Children of Terra

~No Sleep Till Brooklyn~ ~So What'Cha Want, Brass Monkey?~ ~Girls~ ~Is he fucking insane? I don't know, just throw him in the back~ Vykan knew the moment the famed 'Judges' entered it would be the political show rather than a fight. Because they didn't shoot on sight. Of course not. Too much to gain by televising it. He was escorted by arm to the roof and locked inside secure air transport, straight off to the Grand Hall of Justice. It would've been more serious if Beasty Boyz wasn't blasting the cabin the whole way there. Even the stoicism of the Judges was tested, Vykan gut laughing in the brig hold. Why do they all have to be lunatics? What a blast from the past, it was to the Stygian, all said. The sky outside the transport? Dust and orange smog, blanketing the high rises so tall they need air signal lights. This far into the city, and the horizon was occluded by the thick clouds of chemicals. Vykan looked out to the streets below, teeming and living without heed of a thing in the world. Such unending vigor . . . And beyond that, the Grand Hall of Justice was damned impressive, even compared to the other high-rise mega-buildings. Vykan didn't engage in inner lies. The VTOL thrashed air around in peals as he was pulled from the brig; escorted to the biggest, grandest hall-of-halls within and sat in the defendant station. He still had the spark of life in his eyes up till the prosecutor Judges rolled out a Soni Trinitron 36" with cabinet, on a mechanic's dolly. The Cathode-Ray Tubes lit up in polarizing hum, displaying in glorious 480p the horror in the mega-story. Judge Emeritus Bantam drawled out in rote tone to the deliberation panel on whether or not sufficient evidence was present to begin a start of the proceedings with commensurate cause against the rights of the defendant. The panel deliberated on the issue for hours. It was noted Vykan's head was between his hands at this point. He would certainly be stalling for time if this was any clue . . . Once agreed upon yes, there is in fact enough evidence to begin a prosecution motion; the Prosecution Judge, one monster 6 foot 4 at least, stepped forward to serve Vykan his arraignment sermon. A tabulation printer was wheeled in front of the Stygian, whereupon the Prosecutor took in his hands the reading of the charges. "Are you one Mr. John Doe, as seen to the best of your ability this individual?" A 'high' clarity image of Vykan flashed on the CRT. " . . . I am." The Prosecutor looked down the still-printing charge list. It was pooling on the floor. "John Doe, you stand here accused of three-thousand one hundred and forty seven counts of murder in the first-degree, seven thousand nine hundred and forty two counts of bereavement of the state toward tax filing individuals, eleven thousand counts of deprivation of the people toward the payments of public utilities . . . " Every time Vykan nodded off, he was baton'ed and forced to hear the last ten charges again. By the time the charges read was done, evening had fallen. The Prosecutor leaned over the table. "For the record, John Doe, do you find any of this funny? The nature of the crime prevents dismissal due to insanity." Vykan introspected. He felt empty in truth, as though the spirit within was gone to lunch. Like he was just a shell of greater will. But the time for honesty and morals had gone the moment he decided his foe. Stalling was all he knew to do. He bowed his head. "What I did was neither funny nor beneficial in the end. There is no reason in it. Just as the hawk does not think on the nature of lizards as it soars in the sky, neither did I contemplate the lives of those I ended. It will make no sense for your record, Judge, but I do want you to know one thing." Judges wear helmets most of time, unless they have some reason not to. An enshrouding thing that leaves only the chin exposed. Said Prosecutor's chin tightened at Vykan's words. "Let the record reflect what you say, Mr. Doe." "I no longer think of myself as human." The Prosecutor stood back. "These will be the thoughts you have as you lay in your grave, John Doe. Make peace with them." He walked back the Prosecution table and sat down in signal the arraignment finally ended. The presiding Judge Emeritus shuffled his gigantic stack of papers before adjourning court for the day. Vykan was to be taken to a Special Housing Unit for the next hearing. He looked down at his chest while being guided along the sterile halls. Something was off, like a puzzle piece painted over in a slightly different shade. More than just feeling a lack of emotional effect. More than can be just explained off as sociopathy, or