We had gathered around a sedated and restrained Marth, still out cold in his hospital bed. I listened to the faint and rhythmic ping from the EKG machine monitoring his heart and breathing. It was almost soothing in sharp contrast to the rampage he'd committed just hours ago. It was almost as if I wasn't even looking down at the same demon lord I'd met at Heimdall Station. Gone was the samurai inspired red, white, and black armor, cape and helmet. What lay before us was simply a large man bound, gagged, and pumped full of tranquilizers.

To be fair, it wasn't Marth who had slaughtered hospital staff and officers. The Obsidian Angel, the yet to be fully understood entity, had possessed him. How and why that demonic presence had taken control of Marth was also beyond our comprehension at present. Not having answers was almost as distressing as the sudden appearance of another powerful foe we've yet to overcome.

Karma, also stripped of his armor, swords, and gear remained close to Marth's side. He held a hand pressed against the demon lord's temple. With his eyes shut, Karma paused his mediation to announce, "I sense not the presence of anyone other than Marth. His integrity remains whole. Are you certain of what you saw, Gene-sans?"

I remained skeptical of Karma's diagnosis, but not my own ears and eyes; "I'm certain, Karma. There was definitely more than just Marth in that hallway. It also identified itself as..." I was hesitant to say it's name. Not wanting to risk conjuring it again, I simply utilized an unmistakable descriptor for our adversary, "... It named itself as the one that had killed me before." Oddly, referencing my own death was easier to say than the name, 'Obsidian Angel.' Absolutely none of our current situation must have been easy for Luna however. She remained outside Marth's recovery room with the armed Civil Defense Officers.

Levitating in the corner of the room, dressed in the same white and sky blue hospital gown and pants we all wore, was Kazuna. She too was mediating on our next course of action. Fortunately for us, she had more success in providing answers.

Standing back on her own two feet, she approached us; "You'll be pleased to know that I too confirm that Marth's mind is his own." She paused, a grimace spread, "However, something else had taken hold of him."

Karma nodded, "We don't doubt you, Gene. If what you said was true, for your sake and ours, we need to know how best to prepare."

A knock on the doorframe drew our attention to Inspector Spades, "I'd say it would be best to prepare you for your trial."

Midnight was shoveling a hand sized container of something into her mouth. She paused to wipe away the remains from her lips to ask, "Do we have to wear these..." Tugging at her hospital gown with her prehensile tail. "These are uncomfortable. I do not approve."

Inspector Spades offered a motherly look, one might give an obstinate child; "You'll be provided with your own clothes. Your weapons and armor I'm afraid have been confiscated for reasons I'm sure don't require further explanation."

Karma rolled his shoulders back, "My blade was passed down to me over fifty generations of my family line. I will see to it that heirloom will be returned when this is over." His voice was neither threatening nor angry. He simply stated the facts. I respected that. After all, something tangible to remind one of their past was invaluable. Again, my mind drifted back to Luna.

With a courteous wave of her hand, Spades offered, "There are procedures to receive confiscated materials. Until then, I'll make every effort to ensure your heirloom is safe. Is that acceptable?"

Karma offered the slightest bow of his head, and folded his arms across his chest.

Gesturing to the window, Kazuna asked, "Will we be provided with any kind of council prior to the trial? On my home-world, our legal system was not terribly complex, but we had scholars who mastered in legal procedure. Those studied in the law would be provided to those faced with trial and execution."

Midnight's tail twitched at the word, "Execution?"

I glanced over to Spades. She too had uncomfortably shifted her weight at the mention of capital punishment. It was obvious that when it came to the perceived murder of over a thousand souls, this trial wouldn't be as benign as fighting a traffic ticket. There would be serious consequences. There would likely be a jury of those hungry to place blame at the feet of foreigners in their land. We were a decidedly easy scapegoat if details about what happened on the station were kept from the public. Given the company that controlled planetary information, that was most likely the case.

Inspector Spades quickly realigned the subject; "You have been assigned a co-council who will be tasked with guiding you through the legal procedures during your assessment."

Gallows humor notwithstanding, I asked, "Who drew the short straw?"

The Inspector sighed, "I won't lie, there weren't many public defenders lining up to aid in your defense. Fortunately, the one that was selected does have his own self interest to consider while acting as your council."

Kazuna raised her eyebrow, "What is that exactly?"

Spades simply stated, "Should he fail to exonerate you, he'll share in whatever punishment you're settled with." Great. Potentially another life lost by our hands. Without any further spark of hope, the inspector turned to leave; "If you'll all follow me, we'll have you processed and escorted to the High Court."

There wasn't anything more for us to do or say. We followed, silently, with the dagger of fate dangling above our heads. Whether that dagger was held by the hand of Justice, or some other entity was yet to be seen.

---

After hours of signing digital discharge documents were signed and notarized, the six of us were escorted by several hundred Civil Defense Officers to separate vehicles. Each vehicle appeared both inspired by something ancient and elegantly modern. At first glance, they appeared to be inspired by old norse viking long boats, about sixteen meters in length; wooden, with gold and white marble accents along the hull. Of course, the wood was a steel fiberglass composite made to appear like polished mahogany. What were originally sails used by the Frygan ancestors were now semi-transparent solar panels, three of which flared out on either side of the boat from the rear in obtuse triangles.

There were ten Civil Defense Officers to each of our respected vessels. Bound and chained, we were helped aboard by our wardens. Once on the decks of the ships, an additional seat restrain and lap bar was fitted over us. I could feel the steady hum of the propulsion system within the bow of the ship as it idled. Within my mind's eye, I was informed that this particular engine was developed by BiFrost Excel, a division of BiFrost Communications. I cringed at how much of this world was potentially built and shaped by Director Jenkins' hand. Part of me wanted to pray that the legal system was not such an institution corrupted by our foe. But, another part of me considered no one was out there listening to us.

