Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, for the past several weeks you all undertook a journey. A journey which has taken you through fact and observation, through reason and emotion, through fog and smoke, through the angels and devils. You all endured this journey, this journey for the truth, this journey for justice. Now, nearing the end of your travels, as you stand at this pivotal point of your quest, and as you carefully choose which path to take, do not let your trek go in vain. Do not waste this opportunity to do the right thing, what you have seen is the truth.
Isan Pallencia is guilty. Guilty of murder, of extortion, of smuggling. As one of the chief criminal masterminds behind the White Tiger Syndicate, the buck started and ended with him. He called the shots. He gave the orders. He pointed his finger.
And as a result? Innocents in Mars have suffered and fallen.
The defense's song and dance couldn't hide this. The defense couldn't hide the trail of massacre left behind by Mr. Pallencia, from the trail of Red-Eye labs ISSP discovered was under his name, to the bodies of inner-city citizens that fell because they wouldn't yield, to Mrs. Bates, the wife of the owner of Penguin Trading, whose violated and mutilated body solemnly brought Pallencia himself into custody.
The defense couldn't distort the words of the ISSP, the incriminating recordings of Pallencia's deeds. The defense couldn't hide the cries from the victims, the ones who were under Pallencia's territory, the ones who said themselves they feared his wrath if they failed to yield to his abominable street tax, calling it "protection." Protection, ha! Protection from others, or protection from him?
The defense couldn't even hide Pallencia from himself, as he viciously and cruelly testified his "displeasure" at Mr. Bates, and how he deserved to suffer through his loved ones.
You have seen the facts, heard the truth, seen the lies exposed and disposed. Ladies and gentlemen, your journey, though long, grotesque, and arduous, has been one of justice laid out for you. Do not let your journey end in vain. Do not put these past several weeks to waste.
Isan Pallencia is guilty. Give him the judgment he deserves.
Thank you.
The prosecutor found his way back to his seat, patiently clasping his hands together while the judge instructed the defense to proceed with his closing arguments.
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"Foreman, has the jury come to a decision?"
"Yes, your honor." A dark-haired woman stood up from the jury box, looking down at the holo-screen before her. "On the charge of smuggling on nine counts, we, the jury, find the defendant . . . .
". . . innocent. On the charge of extortion –"
Gasps of surprise filled the room, as the judge tried to call the courtroom back to silence, as the Foreman continued, "we find the defendant, innocent."
The courtroom's gasped protests began to fill the courtroom uncontrollably, the judge continuing to silence the room to increasingly no avail.
"On the charge of murder of five counts, including the murder of Mrs. Linda Bates, we find the defendant
The prosecutor suddenly piqued his head as he suddenly caught an indistinguishably subtle sound above the skylight above the courtroom. Something was –
". . . innocent on all counts –"
Kreesh.
The skylight window shattered open as a figure dropped into the courtroom, landing on his two feet into a low crouch. To all who could see, only the figure's nose and mouth were exposed – the rest of his body was covered in a dark-crimson body suit. And his eyes glowed eerily red.
Gasps of shock were replaced by shrieks of horror. Pallencia tried to sprint towards the court room exit.
"Guards, guards!" the judge cried out.
But it was too late. The crimson-clad figure pulled out a slender crimson night-stick and threw it directly at Isan Pallencia's back as he was running away, piercing through his back. And into his heart. Isan Pallencia abruptly planted his face on the floor lifelessly.
The crimson figure glared at the judge for a moment, the red letters "DD" pressed across the figure's chest. Grinning, the figure pulled out another red night club and pointed it up at the sky-light again, which launched a cable out and pulled taught. Before the guards could approach him, he pulled himself out of the courtroom, out through the sky-light, and out into the city.
The guards radioed for police pursuit. The jury had long-fled. The judge was barking orders at the idle guards. The spectators were gone from the court-room, or fast-leaving the scene if they weren't. Isan Pallencia's body bled profusely as some of the guards attempted to assess his condition.
The prosecutor, the blind prosecutor, remained standing, his blank eyes hiding behind red sunglasses, his right hand gripping his walking stick tightly in silent fury.
Time for him to go to work.