Government Center West Wing

It had been nearly two years since Government Center had nearly been completely destroyed for at least the third time since the Terran National Government had labored to build the original structure. By this point, the first stones and cuts of marble had been painstakingly restored to at least twenty percent of the original, but the reconstruction process would continue on for decades no doubt. After the super-earthquake, rated at over 10 on the Richter scale, the super-volcano's fiery eruption, and four consecutive tsunamis wreaking trillions of credits worth of damage and nearly two million deaths across the continent, with the epicenter of the catastrophic destruction in Wing City itself, it was a miracle any reconstruction had succeeded at all.

But now, Terra would see at least some justice against Elijah Alexander Kenton, the maverick killer whose anti-mana plan had set the entire cataclysm in motion. He'd been held under strict conditions of confinement while the investigation carefully pieced together the exact extent of the damage, the names of the victims, and the way in which he'd managed to carry it out, beginning with, of all things, tainting the city's water supply.

For fear of an Aschen Reverence or another mass insurrection at the hands of warring crime families, Wing City's residents and denizens had largely not contemplated mass murder caused simply by one man who, lacking loyalty to one of these expected invaders or insurgents, only had intense loathing for all things magical and an incredible lack of patience and restraint.

The trial was set for Annex Courtroom Two, in Government Center's West Wing, originally home to displaced and not-yet-assigned TNG employees in the nation's early days, and now used only for trials expected to attract as large an audience as this one. The press swarmed the path leading to the West Wing, cameras flashing as commentators gave quick-paced rundowns of the major players here today.

There was the Honorable Akosua Nkrumah Acheampong, Chief Justice of Wing City Superior Court, who ordinarily did not preside over trials unless it was one as high-profile and high-stakes as this one. Known as a fair jurist, but occasionally quick-tempered when litigants, particularly defendants, made the mistake of disrespecting the court or wasting the court's time. She was in chambers, as Kenton was brought up, shackled at the wrists and ankles, to the courtroom, accompanied by the Aschen attorney sent from the consulate.

Then there were the lead prosecutors, Senior Prosecutors General Thục-Đoàn Phùng and Geraldine Batchelder-Lockerby, who'd first made their names years ago doing the brunt of the investigative work into the TNG's elusive yet infamous spymaster after the Malijin hearings. That was when Sisavang Khamtai had still been Justice Minister, though neither Thục-Đoàn nor Geraldine could quite believe it had been that long ago now. The two women, one slender, aristocratic, and fair, the other round, rugged, and brown, took their positions at counsel table, setting redwells with files neatly arranged within on the table, while staffers from the Office of the Prosecutor General joined them, as junior attorneys and professional support staff.

The first row in the spectator seating had been reserved for members of the media chosen by lottery, and those lucky few carefully readied tablets (one or two bringing old-fashioned ink pens) and cameras, while the public was allowed to take the remaining seats in the courtroom, ushered by stern-faced court officers under instructions not to permit any shenanigans or chicanery whatsoever.

Outside, the sun began to peek from behind massive clouds, shining through the windows in what struck Thục-Đoàn as an auspicious sign. Yes. This trial might finally be an opportunity for some justice.

"You have the opening?" Geraldine murmured, sliding a sheet of paper to Thục-Đoàn. The whisper was quite unnecessary, since the spectators were still speaking and the bailiff hadn't called the court to session yet.

"Just as prepared," Thục-Đoàn confirmed, offering a brief flash of a smile to Geraldine. "Don't worry. We've got this."

"Positive attitude," Geraldine said with a nod. "That, and confidence in our hard work. That's the mindset."

"ALL RISE, COURT IS NOW IN SESSION, THE HONORABLE AKOSUA NKRUMAH ACHEAMPONG PRESIDING," the bailiff called, voice resounding throughout the courtroom, and Judge Acheampong, who was the very image of regal beauty and power, strode to her place on the bench, her robes billowing elegantly behind her. "You may now be seated."

It was surprising CEO Fletcher was here, but he was unfortunately intimately involved in the proceeding as the accused had used his company to mass-produce the drug. While he was not opposed to such undertakings, the fact he had been deceived to create this horrendous concoction showed badly on the Company as a whole, thus he intended to see this man taken down if not for anything but the purest and coldest of motives, revenge. Sat near the front he had his secretary with him noting everyone around, the security no surprise was downright insane. No weapons except for WCPD and Government Workers, no electronic devices and nothing else questionable. The scans were thorough checking for cybernetic implants, magical prowess and hidden devices. All in all, they were taking no chances.

In many ways it was impressive.

He had already arranged to be called as Witness for both sides and intended fully to make clear his Corporation bears no responsibility for this tragedy.

Standing, when asked, he waited to be allowed to sit before taking his seat once more, "And now dear Lisa, it does begin." of course a trial of this magnitude was being televised by Multiple stations.

Above in the stands were many furious scowling faces of the victims of Wing City Catastrophe. It was rare the people ever got a chance to punish those who destroyed Wing City, and they certainly had lots of fury, built up over the years from countless attacks. Wing City was many things, but stubborn was a big one and this was Justice Long Deserved.

Eros himself enjoyed the spectacle and had reached out to Journalists in Brillion to have it shown there. There was even some asshole at the back talking quietly, unheard by Eros. The man was discussing the Odds as this was such a huge event Bookies were betting on the outcome, because even tragedies like this, brought out the vilest individual.

Finally, there were means to have people who could not get in the courtroom to speak. The list of witnesses opposed him was massive by any margin, yet there were countless souls of all races and species willing to offer up information on him.

