take them out right now. Precision strike. No civilian casualties."
"No," Elias said, voice low. "We need to expose them, not martyr them."
---
He summoned Elisha Kwon to initiate Operation Veilbreak—a strategy of infiltration, exposure, and broadcast revelation.
Within 48 hours, drones deployed across suspected compounds. AI voice replicators tapped their communication lines. The administration collected hours of seditious material.
Then Elias went live.
The country watched as, one by one, locations were revealed—along with evidence: stockpiled weapons, manifestos advocating racial cleansing, documents detailing plans to bomb civic centers and assassinate judges.
Most chilling of all: a video where Reverend Vale himself declared, "The Constitution is dead. Only fire can baptize this broken land."
Elias faced the camera.
"This is not protest. This is terrorism, clothed in scripture."
He authorized coordinated arrests—federal, state, and local. Over 400 radicals were taken into custody across 12 states. Not a single bullet fired.
But that wasn't the end.
---
A bomb detonated outside a federal building in Des Moines, killing 14 people—including three interns working under the National Civic Literacy Program.
Reverend Vale released another message: "Blood for blood."
The President of the United States didn't retreat to a bunker.
He flew to Iowa.
---
Standing amidst the wreckage, Elias wore a black coat streaked with soot. Reporters gathered, silent.
He knelt to help clear rubble. Then, without a podium, he turned to the crowd.
"We warned them. We gave them every chance. They chose violence. They chose hatred."
He stood slowly. "Now we choose justice."
That night, Congress passed the Domestic Sovereignty Defense Act, giving full legal weight to the new National Transparency Tribunal and authorizing the creation of a Civil Unity Corps—a peacekeeping force rooted in non-lethal methods, digital monitoring, and restorative justice, but backed by the law.
---
In private, Elias met with the Tribunal's new Director, Judge Selene Rowe—a war refugee turned legal prodigy.
"You know the pushback will be vicious," she said. "They'll call it a secret police."
"Then keep it public," Elias replied. "Every action logged. Every mistake acknowledged. We rise by truth, or not at all."
---
Meanwhile, foreign powers reacted.
China's Global Times published an op-ed calling Elias "a tyrant cloaked in transparency."
Russia held military exercises near the Arctic.
France warned of "digital despotism."
But a growing list of nations began implementing Monroe-style reforms: Iceland, Kenya, Estonia, Costa Rica.
Elias's vision had become a movement.
---
Yet not all movements stay united.
Tensions grew within his own ranks.
Carla Mendez pushed for nationalizing major corporations caught in past lobbying schemes.
General Hayes proposed expanding surveillance measures into private digital conversations.
Even Alina expressed concern. "We're slipping toward a line, Elias."
"I know," he said. "And that's why I need brakes."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I want a counterweight. An oversight board, fully civilian, fully empowered—to investigate me, my Cabinet, everything. Publicly funded, publicly elected."
"That's insane."
"It's necessary."
---
Two weeks later, Elias announced the Sovereign Oversight Commission. Its first members included a retired schoolteacher, a whistleblower nurse, a combat veteran, a tribal leader, and a former inmate turned community advocate.
When asked if he feared the board's power, Elias said simply:
"If a president can't survive scrutiny, he doesn't deserve the people's trust."
---
But the pressure mounted.
Stock markets fluctuated.
Legacy corporate giants launched lawsuits and propaganda campaigns against the administration's economic reforms. Cable networks ran daily panels questioning the mental health of the President.
Even former allies hesitated.
In a quiet moment, Elias sat alone in the Lincoln Bedroom, watching raindrops crawl down the windowpane.
Was he saving a nation?
Or becoming what he swore to defeat?
---
At dawn, a letter arrived. Handwritten. No return address.
It read:
> You've stirred the hornet's nest. But you forgot—hornets don't fight alone. The hive is deeper than you think. Turn back, or we burn this country to ash. Signed, The Consortium.
Elias stared at the signature. The Consortium.
Not a cult. Not a government.
A cabal.
An old one.
He handed the note to Alina.
"Looks like we've finally found the true enemy."