"Alfred Nubile, you have much to answer for."
The man was sweating bullets, the African American's already greying hair no doubt turning whiter still as the figure in the dark pointed accusingly at him from the shadows of the inky room he was trapped in. The only light that emanated from the room was the enormous, special bomb that's fuse was fizzling on the table to his right, the windows shuttered and shaded and the door closed securely as the figure's aquamarine eyes burned into the deep brown eyes of Alfred Nubile, weapons manufacturer.
"You've sold more than one million mines to foreign governments, Mr. Nubile, as the owner of Pennsylvanian Protection Services. Being a private contractor employed by other governments must give you a tidy sum of money, but not even money could stop me from coming to you on this fine night." He said, gesturing to his right, and at the video camera taping everything as it softly beeped and Alfred Nubile shuddered in fear. "I had no problem with your company selling materials for walls or barbed fences or even security guards. But the fact you've now sold over a million mines which have crippled and killed countless people has me asking but one question!"
An accusatory finger pointing out at him.
"HOW DO YOU PLEAD?"
"This is ri-gosh-damn-diculous! I run a legit business!" Alfred snapped back, frowning. "I pay my taxes! I've committed no crime!"
"I think humanity may beg to differ, good sir. As do I, the JUDGMENT." The Judgment proclaimed, tossing something onto the table by the bomb, pictures that were illuminated by the flame...and in vivid, horrific, gory detail that made the networks forced to broadcast this slightly cringe.
"He's completely hacked our system and has jammed his signal through. The encryption on this is beyond anything we've got!" The local news network's resident techie informed their producer as people scrambled about, trying to go over the feed, searching for any way to cut it off whilst phone calls buzzed up their smart phones left and right. "I don't know how, but we can't kick him off! Only way to do it is to pull the plug on the entire network!"
"With the ratings we're getting even now?!" The producer remarked, adjusting his square glasses and shaking his head. "Oh, HELL no. Fox News WISHES it had gotten this first! I only wish we had better lighting on the guy!"
"Exhibits one through twenty. Civilians all injured by your mines." The Judgment commented.
"Look, my company only makes and SELLS them. I can't control who uses them in the end." Alfred insisted.
"Oh, do you think they're bought as FOOD?!" The Judgment asked wryly, Alfred visibly flinching at this. "...well? Speak up, Alfy! Thousands of people are watching you even now. Think of your image and think carefully about what you shall say!"
"I'm INNOCENT, I tell you!" Alfred screeched out, banging around in the chair he was tied to and practically frothing at the mouth. "It ain't my fault if my mines kill people!"
"So...this is the Judgment I've heard so much about." Dib murmured quietly as he looked up from the magazine he was reading as he sat on the couch. He'd heard whispers about it in the Paranormal Group known as the Swollen Eyeball Network of which, full disclosure, he was a member. The buzz on the forums online was that the Judgment was real and had come very, VERY close to killing people with similar "judgment calls" like this. How much of that was true he wasn't sure, but now? Now it seemed like it was all true.
Gaz, his sister, glanced up from her Game Slave and blinking a bit, amber brown eyes widening slightly. She had only ONE thing to say.
"We could see a guy go boom on live TV? Turn it up!" She demanded, Dib sighing as he turned the volume up, adjusting the glasses he was wearing as he leaned back in the purple couch he and his purple-haired sister laid upon in the Membrane household whilst their father's vid-screen floated over and looked at the TV.
"Oh my. I would love to be there personally to comfort you, children. But I'm working late at the lab today, and as such, my television arms will have to give you comforting pats on the back instead." The goggled black-haired man remarked in his thick white labcoat, adjusting the goggles a bit with a black-gloved hand as two extendible hands reached out from the floating vid screen...and accidentally whacked Dib and Gaz on the head instead of PATTING them before it floated away, Dib letting out a long, loud sigh.