disregard. Vykan thought of the void within to have given his heart to Stygia. Before he was thrown into pitch black. The silence, of course, never gave an answer. ~Pretrial summons~ ~The next day~ The trial was expedited by the standards familiar to Vykan. More of going through motions, than the formalities and rigors of the civilized age gone. Formalities contending with the apocalypse in slow motion outside. Inside Mega-City One, inside the cell, Vykan had to contend with his own mind. Curious what the shadows morph into when nothing else can distract. The only thing that kept him sane was the thought of Pruflas outside, working on the way across the Atlantic. He was grateful deep down when the doors of Solitary opened up again. Dragged and propped up for day two of the trial, presiding Judge Bantam gave him the question: plea guilty, not guilty, or no contest. He knew he was guilty, obviously. The wrench of his heart reminded him of that oath, and what exactly he promised. Which also meant he needed to drag it out to the end. He looked up, "Not Guilty." Bantam laughed out, having to ring the gavel to quiet the Judges present in the room. The sideways eye to the TVs in the room betrayed him. Bantam spoke out, loud and clear. "Let us move to Discovery." The smirks visible from Judges showed it all. Vykan leaned forward, setting his elbows on the table, and put his head in palm. Hours. Hours of watching video after video feed of what he did. A lot of it he didn't remember, on account of hippocampus shutdown. Did I truly kill that many children? His muscle memory knew. Fibres twitched in time with video feeds, playing back to him exactly what it was to feel like; crushing, stomping, tearing, snapping. He could ignore it in first person view. The moving mirrors? They revealed to him his truth. But he knew his truth even before that. This is what he was even before Stygia. Vykan felt in that moment -- sitting in the courtroom, watching what he wrought -- he understood what the Ephoroi must've gone through. Was that not the point of the trial, as intended?He knew there was little point, though. A chuckle as he wiped his face. Judge Bantam looked away from the playbacks. "Do you find this funny, John?" "I find it pointless. You cannot kill me, and I will stand over your graves, and your childrens' graves, and theirs. And theirs." He sighed. Pointless. Bantam placed both hands flat on the bench before him. "A criminal that thinks he's above the law. Is this a surprise to anyone?" He nodded to the Prosecutor, who nodded back. The tall Judge stood from the Plaintiff table. "Play the pity card, the insanity card, the remorse card, and any other scrap of desperation you wish. The law will find you, John Doe. It will crush you. And naught but dust shall remain." Vykan sat and contemplated his life, and he felt then it was already too long. He had a headache. "I have nothing more to say." The Prosecutor walked over. "We're just getting started, John. You are called to the stand for initial arguments in your defense." " . . . are you fucking serious?" Bantam rang the gavel. "That's contempt. Comply, defendant." Vykan sighed. "Jesus-fucking Christ." He was hauled up by Judges and put to the stand. The Prosecutor faced the Jury of Judges, but spoke to Vykan. "Present your initial defense." Vykan adjusted in the witness stand. "Can I switch the plea to guilty?" Bantam chuckled. "Yes, in fact. Should take about 2 to 4 business weeks." A huff. "Fine." "Did I say weeks? I meant business months." Ah. Vykan leaned forward. "Fuck, me." He hoped Pruflas would find a way sooner than that. A defense, was it? He had no defense, but he knew that wasn't the point. They want a distraction. As if he wasn't doing just that already. Vykan appeased them. "I'm drowning. Surrounded by storms ahead and behind. I thought I could find the eye and tame it. I thought I could kill the demons in the darkness." He looked to the Judges, the cameras, the looks. "Demons. I raise my blade against demons. Don't you know they're real? I don't believe the ends justify the means, because they don't need to. Justification and understanding are different roots for a reason. You can do neither for me . . . " He looked down before snapping up again. "A thought just occurred to me. You should have killed me at the top of the tower. This is televised, isn't it? They know." Vykan began laughing in the stand. Bantam thought to himself quietly. That answers that. Incoherent babbling. He's fucking crazy. He picked up the gavel to silence the madman. "Let us begin the summoning and testimonies of witnesses." At the end of day two, when Vykan was being dragged back to his cell, he spoke to the escort Judges. "They saw me. Demons. They killed me in the Palomar range. Use satellites, send teams. The rot runs deeper than you think. Don't you feel the eyes?" They threw his ass inside. "No. Stop with the crazy act. It's old." Before the door could close, Vykan retorted. "Don't listen to what the megacorporations say. They lie because its all a game." The door was shut before he could finish the sentence -- echo to an empty room. There was one solace this night, however. Guards outside had music players on. ~Blue Monday~ ~Don't You Want Me?