The lights are dimmed, the scent of expensive leather and sterile antiseptic mingling in the air. Hezri lounges on a plush divan, his fingers tracing the rim of a crystal gss filled with amber liquor. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the City Hospital’s VIP wing offer a panoramic view of the city’s skyline, glittering like a conquered empire.

  Around him, the women of his media arm stand in calcuted formation—Seneca Cole, Riya Patel, Lei Cohen, Zara Lin, and Maye Ruiz—each a carefully crafted weapon of influence. Their Ferraris are parked below, their social media empires buzzing, their loyalty unquestionable.

  Hezri (smirking, swirling his drink)

  "Report."

  Progress Updates

  Maye Ruiz ("Scarlet Sermon") steps forward first, her red Saint Laurent dress clinging to her like a second skin.

  Maye:

  "Crimson Doctrine’s engagement is up 22%. The ‘Lipstick as War Paint’ series triggered a wave of debate—just as pnned. Our ‘counter-feminist’ rhetoric is gaining traction, especially among disillusioned activists. The algorithm favors outrage, and we’re feeding it well.

  Zara Lin ("Debtless Zara") adjusts her bck Ferrari Roma key fob on the table before speaking.

  Zara:

  "The Harem Polygamy Uprising podcast hit 40K subs. We’ve successfully rebranded ‘sister-wives’ as a radical act of anti-capitalism. The left is confused, the right is intrigued, and the media can’t stop talking about us."

  Lei Cohen ("The Beautiful Resistance") tilts her head, her golden hair cascading over one shoulder.

  Lei:

  "Aphrodite Assembly’s test exhibition—’Submission as Liberation’—sold out. The elite are eating it up. We’ve converted three more influencers to our doctrine. Beauty is the revolution, and they’re lining up to enlist."

  Seneca Cole ("Seneca the Silenced") taps her tablet, pulling up analytics.

  Seneca:

  "The Submission Files exposed two more politicians. Their careers are over unless they py ball. Bckmail archives are… expanding nicely."

  Riya Patel ("Riya the Redeemed") smiles, her fingers hovering over her vintage typewriter.

  Riya:

  "The Obedient Press has rewritten three major news narratives in our favor. The public no longer questions—they obey. Words are weapons, and we wield them fwlessly."

  The Lydia Shaw Problem

  A beat of silence. Then—

  Maye (frowning)

  "There’s a complication."

  Hezri’s gaze sharpens. "Expin."

  Zara exhales sharply.

  "A girl. Lydia Shaw. Nineteen. No resources, no backing—just a phone and a vendetta. She’s been tearing into our ptforms, calling us ‘traitors to feminism,’ mocking the harem doctrine. Her following is small but growing… fast."

  Lei (coldly)

  "She called Aphrodite Assembly ‘a brothel with a manifesto.’"

  Seneca pulls up a holographic dispy—Lydia’s social media feed. Grainy videos of a fierce young woman with sharp eyes, filming in what looks like a cramped dorm or cheap apartment.

  Seneca:

  "No digital footprint before two months ago. No known associates. She’s a ghost—but her words are starting to stick."

  Hezri leans forward, intrigued.

  "A nobody… with a voice."

  Riya (softly)

  "She’s dangerous precisely because she has nothing to lose."

  A silence. Then—

  Hezri (smiling)

  "Find her."

  The women exchange gnces.

  Maye:

  "And when we do?"

  Hezri takes a slow sip of his drink.

  "Offer her a Ferrari."

  A beat. Then—ughter, dark and knowing.

  ***

  Scene: Lydia Shaw’s Live Stream – A Dimly Lit Dorm Room

  Lydia Shaw, 19, sits cross-legged on a worn-out mattress, her ptop propped on a stack of textbooks. The glow of the screen casts sharp shadows on her face as she speaks into her phone’s camera, her voice fiery with conviction.

  Lydia:

  "—and that’s exactly why the so-called ‘harem polygamy uprising’ isn’t liberation, it’s just another form of patriarchal control wrapped in pseudo-feminist jargon!"

  The live viewer count ticks upward—1,200 viewers… 1,500… 2,000—when suddenly, a notification fshes:

  ?? Lei Cohen (@TheBeautifulResistance) has joined the chat.

  Lydia’s breath hitches. The comments explode.

  ?? "NO WAY IS THAT LEILA??"

  ?? "Lydia’s about to get wrecked."

  ?? "This is gonna be good."

  Then—a direct message.

  ?? Lei Cohen: "Let me on. Debate me. Or are you scared of real opposition?"

  Lydia hesitates. Her fingers hover over the keyboard. Then—she smirks.

  Lydia (muttering to herself):

  "Fine. Let’s see how ‘beautiful’ your resistance really is."