"This is what...week FOUR he's worked late?" He muttered. "He'd better be inventing a cure for AIDS or something. I'm actually really starting to get angry with his lack of showing...up. At all!" He grumbled.
And normally Gaz would have scoffed, calling him a whiner. Instead, she just bit her lip and managed to mutter out "You're not wrong."
Dib gaped, whipping his head in her direction. A guy doing vigilante justice on live TV was one thing. But GAZLENE MEMBRANE admitting her brother had a point? Now THAT was newsworthy!
"Well, if that's your defense...very well then. But I'm not the jury. I'm not even truly the judge. I am the prosecution. It is you, the people of Pittsburgh, who are the judge and the jury. And you shall decide if you are to be executioners as well." The Judgment announced as he walked in front of the camera and pointed at Alfred, his full appearance on display, teal eyes glittering. His body a faintly reddish-grey color, his head horned like a demon, his body wrapped in white robes as he stood upon a mechanical foot, one similarly mechanical hand resting on his hip as the other pointed firmly at the accused. "Is Alfred Nubile guilty of murder...or nothing more than trying to earn an honest buck? YOU make the call. If you think he's innocent, call this toll-free number I've set up by hacking your state's PHONE companies as well."
He toothily grinned. "All you need do is make just one...hundred calls...in his favor. Just one hundred calls in the next half an hour. Because if you don't, well...then Mr. Alfred Nubile here will have the opportunity himself to feel what it's like to be blown up." The Judgment commented wryly, Alfred letting out a squeak of fear.
"Of course he's innocent. What kind of show is this anyhow?" A man muttered, quickly dialing on his phone, his wife hurrying their children out of the room as their neighbor began dialing as well.
"Guy pays his taxes. Let him go."
"Personally, I hope it blows." A barkeep remarked to his patrons as they eagerly watched the television screen.
"Yeah, dude's guilty as sin!" One of his attenders laughed, holding up a mug.
"..." Dib hesitated at first, Gaz smirking a bit as she watched the scene playing out, then reached for the phone and began to dial the number displayed on the screen, seeing Alfred quickly proving that black did in fact crack, because he was bawling like a baby and sobbing uncontrollably, pissing his pants as...sure enough...
"This is gone far enough. Stop it. Let him go." Dib insisted as he heard the Judgment speak directly to him.
"Ahh, congratulations, Dibbun Membrane. I recognize your voice well. Tonight you're the cavalry!" The Judgment complimented. "I've taken another step on the path to the People's Revolution. And this is just a taste of what I'll do. Prime time's still to come."
With that, he cut the video feed. For a minute or two there was nothing but inky blackness as everyone waited with baited breath, and then...
When the video feed came back on, Alfred was lying there, on the floor, twitching and gasping, the bomb's fuse cut as a gigantic banner hung on the wall before them. A banner that read "WEAPONS KILL. WE WILL ALL FOR OUR CRIMES."
"You did well tonight."
He sat down in a chair across from the Judgment, who nervously bit his lip and rested his hands on his knees, head hung as he calmly flipped through the same issue that Dib Membrane had been reading. "Very well."
"...I suppose."
The spiky antannae of the green-skinned alien lifted up a bit along with its head, black eyes gazing out at aquamarine. "You sound...worried."
"I went very far tonight. Father than I've gone before."
"Now, now. You were also very fair. And you're doing well in deciding what you want to be. Will you follow in my footsteps after all?" The black-clothed Irken softly inquired, looking intrigued.
"Purgatory, I'm incredibly grateful for the power you've given me. Being able to craft constructs specifically related to judgment of others is IMMENSELY useful." The horned being said as he rose up and held up a hand, focusing intensely as he looked over at his benefactor, and sure enough, a mirror formed as he held it up before himself. "But I'm not sure if what I want to be..."
And then he turned it around, making it reflect the intrigued face of the Irken.
"Is you. Because I'm not sure if I only want to be about Punishment."
