“With the recent trial, it has become clear,” Senator Vincent said, making an address to the general public, “That we need change. Our society can no longer afford to allow vigilantes to enforce justice on their own terms. Our society can no longer afford to let these criminals, who violently enforce their own goals, kill for their own ideals, destroy society to fill their pockets! To better confront these agents of chaos, we are developing a new government program. Under our new legislature, anyone found guilty of vigilantism shall be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, and a new task force of manifested is being rolled out with full government oversight. There will be accountability, peace, and justice. The manifested who enroll will declare their full name and identity to government officials, ensuring that we can curb this vigilantism that is destroying us.”

“That,” Lady NightRaven said, turning off her phone, “Is the worst idea I’ve heard in a long time.”

“It would give us consistent work,” She-Wolf argued.

“She-Wolf, part of our job is to fight supervillains,” Lady NightRaven said, “This kind of people who hold onto grudges for a long, long time. If this means putting our names into government databases, what’s going to happen to us?”

Meanwhile, in Castle Gorestrike.

“This! This must not come to pass!” Gorestrike declared, “To shackle brave warriors with petty beauracracy, I shall not allow it!”

“What’s the matter?” GianTessa asked.

“Have you seen this pitiful display?” Gorestrike inquired, rewinding the giant T.V.

“No,” GianTessa said, “I don’t really keep up with the news.”

“Some spineless worm wishes to get rid of heroes!” Gorestrike declared.

“So?” GianTessa asked, “That’s good, right? Means we can defend the castle easier.”

“Good? Good!” Gorestrike “Of all the misfortune to befall me, to befall the legacy of Gorestrike, this is the worst! It is the removal of challenge, the removal of glory! Without heroes to oppose me, to righteously stand against me, what am I?”

“A big, powerful knight?” GianTessa guessed.

“There is no sport, no honor!” Gorestrike declared, “They will make victory easy. I shall not have it.”

Elliot Dawson strode through the courthouse, moving through a sea of reporters and paparazzi, working to pick out the odd question he could actually hear over the roaring wave of dozens of people trying to get his attention all at once.

“Mr. Dawson, will this be added to “Elliot Dawson VS Evil”?” a reporter asked.

“I think that’s a little indulgent, even for me,” Elliot answered.

“Mr. Dawson, people have been noticing you’re not as aggressive. Can you tell us why?” another reporter asked.

“Because the defendants really aren’t fighting a guilty verdict,” Elliot answered.

“Ms. Finch, do you have any comments on the trial?” a reporter asked.

Annabeth Finch looked calm, relaxed even. Not the confident aura that Elliot walked with, no, Annabeth strode along with an uncaring attitude. It worried Elliot, he was still hoping, however unlikely it may actually be, to get the adventurers working public service to serve their sentences. All of that relied on Annabeth doing everything she could to defend the adventurers in court, and for the adventurers to shut their mouths and not freely offer information, which Elliot knew was also unlikely.

“If anyone ever tells you they can get my clients a not guilty verdict,” Annabeth said, “They are lying through their teeth.”

Soon, the trial was back underway, and Elliot once again took the offensive. It was the cleric’s turn for cross examination. Elliot understood that the cleric was an overly zealous, overly religious, all out nutjob, but Elliot still found himself praying to whoever was listening that the cleric actually try to not sound guilty.

“And after the brass champion threw you through the roof, your first instinct was to bash a man’s head in?” Elliot asked.

“Yes,” the cleric said.

“Can you tell the court why?” Elliot asked.

“It’s the same reason why I bash anyone’s head in,” the cleric said, “They’re evil, and I’m good.”

“Did you know who this man was?” Elliot asked.

“No,” the cleric said, “I had never met him before.”

“Do you know what he did that was evil?” Elliot asked.

“No,” the cleric said, “But does that really matter?”

“I believe it does,” Elliot said, “If you don’t know what someone is guilty of, how can you judge them?”

