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Take Responsibility.
| After a while, the door at the bottom of those stairs unlocks and it swings open gently of its own accord, allowing everyone back down into the courtroom; it's not as bad as it was last week, but again, there are decidedly fewer of them than there were last time. The podium circle has changed once again, with Rick, Tabby and Sukuyo joining the ranks of the deceased, their podiums draped with black cloth and adorned with greyscale photographs. The shadows are quiet down in the darkness of the pit; for the time being, it's hard to say what the pit itself looks like after the explosion last week. One way or another, we'll find out by the end of the day. As usual, the proceedings are being watched from behind that panel of glass behind podium 30; he'll speak as soon as everyone has found their place in the circle. "Familial has been taken from you. Regardless of what her affiliation was – whether she was with me or the lot of you – you know what you have to do by now. There can be no hesitation; you should offer no mercy. It's you against the guilty. Take control of your fate, and hold them responsible." Ten Participants remain. However many more we lose today is up to you. |
ACCOUNTABILITY.
He's cautious when he enters the pit, the sort of wariness in his eyes that comes with the knowledge that something is both inevitable and about to be highly unpleasant, to put it gently. All his time on the force hasn't made him a hard man; it's made him a strong one, but not a jaded one.
He doesn't seem sure of what to expect; whatever it is, it isn't what's been done to the wall encircling the pit. It's lined with grooves and notches, small obstacles to be knocked over and switches to be manipulated – like a game, almost.
No, not a game.
It's a path. A track. A machine.
There's a small, light sound of a good-sized steel ball dropping onto the track, high up above podium thirty; it rolls around the edge of the circle heavily, knocking those small obstacles onto lower portions of the track along the walls, and as the switches are hit a thought seems to spring into Cabanela's mind, and he lunges forward to try to stop whatever progress is being made. The ball itself is still too high to reach, but disrupting anything else –
...Well, disrupting anything else isn't going to happen.
One of the shadows from low on the wall is quick to lash out, to wrap itself around his injured arm; it isn't long before another tendril reaches out, taking the other as soon as he's flinched from the pain of the first one grabbing onto him. He struggles a bit as they hold him in place, his expression shifting not into fear, but anger; meanwhile, more of those switches continue being pressed.
One of those doors in the wall is sliding open as they do so – the one beneath podium thirty. It seems the Conductor still has one of those massive spears from Undyne's execution in reserve.
Cabanela stares it down for a moment before he closes his eyes. Breathes in deep, despite the injuries to his ribs. Lets it out. When he opens his eyes again, he's calm in both countenance and expression.
Strong.
Justice, isn't it?
But not jaded.
Believe in them.
There's a sudden, loud click - ]
Good night, Ardent.
[...And the spear fires, catching him solidly through the chest.
For what it's worth, he seems to die instantly; there's no further struggling, no screaming. Just the body jerking back with the force of the hit, pulling against the shadows holding him still, perhaps unnecessarily toward the end; he's dropped a bit unceremoniously, blood pooling thick beneath the body.
After a long moment, the lights in the courtroom come back on, the pit fading back into darkness, and the Conductor will address all of you again.]
You've all done well today.
Return upstairs for now; there's nothing more for you to do here today.
no subject
There's a lot to do now.]