The next candidate in line for the presidency was the Minister of State Security, Walter. Having received the confirmation of Acting President Clement's horrific death, he had ordered the immediate return of the aircraft along with the rest of the stranded government delegation. After that, he found himself utterly unable to sleep all night. Despite all the raw data and his personal disbelief in the validity of a directed electron beam weapon, Walter had cherished a faint, desperate hope that nothing would happen to Clement. A clean flight would have bought him the necessary time to figure out what was truly happening, and to locate and detain the entities responsible. Now, the geopolitical situation had shattered completely.
If these human combustions were truly occurring as a direct result of the population burning their photographs, then fighting it was both impossible and entirely useless. He had good reason to believe that public attitudes towards him were unfriendly. In the event of his election to the presidency, his own chances of survival would trend toward absolute zero. Even without assuming office, the danger loomed over him. Yet, if he refused the position, the remaining ministers wouldn't want it either. There were simply no fools left.
Furthermore, there was the mounting catastrophe of the Pandora virus outbreak in Africa. An international investigation was an absolute certainty, and his complicity in that biological crime would easily be proven.
After hours of grim consideration as dawn broke, Minister Walter systematically burned every sensitive document inside his office safes, walked out of the building, and quietly went home.
Alexey Petrovich woke up that morning, as had become the norm in recent days, in an exceptionally good mood. Immediately after breakfast, he booted up his computer and began scouring the internet for the morning news. He was anxious to discover as quickly as possible if there had been any tangible result following the fiery execution on his kitchen table the previous night, where he had incinerated a stack of photographs belonging to that corrupt swindler and embezzler, Clement.
The priority topic dominating every online discussion board was the unexpected turnaround of the Acting President's aircraft due to a catastrophic fire on board. There were still no official details regarding the condition of Clement himself, nor any specific breakdowns of the incident.
Inside the solitary cell of Detention Center No. 1, the darkness felt dense, almost physical. Anton lay on his hard bunk, staring up at the invisible ceiling. Time had lost all meaning ever since Sergeant Kovalev had whispered to him about the League's ultimatum. By Anton's calculations, that fateful tenth night should have already passed. Or perhaps it was unfolding at this exact moment.
If it failed, they'll move me to the prosecutor's closed sector tomorrow, Anton thought detachedly, squeezing his fists tighter. They'll erase my memory. Turn me into an obedient puppet. I won't even remember my grandfather.
Fear tried to paralyze him, but he stubbornly pushed those thoughts away. He forced himself to remember his grandfather's face—the calm, discerning gaze of a former attorney who had never backed down before the System.
Suddenly, a strange sound cut through the silence of the prison block. It wasn't the heavy thud of combat boots or the shouting of guards. A low, vibrating hum swept down the corridor, making the metal mess tins rattle on the tables. The concrete floor beneath his bunk trembled slightly, as if a colossal generator had started up deep underground.
Anton sat up, listening. The hum intensified, shifting into a familiar high-voltage frequency—the very one Kovalev had whispered about.
In that same fraction of a second, the dim nightlight on the ceiling, which usually flickered with a faint yellow hue, erupted into a blinding, pure, radiant white glow. For a moment, the cell became brighter than the sunniest day. Anton shielded his eyes, and when he opened them again, the bulb went out entirely.
The prison plunged into absolute, pitch-black darkness. But this darkness lasted for only a second.
Click.
The sound echoed directly from the lock of his heavy iron door. It was followed by a deafening, synchronized metallic clang that rolled down the entire corridor, floor by floor. The electronic magnetic locks holding of prisoners captive had disengaged simultaneously.
Deprived of its magnetic grip, the heavy door to Anton's cell swung open a few inches on its own with a faint creak, letting in a sliver of weak, gray light from the corridor.
The first tentative shouts of astonishment drifted in from the corridor. Someone tentatively pushed open a neighboring door. A moment later, the entire block exploded into a roaring crescendo of human voices as hundreds of political prisoners, students, and activists realized they were free. Anton stepped toward the threshold, ready to walk out into a new reality where fear no longer held any power.
