Outside the Auditorium, CMU Campus – Sunset glows on the gss panels.

  A group of six students gathered near the benches outside the hall—mostly women, a few clutching iced coffees, others scrolling TikTok reflexively. They were known faces on campus: Women’s Rights Union leaders, Gender Studies majors, LGBTQ+ organizers. And one outlier—Noah, a quiet philosophy major who mostly listened.

  They had come expecting a fight. What followed instead was... a reckoning.

  Tasha (Feminist Club President, senior):

  “I still don’t like the idea of a theocracy, but... tell me where Naomi was wrong.”

  Jordan (Queer Alliance, bi, sophomore):

  “She wasn’t. Honestly? I felt seen. She said out loud what everyone dances around—female love isn’t dangerous to systems. Male love is. That’s why they ban it.”

  Maya (radical feminist, junior):

  “And for once, someone said it without pandering. She didn’t treat us like victims or mascots. She gave us power—straight up.”

  Lena (non-feminist, freshman):

  “So wait... y’all are okay with polygamy now?”

  Tasha:

  “I mean—I’m not saying I’d join a harem. But think about it: He gets up to four, under strict rules. We get unlimited connections with women—romantic or sexual. That’s not oppression. That’s a... what did Naomi call it?”

  Jordan:

  “An ‘architecture of power.’”

  Lena (slowly):

  “Huh... and the part where a wife can cheat on her husband with a woman, and it’s not even illegal... That’s wild.”

  Maya (with a smirk):

  “It’s not just wild. It’s leverage.”

  Noah (quietly, finally speaking):

  “I think what Naomi did... was flip the feminist lens. Instead of saying ‘how are women hurt by this system?’ she asked, ‘how do women dominate within it?’ And somehow—it worked.”

  The group nodded, contemptive.

  A few days ago, if anyone had said “6C might be feminist-compatible,” it would've been ughed off campus.

  Now? They weren’t ughing.

  They were imagining.

  Not agreement.

  Not submission.

  But a strange, electric curiosity:

  What if power doesn't always look how we expect it to?

  And just like that, 6C gained something far more potent than appuse—

  cultural oxygen.

  Jordan, leaning back on the bench, took a long sip of her iced matcha and smirked. The others were mid-discussion when she suddenly cupped her chest dramatically, giving her friends a raised eyebrow and a mock-theatrical sigh.

  Jordan (grinning):

  “Guess these babies are finally state-sanctioned.”

  Everyone ughed—some awkwardly, some with real amusement.

  She added, a little more seriously this time:

  “Honestly though? If girl-on-girl love is limitless under 6C... do I even need to call myself ‘queer’ anymore? I mean, this whole bel thing was about carving out space, right? But if that space is just... open now?”

  She shrugged, the grin softening.

  “Feels kinda freeing. Like, I don’t have to expin it to anyone anymore. It just is.”

  Then, with a mock-pout and a wink toward Noah:

  “Still, kinda pitiful for the gay guys though. Sucks to be on the banned list. Haha.”

  Noah half-chuckled, half-blushed.

  Tasha, shaking her head with a smile:

  “Jordan, you’re wild. But real talk? This is the first system I’ve seen where female queerness isn’t political. It’s just... naturalized. Embedded. That’s powerful.”

  Jordan nodded, more reflective now.

  “It is. It really is. I don’t have to fight for visibility anymore. I just exist—and I’m... allowed.”

  They all went quiet for a moment.

  Not because they agreed with everything.

  But because they understood one thing clearly:

  **Under 6C, woman-to-woman love wasn’t just tolerated.

  It was untouchable.**

  ...

  As the group chuckled over Jordan’s st remark, a calm voice cut through the fading ughter.

  “I’m gd to hear strong minds wrestling with big ideas.”

  They turned—Naomi Patel was standing a few feet away, serene, composed, hands csped in front of her long, linen overcoat. A small gold 6C insignia pinned near her colr shimmered in the dusk light.

  Tasha blinked.

  “Wait... you were listening to us?”

  Naomi smiled. “I listen more than I speak. That’s why I win debates.”

  A mix of excitement and nervous energy rippled through the group. Jordan straightened up, her pyful demeanor suddenly reverent.

