A/N: This is where I will be posting my one-shot entries for the Anders Prompt Group 'Manifestos Welcome' on the BioWare Social Network. All one-shots will include Anders, but may include other characters as well. These do take place in the same universe as my story Redemption; this specific one takes place immediately before chapter 1. I should mention that my chosen writing technique may drastically vary from one short to the next, and may not always be the same as what I use in Redemption. As always reviews are very welcome!

This week's prompt is "Silence."

The Cost of Justice

My voice was taken away long ago, simply for being born what I am. A mage. To them, an abomination. Something to be broken, abused, bound and caged. Not a man. They muzzle what they fear. Turn a blind eye. Clap righteous hands over their ears.

I was once defiant, proud. A spirit refusing to broken. Body beaten into submission. Time and again forced into solitude where no one could hear. No one could see.

Freedom was an illusion. Hope was a weakness. Something always out of my reach. Something not for me. Not for my kind.

But now…now I am more a prisoner than I ever was then. This permanency is the price. Bound to a solitary confinement within. This perfect cage of my own making.

To be silenced from within. Controlled, trapped, unable to speak. It's maddening. This is my reality. This is a true prison. I no longer know who—or what—I am. I no longer know how to escape.

I once dreamt of beautiful things. Bright and colorful things. Things that breathed. That sang. Now, the rare dreams that do come are shattered, disquieting things that leave me hollow, disoriented, and sick when I wake. There is no color. No music. No laughter. No sound.

These people. To them, I am a person. They freely offer me aid. Unconditionally, gift their friendship. Their loyalty. I yearn to accept it. To ask for it. Please…help…me. I know they want to help. But I'm weak. I can't find my voice. I suffer in silence.

She's here again. She's hurt. Angry. Maker, she's crying. Begging me for the truth. Every time I hold back, but cannot tell her why, I see her breaking. It destroys me. The truth will change nothing. It will not further our cause. It will only condemn her to my damned fate. What I must do comes with a price I won't see her, or anyone else, pay. So I swallow the truth. I quell these undisclosed desires. Armor myself in my convictions. My purpose. It's better this way.

I'm so lost. So conflicted. I want love. Friendship. Companionship. But those are luxuries I can't have. Not anymore. I can't tell them. My silence will protect them—protect her—if it's the last good thing I do.

She stirs things deep within me. Hopeful things. Things that bleed. That want. That need. With her, through her, I could have a voice again. I could break this silence. But how can I ask that of her, or anyone?

It's happening again. I try to cry out, beg for someone to stop me. Please stop me. I feel the panicked screams building within me, but they're strangled out in my throat before they can be let loose. Bodies break and fall around me. Their lifeless eyes judge me—accuse me—for what I am and what I've done. I look down at the warm blood on my hands. I no longer know who it belongs to or how it got there. I'm not sure it even matters anymore. It's already done.

I can't say what she needs to hear. I love you. She's suffering but fighting to be strong. I need you. I see the pain in her eyes. Please don't look at me like that. She turns to walk away again and I reach out. I want to call her name, tell her, but I say nothing.

I am a catalyst. A flame burning too hot, too bright, consuming myself from the inside out. This is how it begins. And how I end. I see the destruction—the death—at my hands. So many innocent lives snuffed out. This is wrong, so wrong. My mouth stretches opens to wail, to mourn what I have done. But no sound comes. It is a release I am denied.

The dawning realization of betrayal is written all over their faces. The guilt is suffocating. I long to ask—to beg—for forgiveness. But I can't. Or I won't. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing I say will change the events that have begun. I hold my tongue and accept the price.

In my fight for freedom, for hope, I have sundered what little of me is left.

Broken. I am beyond repair.

Silenced. I have lost my voice.

Bound. I have traded one prison for another.

My life and freedom are forfeit in exchange for this judgment.

This is the cost of justice.