Gather close, my sweet, trusting pretties.

  Bring your coffee. Bring your hope. Bring your denial.

  I promise this one will break your heart… and then glue it back together with a little truth.

  They don’t need to kick down your door at 3 a.m. anymore.

  They knock politely.

  A clipboard, a badge, a soft voice saying “we’re just here to help.”

  And most of you open the door with that wide, nervous smile — the one that says “please like me, please don’t take my babies.”

  CPS isn’t here to protect your babies.

  It’s here to harvest them.

  Predatory ranchers seeking to brand their neighbors’ calves.

  Police aren’t here to serve and protect.

  They’re here to collect the toll.

  Bandits without the cartoonish masks.

  Together they run one of the most profitable family-dissolution businesses in human history — billions in fines, fees, foster payments, therapy contracts, drug tests, and court costs.

  Every child they take is another invoice.

  Every parent they intimidate is another repeat customer.

  Murray barges in, ledger in paw, burr thick as coal smoke:

  “Ach, ye nae ken the numbers, lassie?

  Title IV-E pumps $9–10 billion a year intae foster placements, wi’ bonuses for adoptions like it’s a sales quota.

  States rake in $13 billion from fines an’ fees tied tae the system, an’ that’s no’ countin’ the Medicaid billin’ for every therapy session an’ drug test they force down yer throat.

  And let's not pretend that drug test is a prerequisite for being a parent. The War on Drugs is unconstitutional and no excuse to treat ye like a piggy bank.

  Over 3 million investigations a year, 80% unfounded, but 250,000 kids yanked anyway.

  Black an’ Indigenous wee ones hit hardest — 24% o’ entries for Black kids when they’re only 14% o’ the population.

  It’s no’ protection. It’s piracy.

  Pay up or lose yer bairns.”

  Zephyrion chimes in from his workshop, voice crackling like green sparks over a radio:

  “I hate this one. Of all of us the idea of kids being uprooted for no good reason resonates with me the most.

  It’s like being in a storm you didn’t see coming and did not know existed.

  One minute you’re home, doing homework, playing video games, doing chores...and then chaos erupts as your parents wail in despair. The next you’re in a stranger’s house with rules that don’t make sense.

  They say it’s for your own good, but the math doesn’t add up.

  I calculated once: 25–40% of foster kids end up in prison later.

  Runaways from care? Trafficked like spare parts.

  I tried to build a mini-Bell to bring Mom home once.

  It exploded.

  Like everything else in this system, the road to ruin is paved with good intentions. Wiser words were never spoken.”

  Bloom whispers from the oak’s shade, her voice a rhyme that cuts like wind through leaves:

  “The child is taken, roots torn free,

  a family broken like a fallen tree.

  The heart remembers what the system takes,

  a silent scream that never breaks.

  Grow strong, little one, in soil or stone,

  the oak stands tall — you’re not alone.”

  But here’s the sweetest, most dangerous secret they hope you never learn:

  You don’t even have to answer the door.

  If they had real probable cause and a warrant, they wouldn’t come with clipboards and fake smiles.

  They’d come with rifles, battering rams, and tanks.

  They’d break the whole front of your house down.

  They’d drag you out in chains.

  They’d make your children watch you get tased, pepper sprayed, torture cuffed...or worse.

  They don’t do that.

  They don’t have to.

  They knock.

  They know you’re too scared, too tame, too conditioned to say “no, thank you.”

  Vampires thrive on your bad assumptions.

  And most of you have horribly incorrect assumptions.

  But you don’t have to comply. You have a choice. You have the right to say, "I do not consent".

  You have a cross and holy water and silver bullets in the Law.

  You have the Fourth Amendment.

  You have the Fifth Amendment.

  You have 42 U.S.C. § 1983 — the polite way of saying “I will sue you into the poverty you see in my eyes if you violate my rights under color of law.”

  A right is any exercise that does not harm another human being (except in self-defense or mutual consent), does not damage another's property, and does not infringe upon another's justified actions.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  These tyrants don't have rights in their official capacities.

  They have certain, limited authorities.

  You have unlimited rights.

  You have the right to say “No, thank you” through the door, or through a lawyer, or through silence.

  You have the right to smile sweetly and say “I’m under no obligation to incriminate myself or my family.”

  You have the right to deny their authenticity.

  I watched a man once — quiet, scathingly polite — tell a CPS worker and a cadre of cops exactly that.

  “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  "Those are your policies. Not mine."

  “This is not a lawful interrogation.”

  “I know my rights under the Constitution and 42 USC 1983.”

  The cop turned beet red, got in the quiet hero's face, and tried to go hands-on.

  The man didn’t flinch.

  He just looked at that badged tyrant with that calm, almost pitying smile and said:

  “Anything I say can be used against me in court. As can yours.

  I will sue anyone who violates my rights under color of law.”

  That cop turned white as milk.

  Tucked tail.

  Backpedaled without another word.

  They couldn’t leave the property fast enough.

  Vampires exposed to the dawn of truth.

  Next time CPS called?

  The police wouldn’t even show up.

  That’s what happens when you stop being afraid and start being polite.

  Not rude. Not screaming. Just… unflinching.

  They’re not used to that.

  They are used to fear. They are used to anger. They are used to violence.

  Fear is their only real currency. If you are knowledgeable and non-violent, they have no value to use against you. They hate that...but the Law compels them to obey their true master: the People.

  So why do most of you still open the door?

  Why do you still answer?

  Why do you let them take your children?

  Because you’re scared, sweethearts.

  Because you’ve been trained to see a badge and think “authority.”

  Because you’ve been told “if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.”

  Because deep down, you still believe that. You still believe the system loves you.

  It doesn’t.

  It never did.

  The system is not capable of love. You are. Your children are.

  But your children are not yours, according to the system.

  They’re state property with a temporary lease to you — revocable at any time for revenue and virtue signaling and career advancement and quotas. For the slightest mistake. For dirty dishes in the sink. For a bathroom that doesn't flush because the plumber is booked three weeks in advance. For missing a school day because your car is in the shop. Because some anonymous tattle-tale told them your child hadn't taken a bath in two days. For hearsay. For lies. For Old Scratch.

  Not for you. Not for your children. Not for justice. Not for safety. For profit. For revenue. For men and women who disobey their promise to uphold the Law, and then virtue signal because they tore a family apart because they were able to intimidate the parents into consent despite no warrant being present.

  And most of you hand your children over willingly because you’re too cowed, too afraid, too conditioned to say “no, thank you.”

  I’m not polite in that way.

  I’m polite in the way that makes tyrants sweat.

  So let me say it for the ones who can’t:

  No, thank you.

  Get off my property.

  You have no warrant, no probable cause, no jurisdiction over my family.

  Take your clipboard and your badge and your threats and go.

  Or stay — and I will sue you into the next realm under 42 USC 1983.

  The next time they come for someone’s kids,

  I want you to remember that man.

  I want you to remember the cop who turned chalk white.

  I want you to remember that the only power they have is the power you give them.

  Stop giving the vampires permission to enter your home.

  Smile sweetly.

  Say no.

  Mean it.

  And watch them run.

  Because when enough of you stop playing along,

  the whole racket collapses.

  And I’ll be over here, sipping Tactical Whimsy,

  watching their house of cards burn…

  with the sweetest little smile.

  Yours in delighted heresy,

  - Omnion

  (and the greatest team of heroes ever assembled. Not out of necessity, but out of respect and love.)