"Remember...you're not the Judge nor Jury." Purgatory insisted calmly, giving a firm nod. "And you'll have your chance to prove once and for all who you truly are soon. There's a special charity event next week."
Judgment raised an invisible eyebrow up. "What?"
"Do Vortians not have charity events?"
"We don't have much of ANYTHING since your species tried to carpet bomb us into the stone age to take our resources."
"Touche."
...
...
...
... "What do you guys think?"
Daniel peeked over the bus seats as he tilted his head to the side, dark red hair flopping over as the bright aquamarine-eyed child smiled down at Dib and Gaz, Dib looking up from the magazine he was reading. It was a new issue and, of course, it had the Judgment featured on the front with the words "The City's Hot New Vigilante: Emphasis on HOT" on the front as it showed a very well-taken picture of the Judgment currently wearing only pants, back turned as he evidently was taking off his robes, and showing off, despite a scarred body...that he was VERY well toned all the same.
"This guy's kinda scary." Dib admitted.
"But cool. He tries to blow people up for being assholes. I love it." Gaz said with a grin as she briefly glanced up from her video game, Daniel wisely choosing not to comment on the irony of such a statement.
"I don't know how to feel about him." Dib admitted. "I mean, I admit, I've had urges to whack people in the face a bunch of times. But I'd never wanted to take things that far."
"What about...well...your dad?" Daniel asked, the new transfer student looking confused as Dib cringed and Daniel saw the hurt on his face. "Sorry, I-I don't mean to sound so...mean-spirited. It's just that you seem kinda...angry about him lately. I've never seen him pick you up from school or personally go to a PTC or anything! And my parents are dead, so they can't go. What about your dad? Why does he never show up?"
"Cuz he's a deliriously delusional deadbeat who puts his stupid inventions before his children." Gaz grumbled as Dib sighed.
"When Mom died-"
The glower from Gaz shut him up. Her head practically snapped like a gator's jaws in his direction as he flinched before Daniel spoke up. "Wait, your mom's gone?"
Gaz now glowered at him, but since his own parents were dead too, she sighed a bit. "...yeah. She's not around."
"...oh." Daniel realized, getting an idea of what Dib was going to say. "How long?"
"5 years now." Dib sighed. "...and it shows no signs of getting better." He added, walking off the bus as it finally came to a stop, Daniel quietly watching Dib and Gaz shuffle off to their class as his aquamarine eyes coldly narrowed.
THAT NIGHT...
"What do you think?"
Professor Membrane headed towards the front door of the elaborate athaenium as floodlights swept back and forth through the night sky. Car after car was pulling up past huge fountains to enter the immense hall where a charity dinner was being held, the glass ceiling showing off the fine night sky above as ionic greek pillars lined the corners. Membrane turned to his colleague Chelsea Clinton as she looked him over, raising an eyebrow, long hair falling down the sides of her face.
"About what? I'm sorry, I was miles away." He remarked with a shrug as they sauntered into the main hall, past people in fine tuxedos and dresses, save for Membrane. Who always, ALWAYS wore his lab coat. Matthew Membrane never seemed to take it off.
"Thinking of your kids?" Chelsea asked. Membrane flinched a bit. "What is it, Matt?"
"...um, I..." He hesitated. "...what were you talking about-oh! Oh, wait. That new vigilante, correct?" Matthew Membrane wanted to know, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Yes, the one called "The Judgment"." Professor Membrane frowned. "It's a disturbing new approach. NOT how you do things." He remarked with a wave of his hand. "In my day if we wanted people to change how they did things, we wrote letters and emails and occasionally jumped down their chimney and screamed at them."
Chelsea blinked a bit as Membrane cringed. "Well...mostly that was my father when he got drunk and dressed up as Santa. One of many...MANY reasons I do not like Christmas." He grumbled as they made their way to their respective seats. Slowly but surely the entire hall filled in. And soon enough, Matthew Membrane was being called up to the front of the room, in front of the podium, and now shaking hands with the charity's head fundraiser.
