Overdrive Chapter 8: Objection

"So…" Joseph said, trying to determine where he was in relation to the towering Archangel, almost impossible in this indeterminable white void. "Where are we?"

"We are in the interstitial space," he replied. "The realm of potential between every moment. This is the state of reality before it is shaped by perception, everything and nothing all at once. It is known as the Realm of Zero."

Joseph sighed; answers that raise more questions seemed to be a favorite mode of response for Angels. "I'd be correct in assuming that no one else is going to notice my absence, right? In fact, if I had to guess, I'm not even absent, am I? Once we conclude this little tet-a-tet I'll be right back in the courtroom in the same instant that I left."

"Correct."

"Alright…" Joseph said, imagining his fingers weaving together behind his back, imagining his arms locking straight as his shoulders rolled back. A string of pops and creaks sounded in the voice as his shoulders stretched backward. He could see them now, his arms, his shoulders, the cleft of his chest. "Ha! Knew it."

Michael shifted, Joseph could feel his gaze scrutinizing him, a curious sensation from a creature with no perceptible eyes. "How are you…?"

He imagined the pleasurable pressure of his abdomen scrunching, his fingers touching the inside of his feet as he stretched, more and more of him materializing from the Realm of Zero. He reared back up, fists pressing against the middle of his back as he curled his spine backwards, sighing as the past few hours of sitting crackled and popped out of his joints. With that, he shook out his hands and feet, rolling his neck side to side. Joseph reached up to nock his trim, sharp jawline into his knuckles and push, smirking as he felt flesh and bone manifest as he pushed on one side, and then the other, cracking his neck.

"Phew! There we go!" Joseph sighed. "Nothing like a stretch to remind you what's where! Sorry about that, Mikey, sitting for too long makes me tighten up like a beartrap."

"Impressive," rumbled the towering humanoid mountain of armor, wings, and flame. "You have manifested your form from nothing."

"Not nothing!" Joseph said, running his fingers through his long brown hair, feeling his pleasingly thick, luxurious mane forming and running between his fingers. "Zero! You said it yourself, this is the state of reality before being perceived. I perceive myself here, and it is so."

"Perhaps you are the right choice after all," said Michael, not sounding surprised or even particularly impressed, instead he gave the impression of self-chiding. "God wills it."

"Alright," said Joseph inhaling deeply, recalling the rich scent of fresh-brewed Americano and warm, buttery biscuits. "Let's chat, shall we? Over a coffee?"

"A cof–?" Michael began to say, only for Joseph to be sitting at a carved wooden table at his armor-plated boot, a mug of steaming joe in his hand, a newspaper in the other. The Archangel's armored boot dwarfing both the man and the table. They were in a café, one Joseph remembered well, and had enough sensory anchor points to manifest almost flawlessly. Joseph glanced up at the Archangel, pushing out a chair for him with his foot, arching an expectant eyebrow.

"Join me for a cup?" Joseph offered, gesturing with the mug. "Bonnie's brews the best aravaca in all of Manhattan. Though, I gotta say, you're a touch overdressed for the place."

A large, strong hand set down on the backrest of the chair as a tall, sharply dressed man took his seat. He was almost impossibly handsome, his tan skin smooth and taut over perfect bone structure, blemishless save for a single mole on his left cheek, an endlessly charming beauty mark. His eyebrows were the same leonine gold as atop his head, both cleanly cut and maintained as though sculpted by a master. Joseph could tell from the subtle setting of his mole and eyebrows that the Archangel was annoyed, which pleased him to no end.

"What do you wish to talk about, Joseph?" Michael said after a moment.

"Lots of things," he replied, sipping his coffee. "I have a few questions."

"I am not here to answer your questions." Michael's tone was somewhere between resignation and indignation, not quite arrogant outrage but it was clear to Joseph he had been anticipating a little more awe. "I am here to execute God's will."

"Oh, are you? That's good of you," Joseph said, pithily, reading the newspaper. "So, a group of demons stole the Saint's Corpse, right? Weirdest thing, I remember getting shanghaied into fighting those demons, but also I don't. Or, rather, I remember it one way, and then another. What's up with that?"

Michael paused. "The Vault was utilizing the Saint's Corpse to exploit alternate timelines and dimensions for personal gain. Your abduction was done utilizing its energies channeled into a powerful demon. The contrast of energies renders it a non sequitur, a glitch in the timeline."

"Is this glitch the reason you chose me for this ferreting operation? My 'experience' in fighting demons?" Joseph sipped his coffee, pointing. "Your joe is getting cold, by the way."

Michael looked down to see a mug of steaming black coffee before him. "I did not select you. Your experience fighting demons is inconsequential, there are Souls in Heaven more gifted and experienced than you in the field of combating demons, by a wide margin."

"Right, the Exterminations," Joseph muttered, reading the newspaper.

Michael froze, his blue eyes flashing for a moment. "You know."

"I do now," said Joseph, glancing up from the paper, smirking. "Boy oh boy, as if I didn't hate this place already."

"How?"

"Object association," Joseph said, setting down the newspaper, the splash-page a picture of an armored Exorcist with a spear, skewering a Sinner, the columns of text surrounding it detailing the nature and necessity of the culling. "Dangerous thing in the Realm of Zero. You saw a newspaper, associated it with information, and subconsciously filled in the text when I prompted. Great Grampa Adam and his girls sure have fun, but this whole thing has your fingerprints all over it, Mikey."

"Impudence." Michael's eyes glowed lightning blue. "You presume to cast judgment upon me, human?"

"Why is it kept from the Saved?" Joseph sneered, tapping the newspaper. "If it's God's will, part of the plan, why don't you want anyone knowing that the forces of Heaven are erasing Souls en masse?"

Michael said nothing.

"I'm just, you know, a little tetchy about this, since I'll be visiting soon." Joseph set the mug down with a 'clunk' that echoed in the empty café. "Could that be it? That why you don't tell the Saved? People up here have loved ones down there, loved ones who may or may not be purged already? People like my family and friends!"

