The Quiet Advance – Montgomery County
Location: Rockville, Marynd – Montgomery County Administrative Center
Time: Eight months into 6C control
The Civic Harmony Emblem of the 6 Commandments Party (6C) now adorned the entrance of the Montgomery County Administrative Center, repcing the traditional state seal. Inside, the atmosphere was subdued, with citizens navigating the new bureaucratic ndscape.
At the Marital Services wing, a young couple, Marcus and Elena, approached the registration desk.
Registrar: "Welcome. Are you here for a marriage contract or a Femme Group consultation?"
Elena: "Marriage contract."
The registrar handed them a form titled "Contract of Marriage under Polygamy Law v1.1 – First Unit Registration."
Registrar: "Please ensure you have your MEQ compliance documents and kin approvals ready. The 200 marital transfer fee is payable upon submission."
Marcus hesitated, gncing at Elena.
Marcus: "We weren't aware of the kin approval requirement. Elena's parents are overseas."
Registrar: "In that case, a community proxy can be arranged. A zone elder or certified kin-trust sponsor can provide the necessary approval. You'll be pced on a 48-hour waitlist."
Nearby, a group of women sat in a waiting area, discussing the formation of a Femme Trust.
Woman 1: "Have you decided on the trust tier structure?"
Woman 2: "We're considering a triad with rotational schedules. It's complex, but it offers stability."
In a quiet corner of the building, a seminar was underway. Officer Musa Anwar addressed a group of interfaith inquirers.
Musa: "6C's theology emphasizes actionable faith. The Trinity and Pauline epistles were deemed too abstract. We focus on oneness—one rhythm, one prophet, one structure of intimacy. Love follows rhythm, not the other way around."
Among the attendees, a young woman named Sarah took diligent notes, her Bible open beside her.
Sarah: "It's a different perspective, but it resonates with the desire for structure and belonging."
As the seminar concluded, Musa handed out copies of "The Mono-Structure of 6C Marital Theology: Abridged Primer for Interfaith Inquirers."
***
Rockville, Montgomery County – Early Evening
Characters:
Pastor Jeremiah Long, mid-50s, Baptist minister of a small, independent church.
Marianne Fields, 45, his younger sister, a nurse, divorced for 10 years.
Sarah Fields, 21, Marianne’s daughter, university student.
The scent of rosemary and roasted sweet potatoes lingered in the air as Pastor Jeremiah Long stepped through the front door of his sister's modest duplex just off Veirs Mill Road. He hadn’t visited in weeks—too long, he now realized, as the transformation of Montgomery County was accelerating faster than he’d anticipated.
"Jeremiah!" Marianne greeted him from the kitchen, drying her hands with a dishrag. "Didn’t expect you ‘til ter."
He forced a smile, walking past the coat rack, but stopped short in the living room. A small, dark blue booklet sat prominently on the coffee table. Its title, in smooth gold lettering, caught his eye immediately:
“The Mono-Structure of 6C Marital Theology: Abridged Primer for Interfaith Inquirers.”
His brow tightened. He picked it up slowly, flipping through the pages—dense with doctrinal justification, minimalist graphics showing marital nodes and rotational trust units. The scriptural references were stripped of Paul, filled instead with stylized footnotes from Leviticus, Surah An-Nisa, and an odd paraphrasing of Christ’s teachings filtered through 6C dogma.
He set the booklet down and turned toward the kitchen.
“Marianne,” he called, voice low and sharp, “where’s Sarah?”
She paused. “Oh… she’s out,” she said vaguely, then added, “She went to the Marital Office this morning. Something about paperwork. She’s with Brian now.”
Jeremiah walked into the kitchen, his voice heavier now. “Brian…? Her boyfriend?”
Marianne nodded, opening a cupboard.
He took a breath. “Is this—” he gestured back toward the living room—“is that booklet from the Montgomery County Marital Office?”
Marianne didn’t answer immediately. She reached for a gss, filled it with water, and sipped.
“Yes,” she said at st. “Officer Anwar gave it to Sarah during a Q&A st week. Said it was good for people still 'negotiating their path.'”
Jeremiah’s jaw tightened. “Anwar. That’s the Muslim officer they brought in from PG County?”
Marianne shrugged. “I don’t ask what religion someone is if they’re polite and helpful.”
“But it matters, Marianne,” he snapped. “You’ve got a child—our family raised in the Word—and now she’s reading this... this rebranded hybrid nonsense as if it’s some gentle guidebook?”
“It’s just a pamphlet,” Marianne replied, her voice calm, almost detached. “She’s curious. So what? Everyone’s curious these days.”
He stepped closer. “Curious is one thing. Walking into a 6C marital office and coming out with a theocratic pybook is another.”
Marianne turned to face him directly. “And what would you have her do, Jeremiah? Hide in your church basement with a dozen panicked elders pretending the world hasn’t changed?”
There was silence between them.
Jeremiah finally said, “The Trinity is not up for negotiation, Marianne. And neither is covenant marriage.”
She sighed. “You can’t keep her from asking questions.”
“I can answer them. That’s what I do.”
“But she’s not asking you anymore,” Marianne said, quietly. “That’s what’s really eating at you.”
He looked away, the truth of it stinging more than he expected. The booklet still y on the coffee table, shimmering faintly under the overhead light.
Outside, the sun dipped behind a line of government-issue banners fluttering in the breeze, bearing Montgomery County’s new slogan:
“Shared Order, Shared Purpose.”
And somewhere out there, his niece was walking hand-in-hand with her boyfriend, unaware—or perhaps perfectly aware—of the new covenant she was slowly being ushered into.
