And so the day dragged on. One witness after another was called up. Witnesses from the hospital, describing the wounds her boys suffered. Forensic scientists testifying about swords and ballistics. Newspaper editors. Cult experts. It seemed Miranda would never be called to the stand, but at last her turn came. What was her name? Miranda Eastman. From Napa, California. She answered flatly, like a woman who'd cried out all her tears and was utterly drained of any emotional vitality. Was she related to Justin and Jason Eastman, who had died at St. James Hospital in Butte, Montana? Yes. Yes, she is- was- their mother. As well as the aunt of Arnold Eastman.

What had become of her nephew? He'd left for Rome. The family then heard nothing from him until word got back that he was being questioned regarding his involvement in a supposed terrorist network. Then shortly after that, he went missing, and is now presumed dead.

And how about her sons? A similar story. They joined the Church of Humanity. Once she made it clear that, while she supported their decisions, no matter how religiously unorthodox, she would not follow the same path, she heard nothing more from them. Until she got a call from the hospital. At this point, an unexpected reserve of emotion started bubbling up to the surface.

"May I ask what they were being treated for?" said Fitzsimmons.

Miranda swallowed hard and tried to compose herself. "Justin lost both arms. Jason lost an arm and was shot through the leg and stomach. So I flew up to Butte as quickly as I could, and by the time I got there, they… were… gone."

A muffled sob came from the direction of the defendant's table. Miranda glanced over to see the defendant's family, evidently not mutants as they were allowed to sit in the courtroom, huddled behind the surprisingly diminutive form of the accused. All appeared just barely keeping it together as Miranda was asked to recount how she suffered losing her boys, and not even being allowed to bury them.

The defendant- well even a vicious dog could appear contrite when caught. In fact, Miranda wondered why they were even bothering with a trial. It wasn't like she was human. And she was only American on a technicality. Immigration never bothered to ask if she was a mutant. So it seemed human rights and the rights due a citizen didn't really apply. The creature needed to be put down.

That it would mean one more human mother left behind to grieve, well… suddenly Miranda wasn't so sure. Some people, even those who shared her anti-mutant sentiment, called her sons religious fanatics after they joined that cult and then stopped having anything to do with her. She was still their mother, and would mourn accordingly. So this other woman birthed and raised a mutant. She was certain to soon lose a daughter. They didn't seem all that different any more.

Fitzsimmons had asked her last question, leaving Miranda to brace herself for the cross-examination. The defense attorney paced before the witness stand before he spoke.

"Mrs. Eastman, I can only imagine the enormity of your grief. After all, you didn't lose your sons just once, but twice- the first time being when they joined the Church of Humanity. That must have been particularly painful, considering, and I'm assuming here, that you didn't raise them to hate mutants or Catholics… or did you?"

"I never raised my boys to hate anyone!" Miranda sobbed, suddenly infuriated. "I encouraged them to think for themselves, create their own path in life, and live by their own morals, but never to hate!"

"I understand. Sometimes the apple does indeed fall farther from the tree than we expect. But just so we're perfectly clear, you yourself don't harbor any prejudice against mutants or Catholics, do you?"

"No, no of course not."

"May I," said Jack, "remind you that you are under oath?"

"Well, okay. That scandal just shot what little credibility the Church ever had with me completely. And then they had the nerve to insist that human rights must apply to mutants, like to feti, the socially unfit, all that garbage while ignoring the plight of living, productive, human children, and completely disregarding the rights of majority who don't even think mutants are human. Yeah, I have a problem with that. And no, I don't think mutants are fully human like you or me. Or, actually," Miranda said, lowering her voice as she noticed the increasingly prickly demeanor of the defendant's mother, "come, to think of it, I'm not so sure. But at any rate, I'm not prejudiced."

"Thank you, Mrs. Eastman. No further questions." Jack returned to his seat, muttering under his breath, "that woman assumes far too much."

2