Landing at Wing-City Space Port was easy, as was finding transport for herself, Kaal, and a full squad of the Grey Battalion's troopers, designated as her own personal Guard. Their Stark Grey Armor sporting Emerald Detailing, personally painted or chosen by each trooper as away of personalizing their armor. Each were armed with a Blaster Rifle, and also equipped with a Blaster Pistol on their dominant side thigh. They were all silent as they rode through the city towards the Government Center's West Wing, where Kinara had been called as a witness for the Trial of the man who had tried to rid Terra of its magic users. Or something like that.

Kinara herself, tall and slender, was dressed rather formally for herself, wearing formal Jedi Robes, lacking the hooded cloak as it only made her seem more intimidating than she needed to be with Eleven Armed Guards by her side. She herself was armed as well, her belt holding the clip that her Standard Lightsaber hung from on her right hip, and her Guard Shoto was neatly in a strap along the small of her back, likewise on her belt. Even without those, however, she always had the Force with her. She'd also done her hair a bit, braiding it back into a pony-tail that hung neatly down her back, the hair ending inches away from the handle of the Guard-Shoto on her back.

As the Transport rolled up to the front of the West Wing, Kinara and her personal Guard all stepped out, and moved towards the front door, not paying any heed to the civilians and press likely swarming the building, the group strode with a purpose. Kinara was up front, her Guards on either side in a modified Diamond, with Kaal left and abreast of the Grey Jedi. Kinara's eyes looked to the building, and with the Force she reached out, letting her old Master know she was here. Snowbund would be glad to see her, and Kinara glad to see the drunk. If she wasn't passed out in the bench she sat on, or the courtroom hadn't died from her stench. She also got a general feel for the Courtroom itself. It was a very serious atmosphere, with a lot of emotions, mostly negative, running through everyone's bodies; understandable after what the man on Trial had done. She'd be mad, too. But she was merely a witness, a witness to the destruction caused by the mage who had lost control due to Elijah's meddling.

She and her group stopped by the entrance, and Kinara strode forward to be identified so they could be let in and they could join the trial.

Snowbund simply sat where she was required, law events like this were rather interesting to say in the least. Not that they werent fun by any means. But as time wore on, poor Otto had to request permission to bring his pocket proane tank and a book of matches to keep his nose from going sideways on him. Not that she really noticed she stank worse than a hutt on a good day. But it didnt really matter to the Jedi Grand Master who felt a familar precense.

When Kinara was halted to be identified the man on duty was a local officer who didnt know what to do but apparently they had it handled. Of course multiple security guards tried to get her to relinquish her lightsabers, there was a reason she didnt wear her Honor Swords. somehow she felt naked without them, But she had her twin lightsabers at her hip, hidden under her rather revealing dress she wore most of the time. Sadly she couldnt breing Nexi into this mess, so she was stuck with Otto. the poor man.

A woman with long black hair stood next to where Elijah sat. She spotted Fletcher out of the corner of her eye then acted as if she never saw him. Timing had to be perfect if they were to go through with the assassination of the man who killed millions. A man who,m by rights wshould have been dead six ways to Tuesday. But the man was still alive. And a friend of hers, was dead. But nevertheless the woman was smarter than to let her personal feelings of vengence get in the way.

No, she was far smarter than that. Redmane knew her target, his weaknesses, his strengths, his hatreds, his loves, everything. She had painstakingly learned it all. It was all simply a matter of timing. But unless she was somehow notified to not strike by her employer she simply waited.

Outside the courthouse building as a whole a rather odd transport, a minivan on space dragon steroids, rolled into view with a strange honking as Crane had arrived, the woman stepped from her Wen, the minivan/SUV was rather adorable as it tried to follow her up the steps. a security officer tried to stop it but Crane waved the man off. Her Wen after all was hers, and it tried to remain as close as it could to her.

Of course it started horking again and spat out the puzzle cube she had kept with her at all times, easily catching it she tapped a finger on it before smiling simply. She held up the puzzle cube, she hadnt figured out the designs on ther outermost layer of it yet. But, her Wen wanted to go with her, so it gave her the puzzle box ? She didnt have to say anything it seemed, but the Wen seemed to understand where she was going and if needed could easily barrel through the wall to get to her.

Crane herself was called upon both as a witness to the destruction, and the death of the poor soul that had been destroyed by Elijah's concoction. Crane had willfully sacrificed herself into the volcano. So she was really only needed there for certain things, witnesswork basically. She could do that. The beautiful silver minivan on steroids chirped something and seemingly nodded on its front wheels before seemingly darting off. Crane went and once allowed through security headed for the courtroom.

As she walked she looked almost whsiplike, leaving a brief echo of herself in her movements, after all, she had died in that supervolcano. She went and took her seat, almost regal as she sat before standing as the judges arrived before being allowed to sit. She didnt recognise anyone there in the room aside from one or two people. One of which she had seen briefly at the scene, Kinara, though Crane never learned the name.

Truth be told she remembered very little, only that she had a lot of rebuilding to do, Lady Une Drive now was possibly the prettiest place in Wing City at that moment

Going ahead was the most amazing thing he'd had to do in the last month. Guarding the mayor gave fighting Papa Nurgle a run for its money. While repeatedly wishing for someone to bring him a blowtorch to sear his sinuses eventually got his wish. Hurt like hell He'd never leave his appointed post but he was very happy to oblige when Snowbund told him to run down here if she was asked for early. However getting past security took forever. While able to relinquish his animated heavy shotgun which the law enforcement officer was overjoyed to handle. The heavy armor was another matter.

They had him try to remove the Imperium's heavy combat armor but got as far as the gloves and helmet then couldn't get much further. Once he knew they'd left his possession they started to erode. One part of the armor finished growing back by the time they got all three off as the pile of remnants evaporated into ectoplasm. After clearing that the Imperial Guard was indeed actually contracted to secure the mayor they just gave him some patches with his actual security contractor. Small plastic panels wrapped to cover the emblems from bad photo ops and sending him on his way.