***
The sound of the front door creaking open was quickly followed by the murmur of light conversation and the shuffle of sneakers on tile. Sarah stepped in, ughing softly, her phone still in her hand. She was in a light sweater, her expression calm and content. Pastor Jeremiah stood in the hallway waiting.
She looked up and stopped short. “Uncle Jeremiah?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“Sit down,” he finally said, not as a suggestion.
“Uh... okay.” She moved toward the couch, gncing at her mother, who remained in the kitchen doorway, anxious.
Jeremiah followed her in and stood between her and the coffee table, where the 6C booklet still y open. He pointed to it.
“Tell me, Sarah. What exactly did Officer Musa Anwar do when you went to the Marital Office today?”
She blinked, confused. “What do you mean, what did he do?”
Jeremiah’s tone sharpened. “Don’t py dumb. Did he touch your head? Did he make you say some oath? Did he give you this—” he lifted the booklet slightly—“and start preaching that God is a bureaucratic rotation unit?!”
Sarah tilted her head, squinting. “He didn’t do anything, Uncle Jeremiah. He just… expined how the trust system works. Showed us some examples. Gave everyone a primer. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Jeremiah barked. “You think that’s nothing? You walked into a pce that looks like a county office, and you came out quoting a theology that rips out the heart of Christianity!”
Sarah flinched, her voice rising slightly in defense. “It’s a civic model, not a religion. 6C isn't Ism. It’s not from Saudi Arabia or whatever you're imagining—it’s a framework from here. A U.S.-made system for plural marriage and social order.”
Jeremiah's voice thundered now, echoing against the pster walls. “It reeks of foreign DNA! The nguage, the submission cuses, the prophet hierarchy—it’s Ism with a fresh coat of American paint!”
Marianne stepped forward. “Jeremiah, please—your voice.”
But he kept going. “This isn’t a cultural experiment, Sarah. This is apostasy dressed up as policy! They’ve taken our God, our scriptures, and sliced them up to fit inside marital brochures! And you think because a polite man in uniform handed it to you, it’s harmless?”
Sarah stood now, defiant. “You talk like he hypnotized me. All he did was expin something clearly—without condemning anyone. He didn’t tell us to stop believing in Jesus. He said people of any faith could participate, as long as they aligned to structure.”
Jeremiah stepped closer, finger pointed. “That’s the trick! Structure first, God ter. That’s not faith, that’s idotry of the state! Of man!”
Marianne raised her voice now, pained. “Jeremiah, please. You’re scaring her.”
“I should be!” he snapped. Then turned to Sarah, softening only slightly. “Child, you’re walking into a system that wants you as an ornament—obedient, tractable, and theologically neutered. You're not entering marriage, you're entering submission by doctrine.”
Sarah shook her head, her voice trembling. “You don’t even know what it says. You never asked me why I went. You just assumed I was... converting or something.”
“Because I’ve seen this before!” Jeremiah growled. “It starts with pamphlets and ends with daughters abandoning Christ for contracts!”
The room fell into thick silence. Marianne pced a hand on Sarah’s shoulder, her face stricken.
“I don’t understand why you’re this angry, Jeremiah,” she said quietly. “This isn’t Saudi. This is Rockville. Nobody’s forcing anything.”
Jeremiah turned to her, voice now hoarse with restrained emotion. “Because I buried two church members st month who took their lives after their daughters were assigned into rotational unions they didn’t understand. Because I’ve watched my entire congregation be hollowed out by this... thing masquerading as spiritual order. And because now it’s at your table.”
He looked at Sarah again, his eyes pleading now rather than harsh.
“You still have time, Sarah. Don’t follow the banner because it’s trending or bureaucratically tidy. Ask whether the Spirit is present. If it’s not... then it’s a lie. No matter how well it’s printed.”
Sarah looked away, jaw clenched.
Jeremiah slowly walked to the door, paused once, and turned his head.
“I’ll be preaching on the Trinity this Sunday. I’d like you to come. No judgment. Just crity.”
He left without waiting for a response.
Marianne stayed silent as the door shut behind him. Sarah stood still, her face unreadable.
Then, after a long pause, she whispered, “I don’t think he understands that I am asking questions. That’s the whole reason I went.”
Marianne nodded slowly, her voice faint.
“I think he’s scared of the answers.”
***
The sanctuary of New Dawn Baptist Church was filled with familiar faces—older couples, quiet widows, three generations of pew-warming families. Most had been attending since the 1990s, some since before Pastor Jeremiah took over. The American fg still stood to the left of the pulpit, the Christian fg on the right. But there was a subtle tension in the air now—unspoken but felt, a tension that came with the rising influence of the 6C framework just a few counties away.
Sarah sat next to her mother in the fourth pew, her hands folded neatly in her p, her Bible unopened.
She had accepted the invitation to attend, partly out of respect, partly out of curiosity. But she could feel her uncle’s eyes gnce over the crowd and nd on her more than once before the service even began.
After the hymns and a quiet moment of prayer, Pastor Jeremiah stepped forward.
He opened his Bible to 1 John 4:1 and read aloud:
“Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world.”
He let the silence sit for a breath, then looked up.
Jeremiah:
“There’s a new spirit moving through our communities. One that calls itself a structure... a framework. One that tells our daughters that submission is liberation—as long as it comes in tidy bureaucratic rows, stamped by county clerks and enforced by clean-shaven officers with soft voices and foreign accents.”
