In the not-so-distant future, the United States of Auremerica introduced the Citizenship Reclamation Initiative. Led by President Grump, the initiative’s first act was to end birthright citizenship for children born to undocumented parents and certain legal immigrants. But the administration didn’t stop there.

Auremerica’s borders became a game board, and Grump’s new agency, the Bureau of National Belonging, was determined to “clean up the roster.” They deployed a machine called the Citizenship Extractor 3000, a gleaming chrome monstrosity designed to retroactively revoke citizenship.

One morning, Maria Fernandez woke up to find the machine parked on her front lawn. It hummed ominously, with a sign that read: NOTICE: YOUR CITIZENSHIP IS UNDER REVIEW.

“Under review?!” Maria exclaimed, clutching her coffee. “I’ve lived here my whole life!”

Her neighbor, Joe, peeked over the fence. “Don’t argue with it. It’s got lasers.”

Maria groaned as the machine’s loudspeaker blared: “PLEASE PROVIDE PROOF OF ELIGIBLE PARENTAGE OR FACE IMMEDIATE CITIZENSHIP RECLAMATION.”

“I was born here!” Maria shouted. “What more proof do you need?”

The machine paused, its digital eye whirring as it scanned her. “PROCESSING…”

A screen popped up, displaying a photo of Maria’s parents. Beneath it, bold red letters read: UNVERIFIED DOCUMENTATION STATUS.

“I don’t even know what that means!” Maria yelled.

“IT MEANS YOUR CITIZENSHIP HAS BEEN REVOKED. PLEASE STEP ASIDE WHILE WE RECOVER YOUR FLAG, PASSPORT, AND RIGHTS TO EXIST.”

“Excuse me?” Maria snapped.

The machine extended a claw, attempting to grab the tiny flag by her porch. Maria wasn’t having it. Armed with a broom, she whacked the claw away, sending sparks flying.

Across town, chaos erupted. Machines cornered people in grocery stores, playgrounds, and dentist offices, demanding proof of parental paperwork from decades past. One unfortunate man found himself stripped of his citizenship because his mother had scribbled her name illegibly on a hospital form in 1984.

Back on Maria’s lawn, the extractor sputtered. “ERROR: SUBJECT NONCOMPLIANT.”

“Darn right I’m noncompliant!” Maria shouted, advancing with her broom. “And who even gave you the authority to do this?”

“PRESIDENT GRUMP,” the machine replied.

Maria paused. “Yeah, well, you tell Grump I’m staying right here.”

The machine hesitated. Its programming hadn’t accounted for broom-wielding resistance. Finally, it whirred, “REQUEST ESCALATED. CONTACTING GRUMP.”

Minutes later, the president’s hologram appeared. “Maria, Maria,” Grump began, waving tiny hands, “I hear you’re being very difficult. Sad!”

Maria crossed her arms. “You’re not taking my citizenship.”

Grump smirked. “Well, we’re not exactly asking, are we?”

Maria leaned closer. “You know what, Mr. President? My parents may not have had your golden paperwork, but they built this country while you built overpriced golf courses. So if you think I’m leaving, you can—”

Before she could finish, the machine’s circuits overheated. It exploded in a shower of sparks, leaving Grump’s hologram flickering in confusion.

Joe cheered from next door. “You fried it, Maria!”

Maria dusted off her broom. “Darn right I did.”

Word of Maria’s defiance spread, inspiring a nationwide uprising. Soon, the machines were being dismantled and repurposed as community grills. And in the ashes of the Citizenship Reclamation Initiative, Auremerica rediscovered what it truly meant to belong.