He'd found out later the Imperium had a word for what the Xeno overbeing Myrkul's Vein made of him. Perpetual. Perpetual suffering more like. He burnt out his sinuses with propane but it only lasted a few dozen minutes. So he knew his carbonized sinuses started to grow back when he could smell her getting closer. The constant immolated sinuses was giving him a headache he just stuffed a set of industrial nose plugs in and took position near where Snowbund would sit.

He could hear the Jinhai servitors nearby. A hulking overbeing he could see overlaid in his mind's eye just rising from beyond the horizon. Both obeyed the proclamation that weapons
were not to be in public spaces today so thinking of themselves as the emperor's weapons not a people had a bit of a selective understanding. Xenos through and through after being able to hear them thinking. That odd fluted noise his head could hear from their omnipresent chatter. Even hiding in infrastructure spaces between the walls they had no boredom. Nothing in them fed the warp just patient waiting. He was pretty sure a busted wing of this building shifted last week because they hefted the whole damn broken foundation up and fused it back together on straight.

Solemn in focus Otto followed then sat near Snowbund just putting up with her usual effervescence. Curious at the noise in his head he bent down to eye a heater grate as the judge entered the room. A swirl-eye of the Jinhai stared back at him alongside one of the pale white robes the oddly chipper architect minted some months ago. Whole missing city departments started replying to email and form again stuffing mail bags of repaired but nearly obliterated work onto the next parts of the process.

Then the things promptly started interviews and replaced themselves if they couldn't get the humans back to work after the catastrophe. Servitors triaging damaged parts of the city until they could find the humans that belonged there. Until then obediently following every rule in discovered company manuals to the letter. Bureaucratic creatures to the last faint floating thread they explicitly asked to be replaced when interrogated. Higher ups did eventually notice after all. Nobody told them to stop yet, so they didn't.

Except for today, anyhow, he smirked in bemusement while standing back up for court proceedings. Obediently sat down at the call he wondered if some manager was trying to figure out why several dozen office workers just 'vanished into the walls' in this specific set of city blocks the last day or two. Poorly worded marching orders for removing all 'weapons' from the court environment.

All their oddly regular signatures doing office processing in this or that cubicle. Working with the Xeno worm they fed him donuts a whole lot. Servitors got them but couldn't eat them. At some small business mail room he saw one poor sod that survived the rest of his department and concerned about all the white robes making inane small talk around water coolers. Then paying attention with intense focus to the surviving humankind in fair if mercenary operational meetings devoid of office politics. They held an iron line of governmental secrecy until they found some humankind to replace themselves to a minimum service level. Homeless citizens just happy to be on the payroll again.

It was the hospital raising the most flags. Servitors kept delivering the injured by elevator for months after the volcano. Which wouldn't be odd if the vast majority weren't registered as dead. Empty departments kept making outwardly reasonable if terse identical replies, 'License issued for specified conditions. Triage and release civilians from emergency stasis facility. Thank you for notification.'

Quietly ushered in by the court officers as proceedings started to get underway, at first glance he seemed like an unassuming older man in a dark purple hued suit, black tie, accented by a simple lapel pin that resembled a circular aperture, similar to the iris found in the mechanical shutter of a camera. This was the symbol of the Aschen Empire's Confessor Cabal, a secretive, and rather infamous organization within the Empire that served the will of the Emperor himself, and oftentimes acted as his secret police.

Why Kesslee was here could be anyone's guess, though he was sent by the Emperor for a very specific purpose, it was a purpose he was sworn to secrecy. His well honed, and well trained mind kept out any intrusions, with the aid of the small psionic inhibitor clipped behind his ear.

His gaze was briefly affixed to the presiding magistrate of this court, Acheampong, before they went to the other officials, one by one, sizing them up.

Lastly, his gaze went to the assembled witnesses.

Kesslee kept hushed, opting to not say a word and disturb the proceedings.

The jury were an odd bunch. Of the fifteen, eight were human and seven alien beings hailing from worlds in systems as far flung as the Andromeda galaxy trillions of lightyears away. Yolihuani Ixehuatl had battled nobly with her colleagues Geraldine Batchelder-Lockerby and Thục-Đoàn Phùng in selecting which jurors could be sufficiently impartial as well as sufficiently representative of Terra's (and Wing City in particular) xenodiversity, finally agreeing these last weeks on the group including a young refugee from a Taiyou outlying system; a distinctly out-of-place mage garbed in intricately-patterned robes from the mountains in Therrier-Paix; a Tauron laborer recently naturalized, with an interpreter accompanying him; a Murghb'qq emigré firmly resettled at a cushy teaching post at a Hafirjan university; and a stray Azrik veteran, wizened and ancient, of the Scatteran-Aschen campaigns long past. The mage, an enormously fat and pale-faced woman with long silky hair in a single loose braid, had been the prosecution's hardest fight. And though Yolihuani had fought valiantly till the bitter end of voir dire, the mage had been seated, promising she would not be biased against Elijah.

Yolihuani didn't believe it for a second.

In the past many months, her client had refused to meet with her, claiming he did not want a lawyer. Ordinarily, Yolihuani might have shrugged and turned her attention to other cases in sore need of it. But the high-profile nature of this particular case demanded she do her due diligence at every possible turn. And so, she'd had to tell her wife that yes, this trial would continue as scheduled, and Yolihuani might be keeping long, late nights for weeks or even months to come. The Terran people wanted blood. And it was Yolihuani's uneviable role to do her damndest to fight for her client's life and limb.