Sarah’s jaw stiffened. Her mother, beside her, gave no reaction—but she shifted slightly in her seat.
Jeremiah:
“They say it’s not a religion. They say it’s just about order, about restoring family values. But it comes dressed in robes not of Christ, but of conquest. It has no cross, no resurrection, no Holy Spirit. Just manuals, trust units, and nguage that sounds like it fell out of a legal office in Riyadh.”
There were murmurs of agreement. A few “Amens.”
Jeremiah:
“And the young are falling for it. Not because they’re evil. But because they’ve been left hungry. Hungry for meaning. Hungry for community. And the serpent never offers poison in a bottle—it offers fruit. Sweet fruit. Fruit that looks orderly. Fruit that sounds inclusive. Fruit that whispers: Did God really say?”
Sarah clenched her jaw tighter.
He paced slowly, voice rising like a wave.
“This... mono-structure... that calls itself divine order? It rejects the Trinity. It deletes Paul. It says marriage is not a covenant but a resource-sharing unit. It calls Jesus a prophet—and only a prophet. And some of our neighbors call that progress?”
He paused again, surveying the crowd. His eyes brushed over Sarah, then moved on.
Jeremiah:
“I say, test the spirit. And if that spirit does not confess Christ as the risen Son of God... then it is not of us.”
More nods. More scattered “Amens.”
Sarah sat perfectly still, the heat rising behind her eyes. Her mother whispered gently, almost silently, “Breathe.”
Jeremiah closed his Bible.
“Don’t fall for the system that promises heaven on earth while crucifying heaven’s Son in the footnotes.”
He stepped down from the pulpit to soft appuse and the closing hymn began.
After the Service – Church Parking Lot
Sarah and her mother walked quietly to their car. A few members gave polite smiles, some greeted Marianne, but most kept a respectful distance.
Inside the car, Marianne started the ignition. For a moment, they just sat.
Sarah:
“He called it foreign. He made it sound like it had nothing to do with this country.”
Marianne:
“He was trying to protect you.”
Sarah:
“He doesn’t know what I’m thinking. He doesn’t ask. He just assumes everything outside his theology is a trap.”
Her mother exhaled. “He’s from a different time.”
Sarah looked out the window at the fading church sign:
“New Dawn Baptist – The Word is Eternal.”
Then she said, softly but firmly:
“I’m going back to the Marital Office next week. I want to ask questions. For myself.”
Marianne didn’t respond immediately. But after a few seconds, she nodded.
“All right,” she said. “Just... don’t let anyone tell you who you are. Not them. Not your uncle.”
Sarah looked straight ahead, eyes steady.
“I won’t.”
***
The Montgomery County Marital Office was sterile but serene—walls in warm beige, floors polished, light jazz humming faintly in the background. It didn’t feel like a government center. It felt like a well-funded counseling institute or a startup designed by retired therapists.
Sarah signed in under “Private Follow-up Consultation” and was escorted to Room 2A. There, Officer Musa Anwar sat already—modestly dressed in a navy-blue 6C civil uniform, no visible religious symbols, only a silver pin reading Civic Dignity | Marital Trust Affairs.
He stood as she entered. “Sarah Fields?”
“Yes.” She sat cautiously, her tote bag resting against her calves.
He studied her file briefly before speaking. “I see you came st week for the general orientation. You’re listed as unaffiliated, no marital application submitted yet. Is that still correct?”
“Yes.” Her voice was measured. “I didn’t come to apply. I came to ask something that’s… personal. Theological.”
He folded his hands. “You’re welcome to ask.”
She hesitated, then looked at him directly.
“My uncle says you’re spreading Ism through this pce.”
Musa didn’t blink. “I’ve heard that concern before.”
“He says this ‘Mono-Structure’—” she tapped the booklet poking from her bag, “—has Ismic DNA. That it’s just a disguised form of Sharia w wrapped in paperwork.”
Musa smiled faintly, not mockingly—genuinely composed.
“And how do you feel about what he said?”
“I didn’t care,” she said. “Not until he started yelling at my mom. Not until he stood at the pulpit and made it sound like the end of America was coming because people like you were here.”
Musa gave her space. Then gently said, “You’re wondering if he’s right.”
Sarah nodded slowly. “Not because I believe him. But because I’m tired of the shouting. I want crity. I want to know what this really is. Why it sounds half like a legal contract, half like a religion.”
He leaned forward.
“The 6C governance system is spiritual in tone, but civic in structure,” he said. “Its roots are American—formed during the Westward Compromise Conference two years ago—but its architecture borrows from many traditions. Ismic w, Hebraic kinship codes, Protestant order theology, and post-secur sociology. That’s not a secret. It’s in the footnotes of the full primer.”
“But why ban Trinity teaching then?” she asked. “Why outw something churches have preached for centuries?”
Musa exhaled softly, the tone turning serious.
“Not because we fear theology,” he said. “But because the Trinity—when enforced as public doctrine—creates institutional hierarchies that fracture loyalty. The Father-Son dynamic, the Pauline supremacy model… it justifies male dominance in older frameworks. That’s not a conspiracy. That’s sociological mapping.”
“But you didn’t shut down the churches.”
“No. We don’t need to. People are free to worship. We only intervene when public institutions—including churches—attempt to override marital trust structures or advocate teachings that openly contradict unified civic loyalty.”
Sarah tilted her head. “So technically, my uncle broke the w st Sunday?”
Musa paused for a long moment.
“Yes,” he said. “Technically.”
Sarah frowned. “And you’re not arresting him?”
