Senate Chaos Erupts as Big Bold Bill Narrowly Clears Final Vote

Trask demands speed, Senators show strain, and Mirrorball braces for next phase

By Jax Rowe

What began as a procedural session meant to “finalize and tidy up” the Dominion Senate’s stance on the Big Bold Bill spiraled into a 17-hour political spectacle of tension, betrayal, and backroom maneuvering. By dawn, the controversial bill—dominated by sweeping rollbacks of LGBTQ+ protections, educational restrictions, and penalties for municipalities hosting unsanctioned public events—had cleared the Senate by the slimmest of margins.

The chamber floor was rife with visible unease as Senators debated, one by one, over amendment proposals—some earnest, others performative. The session dragged on with procedural votes stretching well into the early morning hours. Despite their fatigue, those in the PrideFest camp were glued to their devices. Crowds in the festival’s central plaza huddled in sleeping bags and lawn chairs, eyes on the screens, faces lit by a sickly mix of dawn and LED light.

The most high-profile amendment came from Senator Daria Murkens (R-Kelso), a centrist often seen as a swing vote in volatile legislation. Her amendment sought to allow Kelso and Eastlandia to retain access to federal healthcare subsidies and Medicare/Medicaid funding—benefits the bill stripped away from most other states under its “Federal Fairness Restructuring” clause.

“This was a blatant attempt to protect her state while throwing the rest of us into the fire,” said Senator Leila Ortiz (P-Mapleshade), who took to the floor in a rare moment of unfiltered criticism. “Privilege masquerading as compromise.”

The amendment failed by a mere four votes, a loss that sent audible gasps through the gallery. Murkens appeared shaken, clutching a folder of handwritten notes and looking visibly torn. Observers speculated that she might defect and vote against the bill. But when the final tally was called, she voted yes. Her press release cited “national unity” and “a need to keep the government moving.” Mirrorball organizers called it cowardice.

Senators Ronald Parr (R-Westfold) and Thomas Teller (R-Carolese), however, did break ranks—both joining the full coalition of Freedom Caucus and Progressive Unity Coalition members voting no. "This bill isn’t reform—it’s retribution," Parr declared outside the chamber, eyes red with fatigue. "We’re rewarding the worst voices in our politics, and I won’t be party to it."

With the bill passed, Dominion President Trask wasted no time. In a statement issued just after 5:00 AM, he demanded the legislation be delivered to his desk no later than July 4, 2025.

“Dominion’s people deserve swift, decisive leadership,” the statement read. “Delay is sabotage. Hesitation is opposition. I expect this bill signed into law on Independence Day.”

The message sent shockwaves through both chambers of government. Speaker of the House Daniel Morgan, cornered by splintering party unity and desperate to hold on to his razor-thin voting bloc, looked shell-shocked in a press scrum at 6:30 AM.

“Frankly, I don’t know how we get it done on this timeline,” Morgan admitted. “There are proposed changes. If we touch the bill, even slightly, we trigger another Senate vote. If we don’t… we may lose more Republicans than we can afford.”

Back at PrideFest, the festival’s atmosphere has shifted once more. Gone is the glow of dance floors and cheerful booths. In its place: strategy tents, quiet corners with small groups huddled over notes and laptops, and a palpable sense of both fear and fire.

“It’s hard to describe the mood here,” said Corey Nguyen, a civil rights attorney volunteering with Operation Mirrorball. “We’re exhausted. Angry. But also—very aware. This is the closest we’ve come to the cliff in years. And if we don’t stop this bill now, we go over it.”

The Mirrorball command center at PrideFest has ramped up its efforts. Organizers are coordinating direct calls to Senate holdouts, planning protest caravans, and prepping legal filings should the bill pass both chambers unchanged. And yet, amidst the fury, there’s also fierce resilience.

Nadya Lux, a drag performer and Mirrorball agent, stood on a crate at sunrise to address a gathering crowd.

“This ain’t our first emergency. This ain’t even our first betrayal this week,” she shouted through a bullhorn. “But they keep forgetting—they’re trying to dim something that creates its own light.”

As Representative Mercer boards a government plane back to Dominion’s capital, his office confirms a noon livestream statement to be broadcast across PrideFest’s media screens. Aides say the topic will be “strategic escalation.”

Operation Mirrorball’s banner still flies high at the entrance to the festival grounds. It's no longer just a symbol of solidarity—it’s a declaration of war.