Prison was almost inevitable, but she could spare him death, perhaps, and might yet succeed in obtaining an acquittal on at least some of the many charges filed against him. Elijah Alexander Kenton was a mass murderer to a scale and scope even untamed Terra had rarely seen before, millions of deaths following in his destructive wake. Yolihuani's wife had texted just that morning to inform her, not without a smidge of resentment for her involuntary involvement, that another death threat had arrived at their door. This time, in the form of a severed goat head, brain matter spilling from the cracked skull, on the front porch. Well, that was an occupational hazard at this point in Yolihuani's career as a heralded public defender in Terra's judiciary.

And now, the first day of opening arguments (and perhaps a final opportunity for pretrial motions) was set to begin.

Yolihuani had appeared before Judge Acheampong before. The last three times, she'd prevailed; the four before that, her clients had been convicted. These prosecutors, though, Yolihuani barely knew. The European woman was known as an old-school hardliner, the Southeast Asian woman a dogged pursuer of righteous justice with an occasional instinct for uncommon mercy. They'd both worked on the investigation into Terra's intelligence director for war crimes. But Yolihuani had yet to go against either in court, and had to instead rely on Jamshed's sideyed observation in the office that Geraldine was a bitch and Thục-Đoàn a maverick.

"You best watch your back in there," he'd said that morning. "They're out for Kenton's blood, sure. But in the meantime, they'll probably settle for yours."

And that was when Yolihuani saw Judge Magister Marlene McGregor. This turn of events could not bode well for a timely trial.

The side doors of the court would open as a figure without his trademark red robe and mask stepped inside led by a troop of armed Terran Security. You could have heard a pin drop as he spoke loudly, "Oh my, I do sure attract a lot such love and praise." all control in the court shattered as the outrage of Terran citizens reached intolerably high levels. All while he grinned basking in their hatred, "Oh yes, weep, cry call me every name in the book. I DID ALL OF YOU WORTHLESS INGRATES A FAVOUR. MAGIC CAN'T BE TRUSTED!"

One person had managed to get out of their seat and push through the crowd guarding him before spitting right in his face.

He gave a look of distaste before using his sleeve to wipe the saliva off.

Although the said person was not done, "MY WHOLE FAMILY IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU. HE'S GUILTY WE ALL KNOW IT, EXECUTE HIM NOW!" she screamed tears in her eyes, the security did look on sympathetic evidently hating to be guarding this man.

Elijah merely continued marching up the courtroom, "I would mock you but you are brainwashed fools who should be pitied. CALL IT A CULLING, A NECESSARY ACTION! MAGIC AND PEOPLE WHO WIELD IT CAN'T BE TRUSTED." one of Security 'accidentally' kneed him in the groin causing him to groan, the others said nothing. "Fools, this trial is theatre and I am your actor, welcome to the show!"

He would bow, the noise was growing with his continued comments before the judge had enough and magically projected their voice as they yelled, "Order in this courtroom! Order! Counsel, please remind your client that this is a court of law, and decorum WILL be observed. It is a privilege for your client to be here, and if he persists in this behaviour, I will order him removed."

A woman in mage gear walked into the courthouse flanked by two men in suits with mage hoods. Mysti and her two mages made their way in. They where here as the eyes, ears, and maybe mouth of the Terra Nova Empire. What they saw so would the Emperess all though a magic necklace Mysti wore. The trio had no trouble finding the courtroom with all the shouting. "Barely started and already exciting.." Mysti said grimly.

Otto tensed and stared at Elijah the man seemed nearly a slave for the forces of the immaterium if he didn't know better. Likely would be soon once they got wind of him if the man went to prison somewhere instead of the death sentence the Imperium would hand him. In any case he'd certainly respect the native court even if not Imperial. He held a hand down and shook his head hearing the telltale scuffing of Jinhai edging through the duct. Not eager for death they were certainly always ready for it. Eternal servitors allied first to the Emperor then to humankind with nothing in between. They scuffed back inside and the faint noise stopped.

Kinara took her seat near her Master, Snowbund, and her Clones fanned out along the back-wall, standing at rapt attention, and observing everything within their fields of vision. The proceedings were beginning, and Kinara was quite frankly already bored. Truth be told she'd rather be meditating on the mysteries of the Force, or doing God knows what else she does with her life.

"It is good to see you again Master." She kept her voice low before the proceedings started when they were allowed to talk. She could sense all the anger and negative energy in the room, and while it didn't bother her exactly, it did influence her own mood, making it a bit darker. "I smell that you haven't changed much since our last meeting?" She teased. Of course Snowbund couldn't smell herself; by then she was simply used to it. As was Kinara, but having split from her Master long ago, she merely tolerated the smell, but could still process it. She crossed her arms and crossed her legs at the knees, yawning.

"Hopefully this doesn't take forever, eh?"

Snowbund had to smile at the antics of the man on trial, but with recent news that the mayor had abdicated leaving her in charge was something on her mind at that moment, so she was relived when Kinara sat next to her, the two of them represented wing city, and the numbers of the deceased were in the millions. Snowbund herself had to try to meditate for a day just to take in the sheer numbers of the deceased alone. Which included the entirety of the Wing City Angels

She smirked at mention of how she smelled She had tried to clean up and be ready for this, but then again, after living with Jawas for two years, the stink tended to stick around forever. "Things like this tend to take time. So we shall see. If we get bored, we have entertainment" Of course said entertainment was spat on and then womanhandled by a raven haired woman rather roughly.

Crane however with no fanfare took a seat not far away, somewhat bored was her expression, but she was needed as she had sacrificed herself, to stop a volcano of all things. However she looked up as the defendant, Elijah, got mouthy. This wasnt normal for the court yet somehow....