“We’re not in the business of creating martyrs,” Musa said calmly. “Nor are we trying to convert anyone. We’re trying to build compatibility. If someone openly preaches teachings that can destabilize the communal framework, we begin by offering education. Soft correction. Only if they begin inciting action do we escate.”
Sarah stared at him for a while. “So you just… watch.”
“We watch. We observe. And we wait,” Musa said. “Freedom without framework becomes chaos. But enforcement without patience becomes tyranny.”
There was silence for a beat.
Then Sarah asked, “And what do you believe?”
Musa smiled again, but this time more personal. “I believe submission to order brings peace. Whether you call it sharia, hakha, canon w, or trust alignment... the names don’t matter. The fruits do.”
She didn’t respond. Just nodded slowly, her thoughts tangled.
“Would you like a copy of the full theological supplement?” he asked.
“I think I would,” she said.
He stood, retrieved a sealed folder from a cabinet, and pced it in front of her.
“Take your time. Don’t believe every spirit,” he added softly. “But test them.”
She froze. It was the verse her uncle had preached. 1 John 4:1.
She met his gaze, both unsettled and intrigued.
***
The house was quiet. Marianne had gone to bed early, and only the distant hum of a passing commuter train reminded Sarah that she still lived in a functioning suburb.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, her ptop closed beside her, a cup of mint tea cooling on the nightstand. Before her y the sealed folder from the Montgomery County Marital Office. The bel read:
“6C Theological Supplement – Restricted Circution (For Interfaith Integration Use Only)”
Sarah peeled back the tab, curious but cautious. She flipped through the first few pages:
A list of “Civic Faith Anchors”
A side-by-side comparison of religious frameworks: Protestantism, Reform Judaism, Hanafi Ism, 6C Integration
An introduction from the 6C National Faith Council, emphasizing “ethical convergence” over dogmatic fidelity.
But halfway through the document, she paused.
A bold heading caught her eye:
“II. The Pauline Problem: Civic Instability Through Apostolic Absolutism”
Her brow furrowed. She leaned in and began reading carefully.
“The epistles of Paul, while foundational to early Christian ecclesiology, introduce an exclusive hierarchy of obedience, gendered submission, and salvific monopoly that directly contradicts the rotational harmony principle required in 6C’s marital trust structure.”
“Particurly problematic passages include Ephesians 5:22 (‘Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands...’) and 1 Corinthians 14:34 (‘Let your women keep silence in the churches...’). These directives are structurally incompatible with Femme Trust protocols and rotational civic equality.”
“Furthermore, Pauline dualism between flesh and spirit has historically been used to devalue corporeal communalism, especially in contexts of plural marriage and resource co-ownership.”
“Therefore, the Selective Doctrine Removal Act (SDRA) of Year 2 under 6C governance mandates that Pauline epistles shall be de-canonized in all publicly distributed religious materials within 6C jurisdictions, unless housed under a registered ‘Historic Archive’ license.”
Sarah sat back, stunned. She had heard rumors about “rewritten Bibles” floating around Telegram groups and angry YouTube channels, but she’d assumed it was right-wing exaggeration.
But here it was. Clean. Bureaucratic. Not a call to burn Bibles—but a call to filter and re-contextualize them under civic logic.
She read on.
“Religious educators within 6C states are encouraged to substitute Pauline passages with teachings of James, Matthew, and selected Hadiths compatible with mono-structure ethics.”
“Faith communities may continue referencing Paul for historical or comparative study, but not for prescriptive or liturgical use.”
She leaned forward, her thoughts racing. This wasn’t about Musa. This wasn’t about Ism, or even her uncle’s sermons.
This was about an entirely new logic being implemented—not violently, not with guns, but through policy packets and administrative folders like this one.
She flipped to the appendix and found a quote boxed in red ink:
“In systems of shared civic trust, the figure of Paul functions less as apostle and more as obstacle.”
—Dr. Miriam Qureishi, 6C National Theological Revision Board
Sarah whispered to herself, “They’re... restructuring Christianity.”
And yet, she didn’t feel rage. She didn’t even feel fear.
What she felt, disturbingly, was fascination.
***
The following morning, Sarah sat in her room long after sunrise, eyes red from reading Reddit threads, long-form essays, and even video transcripts from the Interfaith Policy Consortium. The conclusion was inescapable: 6C was indeed inspired by Ism—its legal logic, community structures, even linguistic rhythm echoed the sharia-adjacent models of order and obedience.
The defenders were bold:
“Ism brought order where there was tribal chaos. So does 6C.”
“You hate it because it’s effective, not because it’s foreign.”
“Christianity gave us centuries of exclusion. 6C gives structure without original sin.”
And the critics were louder, though not always sharper:
“6C is Ism in disguise—wake up.”
“This isn’t just civil w. It’s cultural takeover.”
“Next they’ll make you wear robes and bow toward Virginia.”
What troubled Sarah wasn’t the comparison—it was the shallowness of the Christian arguments. She saw them avoiding their own house’s contradictions, dodging Paul’s most authoritarian teachings, all while trying to make 6C foreign by pinning it on Ism.
She muttered aloud at one point, “Why is copying Ism automatically evil? Did someone patent structure?”
***
Later that morning
Sarah returned to the Montgomery County Marital Office. The receptionist, recognizing her, gave a warm nod.
“Officer Musa’s comparative session is starting now. He’s in Room 3B. You can sit in if you'd like.”