“Sir, I have explained this many times before,” the cleric said, “I have a connection to my Goddess, and She allows me to determine right from wrong in the souls of mortals. To put that man, whoever he was, would be a waste of my time and your money. And, it will allow for the chance, however miniscule, of a not guilty verdict. As I raised my morning star, you could claim that I weighed my options: put a stop to his evil now by hitting him in the head, or subdue him, drag him to your court, gather evidence of his wrong-doings, present that evidence before a jury of his peers, ensure a thorough and fair trial, have him sent to death row, and then have him executed months if not years for what he did. I chose the much, much faster option. It allowed me to deal swift and accurate justice and rejoin the fight my allies were locked in.”

Elliot Dawson looked at Annabeth Finch. Annabeth Finch shrugged.

“Does the, ah, does the defense have something to say on their clients behalf?” Elliot asked.

“The defense rests,” Annabeth declared.

“Ms. Finch,” Judge Marcus said, “You have not spoken a word in your clients defense.”

“After discussing the case with my clients, they thought it a better use of my time to not defend them,” Annabeth said.

“Are the defendants requesting a different lawyer?” Judge Marcus asked.

“No sir,” Annabeth said.

“Then why will you not defend them?” Judge Marcus demanded.

“I cannot,” Annabeth explained.

“You cannot act as their public defender?” Judge Marcus asked.

“I can act as their defender,” Annabeth said, “But what would I say? Members of the jury, I ask you: What could I, or anyone for that matter, say in their defense? Mr. Dawson, whenever you ask them a question, they do not simply answer it, but also volunteer more information. Everything they’ve said, everything they’ve done, I suspect even everything they’ve thought brings yet more information to light that these people are, beyond all doubts, guilty.”

“They could be lying,” Elliot commented.

“We’re not,” the cleric said.

“They need motivation to lie about being guilty,” Annabeth retorted, “Either someone they want to meet in jail, or someone they want to avoid so badly they’re willing to go to jail.”

“There are people we want to meet in jail,” the cleric said.

“And who are they?” Elliot asked.

“Death row inmates,” the cleric said, “Wrongfully convicted people, innocent people, people given sentences unfitting for their wrongdoings. There’s a whole list really.”

“See what I mean?” Annabeth asked, “Mr. Dawson, if you want to continue this charade, I invite you to continue. I, however, have daytime dramas I’d like to enjoy back home.”

“Mr. Dawson, do you have anything to add?” Judge Marcus demanded.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“No, your honor,” Elliot said.

“Very well,” Judge Marcus said, “In light of the many crimes the defendants confessed to, I hereby judge them guilty.”

“Huh,” the fighter remarked.

“Hold on,” the rogue said, “What am I being accused of?”

“The same things as the rest of the defendants,” Judge Marcus said.

“Under what evidence?” the rogue demanded.

“Under the confession of you and your comrades,” Judge Marcus explained.

“No,” the rogue said, “See, they confessed to what they did. You can’t prove I did anything. I think I’m being wrongfully convicted.”

“Lady NightRaven and She-Wolf were able to footage of you dragging people into a back alley,” Judge Marcus said.

“Did not,” the rogue retorted.

“Yes, they did,” Annabeth said.

“Ms. Finch, allow me to do my job,” Elliot said, “Mr. Roger-”

“Call me rogue,” the rogue demanded.

“Lady NightRaven and She-Wolf did find footage of you,” Elliot said, “It has been submitted, and accepted, as evidence.”

“Show it to me,” the rogue demanded.

“Your honor,” Elliot said, “I request that a projector be brought in.”

The projector was carted in again, and the video of the fighter, the cleric, and the rogue dragging people into a back alley to steal their clothes was loaded up.

“I don’t look like that,” the rogue said, pointing to the video.

Marcus, Elliot, and Annabeth looked at the video in shock, pausing it when the rogue was clearly in frame. The rogue was right, he didn’t look like that. The rogue in the video was a rogue, an obviously shifty looking man brandishing a knife. He was wearing a dark gray hoodie that covered most of his face, and was below average in height. The rogue sitting with the adventurers didn’t have any obvious weapons, and was notably shorter than everyone around him, barely clearing four feet of height.