"I just want to say how grateful I am for this 10 million dollar check. Getting this kind of money from Pittsburgh's business community will definitely ease the suffering of these tragic orphans." The head of New England's last remaining "traditional" orphanage remarked as he shook hands with Membrane. "I know I speak for every underprivileged child in our care when I say THANK you, Professor Membrane. From the bottom of my heart."
Membrane slightly blushed. "Well, it's the least I could do. Work like this is incredibly important." He remarked before noticing something had slid down, down at the back of the room, through a hole in the glass ceiling. With a KER-POOF and a burst of powerful green light, fumes of black gas filled the room and everyone coughed and spluttered, the gas forming into black tendrils that hardened and wrapped around them, freezing them in place as Membrane gasped, seeing the Judgment walking through the door...and placing an enormous black bomb in the center of the room which he laid upon, seeing up a camera before calmly looking over the room.
Dib, of course, had seen it all on the TV. And he'd immediately BOLTED out of the house, Gaz staring in shock as Dib made for the spaceship he kept hidden in his garage. It wasn't like Dad was ever gonna use it...he never came home!
"I've got quite the show planned." The Judgment remarked. "This is a mass trial for some of Gotham's WORST criminals." He proclaimed as he flicked open a lighter and calmly flicked it on and off, on and off, eyes calm and firm as the tendrils softened a bit and one by one, people were shuffled in front of the cameras.
"Chelsea Clinton. You're not just a senator. You used to be an investment banker, and you lent money to third world dictators. Elmer Koch, your chemical plants spew out a thousand tons of sulfur dioxide into the air every year!"
"WITHIN our legal limit, I will have you know!" The white-haired, annoyed-looking man snapped before Chelsea gave him a look.
"Don't antagonize the guy sitting on a GIANT BOMB!" She snapped fiercely, whilst Dib lifted the Irken "Spittle Runner" into the air and it soared towards the Pittsburg Athaenium, ripping clouds apart as he gripped the controls so hard, his knuckles began turning white as the people inside the hall.
"Andre Guano. You're a highly successful fruit magnate. But you made your millions off the backs of impoverished Mexican PEASANTS." Judgment said with a dark frown, the bearded Andre cringing a bit, shrugging as best he could.
"They needed the jobs, eh? What could I say!?"
"YOU'RE not going to say anything. You don't get to speak." Judgment snapped as he made his way over to Matthew Membrane and put the lighter away. "But now we come to Professor Matthew Membrane. And as far as I've read up on you...you are whiter than white. I've investigated all your companies. VERY ethical. Your workers aren't mistreated, you pay them higher than minimum wage, you have an excellent pension and healthcare plan, and your own head laboratory is extremely safe, without so much as one environmental regulation violation. Congratulations."
Membrane breathed a sigh of relief, but soon Judgment ripped his labcoat down and forced his chin up, frowning darkly at him. "But unfortunately for you, not only are you a terrible, miserable and pathetic excuse for a father...you will have to pay for the company you choose to keep." He added just as the ship touched down in the backyard of the athaenium, and Dib raced out, barreling for the window before leaping at it.
With a CRUNCHA-CRASH, he shot through, flopping onto the ground as Judgment calmly smiled and stepped over to the bomb, sitting on it as Dib sat up. "You didn't think this through, did you?" He inquired. "I had a feeling you would come, though. I know you very well, Dib. I've done so much research on your family."
"You're not even gonna let them defend themselves!?" Dib managed to gasp out as he rose up from the ground, panting and heaving, dusting himself off as Judgment shook his head.
"Now, now. I'm not judge, jury and executioner. The people of this state...indeed, humanity ITSELF claims that honorable distinction. And I'm always subservient to the will of the people...and harsh, but fair. Dib, I'm willing to be fair...and to let you be witness for the defense." The Judgment remarked as Dib made his way over to his father, who bit his lip a bit, shaking slightly as Dib nodded at him, then faced the Vortian.