Sarah nodded and quietly entered the softly lit seminar room. It resembled a graduate cssroom more than a government facility—semi-circur chairs, a whiteboard, and a projection screen with the title:
“Comparative Theological Logic in Civic Design: 6C, Ism, and Early Christianity”
Musa stood at the front, sleeves rolled to his elbows, gesturing calmly as he spoke.
Seated near the front were two women—Kendra Walce, mid-30s, with a spiral notebook half-filled already, and Lay, who wore a modest blouse and a 6C badge clipped to her bag.
Musa gnced briefly at Sarah but continued fluidly.
“Let’s be honest: 6C did not emerge from a vacuum. It is derivative. It borrows from the disciplined legalism of Ism, the communal rotation of early kibbutz models, and yes—even the ecclesial order found in Catholic canon w. But what makes 6C distinct is its non-eschatological nature. 6C doesn't promise heaven. It promise function.”
Kendra raised her hand. “But isn’t it fair for critics to be armed when your structure aligns more with Ismic jurisprudence than, say, Protestant grace?”
Musa nodded. “It is fair. But is it honest?” He turned to the whiteboard and wrote:
‘FEAR ≠ FRAUD’
“Saying 6C mirrors Ism in logic does not mean it is religiously Ismic. That’s like saying modern banking is Catholic because it preserves the Latin calendar. Many of our critics fail to ask why Ismic legal systems endured—not just in Arabia, but in West Africa, Indonesia, the Balkans—why they held social order. Instead, they weaponize the resembnce.”
Lay chimed in. “I grew up Southern Baptist. We never questioned Paul’s commands for women to be silent—we just made them ‘cultural.’ But now that someone else applies order and calls it ‘foreign,’ suddenly it’s tyranny?”
Musa smiled. “Exactly. When our own institutions demand obedience, we call it 'tradition.' When others do, we call it 'theocracy.'”
Sarah finally raised her hand.
“I read everything st night,” she said. “Even the cuse that says Paul’s letters promote instability. I read Christian defenses too. And what I don’t get is—why is imitation of Ismic structure seen as betrayal? Why can’t we just… say it was smart to borrow from it?”
Musa looked at her for a long second. Then said softly,
“Because acknowledging wisdom from a non-Western, non-Christian source would mean admitting that the West doesn’t own civilization. That it has been borrowing all along—and never said thank you.”
The room fell silent. Even Kendra stopped writing.
Sarah stared at her notes, her throat tight with something she couldn’t name. Not guilt. Not belief. Just a deep, gnawing awareness that something foundational was being cracked open.
Musa stepped forward and added, gently:
“Truth doesn’t need to be original. It needs to work. The rest is pride.”
***
The lesson had ended fifteen minutes ago, but Sarah remained seated long after the other women had filed out. Her notebook y open in her p, but she hadn’t written anything for a while. Her pen tapped the edge of the page as if trying to mark time.
Musa was gathering his things at the podium when he noticed her still sitting.
“You want to ask more?” he said, walking over with a calm smile.
Sarah stood. “If you have time.”
Musa gestured toward the gss doors leading to the small interior courtyard. “I always have time for someone who read the full theological supplement.”
They stepped outside. The sun was bright but not hot. A small fountain bubbled in the center. Government-issued flowers, trimmed with uniform precision, framed the path. They sat on the bench.
Sarah didn’t speak right away.
“I wasn’t raised in a rigid church,” she finally said. “We were quiet Protestants. My mom left Baptist circles years ago. She wanted more space. My uncle just... never did.”
Musa nodded but didn’t interrupt.
“So I guess what I’m saying is—I’m not ‘in rebellion’ or anything. I’m not angry at God. I’m not looking for a religion. But I do want to know why what I heard growing up feels so... incomplete now.”
She turned to him.
“And why, even when I see the fws in it, I still feel... uneasy when someone says Paul was removed for the good of society.”
Musa tilted his head.
“That unease is honest,” he said. “You’re not meant to delete your conscience in a moment. You’re meant to test it.”
Sarah exhaled slowly.
“But don’t you ever think it’s dangerous?” she asked. “That 6C is... pruning things too fast? That it’s editing not just doctrine, but people’s identities?”
Musa considered that.
“I do,” he said pinly. “But I also think not pruning leads to decay. And that waiting for everyone to feel ready is how civilizations fall apart.”
She frowned. “You make it sound utilitarian.”
He smiled gently. “Because it is. We’re not building paradise. We’re managing a failing empire.”
Sarah blinked at that.
“So it’s damage control?”
“It’s restoration,” he corrected, “but yes—restoration comes after colpse. And part of that means admitting which tools were never sustainable to begin with.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“I grew up memorizing Qur'an. I still pray five times a day. But what I teach in that room?” He nodded toward the building. “It’s not dawah. It’s scaffolding. Some call it Ismic. Some call it fascist. But the real question is: does it hold under pressure?”
Sarah looked down at her notebook, then back at him.
“My uncle thinks you’re the enemy.”
“I know.”
“But I don’t,” she said. “I don’t know if I agree with you—but I don’t think you’re trying to trick anyone.”
“That’s already more than most give me,” Musa said.
She smiled faintly.
“So… what happens if I start quoting Paul at my wedding one day?” she asked.
He gave a half-ugh.
“Then I’ll suggest you do it in private. Or... in states not governed by 6C.” He winked. “We haven’t reached all fifty yet.”
They sat in silence for a while. The breeze moved softly through the courtyard. The world outside still looked like America—but the logic beneath it was shifting, one doctrine at a time.
***
The café was packed, students swirling in and out with trays of espresso and ptops. Sarah sat at a round table near the windows, surrounded by six friends—diverse in background, unified in curiosity.