  Naomi continued, voice soft but firm:

  “Your dialogue moved me. That’s the kind of conversation women should be having—without interference. So I want to invite you somewhere.”

  She gestured toward a quiet academic wing across the quad. The group exchanged gnces.

  Maya raised an eyebrow:

  “Where exactly?”

  Naomi smiled cryptically. “A room you didn’t know existed. Reserved for female-only theological inquiry. No boys. No gays. Just us.”

  That st part surprised them—but no one objected.

  Curiosity now outpaced caution.

  ...

  Ten minutes ter, they entered a part of the campus none had ever been in—an annex wing past a locked faculty door Naomi opened with a special access card.

  Inside was a sanctuary—not religious, but sacred in its design.

  Dim, warm lighting.

  Plush velvet seats arranged in a circle.

  Aromatic diffusers humming faintly in the corners.

  Bookshelves lined with scriptures, feminist theory, medical texts, poetry—from Mary Daly to Hadith compitions.

  A quiet fountain in the corner whispered like a lulby.

  It was like a womb made of wood and wisdom.

  Naomi gestured to the seats.

  “This is the Sister’s Alcove. Built with university funds st year, but kept off the map. For women to speak freely—intellectually, sexually, spiritually.”

  Jordan whispered:

  “I feel like I’m in a dream.”

  Naomi nodded.

  “No. You’re in the future.”

  They sat. Slowly. In awe.

  And when they began to speak again, it wasn’t small talk.

  It was confession. Theory. Raw ideas. Painful truths. Unfiltered femininity.

  And Naomi listened.

  Like a priestess of paradox.

  Like a queen of contradictions.

  Like a woman who didn’t ask them to kneel—only to think.

  The air in the Sister’s Alcove felt different—like time had slowed down to honor whatever was about to be said.

  No phones. No judgment. No men.

  Only Naomi Patel, and six women seated in a soft-lit circle, finally realizing they were allowed—maybe even invited—to stop performing.

  Tasha was the first to speak, voice steady but low.

  “I’ve spent four years fighting to be heard on this campus. Panels. Protests. Policies. But it always felt like we were speaking in a nguage men wrote. Naomi… you’re the first leader I’ve seen who doesn’t ask me to perform strength. You just expect it.”

  Naomi nodded gently, a signal to continue, not respond.

  Maya jumped in next—raw, fiery, unguarded.

  “My mom was in a polygamous cult when I was a kid. I hated it. Hated watching her share a man like she was renting affection. But what you said tonight—about female power being unlimited—it hit me. Maybe it’s not the structure that’s evil. Maybe it’s who’s writing the rules. My mom didn’t have this.”

  She waved toward the room—toward Naomi—toward the presence of something deeper than safety.

  Jordan leaned forward, fingers tracing the rim of her iced coffee cup, now half-warm.

  “I’ve called myself queer since sixteen. But tely... I’ve wondered if it’s even rebellion anymore. It’s so branded now. Hashtags, merch, aesthetic. But when you said ‘women can love women without needing to expin’—I felt relief. Like I don’t have to pick a fg to be who I already am.”

  She paused, then ughed bitterly.

  “I’ve never had a bel feel more useless... and more liberating.”

  Lena, the freshman outsider, spoke shyly.

  “I’m not a feminist. I never felt smart enough to be. But... I’ve always wanted a space where I could say things that aren’t politically correct. Like—sometimes, I want to be taken care of. I want to serve someone. And I hate that I have to apologize for that.”

  Naomi looked at her softly.

  “Desire isn’t weakness, Lena. It’s a compass. Let it point.”

  Even Noelle, the quietest one, finally broke open.

  “I was sexually assaulted by a female partner. I’ve never said that out loud. I thought it made me homophobic if I did. But this space... it feels like I don’t have to protect anyone else’s politics at the cost of my story.”

  A stunned silence held the room like prayer.

  Naomi reached across the circle and took her hand. She didn’t say “I’m sorry.” She didn’t preach. She witnessed.

  Then, finally, Naomi spoke. Not as a politician. Not even as a leader. But as a woman among women.

  “You’ve all been conditioned to see power as male-shaped. Linear. Loud. But feminine power isn’t that. It curves. It seduces. It waits. It endures. And when it speaks—it echoes for generations.”