~ ~Tainted Love~ ~Where Did Our Love Go?~ Vykan found he slept well, given his situation. It was rather 80s, wasn't it? He had nostalgia for a time he never even experienced to begin with, laying in the dark room. What exactly did it mean to live, in this day and age? America was irradiated, not totally fucked, but the viruses plaguing the rest of the land prevented reclamation. And yet, people lived. They fought. They bled. For what? Could words even describe it? Vykan rolled to his side and closed his eyes. It's too late for me. I made my choice. Best to accept it. The next day, witness testimonies went on for hours and hours. Vykan sat at the defendant table wondering what exactly the Judges were after. Things at this level were never one stone. No, that's not how politics works. Morale to the Judges, a show for the public, narrative rewriting, probably a push for legislation change . . . but even then, something felt, just, off. Who gains the most? Vykan decided there was no point. No picture is complete without context. But now that many of the trial witnesses were seated in the room, Vykan was called back to the stand. A thought occurred to him as he was escorted to the witness stand. 'Demons will use the innocent as a shield to wear us down.' Didn't he and Pruflas just have a conversation to that effect? He looked reflexively back to presiding Judge Bantam. The expression was neutral, unreadable. Fuck, I'm getting paranoid. Am I even sane? Vykan brought a nail as rough as he could across his wrist. No reddening. He was sat and interrogated before more thoughts could form. The Prosecutor was waving a summary of the charges in his face. "Do you have no remorse? No guilt? Nothing in that empty skull?" It was surreal. Nothing felt real to Vykan anymore. Not the jumper he was in, the shackles on his wrists and feet, the panel wood of the stand. The people. The recycled air. A part of him wanted to fade into the background and just try to fit in. The other part wanted to burn it all down. He could no longer tell which was the human feeling. Whatever. Let's just vent. "What exactly is the point of all this? I am condemned to die. We know this. Is it not cruel and unusual to go through this farce? Are there not better things you all could be doing? You have me on trial for what, again -- bereavement of the state toward taxpayers or some shit? It's so much cheaper to pull out that holstered pistol and pop me in the forehead." Vykan looked up at Bantam. "I bet you feel real nice using this to justify that fucking paycheck. What do you make? 20 times what the street worker does?" The Prosecutor cut off the stand mic. "Interjection. The strawman card? You murdered thousands, and you think - " "Oh fuck off with the moralism. Is there a line on the ground that says 'you are good here' and one step past is 'irredeemable sinner?' We all know how things really work. You didn't get to that position through honor. Integrity. You lied about other candidates. You engaged in nepotism. Bribery. Libel. Dare I accuse you of more?" "Slander. As if the word of a mass murderer is worth a half-penny pint. Is this really your best defense?" Ad hominem. Two can play that. "Hit a nerve? Your jaw is twitching, Judge. I bet it goes deeper, doesn't it? Did you betray a rookie partner to the streets? A little lamb here, a snitch there. It doesn't take much. Just a couple coincidences and viola, a nice new Prosecutor." The Prosecutor's gloved hand twitched over his sidearm. "I'd keep to the truth while you're on the stand, hotshot." An electronic sound could be heard in the holster. "What a mockery of the Justice system. I was alive before this all, you know. When we had a process. It had its problems, sure. But the real problem is people like you. You follow the law -- legalist filth -- and right now, you are the Judge, Jury, and Executioner. If it was legal to rape and murder, you would. We both know it. That's the difference between us. You follow laws of authority. I follow laws of pragmatism." The Prosecutor slammed the stack of papers on the stand. "Hearing trash like you justify yourselves makes me sick to my core. Like seeing a roach in my fridge try and explain to me why shitting all over my food is actually a good thing - " One of the secretarial clerks interrupted from the lower bench. "Judge Bantam? We have a problem." Bantam audibly clicked teeth. "What?" "Broadcast signal's interceded - " Bantam leaned over the Judge's bench. "What? Get techs in here. Anarchists, always siding with chaos . . . " The clerk backed from the screen. "Sir, it's . . . Militech jamming. Netrunner code. They're triangulating the broadcast." No one said it, but it was plain on all their faces. 