Open in front of her was the now-famous “6C Theological Supplement”, the very one Officer Musa Anwar had handed her. Printed notes, underlined quotes, and small post-it questions cluttered the margins. Her friends leaned in.
“So wait,” said Dalia, adjusting her hijab. “They removed Paul’s letters entirely? Like—gone from public liturgy?”
“Not ‘gone,’” Sarah crified. “They’re archived. Still accessible, just no longer officially used in 6C-governed public settings. Musa said it’s about filtering theological roots that contradict civic trust logic.”
“That’s wild,” said Tyrese, sipping iced coffee. “Paul built Christian masculinity, though. If you’re trying to undo the patriarchy, targeting him kinda... makes sense.”
Imaan raised a brow. “I know we’re supposed to hate 6C, but lowkey—if it’s working better than liberal securism, maybe the offense people take is just that it’s... Ismic-sounding.”
Maya, flipping through her own marked-up printout, added, “That’s what bothers me too. Like, people are fine with Buddhist community codes or even Jewish hakha. But 6C borrows from sharia, and suddenly it’s a theocratic invasion?”
Sohail, calm and academic, interjected: “6C doesn't call itself a religion. It’s a civic regime with religious grammar. If you remove Paul but preserve marriage, rotation, and female civic trust, you’re not destroying Christianity—you’re redesigning its societal expression.”
Nina, curious but wary: “So are you saying it’s okay? Just because it’s ‘effective’?”
Sarah responded carefully. “I’m not saying it’s perfect. But maybe it’s unfair to attack it just because it sounds like Ism. That’s what my uncle does. He doesn’t argue about justice or function—he just screams ‘foreign w.’ And that’s zy thinking.”
Before anyone could respond, a sharp voice broke in.
“Lazy thinking? Or is it you who’s being seduced by authoritarian theology?”
The group turned. Standing behind them, arms crossed, was Cra Freeman—president of the campus Progressive Coalition. She wore her signature bck bzer and round gsses, the type that framed her fury with style.
Sarah straightened. “Cra, this is a private discussion.”
“You’re in a public café,” Cra said, stepping closer. “And you’re defending a structure that criminalizes Trinity teaching, filters scripture, and engineers marital contracts for women. That’s not ‘civic logic.’ That’s theocracy with bureaucratic lipstick.”
Maya frowned. “We weren’t defending it. We’re studying it.”
“Studying?” Cra scoffed. “You’re treating it like an anthropology css while people are being absorbed into a regime that turns marriage into a legal caste system.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “What system doesn’t, Cra? Western monogamy has a whole history of economic co-dependence and purity politics. 6C might be fwed, but don’t act like secur liberalism gave women utopia.”
Tyrese raised a hand. “Let’s stay chill.”
But Cra wasn’t done. “You think because it has smart pamphlets and Muslims who smile it’s not dangerous? I’ve seen this movie. Cultural packaging doesn’t soften coercion.”
Sarah, her tone now icier: “And I’ve seen the kind of progressivism that shouts down every system it doesn’t understand. You don’t like 6C because it doesn’t orbit your sacred ideal of autonomy. But guess what—millions of women are choosing it.”
“Under pressure,” Cra snapped. “Under propaganda, economic manipution, and engineered trust structures. Don’t pretend choice exists in a regime that redefines faith by government terms.”
“Then why haven’t they shut down the churches?” Sarah shot back. “Why isn’t Musa converting people? He listens more than half the pastors I’ve met.”
The table went quiet.
Cra stared for a moment, then said coolly, “So you really think he’s harmless?”
Sarah looked back calmly. “No. I think he’s deliberate. That’s why I’m listening.”
Cra exhaled. “Then enjoy your ‘functional theocracy,’ Sarah. Just don’t pretend you’re still on our side.”
She turned and walked off, heels clicking with fury.
After a long pause, Maya muttered, “That went well.”
Sarah finally exhaled.
“She doesn’t understand. I’m not switching sides. I’m trying to understand the map, not throw darts at it.”
Dalia smiled faintly. “Keep reading. We’ve got your back.”
***
The screen was divided into six rectangles, each face tense with anticipation. Cra Freeman leaned forward, her room dimly lit, the glow of her screen reflecting off her gsses.
Cra:
“Thanks for joining on short notice. I’ll keep this brief. There’s been a development at UMD that I think needs elevation to the Mid-Atntic file.”
Kay:
“You fgged something about a ‘sympathizer’? Go on.”
Cra:
“It’s Sarah Fields. Junior. Political science. Formerly aligned with Interfaith Women’s Justice Club. She’s been observed not only defending the 6C’s civic theology structure in casual discussions—but also directly engaging with Officer Musa Anwar at the Montgomery Marital Office in a… let’s say, inquisitive posture.”
Nadia:
“Define ‘inquisitive.’ Everyone’s got questions these days.”
Cra:
“She wasn’t asking critical questions. She was normalizing it. Treating the removal of Pauline epistles as civic innovation. Dismissing Western critiques as ‘zy thinking.’ I confronted her at the Student Union Café. She didn’t backpedal. She said, and I quote, ‘Maybe it’s unfair to attack 6C just because it sounds like Ism.’”
A few on the call nodded knowingly. Jonatan rubbed his forehead.
Jonatan:
“Let me guess—the same campus where your theology clubs won’t even critique Leviticus but scream about sharia when a Muslim officer hands someone a brochure?”
Lucas:
“That’s Marynd’s new normal. Every critique has to be postured carefully, or the 6C people turn it into a bigot trap.”