Michael said nothing.

"Why should I put my neck on the line for a Heaven that does this?" He tapped the picture, the agonized face of the Sinner as their Soul was erased. "A Heaven that doesn't just not allow the 'unworthy' in, but hunts them down like rats?"

After a while, Michael spoke. "Because it is God's will."

"I get the feeling that's going to be the line of choice going forward…" Joseph scoffed in disgust, slumping against the backrest. "But really, why?"

"When Lucifer opened Hell to Souls rejected by Limbo, his intent was to extract some petulant form of satisfaction from their torment. However, he underestimated the raw potential of the Soul, and its capacity for change. One by one, Sinners adapted. Hell, as it was, became a crucible and the Souls became more powerful. These powerful Souls became numerous and riotous. Lucifer, understanding the uglier side of the Mortal mind, restructured Hell into the cutthroat, mercenary anarchy it is to this day, to slow the evolution of the Souls within and to prevent their unity against him. Regardless, the population expanded without check, and even with the lower intensity of torment, powerful Sinners continued to rise above the rest, and in ever greater numbers. So, at the behest of Lucifer, Heaven deploys the Exorcists once a year, every year, and so it has been. Hell must be stabilized." Michael pushed the paper back to Joseph. "I will answer three additional questions. Choose them wisely."

"Your magnanimity is breathtaking," said Joseph, sighing through gritted teeth, sounding more like a hiss. "Alright… why all this skulking about? You already send armies down there on the reg, so why all the cloak and dagger with this particular mission?"

"By now, the Exorcists are a known quantity, to assure the ruling body of Hell that the Sinner population will be kept in check and preserve their rule. They are thus observed closely, regulated, and composed of… unsublte elements. Any new agent sent with them would be noticed. We need people Down There who will not arouse suspicion. We need a Sinner to–"

"To get the Corpse, right." Joseph shrugged. "But why? Why not just send a task force? Why not go get it yourself? You're powerful, kicked Lucifer's ass before. Why not just root around in Hell and get the thing yourself?"

"Such action would ensure chaos. They barely tolerate the Exorcists, but concede their utility," said Michael, picking up his coffee, the liquid bubbling in an instant. "Should we send a raiding party, malcontents within the Inner Circle would no doubt attempt to curry favor with us to gain some sort of advantage. We would not indulge them, of course, but the threat alone would prompt Lucifer to act. He would punish any betrayal, real or imagined, with immense abhorrence. This would be disastrous. Hell is… delicate. A volatile den of desire and ambition kept in check by an unpredictable tyrant, the machinations of his power-hungry underlings, and the threat of a common uprising."

"A stirred pot doesn't boil, eh?" Joseph said, smirking.

"Hell is not a pot, Joseph," said Michael, gesticulating as he spoke. "It is a series of discs arranged in a sort of metaphysical stack connected via a central hub, not unlike a–"

"That was a metaphor, Mikey…" Joseph groaned, setting a hand to his face. "Christ, and you're the guy charged with Mortal affairs?"

Michael was miffed again. "D̶̝̺̔o̸͕̹̐̎ ̴̙̮̄̀n̵̼̹͋̓o̴̡̼̓ṭ̸̯̍ ̷͈̲͒ț̶̋ä̵̧͍́̎k̶̲̓͜͝ḙ̵̞͐͠ ̸̦̹͐̄t̴̰͐ĥ̶̭͔͌e̷̛̤̹͆ ̵̨͇͆̈L̴͈̅̒ŏ̷̻r̴̼͂͛ḍ̵̉̄'̶̜͖̐̓s̷̝͈͋ ̷̠̬̈́ǹ̸̝a̷̛͇ḿ̶̟ͅe̸̢͊͐ ̴̡̯̈́ỉ̸̩n̸̲̱͛ ̵̲͘v̷̺̮̀̅á̵͜͜i̶̻̰͗n̸̫̥͑,̷̖̈́͝ ̶̦̅̊J̵̯͝o̶̮͑ş̷̀̎e̵̘͑̄p̸̼͉͊͐h̷̤͓̃͛.̴̼͉̾"

Joseph gulped, feeling something warm dripping from his nose. He wiped it away, revealing a dark swathe of blood on his sleeve. "Sorry."

Michael continued: "These checks and balances prevent it from devolving into true chaos. Too many Sinners gain too much power, they could overthrow the Inner Circle. Too much conflict among the Inner Circle could start a civil war. Too much peace among the Inner Circle and they could unite and overthrow Lucifer. All with the same result: Lucifer, in his pride, will not allow control of Hell to be handed to another and, with the Archangel essence he somehow managed to maintain despite the Fall, destroy the realm and all within."

Joseph gawped at Michael, who sipped the boiling coffee in his mug without much relish or reaction. "…I see. And that would be bad."

"Very bad."

"How bad?"

"Hell would collapse and plummet into the Abyss, the primordial nothing from the age of Logos, before the Word was uttered and made manifest, and in doing so awaken… Him."

Joseph felt a chill race up his spine, remembering the mural of Charlie, the Blackness behind Lucifer, the entity within. "Who?"

"I've answered three questions." Michael said, raising his right hand, middle-finger curled down over his palm, thumb extended. "This exchange is over."

Joseph growled, grabbing a finger at the Angel. "Now, just you wait a–"

"–Minute!" Joseph glanced around, he was back in the courtroom. "Dammit!"

"JoJo?" Smokey said, confusion clear on his face. "What?"

"Huh?"

"You said 'Who minute'." Smokey noticed Joseph's flushed, agitated expression. "JoJo, are you okay?"

Joseph sat back in his hair, running a hand through his hair, his green eyes cold and set. "No. Not really. What were we talking about?"

Smokey paused a moment, seeing the cold, angry gleam in Joseph's eyes, a look of concern on his face. "JoJo… was it another one of your attacks?"