Redmane stood next to the dias, and when Elijah got loud and rowdy she backhanded him after another guard got him with their knee to his groin, she then dragged him to a chair to have him sit when he wouldnt shut up, when he kept going at it and the Judge had to amplify their voice she pretty much chucked Elijah to sit down. Her job was simple and two fold, one, she was to protect Elijah, and two, if he so much as threatened to spill the beans of who gave him the means of his illfated drug, she was to kill him. Preferably not in the courtroom. Her actions of course were briefly frowned upon when she backhanded the man, yet when she pretty much chucked him into a chair it was justified, as it apparently shut him up.... for the moment

At Elijah's outburst, Yolihuani suddenly found herself required to put every bit of effort she could summon -- every part of her better instincts -- to resist the overwhelming urge to smack her own client in the mouth, and perhaps hit him upside the head several more times for good measure. She'd had unruly miscreants for clients before, of course. It came with the territory. There was the client who'd spent weeks before trial uploading holovids bragging about his crimes to the public net, despite her attempts to implore him to see reason (or at least grow a tiny sense of self-preservation). Then there was the client charged with murders in connection with an organized crime ring who'd spent all her time at counsel table directing murderous glares at the members of the jury until each, in turn, sent private notes to the judge asking for excusal and/or police protection for their own safety. And of course, Yolihuani couldn't forget the client who had chosen trial as the perfectly opportune time to go cold turkey off her psychotropic medications, and began experiencing extreme altered states while on the witness stand. (That one led to a mistrial.)

But this ... Elijah Alexander Kenton was a different breed altogether.

Yolihuani had of course had clients who were entirely unrepentant for their appalling deeds, as well as those who'd bragged about their acts of unspeakable violence (but privately to her of course, as their attorney). She'd had clients who clung to despicable and horrifying worldviews and ideologies -- political as well as religious -- and felt the need to dictate whole manifestos to her during attorney-client meetings. But she had not had, until now, a client who felt the need to enter court so bombastically, while shackled, proclaiming that his admitted mass murders (near-genocide, the prosecution was sure to argue) were actually for the good of their homeworld, while laughing openly in the faces of survivors and their families.

But Yolihuani was also highly experienced and practiced in the art of Not Showing Your Feelings, and so instead of throttling her client as she deeply desired, she instead hissed in a sharp whisper, outside the viewing or hearing of the press or spectators, "Be quiet -- you'll have your chance to speak, if you insist on testifying. Later. It's my job to make sure you get to keep that chance."

From then, Judge Acheampong asked if either side wished to make any last-minute motions. Knowing it was futile, Yolihuani asked the court for a change in venue, gesturing about the courtroom as she spoke. "Your Honor, there is neither court nor jury here that could possibly give my client a chance at a fair trial. Mr. Kenton's alleged actions have affected nearly all of Terra, and he deserves an opportunity to defend himself before a neutral tribunal and a neutral fact-finder, which he will not find in this building, or indeed, in this city or on this continent, or on this planet. Mr. Kenton moves for a change of venue to a neutral court offworld pursuant to Terra's treaty powers."

Before Yolihuani could even finish speaking, Acheampong responded simply, "Motion denied, Counsel. Any further motions before we proceed today?" A pause and then. "Well. Are the People ready?"

"Yes, Your Honor," replied Thục-Đoàn, standing to address the court as she spoke. Yolihuani noted that the shorter prosecutor had worn plain black, causing her to resemble a crow with a human head, while Geraldine, her counterpart, had dressed in a deep red pantsuit with a ruby brooch at her throat -- perhaps to symbolize the blood Elijah had shed. It was not something Yolihuani had considered for herself.

"Is the Defense ready?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Yolihuani replied dutifully. As defense counsel, it was her responsibility to advocate as zealously as she possibly could for her client, even if she loathed him entirely herself. And so, advocate she would. She settled into her seat beside Elijah, careful not to look as though she was trying to sit too far from him as she did so.

"Very well then, the People may proceed."

Thục-Đoàn was to begin the prosecution's opening statement. She rose and came from around the counsel table. "Thục-Đoàn Phùng for the People, with my colleague, Geraldine Batchelder-Lockerby." Pausing for effect, Thục-Đoàn then began.

"Khulan Dashbalbar had just celebrated her fifteenth birthday. Two weeks before, she'd discovered latent magical abilities, and her parents agreed to enroll her in a specialized school program for youth with emerging magical abilities just outside Wing City." As Thục-Đoàn spoke, a holo-image of Khulan projected throughout the courtroom, showing a young girl with long, dark curls, a sloped forehead, and wide, muscular build. Khulan was smiling there. "Before enrolling in magical school, Khulan played intramural basketball, because she'd repeatedly failed the tryouts for varsity, and sang in the school choir, though she'd never successfully auditioned for a solo. She thought magical school might be her chance to shine. Khulan's younger twin sisters were excited for her acceptance, but disappointed when the Dashbalbars announced they'd purchased tickets to the Masquerade Ball, and would only be bringing their oldest child. The twins, who were nine, were too young."

Thục-Đoàn strode purposefully about the courtroom as she spoke, keeping attention on Khulan's projected image rather than on her own visage. "The twins, Altani and Altalun, turned out to be the lucky ones. At the Masquerade, Khulan took a cup of fruit punch -- the virgin kind, as she knew her parents would be gravely disappointed if she snuck an alcoholic drink too young. Little did she know that once she drank the punch, her body would begin to vibrate. Her brain began to expand, causing severe pain in an instant -- what doctors describe as a thunderclap headache, typically a sign of an imminent stroke or aneurysm. Khulan convulsed so badly that her new dress ripped in several places. She'd only been to an elementary class on magic for developing users, but she would have known that the power she felt moving through her body, using it merely as a mortal vessel, was supernatural and beyond this portal. She would not have known what to do about the unseen forces tearing her skin and bones apart, somehow causing her parents catastrophic burns and contributing to a notable earthquake -- tremors in the tectonic plates beneath Wing City -- with its epicenter beneath the site of the Masquerade itself. The last thing Khulan would have seen would have been her parents' untimely demise, and her, imbued with untold, uncontrollable power, yet entirely powerless to do anything about it."

