Power doesn't resist what works.

It imitates it.

The first sign wasn't a command or a crackdown. It was language. Words we hadn't coined—but had used carefully—began appearing in sanctioned briefings.

Flexibility.Local discretion.Adaptive response.

They sounded right.

That was the problem.

✦

Arjun caught it before I did."They're saying our words," he said."But they're saying them… louder."

"Yes," I replied."And without listening."

✦

The other Ishaan aligned, voice cool and exact.

Power copies surface patterns first, he said.Depth comes later—if at all.

✦

By midmorning, the imitation became structural.

A new directive circulated—quietly, internally.

PILOT PROGRAM: DECENTRALIZED DECISION SUPPORT

Support.

Not authority.

The phrasing mattered.

Teams were encouraged to "act autonomously within defined parameters." Feedback loops were promised. Reporting requirements were framed as "learning tools."

It looked familiar.

Too familiar.

✦

A sanctioned coordinator approached us, tone almost hopeful.

"We're trying something new," she said."Something closer to how you operate."

I studied her face.

"Why?" I asked.

She hesitated—just long enough.

"Because it's working," she said.

✦

The other Ishaan spoke softly.

Imitation is admission without apology, he said.

✦

The first trial didn't go well.

A sanctioned team attempted rapid local decision-making—then immediately escalated it for approval anyway. The delay doubled. Confusion spread.

They blamed "insufficient training."

Not structure.

✦

Arjun watched the mess unfold."They kept the hierarchy," he said."Just added new words on top."

"Yes," I replied."And that's the trap."

✦

The other Ishaan aligned, voice sharp.

Power copies outcomes while preserving control, he said.That contradiction always fails.

✦

By afternoon, the cracks widened.

Local discretion was granted—but reversed quickly when outcomes diverged. Feedback loops became reporting demands. Flexibility ended the moment something felt risky.

People noticed.

They stopped trusting the language.

✦

A sanctioned volunteer muttered as she passed us,"They want the results without the uncertainty."

"Yes," I said."And without the accountability."

✦

Power adjusted again—faster this time.

They invited observers.Asked questions.Requested documentation.

"How do you decide?""How do you prevent misuse?""What stops fragmentation?"

Valid questions.

Asked for the wrong reasons.

✦

Arjun leaned close."They want a blueprint."

"Yes," I said."And blueprints are safe."

✦

The other Ishaan spoke calmly.

What you built can't be copied by design, he said.Because it depends on judgment, not rules.

✦

We answered selectively.

We spoke about principles—not procedures. About refusal—not enforcement. About limits—not reach.

They took notes anyway.

✦

By evening, power's imitation had spread—but thinned.

Some teams tried it sincerely—and struggled. Others used the language to justify old habits.

The city saw the difference immediately.

Authenticity showed.

Performance followed.

✦

Arjun shook his head slowly."They're trying to wear it."

"Yes," I said."But it doesn't fit."

✦

The other Ishaan aligned fully, voice steady.

Power can copy form, he said.But it can't fake risk.

I watched sanctioned teams hesitate where others moved—carefully, imperfectly, but decisively.

"Yes," I said."And the difference is becoming visible."

✦

Night fell with two versions of the same idea running side by side.

One adaptive because it had to be.One cautious because it could retreat.

Only one would hold.

✦

Imitation fails loudest when pressure returns.

The evening surge arrived without warning—an accumulation of small delays colliding at once. Not a crisis. Worse. A stress test. The kind that exposes what's been rehearsed versus what's been lived.

Sanctioned teams, newly empowered by borrowed language, moved first. They convened quickly. Quoted guidelines about autonomy. Assigned roles that sounded decisive.

Then they paused.

Waiting for confirmation that their decisiveness was acceptable.

✦

On the other side, people didn't gather.

They split.

Someone rerouted a task.Someone else trimmed scope.A third made a call that wasn't perfect—but was now.

No applause.No oversight.

Just movement.

✦

Arjun watched both unfold at once, eyes tracking the divergence.

"They're copying the posture," he said."But not the courage."

"Yes," I replied."And posture collapses under weight."

✦

The other Ishaan aligned, voice calm and exact.

Risk reveals whether autonomy is real, he said.Or merely permitted.

✦

A sanctioned coordinator raised her voice—not angrily, but firmly.

"Proceed," she said."We'll adjust if necessary."

Adjust if necessary.

The phrase landed like a brake.

Teams moved—slowly, carefully—leaving room for reversal.

The work lagged.

✦

On our side, a decision cut across three tasks at once. It broke one plan to save two others. Someone took responsibility without naming it. Another absorbed fallout without complaint.

The surge eased.

✦

Power saw the difference this time.

Not in outcomes.

In tempo.

✦

A liaison approached me as things settled, notebook forgotten at her side.

"They didn't wait," she said quietly.

"No," I replied."They chose."

She nodded once, as if that confirmed something uncomfortable.

✦

The other Ishaan spoke softly.

Choice without permission is the part power can't copy, he said.

✦

Late evening brought the second failure of imitation.

A sanctioned team tried to enforce "local discretion" by issuing a corrective memo—retroactively approving decisions that had already been delayed into irrelevance.

People read it.

Then ignored it.

Because approval after the fact doesn't undo harm.

✦

Arjun laughed under his breath."They're approving ghosts."

"Yes," I said."And calling it adaptation."

✦

The city noticed—and adjusted its trust accordingly.

When the borrowed language appeared, people waited.When real intent appeared, people moved.

No announcement needed.

✦

Power reacted—not with crackdown, but containment.

The pilot program was "paused for review."Language was softened again.Decision authority drifted upward—quietly.

Imitation retreated when it became inconvenient.

✦

The other Ishaan aligned, voice steady.

Power copies until copying costs control, he said.Then it reverts.

✦

Night settled with clarity sharper than any confrontation could have provided.

Two models had been tested side by side.

One depended on permission wearing new clothes.One depended on judgment accepting risk.

Only one survived pressure without supervision.

✦

Arjun leaned against the railing, tired but satisfied.

"They tried," he said.

"Yes," I replied."And now they know what they can't fake."

✦

A sanctioned coordinator passed nearby, slower than usual. Thoughtful.

"This isn't something we can roll out," she said—not to me, not to anyone in particular.

"No," I said."It isn't."

She nodded—once—and kept walking.

That was concession enough.

✦

The other Ishaan aligned fully, voice calm and final.

Imitation is the last refuge of power before transformation, he said.Or fracture.

I looked at the city—moving, choosing, imperfect and alive.

"Yes," I said."And now they have to decide which one they want."

✦

Night closed without resolution—but with understanding.

Power had tried to copy.

And failed.

What remained couldn't be packaged, approved, or reclaimed.

Only practiced.

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