"None of them are the MONSTERS you seem to think they are. I've fought monsters. They aren't even outta the nursery compared to a guy that tried to have all my organs be on the outside and tried to crush the Earth by using Mars itself as a giant wrecking ball."
"It's a good song." The Judgment remarked as he whistled the Miley Cyrus tune a bit before nodding. "But your argument of "X is worse than Y so X can't be that bad" isn't entirely a good thing. Being shot in the leg might be less painful than being shot in the face. But I'd still rather not be shot."
"It isn't just that. Look, they're people, not some...some ridiculous STRAWMAN that you're setting up. You're treating them like they're these cartoonish, outlandish moustache-twirling lunatics. People are more complicated than that. Ms. Clinton's son got paralyzed since birth so she, just like her mother before her, devotes almost all her spare time and huge chunks of her wealth to the charity set up in her son James's name." Dib protested, shaking his head back and forth. "I know because when I was in the hospital and being treated for some..." He bit his lip. "...burn wounds..."
The Judgment calmly looked into Dib's eyes. "Let me guess. A certain green-skinned neighbor who insists he's TOTALLY normal?"
Dib sighed and nodded. "Yeah. And I was right next door to Jimmy Clinton. Ms. Chelsea came in with my Dad to say hi and talk about her son."
"Nor is she the only one." Professor Membrane added. "All of us are trying to do a very demanding job the way we best see fit, and to try and help society how we can. Elmer here is a recovering alcoholic, and sings in the church choir. Andre Guano's family was killed in a car crash. So whilst he may employ illegal immigrants, he also has donated large sums of money to the car industry and personally funded huge safety and emissions tests for cars to the tune of millions every year."
"So they're not these ridiculous black helicopter type psychos sitting in a room somewhere plotting to maximize profits and schemingly rubbing their hands together as they cackle in dimly lit rooms." Dib finished. "They're not black-hat wearing cartoon villains so evil they should be singing "Where is the reeeent? I must have the reeeent"! They're just PEOPLE. People like you and me, struggling to do the best they can."
The Judgment was silent for what seemed to be a long...long time. People watching the feed waited on bated breath as Judgment calmly looked at Dib, then his father, then nodded softly.
"That was an eloquent, beautiful defense, Mr. Membrane. You should be proud of your son, Professor."
Membrane hung his head a little.
"However, I feel their charities, from the soup kitchens to the testing of cars to even children's funds...are merely face-saving gestures at worst, and band-aids on a fatal wound at best. Simply not enough. I'd wager you donate so much to children's funds yourself out of guilt, Professor Matthew Membrane. The guilt over knowing how terrible a father you are so you, in turn..." The Judgment swept his hands around. "Care for as many little ones as you can from afar because you feel you've failed with the little one under your own home."
Dib glared balefully at the Judgment. "You leave my dad alone."
"Your father's part of the problem, Dib. Society can only be made better when people see the greed, arrogance and brutality of those that rule them."
"Look, nobody ever said Democracy was perfect-" Chelsea interjected before Judgment gave her a look and a snort.
"PFFT. Your system is a sham. But I'm no killer, and I am a fair man. This bomb will mark you all for a long, long time to come...unless, of course, a thousand people call in the next thirty minutes to speak up for these souls." The Judgment intoned. "The stakes are much higher, Professor Membrane. I hope for your sake you get the calls you want."
Dib's hand rested on his dad's shoulder as Membrane looked into his son's eyes, the Judgment looking over at him. "You're an innocent, Dib. I'm willing to let you just walk right out of here." He offered. "We should be allies, we're actually a lot alike. We both want justice." He proclaimed, holding a fist up high. "We both want to defend the downtrodden masses!"
"I think you have a messed-up sense of "justice" considering you tied a bunch of people up and are threatening to blow them sky high." Dib commented. "It's called "writing to your Congressman"."