Joseph arched an eyebrow. "Attacks?"

"Suzie told me that since you got here, [Hermit Purple]'s been acting up," he said. "She says that sometimes you're saying one thing, then… something else comes out. She says that sometimes it looks like you've touched a live wire. Did that happen just now?"

"Sure," he said. "Let's go with that."

An embarrassed flush burned in Joseph's cheeks. It was true that [Hermit Purple] had been picking things up, weird things, thoughts and notions, the lives of other people, but he'd thought he'd been hiding it well. It brought back memories of his last decade of life, when his mind truly began to unravel, when he'd look over to whoever he'd been talking to, and they looked at him as though he'd grown another head, having apparently been jabbering nonsense like a loon. He hated that look. That Suzie, his angel, had so expertly kept it from her exquisite face, pretending like she hadn't noticed. She knew he'd gotten quite enough of that as a burnt out old husk of a man, thank you very much! Some paradise this place was…

He felt his pulse in his temples as an old familiar temper welled up within him.

Oh, they wanted him to throw this trial, did they?

Well, he'd do his best, and he'd do it his way. What was it that Smokey said? 'You know how you get'? He knew. These sanctimonious prigs had given him a stage and a spotlight, dressed him in a cute little vest and fez, and oh how this monkey would dance. The only question now was when would be the best time to cut a rug? Only time would tell.

The trial resumed after the brief recess. Joseph was teleported back into the hotseat and slumped in his chair, his shift in demeanor obvious to all watching. [Hermit Purple] jittered and sang with brief surges of information, chatter, assumptions. None of which helped Joseph's mood.

'Ah, but then that's the point, isn't it?' Joseph thought, sourly. 'This was never about justice or fairness, was it? This whole farce was a puppet-show to get me where a bunch of sanctimonious super-Feds needed me to be. But why make it public? Why create all this fuss? Why televise it?'

Joseph glanced over at the Judge, his Most Illustrious and Charbroiled Cardinal Virtue of Justice. He sat there in his throne, still as a statue, his gruesome wounds sizzling and smoldering. The pristine side of his face betrayed little, nothing in fact, but on the other side… that ghoulish exposed, flaming eye was looking – no – glaring at something in particular. Not staring into the middle distance as one might expect of an impartial, impossibly old and powerful manifestation of a Concept, but focused, set, and quietly furious. Joseph followed the gaze, finding two innocuous-looking Saved. One, a robustly built bearded man he didn't recognize. The other, however, was a very familiar blonde-haired, stoic gentleman: Mikey.

Had the Judge noticed that little jaunt into the space between seconds? He's an Angel, so probably.

Was he not in on this little piece of theater?

Again, the questions rose: why make this Machiavellian machination public? Why televise it?

'Ah,' thought Joseph, belatedly. 'But that's the point, isn't it?'

"The prosecution shall take point," declared the Bailiff.

"The prosecution rests," said Smokey, smirking as he straightened his tie. "I believe we've made our point."

"Understood." The grim Angel turned to the defense, to Lionheart. "Does the defense have anything to add?"

"One more character reference, Your Honor," Saul muttered, stacking his notes in a desultory fashion. "Ryohei Higashikata."

"Shit…" Joseph muttered, hand to his face. "Here we go."

The other podium flashed, a tall, robustly built young Japanese man appearing in the seat, dressed in his best police regalia. Ryohei Higashikata, Tomoko Higashikata's loving father, his son's doting grandfather, and almost certainly no fan of Joseph. He glanced over at Joseph, noticing his gaze, before turning back to the gallery, his cold Japanese stoicism as brisk a rebuke as any acid look.

"Sergeant Higashikata," Saul opened, his voice still strong despite the rather ragged edge his appearance had taken. "Pleased you could join us today."

"Thank you for inviting me," he replied, nodding. "As in life, I live to serve my community."

"And it thanks you for your dutiful service, Sergeant." Saul studied his notes for a moment. "Now, would you say that you're a good judge of character."

"I would. In fact, I take pride in my ability to assess a man at a glance," said Ryohei, looking about the room, a good-natured smile on his face. "Not too much pride, mind you. It is an earned skill, one honed over a long career dealing with immoral and dishonorable men and women. You can tell a lot about a person from their face, the way they examine their surroundings, how they speak. It is far from infallible, mind you, but I have found it helps me to spot certain personality traits from a distance, giving me an idea of how to proceed when getting to know a person."

Once again, blue.

"I take it you're not popular around the poker table," Saul said, wryly.

"Oh, I rarely play," Ryohei said, goodnaturedly. "No talent for it. I wear my heart on my sleeve!"

The Scale indicated the truth of his assertion.

"Given your life-long experience with scoundrels and the like, what would your honest assessment of Joseph Joestar be?"

Ryohei sighed and turned to Joseph, who, despite his discomfort, made no effort to shy away or avert his gaze. "I know bad men. I dealt with them all my life, and even up here I've happened upon the odd reprobate. Joseph Joestar… is not a bad man."

The Scale did its thing, and a murmur rose from the gallery.

Saul did not look at all put off. "Would you care to elaborate?"

"Before, while I was alive and helping my wonderful daughter raise my grandson, I imagined I could tell what manner of man he was, not from his face, but from his absence. I saw a cad, a slick-talking provocateur who could wrap an impressionable young woman around his finger and use her for a night's fun. I knew that type of man. Saw them every day on the beat, tracking down deadbeat dads and con men preying on the elderly. However, when I look at Joseph Joestar now, I still see the man who took advantage of my daughter, the man who sired my grandson, the man who abandoned them both to their fates. I see a man who prides himself on a great many things and who thinks nothing of cheating and deceiving others to get what he wants. But I still don't see a bad man. I see a weak man."

Joseph couldn't bear maintaining his gaze a second longer, his eyes dropping to his lap.

The Scale shone true.