'What the hell?' Vykan looked over to one of his door guardsmen. "Don't listen to the megacorporations. They lie." The Prosecutor grabbed him by the throat. "Shut the fuck up. The tinfoil act is getting goddamned old, you sack of shit." Echoes from outside began to filter in. Electronics not tied to the building mainframe overrode in Emergency Broadcast klaxons. Air raid sirens not heard in likely decades began to echo in the streets with such frequency glasses knocked off tables. 'Missile launches detected. Multiple origins. Time to impact: 2 minutes. Seek shelter immediately. Message repeats.'Ground even as far inside as the courtroom rumbled as the air defense turrets and blast shields rose in public infrastructure all around Mega-City One. Bantam shook his head before ringing the gavel. "It's a false signal. Anarchists are trying to rile us up. Zimmer. Put him down. Proceed with the trial." Zimmer the hulk Prosecutor looked up. "Sir?" "Zimmer. Use your head. As if Militech -- one of the largest corporations in the world -- would intercede a trial of some John Doe. And the timing? It's obviously some teenage netrunner revolutionaries with nothing better to - " Whether or not it was a poor joke resolved a second later. The unmistakable sounds of anti-air defense flak began to pepper through the halls. A buzzer in the clerk's hand drew attention. The little guy looked up. "M-militech has declared a breach of treatise. They are resuming wartime protocols . . . " Bantam sputtered, almost as fast as he shit his pants. Vykan shook Zimmer's grip off, sitting back down in the stand. "Well, legalist? What happens when the corporations blatantly violate laws? Are you gonna go drag the shotcallers and put them on a fake ass bullshit trial?" Zimmer drew the Lawgiver in response. "Enough." His hand was shaking. The tempo of the flak was increasing. Everyone knew it wouldn't last long before the layer broke. Vykan simply smiled. Because the Stygian knew. "Have you ever seen a Militech borg, Zimmer? Faster than a human can move. Armored enough to withstand that tin can you call a pistol. Equipped to turn your armor into ribbons. There's a whole squad out there, headed straight here. And what do you think'll happen when they find their target killed by some chump-fuck named Zimmer? You think Militech's gonnafollow the law? Send some papers in to Administration to have you admonished? No. Don't be retarded. They're gonna kill your family; take you to a cold, dark, metal place; strip you down naked; and spray you with ice water while they shove a metal rod up your butt." Zimmer looked up at Bantam. "Sir. Sir!" Bantam sat in shock. One of the more curious human emotions, that one. Zimmer growled as he tore through decisions. Outside -- albeit unseen, of course -- the MIRV missiles broke into their multiple reentry bomblets, supersaturating the air flak. Secondary lasers and counter missiles began to launch up, all while debris rained down on blast shields and buildings below. A sky hadn't seen this level of combat since the prior Megacorporation wars. The Prosecutor holstered the Lawgiver and finger whistled to the non-shocked Judges. "Fuck it. We need to prep. Treat it as a Code Eagle and open the Armory. Go!" They left rather unceremoniously. Probably'll just shoot fuckers at this point. Vykan looked down at the cuffs locking his limbs. He chuckled as the first sounds of rocket impact rang outside. Breached the air defenses that quick? Must be pissed . . . Organized opposition is the bane of any entrenched power. He walked to Bantam, rifling the robes for a key. "Hey, dildo-lips. Un-cuff me." Bantam didn't react. "Hagh, goddammit." Vykan left the courtroom through the back-offices door, past the clerk equally shocked, in a waddle akin to a shit-pants waddle. Klaxons outside corrupted as infrastructure damage was piling on. ~Rockets~ ~Rockets~ ~Rockets~ ~Rockets~ He couldn't stop laughing. Was that fucking Alive or Dead playing somewhere?Waddling