The iron gates of the detention center had been left wide open, abandoned by a guard force that had dissolved into the night. It was light outside, although cloudy. Anton walked through the cold drizzle, his oversized prison jacket hanging off his gaunt shoulders. He had walked blocks before he finally managed to catch a crowded, chaotic municipal bus heading toward his neighborhood. The passengers had looked at his bruised face and prison-issued clothes not with suspicion, but with a quiet, fierce reverence.
When he finally reached the familiar concrete courtyard of his apartment building, his legs felt heavy, trembling from a mix of exhaustion and sheer disbelief. He took the elevator up to the third floor, his hand shaking so violently he could barely press the button.
He didn't even have to knock. The heavy wooden door swung open the moment his footsteps echoed in the hallway.
"Anton!" A broken, breathless cry tore through the apartment. It was his mother, Tatyana. She lunged forward, her face pale and streaked with tears, throwing her arms around his neck before he could even cross the threshold. She held him with a desperate, suffocating strength, burying her face into his shoulder as if trying to shield him from the memory of the cells. Anton squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in her hair, the familiar scent of her home-made soap instantly washing away the stale, metallic smell of the prison.
"My boy... my beautiful boy," Tatyana sobbed, her hands frantically tracing his face, checking his bruises, verifying that he was truly, physically there. "They told me I would never see you again. They told me—"
"I'm here, Mom. I'm home," Anton whispered, his voice cracking as the tears he had held back for a month finally spilled over.
Elena stepped into the hallway behind them, her hands clutching a wool knitted blanket. She didn't speak; her lips were trembling as she reached out and wrapped the blanket around Anton's shoulders, drawing both her daughter-in-law and her grandson into a tight, weeping embrace. Her silent relief carried the weight of a woman who had already lost a son, but refused to let the State steal her grandson.
From the doorway of the living room, Alexey Petrovich watched them. He looked older, the stress of the ten-day countdown etched into the deep lines around his eyes, but his posture was entirely straight.
Anton looked up over his mother's shoulder, meeting his grandfather's gaze. The young man saw no fear left in the old attorney's eyes—only a profound, unyielding pride.
Alexey walked forward, his footsteps firm on the linoleum. He extended his right hand—the hand that had carried the spark of the equilibrium. When Anton reached out and grasped it, there was no violent electric shock this time. There was only a deep, solid warmth that flowed from palm to palm, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had broken a dictatorship.
"You stood strong, Anton," Alexey said, his voice thick with emotion as he placed his left hand over their joined fingers.
"Because of you, Grandpa," Anton managed to say, looking at the older man with a deep, discerning gratitude. "I knew you wouldn't let them break us."
Anton explained that early this morning, without a single warning or official explanation, almost all the prisoners—except for violent criminals and those awaiting trial for robberies and murders—had been released from the detention centers. According to the reports filtering in, the exact same mass liberation was occurring in every prison across the nation. The inmate population had, of course, been tracking the recent supernatural events taking place across the Republic, so the sudden opening of the cell doors had not come as a total surprise.
Anton did not tell them about the systematic torture and brutal abuse he and the other activists had suffered inside the cells, despite the dark bruises and deep scratches mapping his face.
According to the latest underground reports, President Clement was no longer alive. The government had fallen into a state of total, unadulterated chaos. Across all media platforms and television networks, there was an absolute lack of official or intelligible explanations; not a single minister would stick their head out to address the public.
After lunch, Anton left the apartment to join a massive general demonstration demanding the immediate resignation of the regime and the holding of free, democratic elections.
There was no deployment guidance coming from the Ministry of the Interior due to a total lack of senior leadership at the head of the Ministry. Consequently, the vast majority of the police officers simply decided to stay at home that day.
Feeling the sudden rush of absolute freedom and impunity, some radical factions of the crowd even suggested sourcing and burning the photographs of every single remaining government member simultaneously.
In every city across the country, mass demonstrations flooded the streets in the complete absence of police cordons. Remarkably, there were no casualties, no broken store windows, and no violent pogroms. The population had collectively realized a profound truth: the power had shifted, and it was now entirely in their hands.