Ryohei continued. "I looked into Mr. Joestar, you see. Saw his life and deeds and misdeeds. He has a good heart, and unlike many people I can name, he doesn't act out of malice. If I'm being given the opportunity to say important-sounding things, I'd venture that Mr. Joestar has the unenviable affliction of assuming his goals and needs coincide with the greater good, or at least some good. The information at hand tells me he never again cheated on his wife, and I believe it. Indeed, if you were to tell me he felt terrible guilt over his indiscretion, I would believe that, too. The fact he managed to seduce my Tomoko should have indicated as much, as even in her youth she was not one to suffer fools or scheisters. However, the fact remains that Joseph Joestar not only succumbed to his weakness of character, but indulged it for over a decade by keeping his distance, and in doing so a young woman was robbed of her youth and a boy grew up without a father."

The Scale glowed blue, again.

"This is not something I can forgive, for when things got hard, and they did, it was always Joseph I would resent. Every time Josuke would come home from school, bawling about the other kids teasing him, silently begging for a father. Every time I happened across Tomoko, sobbing over some bill or letter of rejection from universities, or passed out exhausted from a day's work, an absent husband a weight around her ankles as she tried to keep her head above water. Every dead pet and skinned knee and missed birthday. Every Christmas I had to leave them for police work, just the two of them. Every gift I couldn't buy my baby girl and lovely grandson because money was too tight. It was always Joseph I would blame. Perhaps it's a failing on my part, my inability to forgive, but it's one I will embrace. Is Joseph Joestar a bad man? No, I don't believe so. But a good man with weak morals is little better than a villain in my books." He leveled a glare at Joseph, pointing imperiously. "You may come out of this trial unscathed, Joseph Joestar, but you've a long way to go before you can consider yourself Saved. I don't make this judgment myself, that's not my jurisdiction, but I presume it of you. For what you've done, or rather, what you didn't do, can you ever forgive yourself!?"

Joseph forced himself to meet his eyes once more. His face felt numb, broken, he didn't know or particularly care what expression sat there. "No."

The scale, sure enough, glowed with the truth.

Ryohei blinked in surprise, his fury flickered for a moment before being replaced with that practiced Japanese stoicism. "Good. Keep that regret with you, then. Until you get the chance to make up for your weakness."

Joseph sat in silence, all the indignation and fury within him snuffed. Could he muster the gumption to throw the trial? Part of him wanted dearly to just sit back and let the momentum Smokey had generated carry him through. Lionheart would be disgraced, forced to apologize and he would walk out of here a free man, a safe man, a man who would then have to wait and let the Angels divine another way of sending him to Hell. Part of him, a large part, wanted to brush off this whole mission and wait. Wait until he saw his son again, wait until he could, finally, make amends, true amends, and be the man he should have been and truly make up for his shortcomings. But another part, small but tenacious, reminded him that Creation may well hang in the balance. The Angels and the Boss deemed him the only one capable of completing this absurd mission, and if they believed in him, perhaps he could. Besides, if all of reality unravels, that would probably put a wrench in his goals of reconnecting with Holy, Shizuka, and Josuke and making his family whole once and for all.

Still, he just didn't have the energy. Not right now. 'Sorry, Mikey. You're gonna have to get your hands dirty on this one.'

"Well said, Sergeant Higashikata," said Saul. "It can't have been easy, shouldering such a burden for so long."

Joseph's eyes snapped open, turning to the shitmouthed little baby-thing, whose expression communicated he was beginning to realize what he just said and to whom. 'You fucking what.'

Joseph prepared to shoot to his feet when a strong, stentorian voice cut through the air. "How dare you, sir!"

Joseph turned to see Ryohei Higashikata, standing out of his seat, his hands slammed on the podium; not a hint of that practiced stoicism or genteel affability on his face now, just naked outrage. "I agreed to go along with this unseemly trial for closure's sake, even if I knew you self-righteous muckrakers would use it to try and harm this man. For what he's done, he deserves it, but I will not stand here and allow you to call my boy a burden!"

"Sergeant, please," Saul replied, looking as though he'd just heard a twig snap in a dark forest. "I meant–"

"Oh, can it, will you!?" Ryohei snapped. "It's one thing to call a man out for his wrongdoings, healthy even! But to use the unfortunate circumstances of a child's birth and life as a club to beat a man down for your own gain?! Despicable. Utterly despicable. Joseph Joestar may have left my girl and grandson to fend for themselves, but that sin is utterly outweighed by the consequences of his actions, by my grandson! Josuke is an exemplary young man, one of the few pure souls I've ever encountered! If Joseph Joestar preserving the sanctity of his vows meant that wonderful young man never existed, then, Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen in the gallery and everyone else watching at home, I say to Hell with those vows!"

The scale shone blue as a sharp gasp rose from the audience.

Ryohei continued. "Agreeing to go along with this farce was selfish of me, I see that now. Had I been a braver man, I would have reached out and given Joseph a piece of my mind, face to face! Instead I allowed you serpents to convince me to speak against him, allowed you to weaponize an innocent boy and the trials of his youth to hurt his father's reputation. I am ashamed of myself for sinking this low. Joseph Joestar is a good man, but not a righteous one, this much is true. But he doesn't deserve this. No one deserves this. Let him walk among us and grow with us, let him become a righteous man, not publicly flog him! Your Honor, I retract my statements against Joseph Joestar and ask to be removed as a character reference."

Iustitia said nothing, did nothing, and it was done. Ryohei vanished an instant later.

Saul set his head down on his desk with a resounding 'thunk'.

"The character assessment is complete," announced the Bailiff. "The court will reconvene after a short recess and the prosecution and defense will present their closing statements. Dismissed."

With a bang of the pommel of his spear, the assembled parties touched bases. Joseph sat down next to Smokey, silent, his chiseled face set and focused.

"Phew!" Smokey exclaimed, shaking his head. "Well, that was a disaster… for them. I think it's safe to say we have this on lock. Good showing out there JoJo! …JoJo?"

