A boot on a human face, forever.

The Empire is a city without windows, without crack or seam. Your every movement is watched, is judged by a legion of those without faces. You are fed, housed, exercised, cared for with the same solicitous unconcern as any beast of burden.

The Empire is the dream of control. Like all such dreams, it is also a dream of being controlled, of perfect tyranny. There must be constant dread, constant worry. Your confinement must chafe at you.  Your every act of rebellion is anticipated; your coconspirators all moles. You are driven to rebel, because you must be punished; you rebel in order to be punished. Your punishment constructs the state; there can be no empire without rebellion, no rebellion without empire.

The Empire is Utopia envisioned by autocracy. Its citizens are broken, brought to heel, but do not love the black eagle on the red flag—nor should they. Fear is a stronger bridle than respect. But its weakness is its perfection. You have but one escape, but that escape can never be closed to you. The Empire can only watch; it can only ever watch.