The remaining government officials, their wealthy relatives, and even the corrupted members of parliament had guessed the exact same thing: Our time for a calm, prosperous life in this country has expired. Fortunately for them, many had already prepared for this exact collapse, having purchased real estate abroad and secured foreign currency accounts. Thus, a massive, silent exodus began as the elite fled on planes, trains, and private cars.
For the next few days, the confusion across the country continued. Although nobody had officially announced the formal resignation of the government, it no longer functioned; in fact, it ceased to exist.
Not a single minister or member of the old cabinet wanted to shoulder the burden of responsibility and become the President in this sudden Time of Troubles. They simply vanished into thin air. Only a few confused security guards remained in the empty parliament building; the people's deputies were completely gone. An absolute vacuum of power reigned over the land.
But despite the complete disappearance of the ruling elite, life in the country continued almost as normal. Public transport functioned perfectly. People went to their jobs. All the corrupt politicians had either fled across the border or gone into deep hiding—yet the end of the world did not come. In fact, the exact opposite occurred. Life became better. Life became more joyful.
The long-suffering opponents of the overthrown regime—those fortunate enough to have avoided the state's chemical sterilization of memory—walked out of the prisons and labor camps. Together with a massive influx of returning political émigrés, they began establishing new civil management committees throughout the country to build a future from the ground up.
In the evening, after dinner, Alexey Petrovich decided to share the interesting news he had gathered over the past few days with his wife and daughter-in-law. His grandson, Anton, rarely appeared at home from morning to night these days. The young man was energetically participating in various civic activities, all aimed at the ultimate dismantling of the overthrown political regime.
"Beyond a doubt, soon it will be necessary to arrange a competition called 'Who Wants to Become President?'" Alexey Petrovich said with a chuckle. "After all, nowadays, a person needs to think twice before putting forward their candidacy. A single mind can barely move a matchbox. But when a million oppressed minds focus on a single intent, acting in perfect, flawless synchronization, they create a roaring biological field capable of breaking empires."
He leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of tea. "But I think that in the future, sooner or later, all states will phase out the position of a president as the head of a country. Because almost every president, once they have received or seized power, seeks to remain in office as long as possible, using both legal and illegal methods. In reality, he inevitably becomes a dictator. Look at what is written on the internet on this topic."
Alexey pulled up an analytical article on his tablet and began reading aloud. "Dictatorial power, concentrated in a single hand and deceptively promising stability and order, in fact leads to a multitude of problems rooted in the very essence of authoritarian governance. It results in the systematic suppression of freedom of speech, independent thought, and political opposition. It breeds severe violations of human rights, which ultimately makes public dialogue and honest criticism of the existing government impossible."
He scrolled down, highlighting the text with his thumb. "Dictators, seeking to retain power, tend to misallocate vital resources, artificially manufacture domestic conflicts, and manipulate information. In dictatorial regimes, where power is concentrated in the hands of one person or a tiny inner circle, corruption flourishes at a catastrophic level. This inevitably leads to economic stagnation and crises that erode the structure of the state and create explosive social tension. The suppression of opposition can lead to mass protests, civil unrest, and even wars. Dictators routinely make ill-considered decisions, completely ignoring the opinions of experts and the genuine needs of the population."
Alexey paused to look at his wife before finishing the passage. "Autocracy and dictatorial governance have devastating consequences for any nation, hindering its development and undermining the well-being of its citizens. These regimes eventually face international isolation and crippling sanctions, which aggravate economic problems and worsen people's lives. In the end, a dictator creates not just structural problems, but catastrophic long-term consequences that destroy the very foundations of democracy, justice, and equality. That's the summary."
Alexey Petrovich went silent for a moment, setting the tablet down on the tablecloth.
"And as for our former parliamentary deputies," he continued, his tone turning sharp, "all of them should be sent to a special labor camp for five years. Along with their families, right after a total confiscation of their property. They deserve it for their corruption, and for having rubber-stamped so many stupid, anti-people laws."
"But you can't just do something like that without a proper trial and investigation, Alexey—without actual proof of guilt," his wife objected, shaking her head.