  She paused.

  “You’ve been told to fight the system. But what if the system finally sees you?”

  The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was holy.

  No ideology. No hashtags.

  Just women, truth, and the thick air of unfiltered femininity finally allowed to breathe.

  And that night, none of them left the same.

  The room was hushed again—this time not with solemnity, but tension. The kind that comes when something too bold to be real begins to feel possible.

  Naomi stood, slowly. She let her gaze settle on each of them—Tasha, Maya, Jordan, Lena, Noelle, and the stunned silence they now shared.

  Her voice was calm, almost too casual for the weight of what she said next:

  “You understand now—6C isn’t a fringe cult. We control twenty states. Entire legistures. School boards. Police departments. Tech ptforms. Social economies.”

  She took a breath, stepping toward the soft glow of the alcove’s centerpiece mp.

  “I’m not a volunteer. I’m leadership. Top tier. One of Hezri’s inner circle. You want to change the world? I sit in the chair where that happens.”

  The women said nothing—barely breathing.

  “You’ve spoken bold truths tonight. Confessions. Critiques. Seeds of something powerful. As long as your ideas don’t breach the Commandments…”

  Her tone shifted—warm but ced with steel:

  “…then this state will back you.”

  She reached into her coat and pulled out a small velvet pouch—setting it on the center table like it was sacred. Inside were keys. Glossy. Heavy. Red tag.

  “Outside, there’s a Ferrari parked behind the east wing loading dock. You’ll find the title inside. It’s yours. Communal. A symbol.”

  She looked at them again.

  “In Saginaw, there’s a house—full luxury, pre-furnished, gated. No surveilnce. It’s been deeded to a shell trust under the name The Sisterhood of New Thought. That’s you.”

  She took a step back, letting the weight settle.

  “And by morning, each of you will receive a 20,000 transfer. Seed money. For books. Travel. Projects. Beauty. Whatever you decide. Use it to think. Speak. Build.”

  Tasha whispered, almost too softly to hear:

  “Why us?”

  Naomi’s smile returned—subtle and full of gravity.

  “Because power listens for whispers no one else hears. And tonight—you whispered a future I’d like to see.”

  It didn’t feel like a bribe.

  It felt like a door. And they had just been handed the keys.

  Not as followers.

  Not as servants.

  But as co-architects of a system where femininity wasn’t protected—

  It was armed.

  The Ferrari roars down the highway, cutting through the night air with a deep hum that matched the pulse of the women inside. The neon city lights blurred in their rearview as they drove toward the new house, toward a future that felt surreal—and undeniably real.

  The car had been Naomi’s gift to them. The keys felt heavy in Tasha's hand, and she was barely able to hide her grin as she looked over at Maya, who was equally as stunned. Jordan had her head out the window, feeling the wind in her hair, as if she were tasting the freedom Naomi had promised.

  They finally pulled up to the house—a bungalow tucked just on the edge of Saginaw, hidden behind a high stone wall. As the gates creaked open, the lights of the home illuminated like a beacon, a symbol of everything they’d just been handed. A house, a Ferrari, and 20,000. But what was more important was what they were about to do with it.

  The house was a dream. Open-pn, modern, with walls of gss that offered panoramic views of the surrounding countryside. Polished marble floors gleamed beneath their feet as they walked inside, awe-struck, setting down their bags and letting the reality of it all sink in.

  As they gathered in the living room, a massive firepce crackling gently, the tone shifted from awe to purpose.

  The room was quiet as the women gathered around, the weight of their situation starting to fully settle on them. Naomi had just left them with a Ferrari, a house, and 20,000 each. But more than that, she had given them a taste of something rger—something that felt both liberating and overwhelming.

  Tasha, ever the pragmatic one, broke the silence first.

  “Alright, let’s be real here. We’ve been handed something big. A Ferrari, a mansion, and money. But the real question is—what do we actually do with this? What can we propose to 6C, and how far will they go to back us?”

  Maya leaned forward, her hands resting on the marble table, eyes fixed on Tasha.

  “We need to really understand the details of the 6C Commandments before we can figure out what we can do. Naomi mentioned a lot of freedom—but where are the boundaries? We can’t just create a movement and hope for the best. We need something with the backing of the state.”

