The Suggestion Directive

Ethan's POV – 

The assembly had settled into a heavy, anticipatory silence after Chris's latest decree. His voice had reverberated across the hall as he laid down a final new rule.

"From this day forth, all proposals for further adjustments to our policies—be they economic, military, or administrative—shall be submitted in the suggestion box," Chris declared, his tone measured and final. "My daughter, Christiana Blackwood, will personally review these submissions. Only those that meet her stringent standards and truly serve the interests of the Blackwood Union will be considered for implementation."

I watched as murmurs spread through the assembly. Some leaders exchanged skeptical glances, while others appeared resigned—if not relieved—to have a formal process for voicing ideas, even if it was merely symbolic. I felt a twinge of irony: in an empire that had crushed dissent at every turn, suggestions were now invited. But I knew better than to mistake this as an act of openness. It was merely another method to tighten control.

I stepped forward and addressed the room. "The suggestion box has been placed at the rear of this hall. All proposals, effective immediately, must be dropped there. Our internal secretaries will compile the submissions and forward them to Dictator Christiana Blackwood for review. Remember: this is not a forum for negotiation—it is a test of loyalty and ingenuity. Only proposals that align with our ultimate goals of stability and absolute power will be given consideration."

I could see a few officials hesitating, scribbling notes as they prepared their documents. The air was thick with a mix of desperation and cautious hope; many leaders recognized that the only way to survive the new world order was to conform completely.

Meanwhile, I caught sight of Christiana in the background. Her eyes were steely as she observed the first few envelopes being deposited into the suggestion box. There was no warmth in her gaze—only cold, calculated appraisal. In her hands, she would decide which ideas were worthy of further development and which were to be summarily rejected.

A low murmur arose from one of the regional representatives, a voice filled with both uncertainty and pragmatism. "What if we have proposals that could ease our economic burdens, if only the entry fee were adjusted?" he asked tentatively, though his words were lost in the shuffle of the assembly.

Chris's gaze swept the room, and I sensed the underlying warning in his tone as he replied, "Only suggestions that fortify the Union's strength will be welcomed. Do not mistake this for leniency; it is an opportunity for those who serve us well."

The directive was clear. Every idea, every proposal would be measured against the unforgiving standard set by our empire—and by Christiana. It was a reminder that, even now, under the guise of "suggestions," absolute control was maintained by filtering all potential dissent through a single, unyielding gatekeeper.

I felt the gravity of it all. The suggestion box was not a tool of democratic input—it was a mechanism to further consolidate power, to sift out the truly loyal from the opportunistic. And as I surveyed the room, I knew that tonight's assembly would mark the next step in our relentless march toward complete global domination.

The game was far from over, and every suggestion that entered that box would either be a step toward reinforcing our reign or a fatal miscalculation by those who still dared to hope for change.