"Well... perhaps, indeed, a few of them aren't completely to blame for everything," Alexey Petrovich conceded with a wave of his hand. "In that case, let them write an official statement. An investigation will be launched into their record. If it turns out they are innocent—which I highly doubt—they can be released with a formal apology. But if it is proved that a deputy took an active part in the drafting of those foolish laws, and the value of his hidden property is a hundred times higher than his official salary, then another five years of hard labor should be added on top."
He swiped to the next news feed, his eyes widening. "Now, here is a truly fascinating message. They write that a military coup—a full revolution—has taken place in the West African Republic. The conspirators, led by their commander, Colonel Abubakar, lured the entire leadership of the Republic directly into the presidential palace, the residence of the dictator Jelani. Then, on the orders of the colonel, his accomplices in the air force bombed the palace, leveling it to the ground with everyone who was inside. Moreover, for some unstated reason, they subsequently incinerated the entire compound with napalm. Of course, such excessive cruelty has caused immense resentment and outrage from the international community."
Alexey looked up, a grim smile on his face. "Yet, the text says the inhabitants of the republic have received the event with pure jubilation. The leader of the revolution, Colonel Abubakar, is literally being carried through the streets by the people. The fiery reflections in the night sky above the blazing presidential palace have become the supreme symbol of the revolutionary changes taking place in their country. The thirty-year authoritarian reign of dictator President has come to a violent end."
Elena and Tatyana listened in breathless silence as Alexey scrolled to the global briefs.
"And here's some more news," Alexey Petrovich continued. "They write here that in many states across South America, Asia, and Africa, the authorities have suddenly stopped publishing and replicating pictures of their own national leaders. Moreover, they have even begun to forcibly collect and destroy photographs already in the possession of the general population. And in one particular republic, the panicked officials who were ordered to collect and immediately liquidate the portraits of their 'Beloved Leader' chose to burn them all in a massive pile without thinking twice. And it seems that at that exact same moment, the beloved leader ended up in the intensive care unit of a hospital with severe, unexplainable bodily burns."
He paused, looking down at his right palm, which was perfectly normal now, showing no sign of the supernatural blue fire that had sparked the global purge.
The fire found its way through, he thought, a profound, chilling sense of awe rippling through his mind. The baseline has shifted. The equilibrium is re-asserting itself across the entire map, and the tyrants are terrified of their own faces.
"Maybe, of course, all of this is just a lie," he added aloud, offering a reassuring smile to his wife. "After all, information on the internet cannot be fully trusted."
"By the way, there's another dubious report from the Border Guard," Alexey Petrovich continued, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "Shortly after crossing the border into a neighboring country by car, a man disguised as a woman was detained. His documents were completely genuine and his makeup was perfect, but his clumsy gait in high heels ultimately betrayed him. They took X-rays at the checkpoint and saw exactly what you would expect. Of course, they sent him right back. Now, our border guards don't know what to do—they are debating whether he is indeed a man dressed as a woman, or a female who used to be a male after a sex change. But most importantly, they write that he looks exactly like our former Minister of State Security, Walter! Believe it or not. Either way, it's an absolute mess on the border right now. Nobody is controlling anything anymore. Almost anyone is allowed to leave our country. However, on the other side of the border, in the neighboring nations, security checks have been significantly increased. Many fugitives are being denied entry and turned back. You can leave our country effortlessly, but it has become incredibly difficult to actually enter anywhere else."
He paused, taking a final sip of his tea before pulling up the last bulletin. "Among other things, news just arrived today from distant Venezuela. Our former Prime Minister, Martin, was detained and arrested there along with his relatives. Upon arriving in the country, he failed to declare his foreign currency and other valuables as required by law. If they deport him back, a very warm welcome will be waiting for him here."
Alexey Petrovich fell silent. He quietly locked the tablet screen, letting the dark glass reflect the peaceful lights of his own kitchen.
The assembly hall of the city council, where the obedient appointees of the Electoral Committee had once rubber-stamped repressive decrees, was now filled with the roar of lively, heated debates. The windows were flung wide open, letting in the cool breeze and the distant laughter from the streets below. Gathered here were those whom the regime had spent years trying to ignore: independent lawyers, university professors, human rights defenders, and yesterday's student activists, among whom Anton sat in the back rows.