  Jordan smirked, swirling her drink.

  “I mean, I’m pretty sure the Commandments are what give us that freedom. Look, they banned pork. They’ve legalized polygamy. Polygamy. For women—as long as it’s four. They allow lesbian retionships but only if it’s between women. And there’s a whole bunch of economic and social restructuring in there too.”

  She paused, eyes scanning the room as the others took in her words.

  “What’s insane is that there’s no limit to what we can suggest, as long as we don’t break the core Commandments. That means anything that doesn’t contradict their ws... is possible.”

  Lena looked a little more cautious, still piecing the puzzle together in her mind.

  “So, basically, we can pitch almost anything as long as we don’t break the ws of 6C. But where do we start? What’s our first move?”

  Tasha sat back, tapping her fingers on the edge of the table as she thought. Then, she spoke slowly, each word carefully chosen.

  “First, we need to recognize that 6C isn’t about equality the way we used to think of it. It's not about inclusion in the traditional sense. It’s about creating a new kind of system—a matriarchal structure where women, specifically, are the ones making decisions. They’re giving us the tools to build that, but it’s up to us to wield them.”

  Her eyes fshed with determination.

  “So we propose projects that fit within their framework. The first one? A social reconstruction project. I’m talking about a women-centered economy. No more side jobs or underpaid bor. Let’s create a system where women are the ones investing in and profiting from major sectors. Government backing for our businesses, our properties, and even our legal rights to lead—no questions asked.”

  Maya raised her eyebrows, impressed.

  “That’s a game-changer. 6C has the financial power behind it to support that. They already fund projects for their own agenda. We can propose a female economic sector that’s tied to their state power. Business grants, no-interest loans for women-owned startups—backed by 6C’s divine governance.”

  Jordan nodded, fingers drumming on the table, her eyes narrowing as she saw the potential.

  “So we essentially take what 6C already backs—and turn it into our thing. We could propose a national women’s marketpce. Where women’s products—whether physical, intellectual, or emotional—are valued and traded like any other commodity. Hell, we could start an education initiative to get more women into positions of power in those fields.”

  Lena looked intrigued but still a bit hesitant.

  “But what about the other rules? I mean, the banning of homosexuality. The whole polygamy thing. Do we really want to deal with that? Can we build something that doesn’t feel like we’re just pying into a patriarchal system?”

  Tasha gave Lena a reassuring look.

  “The point is that we aren’t pying into the old system. We’re taking the power that’s been handed to us and using it to create something else—something that belongs to us. We don’t have to endorse every part of 6C’s dogma. But we can choose what serves us, and build a foundation from that.”

  Maya looked at Tasha, her voice steady.

  “I agree. We’ve got the state support, and the power is already in motion. But we need to keep it focused on the things that serve us. What Naomi said was clear: No man, no gay, no outsider. This is a space for women—and we need to build that space without apologizing for what we are.”

  Jordan let out a long breath, finally leaning back in her seat.

  “So, it’s about ciming that power. Not just working within it—redefining it. We’re the ones who should control the narrative of what women’s rights look like under 6C. We redefine what feminism means—no more conforming to outdated ideologies.”

  Lena spoke again, her voice quieter but more resolute now.

  “And we do it in a way that doesn’t just ask for change. We demand it. With the resources 6C provides, we have the power to set up schools, businesses, and legal structures that prioritize women’s needs. Women-only spaces, women-run media. A real revolution, but from the inside out.”

  There was a long silence as the weight of what they were discussing sank in. They had been handed a ptform, a system, and a mandate—and now it was their turn to shape it.

  Tasha finally broke the silence, her voice a quiet but forceful command.

  “We need to be strategic. Let’s draw up a pn. First step—build an economic structure that lifts women from dependence on patriarchal systems. Second step—propose an educational system that teaches women to lead. Third step—create legal frameworks that protect and prioritize women, from businesses to marriages. We don’t just take over. We transform.”

  Maya raised her gss.

  “To the future. Where women aren’t just surviving—they’re leading.”

  And just like that, their ideas began to take shape—rooted in 6C’s doctrines, but twisted into something new, something distinctly their own. They weren’t just part of the system anymore. They were about to make it their own.

  ***