At the command of the ranking officer, the helmsmen revved up the engine. Our ship lifted gracefully up into the air joining the other six prisoner ships, and a squadron of heavily armed flying vehicles of similar design. We continued to fly into a skyway filled with a multitude of other ships and vehicles. Those flying civilian transportation however were forced to yield to our funeral procession of men and women potentially filing off to their deaths.

Looking ahead off the bow of my ship, I could see Luna's ship. She was close enough that I could see the wind sweep past her pointed Wolf Ears. Her auburn fur and hair were raked by the wind streaming by. I'd grown accustomed to seeing her mood reflected in her tail. Even from this far back, I could see Luna's tail was slightly drooped; not tucked between her legs, but definitely not wagging either. She was calm, but far from submissive.

I took a small comfort knowing that Luna was relatively relaxed about this particular downward spiral our journey had taken. Although I'd have felt better if she had spoken to me since we'd arrived on Fryga. That had been nearly three days ago. I tried my best to steel my mind. Doubt and indecision would not help me now, but it was a hard feeling to shake free from. After all, I had a near constant reminder physically and permanently attached to my person.

Inspector Spades had kept her word. The day after Marth, or the Obsidian Angel's attack rather, a team of surgeons had been sent to my room to repair my arm. At first, they had considered it simply a prosthetic that needed new artificial skin. However, the lead surgeon discovered that my current physical body was entirely manufactured.

"We've never seen anything like this," the first surgeon exclaimed.

"Wow! Perhaps it's the new RAN model BiFrost is rolling out with?" the second suggested.

They spoke as if I was no longer present in the room. I offered a helpful reminder that I was in fact their patient, and not a product for their consumption or appraisal. Reluctantly, they activated something they referred to as a, 'Passive Ecto/Subdermis Repair System.' In simpler terms, my body had the ability to gradually repair lost or damaged tissue. It would seem gradual to me, but to an average human, the repair was greatly accelerated.

Within twenty-four hours of having my flesh from shoulder to fingertip peeled off like a bad banana, it had been seamlessly recovered. Of course, the process was aided by equipment from the hospital. For a wound that size to be repaired as quickly in the field, the surgeons informed me it would take close to a week and a handful of days. Minor wounds however would heal at roughly the same rate with the standard onboard mechanism built into my false body.

Although I now appeared human once again on the outside, I knew what lie underneath. So too did Luna I figured. The question remained whether or not it mattered? Hope was not restored as I looked at the top of my palm. Luna's bite marks were no longer there. The repair mechanism worked all too well, but it had erased the one wound I wished would have been permanent.

---

Having flown over the Central City, the capital of Fryga, we flowed a crystal blue river towards the edge of a steep cliff. Situated on the cliffs edge, spanning the river were two massive glass towers. In the center of the two towers, a lager glass, gold, and black spire stood reaching up forty stories into the sky. There were large symbols hanging vertically in a row that climbed up the side of the Black and Gold spire. My mind's eye translated the foreign runes into Basic; "Superior Judicial Council of Fryga."

Our ships landed on an elevated platform on a terrace attached to the central Black and Gold Spire. As we disembarked from our ships, I could hear the faint shouts of protest from a massive crowd on the decks below us. Their pleas echoed above the rushing waters spilling over the edge of the cliff. I could perceive their passionate cries growing louder and louder; "Justice. Justice! Justice for the Lost Heimdall 1,000."

We were ushered into the spire and led through a series of descending ramps, to a large grey room with no doors or windows. Our guards then proceeded to fasten us into a glass box in the center of the room. The container was long enough to accommodate all of us standing a little more than an arms length apart from one another. The box had no ceiling. It's railings only reached about waist height, but central poles extending up from the floor along our backs held us in place with more restraints.

After we'd been sufficiently secured in our new prison, the guards left. All except Inspector Spades remained.

Midnight was the first to speak, but her usual indifference was absent from her voice. In a low and nearly frightened hush, she asked the Inspector, "Is this goodbye?"

Spades nodded solemnly, "My part here of your detention is complete, yes. I've done all I can. My official written report cites that all of you, with one exception, were cooperative while detained and have made a request to study the evidence and testimony you've provided."

Karma snarled, "Your reference to Marth should reflect extenuating circumstances."

Remaining somber, the inspector replied, "My report was exceptionally thorough, Dainagon Karma. Details of Marth's... condition, were noted at length. Although, I doubt they'll have an impact over the lives that were taken."

A moment of silence passed for the blood that was shed, for us, and what lie ahead. Before she left, there was only one thing on my mind to ask, "Inspector Spades?" She stopped, turning her head slightly, "The justice of the court, do you trust them? Believe in them?"

Her reply was honest, but disheartening all the same, "There was once a time that I believed in the judgment of man..." She trailed off as an alarm rang from somewhere inside the room went off. Before she left, Inspector Spades offered her final condolences, "I'll remember, Gene Starjammer, that you were a man who was willing to give his life for something, someone other than himself. Good luck."

We heard the Inspector's boots stomp out of the room. A door sealed itself shut behind her. Once more an alarm rang. After a moment, the roof above our heads split open to reveal a deafening crowd chanting the same rallying cry as before, "Justice for the Lost 1,000!"

Forty stories above us, each level was adorned with galleries packed with people all demanding justice. All waiting to accuse us of our perceived and committed crimes against their people. Swiftly the platform rose into the air as we were lifted up to meet our fate.