When we arrive for the trial the next day, there’s a crowd outside.
Where did they come from? Why are they here? I don’t know. What I do know is that a lot of people are shouting very loudly that I ought to be hanged. Moleman mutters something under his breath about word of mouth moving quickly in the tutorial, which does appear to be the case.
When they spot me, the shouting intensifies. Signs and boards are raised angrily and—hey, wait a moment. Isn’t that my picture?
I snatch a sign out of someone’s hand and guards quickly swarm me, though not to do a police brutality for my theft, but rather to make distance between me and the people. Protective. This distance gives me more than enough time to take a good, long look at the sign. I tear off the picture and… Yeah, that’s me. ‘Wanted by the Acheron Ashdom, Dead or Alive: Tallthing.’ There’s a seal in the bottom right of a phoenix rising from the ashes of a city, but I don’t really care about that. I recognise this picture.
This is the picture Simel painted of me. It’s…
It’s really good! I mean, sure, I look kind of like a hairless human rat and my expression is weirdly intense, but it is very much in my likeness. He’s so talented! It also shows the brand on my chest, even though it wasn’t on me at the time of painting. Ah, I’m so proud of him.
I stick it in my inventory for later use. Humming happily, we enter the courthouse, ignoring the shouts from the crowd outside.
…How did we get here, you ask? Well, um… Moleman wouldn’t let me sleep in my hole seventy-five kilometers from the city, so on his recommendation, I spent the… I slept… you know. At his place. On the couch. The most comfortable couch I’ve ever slept on. Not that I slept. I just pretended I did so Moleman wouldn’t worry. Then we had breakfast in the morning, and headed straight here.
The crowd is effectively shut out by the closing of the front door behind us. Since only those taking part in the proceedings are allowed inside the courthouse, the guards quickly dislodge from us, leaving us to our business. We walk up the stairs, and I feel very calm. Maybe I should feel worried, considering everything. There is a fair chance that whatever happens in the trial today determines whether I’ll live to see tomorrow or not. Maybe I’m just in denial about the whole thing.
If I die, Moleman will be sad, and maybe Rice since we won’t be able to have our fight. But overall, a lot more people will be happy. They’ll be able to use my execution as a bargaining chip with the goblins, to be able to say, ‘hey, look, this guy is not one of ours, so let’s be friends, okay?’ and then they can work together with the goblins. Easy peasy. They’ll make an alliance, I’ll be dead, and a lot more people will be able to survive going forward since they won’t pay for my crimes, directly or indirectly.
Somewhere, sometime, I read that people who have been falsely convicted can’t sleep well in prison. They toss and turn and shout about their innocence, trying to convince anyone who’ll listen that they didn’t do it. But guilty people sleep like babies.
I’m glad I never tried to fool Moleman about any of this. I couldn’t bear trying to keep something like this a secret from him.
Before we enter the courtroom, Moleman pats me on the back and gives me a look, silently asking if I’m okay. I nod back at him. We enter.
The air inside is cold even though it should be choked with breathing. Same people as yesterday, in the same places, wearing almost the exact same things. All of them look substantially more exhausted than they did yesterday. I’m still wearing the clothes Moleman gave me. Bach isn’t the only one surprised by it, but nobody mentions it.
Logghammer looks me up and down before turning to the secretary, giving her a curt nod. “Welcome back, everyone.” A few nods pass between people, a formal but silent greeting. People nod at Moleman, but not at me. Unsurprising. My eyes fall to the stack of papers pinched between Logghammer’s fingers, which I recognize by the tears and sweat stains as being those me and Moleman labored over yesterday.
Logghammer soon begins speaking gravely. “I and my fellow jurors have spent much of the evening and some of the night going through the full written confession of PrissyKittyPrincess, making note of which incidents are criminal and which are not.” A look of deep, spiritual fatigue briefly passes his face before being masked by professional apathy. “Due to the extensiveness of the crimes listed, a complete record may be found in the appendix, figure two. However, most notably, the murder of the King of Acheron will not be counted due to it being part of the floor clear requirement. Antithetically, the murder of the Sun Emperor, although it did count towards clearing the stage, will not be counted as ‘necessary’ and thus remain first-degree homicide.
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“Similarly to the King of Acheron, the killing of shades will not be considered criminal in nature. However, I feel it pertinent to note that killing all shades on floor seven was needless, and is—in lack of adequate character witnesses—a good example of the kind of person the defendant is.” He glances my way, and I can tell somehow that the way he looks at me has shifted somewhat. A twinge of fear. “The judge and jury are in agreement that the defendant is guilty on all charges.”
The single certainty of the day.
“However…” The room holds its collective breath. “The question, then, comes to what a proper penalty would be.”