  She hits "Allow Guest."

  The screen splits. On one side—Lydia, in her thrift-store hoodie, jaw set. On the other—Lei Cohen, bathed in the soft gold light of her Celestia studio, draped in a silk kimono, her Ferrari key glinting on the desk beside her.

  Lei (smiling, saccharine-sweet):

  "Lydia. What a… quaint little setup you have."

  Lydia (narrowing her eyes):

  "Spare me the condescension. You’re here because I’m a threat."

  Lei (ughing, flipping her hair):

  "Oh, darling. You’re a spark. But sparks fade. Movements need more than rage—they need vision. Beauty. Power."

  The viewer count skyrockets—5,000… 8,000… 12,000.

  Lydia (leaning forward):

  "Your ‘vision’ is just submission rebranded. You’ve traded one cage for another—gold-pted, but still a cage."

  Lei (mock gasp, hand to chest):

  "Cage? Sweetheart, I own the keys. My body, my choice—including who I kneel for."

  ?? "DAMN LEILA"

  ?? "Lydia’s getting cooked"

  ?? "She has a point tho…"

  Lydia (scoffing):

  "You call kneeling ‘radical’? You’ve turned feminism into a performative kink for rich men!"

  Lei (tilting her head):

  "And you think screaming into a camera changes anything? Look at you—no money, no reach, no real influence. Meanwhile, I have senators returning my calls."

  Lydia’s fists clench.

  Lydia:

  "Influence bought by silence isn’t power. It’s surrender."

  Lei (smirking):

  "And poverty is so revolutionary, right? Tell me, Lydia—when’s the st time you ate something that wasn’t instant ramen?"

  A pause. The comment section erupts.

  ?? "LEILA JUST MURDERED HER"

  ?? "Lydia’s face ??"

  ?? "This is brutal"

  Lydia’s cheeks flush, but she doesn’t back down.

  Lydia (voice steadying):

  "I’d rather eat ramen than sell my soul. You’ve convinced women that degradation is empowerment. That’s not feminism—it’s Stockholm syndrome."

  Lei’s smile flickers—just for a second.

  Lei (coolly):

  "You’re adorable. But movements aren’t built on moral purity. They’re built on winning. And right now?"

  She gestures to the viewer count—25,000 and climbing.

  "I’m winning."

  Lydia (sharp, unflinching):

  "No, you’re not. You’re just using Straw Man arguments and Red Herrings to dodge the real issue."

  The comment section erupts.

  ?? "OH SHE SAID THE THING"

  ?? "LOGIC BOMB INCOMING"

  ?? "Lei’s gonna have to pivot"

  Lei’s perfectly sculpted eyebrow twitches—just slightly.

  Lydia (pressing, fingers tapping her knee):

  "You framed my argument as ‘poverty equals morality’ when I never said that. That’s a Straw Man. And then you shifted to mocking my ramen budget instead of addressing the actual critique—that your movement conftes luxury with liberation. That’s a Red Herring."

  A pause. The viewers hold their breath.

  Lei (soft chuckle, tilting her head):

  "Oh, Lydia… you’re adorable when you try to sound academic."

  Lydia (smirking):

  "And you’re transparent when you deflect."

  The tide is turning. Viewers: 28,000… 30,000…

  ?? "Lydia’s cooking her"

  ?? "Lei’s never been challenged like this"

  ?? "This is insane"

  Lei (sighing, as if bored):

  "Fine. Let’s py your little game."

  She leans back, suddenly rexed—too rexed. A predator feigning retreat.

  Lei (sweetly):

  "You say we ‘confte luxury with liberation.’ But tell me, Lydia—if a woman chooses to kneel, who are you to call her a sve?"

  Lydia (immediate):

  "If she’s truly free, why does she need a man’s Ferrari to feel powerful?"

  Lei’s smile doesn’t waver—but her eyes glint.

  Lei (mock pitying):

  "Oh, sweetheart. You think this is about cars? It’s about leverage. You scream into the void. We own the void."

  A beat. The tension cracks.

  Then—Lei’s phone buzzes. She gnces at it, and her smirk returns, wider.

  Lei (standing, smoothing her kimono):

  "But you’re right about one thing, Lydia. This was a waste of time."

  Lydia (frowning):

  "Running away already?"

  Lei (ughing, gathering her things):

  "No, darling. I just got what I came for."

  She ends her side of the stream abruptly.

  Lydia (blinking at the sudden disconnect):

  "What the—?"

  ?? "WAIT WHAT JUST HAPPENED"

  ?? "Lei left??"

  ?? "Lydia won??"

  But Lydia doesn’t celebrate. Her gut twists.

  Lydia (muttering, uneasy):

  "That was too easy…"

  ***