"That's funny." The Judgment said with a little snort. "But I've read up on your world's finest thinkers, like Plato. He convinced men that they were the playthings of cruel Gods. He helped laid the foundations for politicians and priests and property holders to lord over peasants. 'Do what you're told now, for the reward cometh later"."
"Overgeneralizing much?" Dib asked with a frown.
"I feel that people are noble. Warped by the brutal elites that seek to control them." The Judgment remarked. "Warped by people who think themselves SO much superior to others. I would know, after all. My own species was trod down upon by the same kind of folk. It was despicable." He growled, baring sharp fangs as he flicked the lighter on. "The Vortian race had a BOOT stomped into its face, made to do what it was told. There was no room for the will of the people. But though I'm not quite the fan of your kind's religions, I do have to give your Christianity credit for a few fine ideas. I believe it was Archbishop Reynolds who said "Vox Populi, Vox Dei? The Voice of the People is the Voice of God?"
"I know that quote." Dib said as his eyes glittered behind his glasses. "But you've forgotten the rest of it. "Nec audiendi qui solent dicere, Vox populi, vox Dei, quum tumultuositas vulgi semper insaniae proxima sit"." Dib said softly. "And those people should not be listened to who keep saying the voice of the people is the voice of God...since the riotousness of the crowd is always very close to madness." It was a warning to king Charlemagne that the people aren't always RIGHT. And that sometimes the right thing to do is to ignore the will of the people, because while a PERSON can be smart...people are often stupid."
"...what if the people are mad indeed." The Judgment said quietly...flicking the lighter closed as he clapped his hands, the black tendrils snaking around him and the bomb as he lifted himself up and floated towards the exit. "...I'll be watching you with great interest, Dib. Please don't disappoint me." He said, giving Dib a calm, knowing smile as he faded into the shadows, Dib wiping his brow as he helped his father up, Membrane embracing him tightly.
"Son?" Membrane asked.
"Yeah?"
"...why were you not utterly peeing your PANTS behold that...thing?!"
Dib quietly smiled. "Like I said...I'm used to fighting monsters." He remarked before looking in the direction the Judgment had gone.
Yet he couldn't help but think about what the Vortian had said. They SHOULD be allies. He'd been right about that. And perhaps right about a lot of things...
...
...
...
...Purgatory walked calmly over to the stargazing hill that Daan Yel sat on, head hung as the black-clothed Irken sat nearby, calmly looking the Vortian over. "I saw it all play out. Quite an interesting shift."
"Are you here for your powers back?" Daan inquired softly, voice muffled as he kept his head in his arms.
"Why?"
"I thought you'd...well..." Daan slowly raised his horned head, looking Purgatory over. "I mean...I know you were hoping I'd follow in your footsteps and punish them. That I'd use the gift you gave me to be-"
"Daan." Purgatory said, his almost inhuman voice becoming softer, gentle as he gently held the young Vortian's cheek. "Purgatory is not only punishment. It is redemption. A change to make right what went wrong. It is not inherently cruel. And need not always be harsh. Purgatory's judgment can be merciful if you prove you've earned a second chance."
The Judgment thought about this as the stars softly twinkled above, and a gentle wind blew, the Irken's spikey antannae fluttering around in the air. "I too wanted to hurt others. Make them pay for the awful, rotten things they did. But I've learned it isn't always about that." He admitted quietly. "Justice can call for mercy. And you've made the right choice."
"..." Daan bit his lip, quietly looking at the nearby tree to his right before Purgatory turned his head.
"What would the bombs ACTUALLY have done?" He asked, Daan sighing as he held up the very bomb he'd used...the fuse now almost all the way down.
THA-THWOOOOOSHA-SPLOOORCH! Ceramic paint splattered all over the two in a bloody red color as Purgatory slowly blinked, Daan giving him a wry smile.
"I imagine you're wishing you didn't dress in all white." Purgatory finally remarked.