Devin:
“But Cra, are you recommending censure? Or what?”
Cra paused, then spoke deliberately.
Cra:
“I’m not pushing for a witch hunt. But I am suggesting we fg Sarah Fields for soft-watch. She’s well-connected. She’s articute. And the kind of person who could serve as a bridge figure between secur feminists and the 6C-curious.”
Kay:
“That’s dangerous.”
Nadia:
“It’s happening more than you think. In Newark, we had two former anti-polygamy organizers convert to 6C Femme Trust because it ‘felt more honest than liberal feminism.’”
Jonatan:
“If Sarah starts publishing or recruiting, it’s not just ideology—it’s infrastructure bleed. We can’t afford that in the student space.”
Lucas:
“Agreed. We’ll need narrative control. Can someone from the media subunit start building a content stack framing 6C as male-coded authoritarianism without leaning on Ismophobia? The nuance matters.”
Devin:
“I’ll handle that. But let’s be strategic. We don’t want Sarah to become a martyr for free-thought moderates. If we’re too harsh, we’ll radicalize her in the wrong direction.”
Kay:
“Then it’s settled. Sarah Fields goes on the Mid-Atntic soft-watch list. No direct action. Just monitoring. And if she crosses into organizing or public advocacy—we escate.”
Cra leaned back, expression unreadable.
Cra:
“I’ll keep my eyes on her. For now, she thinks she’s just asking questions. But we all know what curiosity did to the republic.”
****
Location: Sarah’s Bedroom, Rockville, Marynd
Ptform: University Email + Encrypted Messenger (CivicBridge SyncNet)
Sarah y in bed with the lights off, the glow of her phone the only illumination. She had been reviewing a dense PDF titled "Trinitarian Conflict in Civic Societies" when the email notification popped up.
Subject: Personal Invitation – Interfaith Civic Roundtable (Confidential)
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
She hesitated before opening it. The sender was unfamiliar. The body of the message was short, formal—but precise.
Dear Ms. Fields,
We are reaching out based on a mutual contact who noted your recent engagement with faith-governance questions in the context of 6C civic restructuring. You’ve been nominated—unofficially—for a listening session with the Femme Trust Interfaith Civic Roundtable, a quiet gathering hosted biweekly by a consortium of women participating in or studying 6C-aligned marital, theological, and community models.
The next session will take pce this Sunday, 6:00 PM, at a secure salon in Silver Spring, under the working title:
“God, Governance & the Gap: Exploring Divinity in Non-Trinitarian Civic Orders.”
This gathering is strictly off-record. Attendance is by discreet referral only. No livestream. No media presence. Several participants include:
L
A reformed Episcopal y leader from Baltimore
Two Muslim civic ethicists
A former Catholic nun who now leads a Femme Trust triad in D.C.
And one former seminary professor (identity withheld)
Your perspective as someone in academic, intergenerational, and exploratory space is welcome. Observers are permitted to listen quietly or pose questions. Silence is allowed.
Please RSVP using the CivicBridge SyncNet link below (encrypted, expires in 12 hours).
Transport can be arranged. Attire is modest casual. No proselytizing. No assumptions.
—Marisol Reyes
Femme Trust Marynd Cohort Liaison
Civic Harmony Office, Metro Sector 7
Sarah reread it three times.
A "quiet gathering." Referred by a “mutual contact.” Who? Musa? Dalia? Someone else from the café?
She tapped the RSVP link. It required biometric verification, then opened a secure chat with an AI concierge named Helena/17.
“Thank you for your intent to join. Would you prefer a pickup vehicle or will you arrive on your own?”
Sarah stared at the screen.
Her heart beat fast. Not from fear—something else. Curiosity. The same force that had driven her into Musa’s css. The same voice that now whispered: See it for yourself. Understand their God before they dismantle yours.
She typed:
“I’ll come on my own. Please send address and protocol.”
Helena responded instantly.
“Confirmed. We look forward to your presence, Sarah Fields. Bring no pretense. Only your questions.”
***
The private salon was housed in a converted co-op loft near downtown Silver Spring. The room was hushed, warmly lit by diffused amber mps and dotted with floor cushions and circle-chairs. Everyone had removed their shoes. No phones were visible. No cameras. No signs. Just a low banner against the wall with the words:
“TRUTH NEED NOT ARGUE. IT ONLY NEEDS SPACE.”
Sarah sat fnked by her friends—Maya on her left, arms crossed but focused; Nina on her right, attentive but skeptical.
In the center circle sat Leora, the moderator—silver-haired, serene, her long cardigan modest and loose. She began.
Leora:
“Tonight is not a debate. It’s not conversion. It’s not persuasion. It’s presence. We share where the old words failed us—and where the new ones begin to work.”
A few nods around the room.
Leora turned to Dr. Samira Qahtani, composed in an ivory tunic, clipboard resting on her p.
Dr. Qahtani:
“I was raised memorizing Qur'an. I still do. But when I joined 6C's ethics board, I didn’t bring Ism. I brought integrity. And I saw that Paul's letters—however beautiful—were structurally unsustainable in a shared civic trust system.”
Maya leaned in, intrigued.
Dr. Qahtani continued.
“You see, the Trinitarian model is mystical. It’s retional, yes—but also hierarchical. Father, Son, Spirit. Invisible submission. That trickles down. That informs gender roles, property structures, and obedience to abstract hierarchy. 6C couldn’t house that and cim functional equality.”