over to the source, as the paint chipped from building-flex, the lights went out for a half-second before flickering back on. Auxiliary power. Fuck, Armory'll be shut soon at this rate. Still, the music was coming from somewhere, and as Vykan turned the corner, he saw a locker room door ajar. Supposed to be closed at all times, reinforced with security bars to prevent just this thing, but . . . Judges left in a hurry, after all. As he waddled inside, he wondered how many stayed to defend and how many left to their families. A rather concerning rumble of a distal explosion spanked him back. Good news, the room still had sparse equipment. Lockers served multi-shifts, so the assumed night crew's uniforms were still here. Impersonation of a Judge is a non-issue, and Vykan first checked around for something to open or break the cuffs, in that order. A second rumble made him change tracks. He was going to rifle desks for a key, but waddled to the riot locker, and set a shotgun aimed at his wrists. Using his toes, he pulled the trigger -- and fucking a, it hurt like fuck -- but the blessing came through for him. The left cuff was bent enough to twist off and do the same for the rest of the limbs. Lights flickered once more, entering a brownout low. "Son of a bitch," Vykan muttered as he tore though uniforms, mismatching them to fit his odd frame. Wide shoulders and shorter legs. It took a bit to get into full combat-duty Judge gear. And to top it all off, the source of the music: a built-in player of a Judge helmet. Vykan set it atop his head, adjusting the fit of the shoulders, wrists, shaking the legs to get the creases smooth. With a final tug of the chest rig, he set out for the next step: guns. He was jogging down the immediate hallway when he planted his boots into the ground, halting. Turning back, he looked at the plaque by this new door. 'Right Honorable Judge Bantam, Emeritus.' Vykan smiled, perfect. He tried the lock before bashing the door in. An office befitting a Judge of veteran status. Fine wood furnishings, plush chairs, a calm feng shui, cabinets protecting long ago markers of fame. Vykan did a double take on the display cabinets. Are those? Sure enough, as he walked close; a collection of Desert Eagles. A collector, are we? I appreciate them, too; alas I am in need, and the Lord provides. Vykan elbowed the display in, belt hostering a pair before grabbing a chest harness to field two more. Unsatisfied, he fit even more holsters to a cross-bandolier and took a total of 6 Desert Eagles, crammed his field pouches with mags and ammo, and loaded up to the ass up. He was about to leave the fine office when a glint caught his eye. A faux record in a display opposite him, holding a tiny chip in the center. He broke the case, slotting the tiny electronic into his helmet where the in-built player was, and his display lit up with a new feed: 'Kerry Eurodyne contraband track.' ~Play a sick solo, and~ ~Hunt Down, Hunt Down~ ~Hunt Down, Your Dignity~ ~Vykan, in the middle of a new war~ He put the chip back when the display said it copied successfully. A part of Vykan hated to deface history. Too much is lost to the ages, and adding to the problem was a chagrin of his. How else is the cycle broken? Alas, the final problem. The Judge gear covered nearly his whole body, save the chin. And after what the borgs told him in Palomar, Vykan would rather not chance even that. He went back to the locker room to find a neck gaiter before finally heading to the lobby. 6 hours to cut a tree, spend 5 sharpening that ax . . .Bantam was shocked out of his reverie when he saw the disguised Vykan walk by. "You punk! Those are mine!" Bantam produced a Baby Deagle from his robes. Of course. Vykan simply shrugged his shoulders and turned to continue. Bantam lost the light in his eyes and sat back down in the solemn room. Doubt they'll harm you too much. You have money . . . I am fucked in the head, but I'm also prime target, Bantam. Sorry. The memory of Palomar haunted him, but without biometrics, he shouldn't be identified -- right away -- with ten thousand other Judges scrambling the city. He kicked the lobby doors to outside, Deagles in-hands. Like the Blitz of London, by the gods. Flak peppers flashed the air as missile trails pockmarked across the horizon between buildings. There was shrapnel and debris everywhere street level, and the sounds of impacts all over the city, only breaking up the sounds of fervent air defense. Looks like the defense is going well, Militech ain't breached yet.Vykan began jogging in a direction, no clue where his ordinals were, and just went with instinct. Klaxons were rather