In the dimly lit corridors of the Capitol Complex, whispers of a new kind of power shift began to ripple through the bureaucracy. It wasn’t a coup, at least not in the traditional sense, but something quieter, more insidious, and undeniably transformative. They called it the "Agency Executive Order."

It started with a footnote buried in the latest federal regulation update, unnoticed by most except the sharp-eyed analysts who read policy drafts like others read thrillers. The clause was simple: "Any federal agency may issue an Executive Order, applicable solely within its purview, contingent on the appointment of new agency leadership."

At first, it seemed like a technicality—another harmless update to an already labyrinthine code of governance. But for the Federal Energy Commission, where political appointments turned over like clockwork, it was an opportunity. Within days of the new chair’s confirmation, the agency issued its first internal Executive Order. The directive bypassed Congress entirely, creating sweeping incentives for green energy projects, funded by reallocations within the agency's budget.

The Environmental Protection Agency followed suit. Its new leader, a staunch advocate for aggressive climate policy, issued an Executive Order mandating stricter emissions guidelines for federally-owned vehicles. Though legally confined to internal operations, the ripple effects spilled out, reshaping supply chains and setting a de facto standard for private contractors.

The Department of Education, under its new appointee, declared an Agency Executive Order requiring all federally funded research projects to align with new equity standards. University presidents scrambled to interpret the ambiguous language, fearing the loss of their lifeblood: federal grants.

Soon, every agency had its own flavor of Executive Orders. Some were bold, reshaping entire sectors from the inside out, while others were petty—like the Department of Transportation's decision to mandate ergonomic office chairs for all employees.

But the real drama began when agencies started colliding. The Department of Commerce's trade exemptions for specific industries directly undermined the Treasury's attempt to stabilize tariffs. The Department of Defense’s push for new procurement protocols enraged the State Department, whose global supply lines were snarled by the changes.

For President Morgan, who had initially signed off on the clause as part of a sprawling omnibus bill, the backlash was swift. Congress roared, accusing her of creating a shadow government within the executive branch. Governors threatened lawsuits as state agencies felt the tremors of federal overreach.

Yet, for all the chaos, there was brilliance in the system. Agencies that had long been bureaucratic backwaters were now engines of innovation. New leaders, aware that their tenure could be cut short by the next election cycle, moved with urgency, transforming policies that once took decades to evolve. It was governance by revolution, one siloed edict at a time.

But with great power came inevitable corruption. Whispers of clandestine alliances between agencies began to surface. Deals were struck in dimly lit offices—backroom agreements that blurred the lines between their purviews. The Justice Department, in a bid to curb the growing chaos, issued its own Agency Executive Order: an internal task force to oversee other agencies. Predictably, no one complied.

As the federal government teetered on the brink of implosion, the American public was left to wonder: was this the evolution of democracy or its undoing?

In the end, the question wasn’t whether an agency could issue an Executive Order. The question was what happened when every agency believed it must.