Rev. Ellen Marks, formerly Episcopal, added:
“I lost half my congregation the day I removed Pauline passages from our lectionary. But I gained something else—women who no longer asked permission to form covenantal bonds. Women who now lead trust units, who rotate roles of care, provision, and governance.”
Maya murmured to Sarah, “That’s wild. It’s like… the liturgy was the leash.”
Leora nodded to Masuma Nouri, seated near the corner.
Masuma:
“I never expected to be here. My past was hijabs and silent dinners. Then chaos. Divorce. American securism left me unanchored. But 6C… gave me structure again—without shame. I entered a Femme Trust with two other women. One's Jewish. The other atheist. We share childcare, rotate
***
The sun had fully dipped behind the skyline. The streets outside the salon were empty, calm. An unusual quiet had settled over the three young women as they walked toward Sarah’s car.
None of them spoke until the car doors closed, and the silence of the world was shut out.
It was Nina who broke it first, staring straight ahead, her voice low.
Nina:
“So… I think I’m done pretending.”
Sarah:
“About what?”
Nina:
“About Christianity. At least the version I was handed. The guilt, the double-speak, the ‘freedom’ that somehow still made me second to every man in the room. I kept trying to make it work, but tonight... hearing them talk?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t need mysticism anymore. I need something that functions.”
Maya looked over, chewing on the inside of her cheek.
Maya:
“I’m with her.”
Sarah turned. “You too?”
Maya nodded slowly.
Maya:
“I mean, I never had the same attachment to Jesus as you did. For me, it was always about community, structure, values. Judaism gave me roots, sure—but not rhythm. And it hasn’t updated in centuries. I studied religion because I thought truth was somewhere. But now I think it’s here.”
She tapped her temple.
Maya:
“6C’s not a religion. It’s a machine. A well-oiled system that pulls what works from the past and dumps the metaphysical rot. I don’t want to believe in mystery anymore. I want to live in something that doesn’t lie to me.”
Sarah looked down.
She didn’t answer. She felt the same way—had felt it for weeks now. The crity, the cohesion of 6C, the unapologetic pruning of outdated texts. No false comfort. No mystical fog. Just structure that held.
But she wasn’t ready to say it aloud.
Not yet.
Sarah:
“I get it. Really, I do. But… I think I need to move slower.”
Nina turned to her.
“Why? You already get it more than half the people in that room.”
Sarah shrugged, eyes still on the wheel.
Sarah:
“Because once you say it—once you say you’ve left—people stop asking questions. They just bel you. And right now, I still have questions I don’t want answered with judgment.”
Maya nodded.
“Fair.”
Nina, softly:
“But you’re already halfway there.”
Sarah:
“I know.”
They sat for a while in the silence. Then Maya smiled wryly.
Maya:
“Let’s make a pact. No rush. But we stop pretending. No more defending traditions that don’t defend us.”
Nina held out her hand.
“Agreed.”
Sarah hesitated—then pced her hand over theirs.
Sarah:
“Agreed. Quietly.”
They squeezed hands, and then let go. The engine started.
They didn’t feel like they’d joined a cult.
They felt like they had left a lie.
***
The old multipurpose basement beneath the student union had never seen this kind of turnout—not even during election debates or campus protests. Once reserved for club mixers and film nights, it now pulsed with quiet focus. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Modur chairs had been dragged into arcs. Folded bnkets and floor cushions filled the rest. There were no pcards. No posters. Just a single ptop screen at the front projecting in pin sans-serif:
Interfaith Civic Study – Session 3:
Paul, Polygamy & the Rise of Post-Trinitarian Ethics
Sarah stood at the back, arms folded, half in awe, half in disbelief.
One week ago, it had been seven people. A few curious friends. A couple of sociology majors who had heard about the Femme Trust salon. A Muslim student who had quietly passed Sarah’s name to a local 6C community node.
Now it was nearly 200—students from across faith backgrounds and academic disciplines. They came not for protest, not for revival—but for models. For structure. For answers. And because, as Nina had said days earlier:
“No one else is talking about the system. Only 6C is.”
At the front, Maya clicked the next slide. Her confidence had grown visibly.
Maya:
“Let’s not be na?ve. We’re not repcing religion overnight. But we’re not trying to ‘believe’ anymore. We’re trying to build. If Paul’s letters are functionally incompatible with equitable trust models, we need to say so, not dance around it.”
A cluster of students scribbled notes.
Maya continued:
“And if 6C is the only political framework currently offering post-Paulinian governance at scale, we have a responsibility to study it—not demonize it.”
Nina stepped forward next, projecting a diagram.
Nina:
“This chart maps traditional monogamous kinship against rotational Femme Trust structures. You’ll notice the emotional burnout and economic strain drops by 30% in triadic trust models within just six months of implementation. These aren’t theories—they’re active case studies.”
Gasps. Nods. One anthropology major leaned to his cssmate:
“It’s like a postmodern kibbutz with theological muscle.”
Sarah lingered near the rear. She wasn’t leading—but she was known. When she moved, people whispered.
A girl in a hijab leaned over and asked, “That’s Sarah, right? The one who debated Cra Freeman?”
“Yeah,” her friend replied. “But she hasn’t officially decred. She’s like… proto-6C.”
That bel made Sarah flinch a little. But she stayed.
Across the room, people were pairing off, jotting down questions, preparing for breakouts.
Maya gnced back and caught Sarah’s eye. She smiled.
Sarah gave the faintest nod.
She wasn’t ready to be the face. But she had to admit—whatever this was becoming, it had momentum. It wasn’t just deconstruction anymore. It was formation.
And it was moving fast.