Joseph looked down at his clenched fists, righteous fury swelling within him. When court reconvened, he was going to give it and all of Heaven a proper piece of his mind. After that display, how could he not?

'Smokey, Suzie, Uncle Speedwagon, Granny Erina…' He thought to himself, bitterly. 'You all did your best for me, but I'm gonna have to go this one alone. I'll do what I must and get back to you. I promise.'

Lionheart sat next to Saul in stunned silence. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. They walked into this knowing they'd lose, but this badly? This disastrously? How?

"Well," said Rachel, flatly. "That could have gone better."

"So much for getting under his skin," Beau grumbled. "Deerie! What gives? You were supposed to find witnesses that would get him to act up!"

"I did!" Deerie lamented, resting her forehead in her hooves. "But Smokey was ready for them! If only I could have gotten my trump card to the stand, that would have done it!"

"Our informant, you couldn't convince him to take the stand?" Bea asked. "What happened? Deerie, you didn't–"

"No!" Deerie snapped, quite fed up with her cohort's presuppositions. "I was all vinegar and no honey with that one! He had a change of heart, that's all!"

"Shame, too…" Beau grumbled. "A double-whammy between Ryohei Higashikata and him just might have been the push he needed to act out."

"Well, there's no helping it now," Honey said, grimly. "We're hooped."

"We knew the risks going in," said Beau. "Best we can do now is accept our fate with dignity and poise."

Bea slumped back in her chair. "I wanna die."

Deerie glowered at her despairing comrades for a moment. This can't be how it ends! Not after all she'd accomplished! Not when there was still so much to do! That smug, sneering reprobate couldn't just be allowed to walk free. No. This was just a minor setback. She would survive and make Heaven the paradise it was meant to be. She just had to… cover her bases. The others, they were too complacent. Too cautious. It would be a trifle for her to salvage her reputation, to make some lemonade out of this pile of lemon rinds and sewage. She just had to wait and see. An opportunity would present itself, and she would get back on top. She had a mission, and despite being saddled with Negative Nancies and Poo-Poo Peters, she would see it through! Lionheart as it was may not survive this, but the lion heart of its mission would survive on in her. She just had to shed a little dead weight, cast off her incompetent and convictionless compatriots and start anew!

Speaking of incompetence…

She turned to their attorney, the laudable Mr. Saul – who came recommended to her by Cherubs whose council now held very little weight with her – as he slumped face-down on the desk. "Well? Anything to add, Mr. 'Goodman'?"

"I hate that nickname…" He grumbled, his head not rising from the desk. "I haven't even watched the show."

"You said you had this on lock," she said, acidly.

"I did," he said, sitting up. "Nothing in Joseph's profile suggested that he could have withstood that kind of barrage. He should have acted out! Sounded up! The man is a fragile egotist with a deep-seated need for admiration, the profile said so! How could I have flubbed this… my fathers were right, I should have gone into botany…"

"Well, after this showing, I certainly think mishandling manure is your life's calling!" Deerie sneered.

"Saved are like that, though…" said Honey, contemplatively. "They don't always conform to their stats. The profiles are composed from their whole lives. Joseph lived pretty much unchanged between ages 20 and 70, but maybe that last stretch affected him in a way the profilers couldn't pick up?"

"Impossible," Deerie scoffed. "People don't change."

"Well, at least I went down swinging," murmured Saul. "I'd like to see anyone else do better against Smokey Brown…"

Deerie rolled her eyes. "Keep telling yourself that."

The Bailiff thudded his pommel against the floor. "All rise. The trial has thus concluded. The Court awaits the closing statements. The prosecution will take the stand."

Smokey Brown adjusted his suit and rose to his feet, taking a sip of water before speaking. "Addressing Your Honor, the assembled Saved, and all who may be watching. It is my firm belief that, in addition to their slander of my client – of which they have been found categorically guilty – Lionheart acted, and has acted in the past, with malicious intent regarding the presentation of the past sins of others. The character witnesses have shown, I hope, beyond a shadow of a doubt that my client, one Mr. Joseph Joestar, is no fiend. Humble? Certainly not. Virtuous? Far from it. But a Sinner? Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, with the exception of our Angelic hosts, there is not one among us who can claim perfection."

He turned to face the gallery, the assembled Saved and Heavenborn.

"Joseph Joestar stumbled from his path on multiple occasions, he lied and cheated, in more ways than one, for personal benefit. He was unfaithful to his wife and violated his vows to the Almighty, but felt supreme guilt for his actions. He was a truant father, but had reasons both circumstantial and personal to neglect his duties. He has today, before your very eyes and under the watchful scale of His most esteemed Honor, the Cardinal Virtue of Justice himself Iustitia, explained his reasons and motivations, and has shown himself truly repentant. Joseph Joestar is no paragon of virtue, true, but he is a good man, a caring man, a dedicated friend and a loving father who wishes to remain among us and make amends for his tresspasses. Can we, in good conscience, condemn him and deny him his chance to reconcile with his son? Deny him the chance to reunite with his family one day and forever after?"

He cast a repudiating finger at the defense, slamming his hand down on the parapet separating the gallery from the stage.

"Lionheart would certainly think so, but, as we've proven, their daily bread is slander. They stand atop the ruined reputations of others, screaming platitudes and piousness from the ashes of lives they set ablaze! In pursuit of their goals to 'stop sin at the source' they presume to cast judgment upon those permitted entry by St. Peter himself, and in doing so skirt questioning the edicts of the Almighty! I could say more, but beyond what we've all already seen from them would be pure speculation, and I am but a humble lawyer. Instead, I will simply state the facts as they have been assessed by this court: Lionheart is an unscrupulous, dishonest organization and their promoted narrative about my client is categorically slanderous. Joseph Joestar is no saint, but who among us are? Is it impossible for us, the Saved, who have ourselves been forgiven and accepted, to do the same for this man? Does his family not deserve the joy of his company? Do his children not deserve to see their father again one day? Does he not deserve our acceptance? I will leave that to you, and I thank you for your clemency. The prosecution rests."