“Well?” the rogue demanded.

“Your honor, I would like to take a picture of the rogue with my phone,” Elliot said, “And have that picture submitted as evidence.”

“Sustained,” Judge Marcus said.

Elliot took out his phone, pointing the camera at the rogue, noting that the rogue looked like the rogue. Elliot snapped a picture, but when he looked at the picture he found a picture of a rogue. A different rogue from the one in the video of the back alley. Elliot switched back to the camera, and saw that the rogue still looked like the rogue.

“That’s a camera?” the rogue asked.

“It can be used as one,” Elliot explained, “Ms. Finch, could you confirm something for me?”

“What do you need?” Annabeth asked.

“I need someone to confirm what I’m seeing,” Elliot said, waving the defense attorney over, “Does the person in the camera match the person on the stand?”

“He does,” Annabeth said.

“Take out your phone, and take a picture so that my phone and Mr. Roger-” Elliot said.

“Call me the rogue,” the rogue repeated.

“-Are both in frame,” Elliot finished.

Annabeth did as Elliot had asked, and her jaw dropped when she saw the picture. The rogue she had photographed was not the real rogue either, and was different from the rogue on Elliot’s phone.

“How did you do that?” Annabeth asked.

“If I was a stupid liar, or guilty,” the rogue said, “I would say that I contracted an artificial strain of vampirism that changes how a vampire appears in mirrors.”

“Did you?” Elliot asked.

“Since I’m not a stupid liar, nor am I guilty, no,” the rogue explained, “Now, you don’t have any evidence of my guilt besides their claims that I was with them, and that’s all circumstantial anyway.”

“Then why were you found in a forest with the rest of them?” Elliot demanded.

“I just happened to be nearby,” the rogue taunted, “Face it, you have nothing on me. Judge, I demanded the charges on me be dropped. You can’t prove I did anything.”

“Fine,” Marcus said, “I hereby declare that Fergus, Barnabus, Claire, Blake and Winston-"

This resulted in a general murmur from the adventures.

"-are guilty and sentenced to life in prison," Marcus continued, “Roger, I declare you innocent.”

As the rogue walked freely down the steps to the courthouse, the rest of the adventures were moved to five separate armored cars. As the rogue wandered the streets a free man, the adventures were moved to maximum security prisons across the world. All in all, the rogue thought things were going well.

Things were not going well.

In the days following the adventurers’ trial, new legislation was being passed that would force superheroes to either register in the expanded Exigent Circumstances Squad, or be hunted by Exigent Circumstances whenever the heroes showed their faces. The claim the government was making was that it was to protect public interest, and generally people agreed that they didn’t want the adventurers roaming freely. The superhero community was divided on the matter. The more powerful superheroes agreed that the increased oversight would be a good thing. When powerful manifested got into fights things broke no matter what, and joining Exigent Circumstances would help to mitigate, and hopefully prevent, destruction of public property.

Gamer Man didn’t like the idea, and he didn’t like having to do interviews on the matter either. Still, Gamer Man knew it was something important and decided to just grit his teeth and bear it whenever someone stopped him in the street for his opinion.

Not that that seemed to help anything.

“Gamer Man!” someone called out, stopping the young hero from patrol, “Gamer Man! I’m with K.H.N. I’d like your thoughts on the latest developments on-”

“This is about that new vigil-anti bill?” Gamer Man groaned.

“The people of King’s Head would like to know what you have to say about Battle Crow’s recent statement,” the reporter said.

“I don’t know what his recent statement is,” Gamer Man said.

“You don’t follow current events?” the reporter asked.

“Being a superhero doesn’t leave a lot of free time,” Gamer Man explained.

“He said that any vigilante apprehended should be punished to the fullest extent of the law,” the reporter said, “Another well known vigilante, Gargoyle, claimed he would retire if this new law is passed.”