Alexey Petrovich stood at the podium, the draft of the Free Republic's new Constitution for the upcoming democratic elections resting before him. His thin-framed glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose, and his right hand—once marked by Gabrillend's blue fire—now confidently held a marker. On the large whiteboard behind him, the old, suffocating laws had been crossed out, and new articles were sketched out in bullet points.
He leaned forward, looking into the eyes of the young legal scholars around him.
"We are not writing this document to protect the authorities from the people, as Konstantin did," Alexey Petrovich said firmly and clearly, his voice reclaiming its old prosecutorial strength as it echoed through the hall. "We are writing it to permanently eliminate the very technical possibility of a new tyrant emerging. Every single candidate will face strict financial transparency, and the election committee will be run by citizens, not ministers. Article One: The source of all power in this Republic is solely the people. And this right is sacred."
He turned around and with a sweeping motion underlined the written words.
We are finally doing what made life worth living, the thought flashed through Alexey Petrovich's mind. The heavy weight that had pressed down on him all these years had finally given way to a deep, conscious peace. No more rigged trials. No more punitive injections. The law will protect the individual, not the official's throne.
"Alexey Petrovich," a young lawyer in the front row raised his hand, "what should we do with the article regarding the immunity of public officials? In the old code, they were effectively gods."
"Immunity is abolished entirely," Alexey Petrovich answered without hesitation, casting a stern look over the audience. "Every minister, every judge, and every police officer will henceforth be subject to the ordinary civil court. If you take power into your hands, you assume absolute responsibility before those who entrusted it to you. No more five-meter fences. No more closed zones in the city center."
The first tentative applause broke out in the hall, quickly swelling into a unanimous, approving roar. From the back row, Anton looked at his grandfather with immense pride. The young man was making notes in his booklet—he and his friends from the institute were already creating an independent student union tasked with monitoring the transparency of the upcoming elections.
In that moment, Alexey Petrovich caught a fleeting glimpse of his right wrist. The skin was completely clear, but for a split second, it seemed to him that the air around his fingers rippled imperceptibly, leaving behind a subtle, barely discernible trace of ozone.
Equilibrium is sustained not by fear, but by justice, he noted internally, as if sending a silent report into the depths of the universe, where those bottomless blue eyes still watched over them. We have learned this lesson, Gabrillend. We will no longer need matches to force them to hear us. Thoughts are energy. Every single drop of thought creates the torrent. One mind can barely move a match. A million minds can incinerate a dictator.An idea whose time has come cannot be stopped.
Alexey Petrovich tapped his pen against the podium, calling the assembly to order, and said with a smile:
"Let us continue, colleagues. Article Two: Freedom of speech and the press. Let us draft it in such a way that no Ministry of Information in the future will ever be able to silence the people."
The committee members nodded unanimously, their pens flying across the paper as they began to codify a new era of justice.
Later that day, at the other end of the capital, the massive, brutalist concrete tower of the Ministry of Information stood silent and abandoned. The state censors, propagandists, and wiretap operators had fled so quickly that half-eaten meals still sat on desks next to flashing server racks.
Anton marched up the grand granite steps, flanked by a dozen of his closest friends from the university. They were no longer the terrified, bruised students hiding in shadows; they were the vanguard of a liberated public.
"This is where they scripted the lies that kept our parents in chains," Anton said, turning to face his classmates.
They entered the master broadcast room. One of the engineering students pulled a master lever, cutting the power to the main transmission grids that had flooded the nation with false polls and state fear for twenty years. The screens went dark, plunging the room into a quiet, natural dusk.
Anton stepped out onto the balcony, looking over the bustling city square. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, iron security padlock they had brought from the university warehouse. Together with his friends, he dragged the massive, reinforced steel double doors of the Ministry shut.
Click.
The lock snapped into place with a definitive, ringing finality. Anton ran his hand over the cold steel.
