New Vance City

The Council Chambers is the algorithmic heart of the Citadel Council's polished regime—a stark monument to pre-Collapse bureaucracy rebuilt with neon bones and silicone skin. Here, policy isn’t debated so much as calculated. Augmented officials, flanked by chrome-plated assistants, feed social metrics and citizen behavior data into a central AI quorum that generates laws, ration quotas, and security priorities in real time. Every decision is logged, surveilled, and projected as a holographic manifesto for the masses. “Order, Stability, Hope”—the Citadel’s trinity—is whispered like a prayer and enforced like a sentence. The Chambers serve less as a forum and more as a ritual site, where civility is algorithmically maintained and dissent is politely excised. For residents, it is the closest thing to certainty left in the world. For outsiders, it’s a theater of cold logic disguised as governance.

The Council Chambers rise from the center of the Citadel like a sleek obsidian tower stabbed into the skyline, sheathed in shimmering data-glass. Entry requires retinal scans, biometric pings, and coded clearance. Inside, the vast chamber is eerily sterile—gleaming polymer floors reflect the soft pulse of overhead LEDs arranged in mathematically perfect hexagon clusters. Transparent walls double as holographic display panels, constantly updating with public sentiment scores and incident threat levels. In place of chairs, suspended platforms hold delegates in floating stasis rigs, interfaced directly to a central AI core that glows like a captured star in the room’s center. Rows of citizens queue beneath the platforms in a velvet-rope maze of retractable barriers, submitting their concerns via voiceprint terminals. There is no shouting here. Only efficiency. Only order.