One of the jurors brought a hand to his face as Thục-Đoàn spoke.

"By the time the bodies were uncovered in the rubble, the Dashbalbars' faces were unrecognizable. Altani and Altalun, too young to go to the Masquerade, were tasked with planning funerals and burials for their mother, their father, and their sister. They did not know enough to request closed caskets." Thục-Đoàn bowed her head, lacing her fingers behind her back, as the projected holo-images showed the gravesite -- the bodies hidden in the simple caskets. "It would have been tragic enough if Khulan's had been the only death caused that evening, but no, she was only one of many. One, with a thousand others slaughtered beside her." The names, and a photo array of faces (images chosen to feature the victims when smiling and relaxed), appeared on screen, of each of those who'd died at the Masquerade. "And it would have been a national tragedy if those who suffered and died at the Masquerade Ball were the only ones to die needlessly from the contaminated drinks. But instead, in the days and years to follow, millions more were murdered in artificially instigated earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and tsunamis stemming from uncontrolled magic wreaking geological and meteorological havoc across Terra once Elysium entered the black market."

Thục-Đoàn gestured, and the holo-images were replaced with even smaller images in a larger array, the faces nearly invisible they were so small, the number impossible to count. The tiny images were arranged carefully so that together, they presented a facsimile of the original portrait of Khulan that Thục-Đoàn had displayed. "The cause of death was a new and potent chemical compound called Elysium. It is designed to remove all natural and supernatural limitations on a magical user's magical abilities, such that only extraordinary measures are capable of limiting the destructive power of this unleashed magic. One might wonder why or how Elysium suddenly appeared in the drinks served at the Masquerade, or how years later, it appeared throughout Wing City's public water supply, affecting untold thousands upon thousands of magically inclined beings. In the weeks to come, we will show that only one individual -- and one individual alone -- was responsible for the near worldwide chaos and borderline genocide that followed. We will show that only Mr. Elijah Alexander Kenton possessed the motive, capability, and opportunity to inflict this wholly manmade disaster upon our world, and that Mr. Kenton alone is responsible for these mass murders and mass destruction. We will show that Mr. Kenton synthesized the Elysium, tainted the Masquerade drinks and the Wing City public water supply, and designed his plan methodically to maximize the destruction and deaths that would occur from it. And while Mr. Kenton's attorneys may try to argue -- skillfully even -- that he is not responsible for his actions or their natural consequences, we will ask you, members of this jury, to hear the evidence before you, and to convict Mr. Kenton for his crimes against sentience."

Oria Kenton

Oria found herself rolling eyes at the proceedings, she would not be here if she had a choice, but seemingly the Aschen Leadership wanted her to prove that she was still loyal and since this was her brother there was no greater test in their view. Thus, she was in disguise to prevent him from recognizing her.

Nonetheless, she found herself admiring how much he had managed to achieve if he was not such a wet blanket he would have made a good ally. But truth be told he was just too unpredictable and zealot-like. Still, this would be a long trial and she completely expected for chaos to be unleashed sometime soon. The reason being that you can't put so many angry people in one place and expect things to go as planned.

That being said, it would be fun, for now, this was merely the laborious beginning

Eros Fletcher

Fletcher watched the list of victims, and found himself sighing almost sadly, he was usually stoic personality wise, but very few could not find themselves shocked and appalled. The list varied from kids to adults, to whole families. The fact his Business played a part in this, worried him and largely why he been training Peyton to take over. Still, he felt need to do something so using his tablet he sent an email to some of the board members

My Cherished Broad Members,

As you know I am attending the trial of that madman, but I find myself pained and hurt by how much lives he crushed. Once we open up a facility on Terra I suggest we provide our services for cheaper prices than on Brillion. I feel if we do that we may avoid the guilt due to having unwittingly helped make this product. Of course, this will need a vote, but as CEO I ask you all to search your hearts and take on this. Terra needs support and while we are a business we should also reimburse any families that are members should get minimum of 300 k. Once again, this will need a vote, but remember these measures will save the company.

Finishing he sent off the document with some graphs and predictions based on what he believed would be reflections of future acclaim if they go down this route.

Veronica Perlo

Of course, Veronica had known how many had died, but seeing all those lives at once, brought her tears, there was so many and some of them were former comrades and it pained her, even more, seeing those old photos. And the fact this monster was treating the whole trial like his personal circus disgusted and if not for others doing it, she well would have acted out and hurt the monster.

“The trouble isn’t the charges. It’s the optics of them.” Geraldine Batchelder-Lockerby, hair carefully coiffed to frame soft features, hardly turned to address her counterpart, who appeared at least a decade younger. They moved at speed through corridor, heels clicking on marble floors, both women dressed in freshly pressed, pristinely tailored dark suits.

“The optics? Gerry, I’m sorry, but we’ve long since crossed that bridge.” Attorney General Netawatwees Olson shook her head, long hair rippling as it moved about her back. “Prime Minister Khayyam was clear. Minister Vilhjálmsdóttir was clear. This is about restoring faith in our government. Culling the fold. Clearing the bramble bush. You catch my drift.”

The women were trailed by a pair of aides, exchanging hushed conversation amongst themselves. Most in Government Center’s West Wing knew not to interrupt, but even if the thought were to cross some young upstart’s mind, their fast pace was likely sufficient deterrent. In no time, they were at the elevator bank, Geraldine standing akimbo, Netawatwees tilting her head slightly to the side, holding a stack of files loosely.

“These defendants are all elderly. They’re heroes, to at least half of Terra anyway,” said Geraldine, lowering her voice as she stared directly at Netawatwees. “And besides, don’t you think Khayyam has a lot more to worry about than what Cranford’s appointees did two, three decades ago? Longer ago, even, for her.” Geraldine stepped in closer as Netawatwees pointedly pressed the up button. “Our government is falling apart. You know that as well as I do.”