Your time is officially up, he thought, staring out at the beautiful, un-monitored horizon. No one will ever tell this country what to think again.
He pocketed the heavy key, turned to his friends, and smiled as they walked down the steps together, ready to join the crowds celebrating their first day of absolute freedom.
Exactly one month had passed. The suffocating, paranoid fear that had hung over the Republic for decades had finally dissipated like a heavy, pre-dawn mist. The city was breathing deeply. The five-meter stone walls surrounding the lavish estates of the new nobility had been torn down, and ordinary citizens could now wander freely into the central districts of the capital—without permits, check-points, or curfews.
Today was a momentous day. Across the country, the first fair, free, and democratic elections in many long years were taking place. Outside the polling stations set up inside local schools and community centers, massive yet remarkably orderly and smiling queues had formed. There were no more fraudulent voter lists, no deputies pre-appointed by the Electoral Committee, and no intimidated public sector workers. People were marching to vote not out of a fear of state retribution, but with a profound realization that their voices finally mattered.
Alexey Petrovich stood on the threshold of the polling station, waiting for his family. The sun brightly illuminated the clean streets, which were no longer choked by armored police vans or frowning patrols.
Anton stepped out through the school's double doors. He was dressed in ordinary jeans and a light jacket, and his eyes bore absolutely no trace of that deathly, hollow numbness from the solitary confinement cell. He was smiling, talking cheerfully with his fellow classmates from the institute. Over the course of the month, the university had fully reinstated all illegally expelled students, and professors who had only recently signed denunciation slips were now delivering lectures on the true freedom of thought and human rights.
They made it, Alexey Petrovich thought, watching his grandson, a warm, deep sense of pride swelling within his chest. The System tried to break his generation, but in the end, it was the System that turned to dust.
"Grandpa, we voted!" Anton shouted, jogging over to him. Behind him walked Elena and Tatyana, their faces finally looking rested and at peace. The masks of eternal, exhausting anxiety had vanished from their expressions.
"Well, Alexey, is everything truly going to be different now?" Elena asked quietly, taking her husband by the arm.
"I am certain of it," Alexey Petrovich answered calmly.
Without any rush, they strolled along the sunlit alley of the park—the very same park where it had all begun a month ago. Alexey pulled his right palm out of his pocket and looked down at it. The subterranean blue glow had disappeared forever. The energetic pulse transmitted by Gabrillend had fulfilled its designated parameters and dissolved, returning into the planet's general quantum field. The collective consciousness of a nation had accomplished what had seemed utterly impossible, and now, reality had returned to a state of natural, healthy Universal Equilibrium.
The drops joined together and washed away the dirt, the thought flashed through Alexey Petrovich's mind. He stopped and closed his eyes, and for a fleeting second, he saw that unforgettable face with the bottomless, piercing blue eyes once more. But this time, the gaze no longer triggered trepidation or shock. It felt as though it were smiling approvingly from the depths of the universe.
"Alex, are you coming? We're falling behind," Elena called out to him.
Alexey Petrovich opened his eyes, smiled at the warm summer breeze, and took a confident step forward, catching up with his family—a free family in a free country.
The day that would forever divide the history of the Republic into a "before" and an "after" had finally arrived. It was a Sunday, but the city had awakened long before the first rays of the sun. A ringing, joyful energy hung in the air, which had been thoroughly cleansed of the decades-long smog produced by the government factories. Across the entire country, a nationwide referendum was underway to ratify the new Constitution of the Free Republic.
By noon, the polling stations had recorded an unprecedented voter turnout. This time, there were no armed soldiers flanking the entrances, nor were there any frowning state security agents standing guard inside. Instead, smiling student volunteers welcomed voters at every single station, among whom was Anton. He was busy coordinating the work of the independent monitors, ensuring that every signature and every single ballot paper was accounted for with absolute transparency.
When the voting concluded at eight o'clock in the evening and the ballot counting began, the capital's central square—the very same place where rows of riot police had once formed lines and tanks had rumbled during military parades—began to rapidly fill with people.