Smokey sat back down, exhaling visibly, turning to Joseph and smiling. His client shot back with a wan grimace that might have been intended as a smile.

"The aggrieved party may now address the Court," the Bailiff announced. "Joseph Joestar, now is the time for you to repent your sins before the Court of the Saved."

"Repent?" Joseph said, sitting up straight, his voice singing with tension. "Did I hear that right?"

"That is correct," said the Bailiff. "You are hereby granted the opportunity to personally express your repentance for wrongdoing before the Court and all of Heaven. Do you understand?"

"Understand?" Joseph rose to his feet, his eyes shining. "Yes, I do."

"You may take the stand."

Smokey Brown caught something in Joseph's expression, looking as though someone had just dropped an ice cube down the crack of his ass. He whispered something to Joseph, who brushed him off before being transported to the podium. He set his hands upon the desk, angling the mic to his mouth. He cleared his throat a moment before taking a sip of water.

"Ahem! There. So, repentance, huh? Uh…" He looked about the room, his expression hard-set and determined, green eyes blazing. "I object."

A pause hung in the air.

It was the Bailiff who spoke next. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Joseph replied. "I object."

"To what do you object, Mr. Joestar?"

He smiled, shrugging apologetically to Smokey. "I object to… this. This whole thing. This Court. This trial. This whole afterlife. This farce. Whatever you want to call it, I can't stand it any longer."

"Mr. Joestar…" The Bailiff rumbled, forebodingly. "You understand that you are expressing contempt of Court."

"Oh, I understand," he replied, crossing his arms defiantly. "Because any court, any afterlife, that would allow this to happen is, quite frankly, worthy of contempt."

"Mr. Joestar–!"

"Hey, Two-Face!" Joseph said, pointing to Iustitia. "Dust off that fancy scale of yours, will you? I want people to see what I really feel."

The Bailiff, his normal angelic poise shattered, turned around to see the Judge raise the Scale once more.

"That's more like it." Joseph smirked, leaning toward the microphone. "I ask you, what is this? Where are we? Heaven? This is Heaven? Give me a break! We live our lives on Earth, or in the Mortal Realm, whatever you want to call it, and this is our reward for not turning out as shitty as that place? I can't be the only one Up Here who sees the seams, the faults! Heaven. Is. Broken!"

The Scale, its eyes darting around nervously, glowed blue.

"Ha! See!" Joseph pointed to the Scale and pumped his fist. "This place is broken! How else can the Saved arrive here and still be harangued by busybodies like our esteemed guests over there? Who, by the way, are just as corrupt and hypocritical as any persnickety moral guardians I ever met on Earth. And they were born here! Well, sour soil births weeds, and when I look out at this place, I don't see Elysium, I see a bunch of self-satisfied, self-righteous hypocrites!"

The Scale, reluctantly, shone blue once again.

"Can't any of you see it? Can't you feel it?" Joseph cried, hands clenched into fists. "This place… it's clean and plentiful – beautiful even – but it's wrong! It's unnatural! Maybe the framework, the blueprint, of paradise is here, but the building's not finished! The scaffolding's still on, the walls are plywood, the wiring's exposed! The foundation is solid but the building is rotten! My attorney won me this case, no doubt, and I could have just kept my head down and carried on. But do I even want to? Could I stomach an eternity up here, where grandstanding moralists can whip up witch-hunts for clout? Where people mill about, going about their lives, pretending the Other Place doesn't exist? What? Is 'fuck you, got mine' the unofficial ethos up here? Is it?!"

The Scale, quite distressed now, glowed blue with the truth.

"Enough!" The Bailiff bellowed. "Joseph Joestar, you are hereby found–"

"Stand down." The Bailiff, indeed the entire Court, turned to look at the source: Iusitita. "Mr. Joestar. Continue."

Joseph smiled at this, his eyes alight with passion and energy. "Much obliged, Your Honor. So, yes, I object. I object to being judged by this court. Frankly, I don't accept or acknowledge its authority. How can this place be Heaven when what's happened to me is possible to in the first place? How can we, forgiven by God, be persecuted at his sandaled feet by his creations and by our fellow Saved? I don't recognize this court's authority because I object to, no, I outright denythe supposed divinity it's predicated on! This isn't Heaven! This is a simulation! A farce! Some dollar-store brand knock-off of paradise! I'm speaking my honest truth here, and it is this: Granny Erina didn't raise no coward, and I'll happily be damned before I bow my head, fake a smile, and pretend that this is the way things ought to be! So, you all out there want repentance? Well, tough shit! That's between me and Skydaddy, so piss off! I did some things I regret, sure, but I'm not about to let this place make me grovel and beg for mercy in front of a bunch of moralizing hypocrites living in a perverted fantasy land! I object to this court and I object to this afterlife! Do you hear me?! I refuse to repent to this court! I refuse to repent to any of you! I! Object!"

Silence hung in the air like a crushing fog, the gallery deathly still, rows after rows of wide, dinnerplate eyes. Lionheart and Saul sat behind their table, eyes wide and mouths agape. Smokey Brown's face was impassive, flat and calm save for the mountainous vein throbbing in his temple. The Bailiff glanced uncertainly between Joseph and Iustitia, the hitherto unflappable angel completely shocked.

"This is your stance, Joseph?" Iustitia said after a moment's pause. "You refuse to repent and choose to blaspheme?"

"That is correct, yes," said Joseph, knitting his fingers together, smiling pleasantly and batting his big green eyes. "Am aw in twouble?"

Shockingly, impossibly, Iustitia smirked. "After a fashion, yes."

"Joseph…" Smokey growled, shooting to his feet. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?! RECANT! DAMN YOU, RECANT RIGHT NOW BEFORE COME OVER THERE AND KICK YOUR WHITE ASS!"

