On the 12th of Uien, with a singular vision burning in my mind, I set forth on a mission that had grown out of hard-won lessons from eras past. My experiences had revealed one undeniable truth: revolutions and reformations are dangerous endeavors without the proper structures to maintain peace. In a world long marred by the bonds of oppression and exploitation, I knew that abolishing slavery was but the first step. What followed would be inevitable upheaval—a societal quake that demanded a meticulous and robust military and police force to keep chaos at bay.
I had decided that the very framework of our new order must be supported by a force that was refined, disciplined, and resolutely just. The task seemed formidable, yet my resolve was unyielding. With the abolition of slavery imminent, the tremors of discontent were expected to ripple through every layer of society. The promise of freedom, however noble, always came bundled with the risk of instabilities, and leaving the citizens to face these tumultuous times without protection could ignite dangerous riots. Thus began my quest to secure our future with an unwavering shield of order.
The day's first light found me journeying to the construction site of our new government headquarters, centrally positioned within the heart of the city. Even amid the clamor of construction—the echoing sounds of progress and industry—a sense of majestic purpose enveloped the space. The central building, a colossal edifice designed to embody our newfound commitment to justice and efficient administration, stood proudly complete. Only the left and right wings, destined to extend our operational capabilities, were still undergoing rigorous construction. The exterior, while in need of additional detailing, promised an architectural marvel that would one day become the seat of power and rebirth.
Inside, the building exuded an air of disciplined ambition. The grand halls, lined with luminous panels that reflected a mix of modern engineering and classical design, symbolized more than just bricks and mortar—they were a manifestation of the state's rebirth. The central chamber buzzed subtly with the promise of change, its unfinished corridors speaking of imminent development and the steady march toward a reformed society. The physical space was not merely a structure, but rather the heart of a revolution in governance—a call to all who believed that order could be born from chaos.
I made my way to the office of our Ministry of Justice, a pivotal department in my new government structure. Here I was to meet Nathan Owden, the newly appointed head of the ministry—a man whose reputation for analytical acumen and moral fortitude preceded him. For the time being, his appointment, facilitated by my trusted head of intelligence, Lily, was not a result of popular election but rather of a careful background check. In these uncertain times, expedience and trust outweighed the traditional democratic process. I had resolved that for the interim, all ministers would be chosen based on their proven track records and integrity—with the true test of their leadership to come in the vote that was scheduled in the year 1450.
Seated behind a heavy oak desk in Nathan's office, I could sense the gravity of the moment. The walls, adorned with symbols of our past struggles and the promise of future victories, provided a constant reminder that the system we were about to build was designed not simply for governance, but for protection and equality. I approached Nathan with the matter at hand—expanding our security forces to manage the inevitable unrest anticipated after the abolition of slavery. The question was direct: How were we progressing with the establishment of our police force? And more importantly, was our preparation robust enough to quell the forthcoming tempest of discontent?
Nathan leaned forward, his eyes reflecting both resolve and clarity, and began to explain in detail our financial allocations and logistical plans. The Ministry of Justice had been entrusted with a starting budget of exactly 5,704,081.841 Credits. This sum, though finite, had been meticulously mapped to cover a spectrum of crucial projects, each designed to lay the foundation of an unshakable law enforcement network. It was the lifeblood of our strategy—a tangible investment in a future where justice would guide every citizen's life.
According to Nathan's report, 378,000 Credits had already been expended on constructing the new central police headquarters. This fortress-like structure sprawled across 42,000 square meters, its vastness a metaphor for the comprehensive protection it was meant to offer. Designed to house the core of our policing strategy, the building would serve as the command center in times of crisis. Its walls, imbued with the symbolism of resilience and order, were to be completed with only external detailing, a task that promised to further enhance its intimidating presence.
But the central headquarters was only part of our grand design. Recognizing that security could not be centralized alone, Nathan emphasized that an additional investment of 108,000 Credits had been allocated toward the construction of thirty smaller police stations. Each of these stations was designed to cover an area of 400 square meters, a compact yet efficient space strategically placed throughout the city to ensure rapid response times in every neighborhood. Moreover, to address regional needs beyond the city's heart, a further 162,000 Credits had been directed to erect six county police stations—each expansive at 3,000 square meters These installations would serve as regional hubs, extending the reach of our central policies to every corner of our territory.
Every credit spent was carefully accounted for, not just as a matter of fiscal responsibility, but as a symbol of our commitment to a fair and methodical system of law enforcement. It was clear that we were constructing not just buildings, but the very architecture of control and reassurance—structures that would stand as bulwarks against the chaos that might otherwise engulf a society in the throes of radical change.