Moleman stands up, his chair giving a jarring squeak. “John, if I may—?”
Logghammer seems briefly stunned by the turn, the same reaction as mine, but a warm nod tells Moleman to continue.
“I believe,” Moleman says, “that the best possible penalty would be house arrest.”
“House arrest, you say?” Logghammer asks. Curious, without a twinge of sarcasm. “Please elaborate.”
It takes a second or two for Moleman to gather his thoughts before he speaks, gravely enunciating, “Prison is not possible unless he were to beat the tutorial or someone else in the Europe Server were to reach the eighteenth floor of the Hell Difficulty, which is nigh impossible. Physical punishments would be medieval and ineffective. Banning Kitty from participating in activities, the forums and likewise is trivial compared to the crime committed. He owns nothing to be taken as a fine.” Moleman takes a deep breath. “No other penalty would be anywhere near as effective as house arrest.”
“Would you care to explain what you mean by ‘house arrest’?”
“House arrest, in the context of the tutorial, would involve the punished offender remaining in the floor lobby for a specified amount of attempts until allowed to leave by moving on to the next floor. This way, the offender will be incapable of causing harm to others or other such future damages.”
“That is, unless he chooses to leave of his own accord,” the prosecutor, Venedict, says, butting in. His eyes fall on me sharply. “Or until the time runs out, and he leaves to terrorize the population of Purgatory once more.”
Moleman’s jaw snaps shut and he turns to Logghammer, who simply shrugs. “Since this is an open debate, there’s no need to speak in turn.”
Grinding his teeth, Moleman continues his argument. “It is the most humane option.”
“Were you at the eighteenth floor all-skirmish yesterday?” Venedict asks. “No, actually, don’t answer that. I know you were there. I saw you.” His sharp eyes hone in on me. “That’s why I know you saw the offender maim, kill, dismember and eat his own teammates—not to speak of the other unlucky contestants.” What a total non-sequitur. Where is he even going with this? And, better yet, why isn’t Moleman speaking out against him? Venedict carefully folds his fingers across the table. “Since you won’t say it, I’ll ask you straight-out: Why should we show any humanity towards someone who clearly lacks it?”
“Because,” Moleman quickly answers, “he’s still human. Although he may not, at times, act like it, should we as humans choose to no longer treat him as a human, it would make us inhuman in turn.”
Venedict rolls his eyes. “Instead of arguing about whether or not we should put the monster in a self-inflicted house arrest in the hopes that it won’t leave at the literal press of a button out of the goodness of its shrivelled husk of a heart, why don’t we just have the actual argument we’re all really thinking about?” Leaning in, his eyes take on a half-desperate, half-determined shape. “Should we have it put down like the animal it is or not?”
Moleman’s mouth opens but he’s interrupted by Logghammer, who speaks up instead, saying, “Venedict, will you please refer to the offender by his name and proper pronoun?”
“You clearly weren’t at the floor eighteen skirmish, I see,” Venedict mumbles. “But, sure. I’ll rephrase my question: ‘Death penalty, or no penalty?’ How’s that?”
“It’s reproachable,” Moleman chides.
“It’s the truth,” Venedict rebuts. “Physical punishment, house arrest, stoning, imprisonment, verbal warning, fining… nothing save for the death penalty will actually do anything in this case.”
“It’s inhuman!”
“No less than letting that thing go free!”
“Please refrain from shouting!” Logghammer shouts. For reference, it’s been less than half an hour and the court has already deteriorated into… this. I’m more impressed than surprised. I mean, I had sort of expected this to happen at some point, but hearing Moleman argue this fiercely in such brief sentences really does make me realize he has a lot of missed potential as a rap artist. If only he’d cuss, I’m sure he could get a platinum album in no time.
While he and Venedict are still going at it, the jury starts getting involved, discussing amongst each other in louder and quicker tones about the whole thing. Many looks are thrown my way, some disgusted, some appalled, some disturbed, some fearful, all with some degree of hate.
“Silence!”
There’s a bang and I turn to see a gavel materialized in Logghammer’s hand.
His eyes move over the collected group, eyes burning. “It is clear to me that this debate—no, argument—cannot continue in a civilized manner. As much as I despise adjournments, this discussion will have to be postponed to let all gathered members formulate their own thoughts in a proper fashion.” Looks are shared, and in the end, people can only nod mournfully. “Good. Spend the day, evening and night contemplating what you all believe the proper course of action to be. That includes you,” he points at me and I twitch a little, expecting magic but getting nothing but a scalding look. “As for the rest of you…” His gaze slowly glides from one to another. “You may assume that the death penalty is on the table, however, it is not a verdict to be chosen lightly. Once we execute one murderer, that option will never disappear. Try to find other options if possible.
“That is all for today. Court adjourned.”