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Shakily grasping the chocolate-colored, leather, handle, Dao’s ghostly fingers pulled the door back to reveal the enormous interior of a limousine. Scooting inside, the president decompressed against the velvet lined chairs, cuddling deep into his fur blanket.

“Where to my Dearest Leader?” the driver asked anxiously.

Dao peered into the cabby’s inside mirror, “The Palace of Governance.”

“Yes, my Dearest Leader,” the driver flashed a fake smile into the mirror and then stared straight ahead.

A graze of snow peppered the streets, mostly empty streets; for the most part, everything seemed dead.

Drawing a small grin, Dao gazed empty out onto the white-furred landscape. Taking a moment to check his golden watch, the glorious leader attempted taking a nap and sleeping on his armrest.
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Crankily waking to the screech of wheels on ice, the leader stretched his frozen hand to caress the vehicle door knob.

“Thank you,” coughed Dao, handing a few hundred dollars to the driver, now staring in awe.

Crawling out onto the dimly lit circle lot, Dao stumbled to a tall, stone staircase.

Upon achieving the demanding climb, he staggered into through the remaining halls. Walking wonderuously into the council room, the man arrived to the faces of thousands.

Able to hold an impressive 170,000 people—the entire structure was designed after Volkshalle. The leader crept into the lavish speaking box after relaxing his frigid fingers and clearing his rough throat. Swallowing his spit, Dao stalked into the booth to great applause.