“That’s not our department,” Netawatwees responded calmly. “Quite literally. We have a job to do, you and I. My job is to make sure this government follows its own laws. Your job is to prosecute those who have violated our criminal code. However long ago, if there is no statute of limitations. And last time I checked, for crimes like treason, crimes against humanity, and attempted murder, there is no statute of limitations. Hm?”

The elevator doors dinged open. “Ma’am?” One of the aides spoke cautiously, lifting her pencil like she was raising her hand in class.

“I understand that, and I abhor what these people did more than anyone,” said Geraldine. “I absolutely want them to face justice. But why is Khayyam asking us to prioritize these cases over everything else? Why is she personally directing what Justice does? She has the Terra Nova people practically at our door, Aschen Empire sympathizers flooding into Aslund, and a voting public that turns out less than five percent every election year.”

As they stepped inside the elevator, Netawatwees smiled grimly. “As I said, Gerry, that’s not our department. We have a job to do.”

“Ma’am.” The same aide spoke again, forcing a smile, as she squeezed into a corner of the elevator with the rest of the entourage.

“Doesn’t Khayyam have a job to do, too?” Geraldine said, raising her chin. “What about the fact that our entire judiciary is crumbling right in front of us? I’m starting to feel like my office is two steps away from becoming a punchline for a terrible joke at amateur night.”

“I’m well aware of the issues we’re facing,” Netawatwees said, her tone firm, her eyes narrowing slightly. The elevator began to rise, softly glowing digits announcing their ascent. “That’s why it’s even more important for us to keep doing what we need to do. We need to put on at least some display of normality. Routine. And we’ve succeeded in that. Your office has gone to trial two hundred times in the past year, and gotten convictions in forty percent of cases, acquittals in fifty, and mistrials in ten. That’s progress. It shows that we have a functioning legal system.”

“And of the other four thousand cases we had to drop for lack of evidence, lack of cooperation from the NPA or WCPD, or lack of personnel to staff them?” Geraldine crossed her arms, leaning back against the elevator walls.

“Ma’am.” The aide spoke more insistently.

The elevator dinged to announce their arrival, and the doors opened.

“Lilith, what?” Netawatwees finally looked at the aide.

“The Prime Minister’s office has been trying to call you the entire past hour. I have someone on the line now, waiting.” Lilith held up her phone.

Netawatwees took it, wordless, glancing at Geraldine, as they stepped off the elevator. “Yes?”

“Here we go again,” Geraldine said, rolling her eyes. “Look, I need to head out to Wrentham to speak with some of the defendants. This order about Malijin’s case really makes no sense at all.”

Netawatwees balanced the phone between her chin and shoulder, looking at Geraldine. “You’re right. I don’t understand it either. You should ask Vilhjálmsdóttir. Given what we know, well… I know we’re on the same page about this.” Turning back to the phone. “Yes, sorry, everything is on track. Perfect. Great. Thanks. Talk to you soon. Bye.” She handed the phone back to Lilith. Netawatwees sighed. “I’m sorry, Gerry. I don’t mean to sound dismissive or curt. But we’re all at the mercy of political reality right now. Just … different ones are taking precedence for each of us. You’ll do great at the press conference tomorrow. Keep me updated on the prison visits.”

“Will do.” Geraldine eyed Netawatwees warily as the attorney general turned to head the other way down the hall, Lilith trailing and already on another call herself. Geraldine turned to her own aide, Jordynne, who’d been staring down at her phone the entire walk from the downstairs office. “What do you think, Jordynne? You want to come out to Wrentham with me?”

The younger woman frowned, burying her head deeper in her phone. “I’m not sure. I’ve never been out that way before… Is it dangerous?”

“It can be, sure,” said Geraldine, “but no more dangerous than all of Wing City is already. You’ll be fine.”

Jordynne shrugged with one shoulder. “If you say so…”

“Let’s make it a learning experience.” Geraldine patted Jordynne’s shoulder. “You can help take notes for me. Come on.” Jordynne exhaled slowly. Geraldine offered an encouraging smile. “It’s not that bad. Most defendants are out on bail. There are only about a hundred inmates there at any given time, maybe two hundred, and some of them sometimes turn out to be innocent.” She pressed the button to go back down again, and they waited. Of course, someone else had to stop on every single floor in between.

“Not these ones, though,” Jordynne said, her voice so quiet Geraldine was tempted to lean down to hear. “These ones… they’re the heroes who turned out to be villains.”

One among many villans that Terra and Wing City had seen caused the malady of a particular civil servant here today for deposition. While that amounted to 'hurry up and wait' a large portion of the time. Thus up above an anomalous WCPD officer's uniform clung a meter away from the ceiling along a support column. As one got closer it was easier to see the Gardener standing inside of it perfectly still as he listened to the radio. Natural active camouflage of his subtype meant Smudgie had to consciously suppress it thus despite the uniform concealed his outline rather well. Though heard of and rarely seen in his new duties in any case. Drafted after the Elysium crisis Smudgie was one of a terrifyingly small list of creatures that suffered through to Elysium immunity though not without its own sort of permanent scar. Later passing police academy now worked in the beleaguered WCPD in various roles.

This was what brought him to the government center today though it took a judge's order for the precinct to let him out of work. Gifted with an eidetic memory and an indomitable supply of personal energy Smudgie did the equivalent paperwork of a small office just on his own. Though Smudgie's particular brand of calligraphy, even if supremely readable, made any handwritten forms look like religious documents. In a similar fashion, the false matriarch prosecutor or delegates beneath her may have found the very calligraphic attestation in gold ink, dealing with a particular apprehension, something dubious and Smudgie was here to see someone from that office before the trial.