Alexey Petrovich and Elena walked through the jubilant crowd, holding hands. A vast sea of national flags blossomed all around them. On the colossal digital billboard that had once broadcast the stern face of President Konstantin, real-time data from the Central Election Committee was now being updated. The numbers climbed higher with every passing minute: 75%... 83%... 91%...
At 9:00 PM—the exact same hour when the League of Justice had launched its initial ultimatum—the final results flashed onto the screen:
THE CONSTITUTION HAS BEEN RATIFIED. "YES" — 94.8%.
The square erupted. A single, deafening human roar shook the facades of the monumental government buildings. People wept tears of pure joy, embraced total strangers, and tossed bouquets of flowers high into the air. Thousands of smartphone flashlights were switched on simultaneously, transforming the entire square into an endless, swaying ocean of living light.
At that exact same fraction of a second, the first volley of a celebratory firework display thundered over the city. Brilliant, multi-colored lights scattered across the night sky, reflecting in the windows of the former presidential palace, whose heavy gates were now thrown wide open to anyone who wished to enter.
We did it, Alexey Petrovich thought, looking up at the sky illuminated by the flashes of the fireworks. The old attorney's heart beat steadily and strongly. We proved that the law is born from the will of free people, not from the fear of weapons.
Breathless but absolutely triumphant, Anton ran toward them, pushing his way through the cheering crowd. He threw his arms around his grandmother and grandfather, his eyes shining with tears of immense pride. "Grandpa! Every single district has confirmed the data! Not a single violation! We won!"
Alexey Petrovich smiled and gave his grandson's hand a firm, solid squeeze. In that moment, he briefly raised his eyes to the night sky, peering into the gaps between the bursts of the festive fireworks. Somewhere out there, in the infinite depth of the universe, the cosmos remained silent. But Alexey knew: Equilibrium had been achieved. The planet's quantum field was no longer vibrating with rage and pain. The League's alien force had departed, leaving humanity entirely alone with their own, newly reclaimed destiny.
"Let's join the square," Elena said softly, wiping away her tears of happiness. "Our time has come."
And Alexey Petrovich family, step by step, dissolved into the jubilant current of free citizens, walking confidently into the first day of their new, just future.
In view of the fact that all recent events in his country and across the globe were connected, one way or another, with fire—one of the four primordial elements— Alexey Petrovich spent the rest of the night collecting information about this substance on the internet, mentally organizing his thoughts.
In ancient and medieval philosophy, there exists a foundational concept of the four original substances of the world: Earth, Water, Air, and Fire.
Fire remains the most mysterious element of all four; it is simultaneously intimidating and deeply attractive. Anyone who closely watches a flame feels a natural sense of awe. Fire can save a life, but it can just as easily take it away. It can protect, but it can also completely destroy everything in its path. Throughout history, fires have devoured entire civilizations. It is, by its very nature, the most aggressive element.
Fire has always been considered sacred—worshiped and feared in equal measure. The flame is revered as a divine, cosmic power that descended from heaven, acting rapidly and unpredictably. Yet, despite its immense destructive power, the Heavenly Fire also possesses profound purifying properties. With its light, radiance, and blaze, it casts out the deepest darkness.
Nearly always, in order for something fresh, new, and better to appear, it is necessary to thoroughly destroy and burn away the rotten old.
Fire is the ultimate symbol of change, transformation, and regeneration. Its raw energy is eternally associated with domination, control, and absolute power. Even the ultimate sign of state stability and endurance is the Eternal Flame.
True progress for humankind began with the ability to harness the element of Fire.
The fiery ocean of the universe is the primary energy of the Cosmos, functioning at the very center of all things that exist. Everything originally came out of Fire, and everything will eventually return to it.
Physical size means nothing, Alexey Petrovich thought, a peaceful, profound realization washing over him when he stood at the open window looking at the starry sky. The League didn't need vast armies or heavy weaponry to pull down a dictatorship. They just needed the pure, energetic intent of millions of minds, focused like a lens. We are entities woven of pure light, after all, not merely this dense, crude matter. The energy binds us, flows between us, and connects everything—the land, the water, and the distant stars...
The End.
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P.S.