"Sorry, Smokey," said Joseph, shrugging, an impish smile on his face. "Guess I couldn't help myself! So, uh, what now, Two-Face? You gonna, uh, damn me or something?"

Iustitia shook his head. "That is not my jurisdiction. However, should you wish to recant, now would be the time. Netzah grows restless."

"Nah, I'm good," said Joseph, sitting back in the podium, twiddling his thumbs, a supremely satisfied look on his face.

Across the room, on the defense's side, Lionheart sat, open shock plastered on their faces. What the Hell just happened?

"Huh," grunted Saul. "Well, I guess that solves that."

"Why would he do that!? Throw the trial!?" Beau exclaimed, not even his cool, even head was screwed on right after that display.

"And, like, what was he even on about?" Rachel said, scratching her head. "What does he mean Heaven's 'wrong'?"

"Hrmph!" Deerie grunted triumphantly, crossing her arms. "He just couldn't hold in his pride any more. Like I said, people don't change."

A commotion sounded from the far end of the courtroom, causing all heads to turn.

Joseph sighed contentedly as he sat back in his chair. God, he needed to let that one off his chest. He felt like he'd just won a battle on the porcelain throne, basking in relief and victory. He glanced over at Smokey, who was looking to be torn between honest confusion, despair, and an overwhelming urge to rush over and slap some sense into him.

'Sorry pal,' Joseph thought to himself. 'You did your best, no one could deny that, but this was never your game to win. When I get back, well, maybe I'll let you kick my ass a bit. You deserve that much.'

Less enthusiastically, he looked over to his family in the gallery. Mum and Dad were shocked, dismayed even, but were being comforted by Grandma and Grandpa, both of whom wore expressions of grim understanding: they knew he was planning something, even if they didn't like it. Joseph couldn't help but be tickled by this, for who knew him better than Granny Erina, and St. Jonathan's knack for character assessment – with one glaring exception – was deservedly legendary. Next he looked to Uncle Speedwagon who looked… proud? Wait. There was something else there, too, in his eyes.

Guilt.

Did Uncle Speedwagon know about all this?

Jotaro reached up and set a hand on Speedwagon's shoulder, patting it.

Jotaro, too?!

'Oh, well, that figures," he mused. 'Uncle Speedwagon's more or less a Fed up here, a CIA type. And if Jotaro wasn't in on it, I'd bet dollars to donuts he figured it out over the course of this trial!'

Archangel or no, Joseph wouldn't want to be Mikey when the truth came out. Between Granny Erina, Grandpa Jonathan, and Jotaro, he'd know what it would mean to be on the receiving end of great vengeance and furious anger!

The thought was at least somewhat comforting.

He then cast his gaze over to Suzie. Lovely, beautiful Suzie. To his surprise, she didn't look scared, or shocked, or crestfallen. In his loving wife's eyes he saw only conviction, faith, and trust. His wonderful girl believed he was up to something, but knew in her heart of hearts, that he would spin this disastrous confession and come out on top. He felt his heart swell with pride for her, her devotion, only to have it crushed by a cold, hard boot of disgust and self-loathing. How could he have ever betrayed her? How could he have ever gone behind her back? In that moment he didn't feel a whit of the confidence and bravado he projected. How could a weak man like him keep a woman like her? How could he honestly look at himself in the mirror and say he deserved her?

As he felt his resolve begin to buckle, felt the irrational need to recant and beg for forgiveness, he cast his eyes away from her. He scanned the gallery, the crowd of baffled attendees, searching for the one person who might have buoyed his spirits. Someone who, even in his later years, was the golden standard of pig-headed, grandstanding bravado, of confidence born of competence and skill.

'He's…' Joseph thought, the revelation dawning. 'He's really not here. He didn't come to my trial. Caesar's not here.'

Anger and bitterness welled up within him, searing, acidic, pungent like bile. He turned to Lionheart. Those repulsive, self-righteous little Cherubs. The looks of shock on their faces was gratifying, allaying the hurt and replacing it with fury. He was beginning to understand why the Archangels arranged this little bit of theater and allowed it to be publicized, televised. All of Heaven was about to get an eyeful of just what happens when a Soul with one too many black tallies gets ousted from Heaven with nowhere to go. The mob was about to see the good works their wrathful judgment and uncharitable attitude wrought. Some, he knew, would feel it just, but most would be horrified, mortified, wracked with guilt. And in that moment, all their rancor and outrage would be focused on those five little shits. He allowed himself to fantasize the looks on their faces as a metaphorical funnel was shoved in their mouths and all of Heaven upended a barrel of their own medicine down their twee little gullets.

Sweet, sweet, sweet.

A commotion sounded at the far end of the courtroom, all heads turning.

"Unhand me!" A familiar voice, gilded with a charismatic Italian schwa, shouted. "Let me go, you pigs! I object! Do you hear me, I object!"

There, standing before the door to the courtroom, was Caesar Zeppeli, currently being accosted by a pair of court guards: Joseph's heart soared. "Caesar!?"

"JoJo!" Caesar called out, struggling in their grasp. "Stay right where you are! Sit tight! I'm coming!"

"Phrasing!" Joseph called out, chuckling.

Caesar growled and writhed in the guard's grasp. "Unhand me, you oafs! I have to–Ugh! Hamon!"

Caesar shimmered with the crackling golden glow of Hamon, his body glistening, becoming slick. He shot his arms out as an incandescent soap bubble ballooned from his entire form. It snapped out, the guards unable to break the Hamon-infused soap, their hands sliding off its surface. Caesar shoved them aside, legs extending in a zoom-jump as the bubble popped, the white lights of the courtroom shining through the haze in a rainbow prism. He soared through the air in a somersault, landing on the other side of the barrier before running for the stage, towards the podium.

"JoJo!" He cried. "I'm sorry! I should have been here the whole time!"

The Bailiff swept forward, spear in hand. "Heretic! You dare intrude on a court of God?!"

