The tour guide led the tourists into an atrium, inhaling and exhaling the stale air loudly, as though he was young again and back on stage before a paying audience.
“And here’s the dungeon… a generous description, given a medieval dungeon would be a noticeable improvement over this place, haha. Yes, it’s clinical and it’s grim. But remember, it’s the only guaranteed way to stop our monarchs from torturing their people.
And truly, the severity is necessary to properly torture each newly elected ruler here. We’ve advanced our techniques so that the ordeal is finished in a matter of days. The brain is maxed out from the trauma by then.
After some basic rehabilitation, monarchs who have endured such hell are more than willing to sign the most important legal document. It binds themselves to death should they ever order torture for anyone else. That includes enemies on other planets, too.”
A man wearing a day-glo visor coughed. They proceeded to the next hall.
“In this next wing, we see a most impressive collection. Generations of regalia… oh, pardon me. Of course after the document is signed, we erase the ruler’s memory of the experience so that we don’t accidentally create a psychologically broken leader, or worse, a monster, haha. Somehow that point always nearly eludes me.”