From Star Wars: Episode V – The Empire Strikes Back
Luke: I can't. It's too big.
Yoda: Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? Hmm? Hmm. And well you should not. For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. You must feel the Force around you; here, between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere, yes. Even between the land and the ship.
May the Force be with You!
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( www.tiktok.com/@alexp_86/video/7504788636538391830 )
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THEMATIC CORE
Bioelectromagnetism and Collective Consciousness: The central sci-fi premise of the book rests on the idea of the holographic information field. One mind can barely move a matchbox, but millions of minds acting in perfect, synchronized intent create a roaring quantum current—manifesting physically as cold nuclear fusion that incinerates tyrants from the inside out, no matter if they are hidden in a deep bunker or flying at thirty thousand feet.
The Irony of Totalitarian Power: The book highlights how dictatorships naturally collapse from within due to their own corruption, incompetence, and isolation. The moment the elite realize they cannot shoot or arrest a collective thought, their false stability fractures into a mad, desperate scramble for survival.
The Paradigm of the Four Elements: Rooted in ancient and medieval philosophy, the element of Fire serves as the ultimate catalyst for change, transformation, and purification. To build a free, healthy Republic, the old, rotten structures must first be completely reduced to ash.
The Cycle of Retribution: In a satisfying narrative twist, the predators become the prey. The corrupt elite who spent decades trapping the population find themselves caught in their own surveillance traps, and the ruthless state security agents who designed the memory-wiping serums ultimately find themselves consumed by their own creation
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Reader Review for - Who wants to be President? - The Universal Equilibrium Protocol.
Review Title: A breathtaking sci-fi thriller that completely redefines the power of human thought!
"I closed this book a couple of hours ago, but its heavy, electric atmosphere refuses to let me go. If you love high-caliber dystopian fiction in the vein of Orwell's 1984 or V for Vendetta, but you've also been starving for deep, hard speculative sci-fi — Who wants to be President? - The Universal Equilibrium Protocol - is an absolute must-read.
The story begins in a grey, deeply paranoid Republic where the regime maintains control not just through the barrel of a gun, but through a terrifying process of chemical memory-purging. The protagonist, Alexey Petrovich—retired attorney—is an incredibly compelling and layered character. His personal grief, the unjust arrest of his grandson Anton, and the overall bleakness of his world drag you in from the very first pages. But everything changes during a fateful, rainy encounter in a deserted park with an enigmatic entity named Gabrillend.
The core premise of the "Who wants to be President? - The Universal Equilibrium Protocol." is pure genius. The idea that human thought is a tangible bioelectromagnetic energy field, and that millions of individuals acting in perfect synchronization can physically reshape reality, is utterly mesmerizing. The moment the League of Justice issues its relentless ten-day ultimatum to the world's tyrants, the narrative pacing explodes. That ticking-clock countdown to the eleventh night keeps you turning pages deep into the night!
The author does a phenomenal job of capturing the viral panic of a crumbling totalitarian system. The ministers can cut the global internet, deploy tanks to the intersections, and ban public photographs... but how do you throw a collective mind into a concrete cell? The sequence where the dictator undergoes spontaneous human combustion inside his 'impenetrable' underground bunker, and the parallel scene on board the presidential airliner, are masterclasses in cinematic suspense. The intense fire acts not merely as a tool of destruction, but as the ancient philosophical element of purification and transformation.
I also loved the secondary arc following Deputy Minister Bolek's desperate flight to Africa. It infuses the narrative with the raw adrenaline of a political thriller, delivering a grimly satisfying twist when the predators are finally consumed by the very traps and memory-wiping weapons they built to enslave others.
The epilogue is beautiful, emotional, and profoundly inspiring. The author seamlessly weaves a timeless motif into the characters' final realizations—reminding us that we are luminous beings woven of pure light, not just crude matter.
This isn't merely an entertaining, throwaway sci-fi novel. It is an intelligent, moving parable about solidarity, human rights, and the absolute truth that even in the darkest eras, Equilibrium will triumph the moment a population decides to stop being afraid.
Without a doubt, this is one of the best books I have read in a very long time. Highly, highly recommended!"
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