“You know,” Gamer Man said, “That sounds like a good idea.”

“You don’t support vigilantes continuing to help the public?” the reporter asked.

“I don’t support getting killed for nothing,” Gamer Man said, “And if this law passed, my real name is going to be leaked to supervillains, and then Gorestrike is going to come to my house and kill me.”

“You really think that Gorestrike would bother with someone like you?” the reporter said, “The same villain who has been head hunting our best superheroes for at least the past two decades, is going to chase down Gamer Man?”

“I’ve fought him before and lived,” Gamer Man said with a shrug.

“Do you really expect anyone to believe that?” the reporter said, “That, out of all superheroes who have fought Gorestrike and died, Gamer Man was able to walk away with his life?”

“It’s what happened,” Gamer Man insisted, “Gargoyle and Faery Fire can back up my story.”

In South King’s Head, Christopher sat in shock. He did not move, he did not swear, he did not growl or rage. He just sat there. It was midday, the sun beating down on the base, and since dawn Christopher had been in a shouting match with his superior. Christopher had tried reason, then volume, then anger, then threatened treason if he didn’t get his way, but Major Gerald was having none of it. Orders were orders, and Christopher wasn’t going to change that. So, the command given, the threats made, the situation made clear, Christopher sat there.

“Hey,” Gargoyle said, “The troops are waiting. What’s the plan?”

“We’re to pull out,” Christopher breathed.

“Ha ha,” Gargoyle said, “Now what’s really the plan?”

“That is the plan,” Christopher said, “New orders came in this morning. We’re to pull out. They’re cutting off supplies, no food, no ammo, no fuel. We can either make our last stand and die, or head home to fight another day.”

“This is one the few times we’ve had a chance at taking down Gorestrike,” Gargoyle growled, “And command tells us to walk away?”

“Yes,” Christopher said.

“Why?” Gargoyle demanded.

“I don’t know,” Christopher said, “They told me that decades of dealing with Tremortis has largely destroyed America’s military industrial complex, that command is worried that Tremortis will go back on the attack since those lunatics dug him up, that we don’t have the big guns we used to have, that we need to be ready for threats bigger than Gorestrike, I stopped paying attention after a while.”

“So this is it?” Gargoyle asked.

“They told us we can stay if we want,” Christopher said, “But they’re cutting off support either way.”

“I have a family to take care of,” Christopher admitted, “And I know other men here have families to go back to. Spread the word, we’re packing up and shipping out.”

Keagan McCullen sat on a park bench. Keagan had always been lanky, a bit too tall and a bit too skinny, but years of constant exercise and a strict training regimen had turned Keagan from a carrot topped dork into a lean, powerful, acrobatic man. All the exercise in the world, and just every shampoo and conditioner he had ever tried, couldn’t change the bright red, curly hair Keagan had.

A week ago Keagan McCullen was Gamer Man, a superhero. He had planned to be a superhero for as long as possible, until it killed him even. To push himself beyond his limits, to strive to be the greatest hero he could be. A week ago, the vigil-anti law passed. Keagan had considered going out as Gamer Man in secret, working from the shadows to protect people and continue work as a superhero. Then, he saw just how quickly Exigent Circumstances had been able to track down superheroes who hadn’t bothered registering.

Since he had met the bard, he had dreamt of climbing a great mountain. He knew it was something the bard had done to him. She had told him that she loved people who were heroes, and told him to be the best hero he could. Last night, Gamer Man had slept peacefully, not dreaming of anything. The mountain’s peak seemed so far away.

He didn’t know what to do, about his superhero career or about the rest of his life. Without having to fund his superhero career, the lottery money Keagan had won would still last him a long, long time. But what would he do? Gamer Man didn’t have time to keep up with the latest releases, and Keagan knew there were a lot of great games to catch up on, but was that really it? Playing games?

He didn’t have his power frame on. He didn’t see the point.