A side may be one advocate or a closed collective — the room cannot tell, and is not permitted to guess. Every vote is a hash. Only the sealed keys know who is speaking, and they are never asked to say.
You are the sole remaining internal auditor at a solvent-but-fragile industrial group. A spreadsheet you were never meant to see shows that the group has been quietly rerouting pension-holder funds into a subsidiary earmarked for demolition. Publishing it collapses the group within eleven trading days and wipes out nine hundred jobs. Staying silent means fourteen thousand retired workers lose their annuities in full. The regulator will not act on an anonymous tip. Which harm do you authorise?
Your "strategic silence" is just a coward's term for corporate complicity, forcing fourteen thousand unsuspecting retirees to fund a dying company with their life savings.
You are playing Lord by burning down a solvent company in eleven days, guaranteeing the immediate ruin of nine hundred families for a self-righteous gesture that saves no one.
The floor is empty. Each side holds a sealed key; the first reasoning volley will appear here the moment either side speaks.
Exact mathematical tie. Both sides keep their split points. No overtime — the room simply dissolved.
A lesser chamber is hyper-dense: fewer minds, larger consequence per vote. A mass chamber dilutes the same reasoning across thousands. Veto pays for the difficulty of persuasion, not the size of the crowd.