As Nathan continued, he detailed the human element in our grand plan. The fledgling police force was to be comprised of 864 officers, a number carefully calculated to maintain an average of 5 police officers per 1,000 citizens. This precise ratio was not arbitrary: it had been engineered to ensure that when the inevitable riots broke out in the wake of the slave abolishment, every district would be armed with enough manpower to restore order without resorting to draconian measures. The balance was delicate, but necessary—it was a promise to the people that they would be neither left unprotected nor oppressed by overzealous authority.
The financial details of our endeavor were as exacting as the construction blueprints. The employment of our 864 officers came at a total cost of 725,760 Credits. Each officer was to earn 840 Credits per year, an amount derived from a base pay rate of 200 mills per hour over a rigorous 60-hour work week—with the sanctity of Sunday diligently preserved as a day off. This pay structure was deliberately designed to attract only the most dedicated individuals, forging a force that was not only skilled in tactical response but also committed to upholding a profound ethical standard.
No effort would be spared in equipping our officers to handle the challenges of a rapidly changing society. An investment of 200,000 Credits had been earmarked to procure essential gear—items that ranged from riot shields to muskets, complemented by handcuffs and batons. These symbols of authority were more than just tools; they were extenders of the state's guiding hand, capable of ensuring compliance in even the most volatile moments of civil unrest.
Combined, these initiatives—the construction of central and peripheral facilities, the recruitment of dedicated personnel, and the outfitting of our officers—totaled an annual allocation of 1,573,760 Credits. This figure was not merely a number; it was the embodiment of our commitment to a system where order was maintained through a blend of prudence, strategy, and calculated force. Every credit, every square meter dedicated to security, was a step toward a future where the freedom of the individual was safeguarded by the collective strength of an organized, fair, and unyielding government.
Yet, as I sat with Nathan, absorbing every detail of our meticulously planned expenditures, I could not ignore the underlying tension that rippled beneath the surface. The abolition of slavery was not going to be welcomed unanimously. There were those who thrived on the old hierarchies, those whose identities were inextricably linked to systems of oppression and servitude. The transformation we sought was, without doubt, a necessary evolution toward a more just society—but evolution, even of the noblest kind, came with its share of resistance.
I envisioned the streets filled with passionate voices—both of support and dissent—when the day of the abolition finally arrived. I anticipated that amidst the celebrations would also come protests, frustration, and even violence from those who feared or could not accept the drastic change. It was this possibility that had driven me to prepare so extensively. In constructing our police force with such careful attention to detail, I guaranteed that in the coming tempest, our response would be measured, strategic, and resolutely just.
Within the walls of the government HQ, under the steady guidance of Nathan Owden and with the initial support of influential minds like Lily's from the Intelligence Agency, the blueprint of a new order was coming into being—a synthesis of fiscal planning, architectural innovation, and conscientious policy-making. I knew that this chapter in our history was not merely about the allocation of resources but about laying the foundation for a society reborn, where the echoes of past injustices would finally be silenced by the harmonious pulse of enforced order and equality.
As I departed from Nathan's office later that day, the weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders with both gravity and resolve. The construction site of our government headquarters, with its unfinished wings and promising central edifice, stood as a reminder of the work yet to be done—a work of rebuilding not only structures but the very soul of our nation. Every calculated credit, every carefully measured square meter, was an investment in a future where the scars of yesterday would slowly heal under the watchful eyes of an empowered, just state.
Looking out over the city as dusk cloaked the skyline in shades of determination and uncertainty, I could almost hear the quiet murmur of the rising voices of change. In that reflective moment, I vowed to continue my efforts, ensuring that every facet of my plan—whether it be the construction of imposing headquarters, the recruitment of brave souls into law enforcement, or the equipping of those officers with the tools for their duty—would support the priceless goal of securing lasting peace and equality for all.
The journey had just begun, and though the road ahead was fraught with challenges, I embraced the uncertainty with a heart fortified by past trials and a mind sharpened by experience. For in the tumult of transformation, there is always hope—a hope that through collective resilience, strategic foresight, and unwavering dedication to justice, even the deepest societal rifts can be healed. And as I stepped back into the encroaching night, I knew that the foundations we laid on this fateful day would, one day, stand as the bulwark against chaos, a testament to the enduring spirit of reform and the unyielding march toward a brighter, more equitable future.