While it started out normal it was the end that likely tripped concerns though all Gardeners wrote as breathlessly as they talked, 'The suspect was seen preparing items for destruction and False Matriarch Police Corporal Roth instructed Patrol Officer Smudgie to fly up and take possession of that steel bin as per warrant while other officers entered the building. Officer Smudgie is qualified for clandestine operations and entered the building through the 3rd-floor window. After identifying the suspect from under a table Officer Smudgie moved in while the suspect's back was turned. Officer Smudgie then took possession of the wastebasket while observing the suspect's movements and exited the room to secure the items. Re-entering the room through a closed door nearer to the suspect Officer Smudgie announced as WCPD and drew service stun pistols while positioned to block suspect's exit by the opposing door passing directly through oncoming officers. The suspect fled the room through the opposing door but Smudgie did not shoot and gave chase to avoid igniting strong accelerants nearby drowning out Patrol Officer Smudgie's senses. As the suspect left the room they ran directly into Patrol Officer Nikolaev then Patrol Officer Nikolaev fell backward to the floor. With all officers present suspect was shortly apprehended and Patrol Officer Smudgie told False Matriarch Police Corporal Roth of the accelerant smell. As smoke entered the hallway False Matriarch Police Corporal Roth and Patrol Officer Smudgie re-entered the room as a waste-bin was seen on fire and a chemical extinguisher was located to put it out with some difficulty. Patrol officer Smudgie returned to the back room where an unburnt waste-bin was secured. Patrol Officer Smudgie returned with a waste bin from before the suspect ignited accelerants. Accelerants were safely neutralized to preserve evidence. Patrol Officer Smudgie put each bin in evidence bags and returned to the precinct to register three unburnt waste paper basket into evidence. Patrol Officer Smudgie also registered another unburnt trash bin into evidence that day with 8 additional sandwich wrappers eaten by Patrol Officer Smudgie. No further unburnt waste bins have been located by Patrol Officer Smudgie at the time of attestation.'

Smudgie's particular scar from the Elysium incident was wild discharges of replication of really anything in its hands at the time. Unbound and drawing hard at the larger aetheric field he replicated items unknowingly once they left his field of vision. It had taken no small notice from other precincts that the one Smudgie belonged to had a net export of pastries, pens, and an abundance of stun sidearms all belonging to Smudgie. It drew hard on the small Gardener to replicate things with power that he couldn't subsequently re-eat but he adapted.

Most officers knew the head prosecutor of course as the elevator opened. The 'floating' uniform custom made for four arms and four legs swivels sharply to look at the elevator as it opened. Smudgie by rote taking note. Smudgie's skin flipped to an inverse of its environment to be better seen as it engaged.

It took a great deal of effort on Smudgie's part to manage not to yell with Eigengrau though now the voice from the transceiver on his uniform was rather monotone as he waved, 'Good morning False Matriarch Prosecutor General Batchelder-Lockerby!'

Irina promptly stepped back after handing the container to Doctor Yudell, putting her hands behind her back and taking a silent position alongside Staff Sergeant Stamatios once again. As Monica continued on, Kawandi first looked down to the tablet before him and took a momentary sigh. “Uuh, yes and no - some of the original grain species, I’ve determined to be a hybridization of a common species found in the Garden, beyond the Veil,” He started, then bringing up two similar genetic composition reports and displaying them side by side. “And one found here on Terra - a very common practice to better integrate biomass across colonies. Unfortunately, I’m unable to coordinate with anyone back in the Garden proper to see if they are experiencing any similar genetic degradation as well.”

Kawandi had a nervousness about him as their discussions turned to that dreaded prospect of genetic tampering and an engineered blight. “I believe that the origin is from here, in the Local Region and that, yes, there is a good possibility we’ve discovered some sort of … engineered crop disease. As for just who might be responsible, well, that is more in the field of my colleague here.”

With that, he gave a soft nod back over to Irina. Stepping forward, Irina unfolded her arms from behind her back, then took Kawandi’s place at the table. “I am Senior Warrant Officer Irina Osman, Security Detective of the Exogarden Stellar Police Force. I’m the operations officer of a task force, 515,” Irina introduced herself, using her hand to flick across the tablet and project a series of reports stamped with a lunar crescent and spyglass.

“I believe that Doctor Kawandi here and the Outer Veil research team have uncovered one part of a large terrorist network that has operated across the Local Region at large since the end of the Galactic War.”

Before her, the image of a man appeared, along with a scrolling list of incidents that seemed to stretch back years, decades even. “Several decades ago there was a radical transhumanist group known as the ‘New World’, that used Edenite emancipation to begin a terror campaign in the Garden - and perhaps closer to home for you all, here in the Local Region. Their militant wing is known as the ‘League’ - and we believe their top ranking commander of assets and networks here in the Local Region goes by the name ‘Faust’.”

While Irina prepared her own deposition, Stamatios seemed to narrow his eyes for a moment. He had been completely silent the entire time, but the mere mention of the League finally seemed to earn a rise from the marine. His fists clenched behind his back, jaw setting slightly as his eyes settled on the sparse image of the man.

Even more confusing for others in the room though, was that several different images of the man known as Faust were different faces, bodies entirely. Irina was quick to answer that possible question as it came up. “The person you see in these images is what is known as a ‘capsuleer’ - a downloaded and reuploaded sentience that can be placed into cloned or specially grown bodies. Many of these capsuleers in the New World believe that their gift of immortality makes them gods amongst mortals: Scatterran, Terran, Aschen or otherwise. They have manipulated elections, overthrown or puppeted governments, and instigated civil wars across the Garden.”

If the proposition that a crop disease had been bio-engineered by someone, somewhere in the Local Region was bad, the following explanation as to who might be behind it was even worse.