distracting to him, the way they echoed and back. Sound design fucking sucks in this city. Buildings reverberated. He had made it a handful of block sections when the signs of ground explosions thrummed in a direction off to the right. Not stopping, the black smoke clouds rose high around five minutes later. Probably the ground invasion. Fuck me. What was more noticeable to him now was his absolute lack of fatigue, despite being laden as much, if not more, than the Stygian gear. I got fit?His self-absorption was broken by the sounds of small arms fire beginning to echo. Alongside this, fighter jet turbine whine began to rip the sky. Ah, air defenses failing. Another few blocks when groups of insurgent-looking types began heading rightward toward the fight. All of them had something like a red flower design on the breast, but since they didn't shoot at him, he didn't shoot back. The only thing Vykan did was turn left to head straight away from the sounds of action. Flak was now near-non-existent, Militech jets beginning raid patterns as they dropped bombs on territories between the Grand Hall and the city outskirts. Vykan had made it pretty far when it occurred to him that security cameras had his disguise.Fuck. They know. He could ditch it, but without a replacement, he'd just be depriving himself. Almost all the buildings had the blast shielding over them, like iron turtles. What did Pruflas say about evasion? Just go fast and out of sight?Nothing to do except haul ass. The sounds of urban combat became normalized when the distinct feeling of the demon returning tickled Vykan's wrinkles. Don't tell me it was your trial that started this. Arasaka's countering with halo troops and amphibious beach assaults. Submarines are going frenetic. Vykan, you kicked off a fucking corpo war. Oh, please. I'm one guy, Pruflas. Like I have any say in what Militech does, and consequently Arasaka. Don't blame me for what your fucked up family does on a whim. And besides, where now? Head for the boat dock district. Headed in the right direction. I managed to get an agreement for a seaplane before Arasaka goons just about tranq'd me. Vykan began running for the docks, his fatigue-less state rather stark now that he had gone so fucking far in such a short time. Have you always been that fit? Not really, no. Maybe the armor's lined with something. The Grand Hall -- now that Vykan knew which one it was -- began a series of explosions from that far away vantage. Thank God the city defense is giving Militech a hard time. A lot of it's Arasaka support cells. Sleepers went active the minute the transmission went out. There's never peace between the corpos. Always just a reposition and resupply before the next skirmish. Whatever. We're getting close. And you're getting in good shape. The marina district became clear as shipping container warehouses popped up intermittently. The tread marks of forklifts blackened the concrete, but none of it distracted from the sounds behind. Vykan looked back as a metallic scream pealed the area. A fighter jet went up in a plume with what looked like a hand-guided cluster rocket fired up at it. Good job, boys. C'mon, don't get distracted. I see the building with the plane ahead. Vykan opted to tackle the door open and rush the covered dock. A plane on its floats rocked in the water. Pruflas ejected out and jogged over to a fire hydrant cabinet, breaking the glass and grabbing a key fob from inside. He called over as he clambered aboard and inside the plane. "Let's go. I'm just gonna use magic to defend us. We need to move before Militech gets positive ID." The Stygian took co-pilot seat, looking at the bank controls like a kid with an LED peg board. "Do you know how to fly a plane?" Pruflas was flipping switches and checking the fuel gauge. "No." "Then go to the back. I don't want to look at you." Pruflas didn't look over, just powering the turbines of the futuristic sea plane. Vykan stiffened, just about to strap in. "Please, Vykan." Pruflas still didn't turn, but his knuckles on the throttle were white. "Right. Yeah." Vykan got up and to the rear seats, not taking the Judge helmet off. He used the wrist mounted control on the uniform to shuffle the playlist. ~London Calling~ ~Crimson and Clover~ ~Sister Europe~ ~Silence~ The plane ripped out of the dock and stayed low above the water caps, reaching velocity pretty quick. Plane tech sure has improved. Vykan looked out over the cabin windows as Mega-City One shrunk behind, orange hue of fires and explosions winking in the night. He relaxed back into the rear seat, letting his helmet playlist run out. He wasn't in the mood to replay it.