The Angel froze in mid-air just before he intercepted Caesar and was unceremoniously levitated to the far side of the courtroom, behind the barrier and in the gallery, and set down. Joseph spun around to see Iustitia set his hand back down on the armrest of his throne, silently beckoning Caesar to proceed.

Caesar rushed up to Joseph's podium, his blue eyes wide and filled with dismay. "Please forgive me, JoJo! I couldn't–I wasn't–"

Joseph grinned, his eyes sparkling as he extended his hand. "Hey, you're here now! But, uh, if you wanted to stop me from doing something stupid, that ship's sailed, Caesarino."

"No force in creation can keep your stupid mouth shut, Yankee," Caesar said, grabbing his hand with a clap, squeezing it. "I'll be by your side this time, my friend…"

"I object!" He turned to face the court, who gasped in affront. "You all heard me! He's right! You are, all of you, hypocrites and cowards! You do not see the truth in front of you because you're too scared to speak up! Joseph's no blasphemer, he's just saying what we're all thinking! And we are thinking it, all of us! This is no paradise! It's a lie! A gated community filled with a bunch of cowards and crusaders, content to live a happy life while others suffer! You think just because you made it here that you're safe?! You're not! Joseph made mistakes in his life, but he was always a good man, a just man! If he saw an injustice, he would fight to right it, even if it meant flaunting authority and offending polite society. How can a man such as I, who was a criminal for most of his life, stand by and see this man punished for his sins while I walk free? I committed every crime short of violation and murder! I stole, I lied, I beat and robbed and menaced the innocent! I did! It's all there for you to see! But because I died in a fight against a greater evil, I am somehow more pious than this man? What a joke!"

"Caesar…" Joseph muttered out the side of his mouth. "Really not the time or place to air dirty laundry…"

"Shut up, JoJo, the adults are talking!" Caesar sniped before turning his attention back to the gallery, indeed, to Heaven at large. "And even my 'heroic death', my 'redemption', is a lie! I didn't enter that battle for the human race, or to stop a great evil, I did it for me! For my own damned pride! I put the future of humanity at risk to satisfy my insulted family honor, for revenge! Retribution! I put my pride, my wrath, ahead of the greater good, and because of it my friends had to bear their burden alone! Had I been a truly righteous man, I would have stayed by Joseph and Lisa-Lisa's side, and helped them defeat the Pillarmen as a team! I'm no hero! I'm a fraud! And Joseph, the one who saved you all from Kars' madness, he's the one who gets pilloried? It's a sick joke and you're all part of it! If Joseph is a man you all deem worthy of castigation and forced repentance, then I'd happily renounce my own salvation before I spend another second with you craven swine! I'll do the only honorable thing I can and stand by my friend in his hour of need, as I should have done all those years ago! I! Object!"

The light dimmed, a low shuddering groan permeated the building. The sound became louder, shriller, as increasingly distinct voices moaned and babbled.

"Dear God!" cried one of the attendees. "What's happening!?"

"Netzah has assessed the disposition of his wards and has found you, Joseph Joestar and Caesar Antonio Zeppeli to be incompatible." Iustitia announced, his voice cutting above the rapidly approaching wailing. "As such, he has rescinded your access to his realm. May God have mercy on your Souls."

The wailing became a truly Hellish roar as the ground beneath the two men opened, their bodies suspended in the air as pillars of defiled red and black light shone up from below. The babbling, geckering roars of the damned echoed in the Souls of all who heard them, all across Heaven the less stout of the Saved clapped their hands over their ears and sobbed hysterically as the screeching roiled inside their heads. Vile, twisted hands on bony, multi-jointed limbs reached up, grasping and clamoring at the two, their flesh blackening and graying into ash wherever their touch defiled. Joseph and Caesar bit back screams of pain and horror, attempting to put on a stoic face as their bodies crumbled into dust and were sucked into the inferno.

"STOP!" Suzie-Q cried, tears of horror and anguish flowing down her cheeks. "Stop this! They don't deserve this! I forgave him! JoJo! I forgave you the second you told me!"

"I know, Suzie…" Joseph croaked, trying to smile through the pain. "Even w-when I didn't deserve it… S-Suzie, I'll be back. I'll earn your love and come back to you. Tell me you believe me!"

"I believe you!" She screamed over the Hellish din. "I believe you, JoJo!"

"Caesar!" Lisa-Lisa cried out, her authoritative bark cutting through the screams. "Look after him down there! Look after my son!"

"I will, master." Caesar said, smiling as the destroying hands tore him apart. "I'll keep him out of trouble!"

Caesar loosed a final scream before being dragged down into Hell.

"JOJO!" Suzie cried, leaping over the barrier and towards the Hellish display. "JOJO!"

Joseph reached out to her. "Suzie-Q! I lov–"

A gnarled, hideous hand reached up and clapped over his face, his final words becoming an agonized croak, before pulling what remained down into the cracked, fiery pit. Both portals instantly vanished in a flash. Suzie leapt to to the floor, scrabbling at the pristine marble, wailing. Jonathan and Erina were at her side in a moment, Erina throwing her arms over the distraught women and hugging her tightly, tears running down her cheeks.

"Look at it…" St. Jonathan growled, aura glowing white-blue like the corona of a righteous star. He spun around, jabbing a finger at the horrified Saved in the gallery, to all the mortified Saved watching across all of Heaven. "LOOK AT IT! Do you see?! Do you see what your wrath and intolerance has done!? Is this not justice!? Do you feel better now!? Do you feel safe?! My grandson and his friend had nowhere else to go, and for their sins they were damned to Hell! Remember what you've seen! Remember what you've heard! Remember this day the next time you think it justified to tear down one of your own! I hope you're proud of what you've done, all of you!"

In the gallery, indeed in all of Heaven, none could meet the saint's fiery gaze, a sickening pall falling over the realms of the Saved.

Iustitia rose from his throne and slammed the pommel of his fiery spear against the marble. "The judgment is passed. Court is adjourned."