Jason Luthor - Floor 21

Can I just talk about that real quick? Why do they make prisoners come to a dingy cell after walking through this hallway that looks like paradise? Are they purposely trying to depress you before they shoot you up full of Creep?

I dunno. It sucks, though. Sucks that the only time in your life that you get to see this place is right before they do… whatever it is that happens when you get Creep shot to the brain.

God. Of course, this would happen to me.

The worst part of it was being watched like I was an animal. There were people in the halls, and they just pointed and talked about me like this was just another day in paradise. I mean, come on, people! You’ve got a seventeen-year-old girl getting led to a brainwashing. Isn’t anyone going to help?

That’s rhetorical, by the way. The answer is no.

Whatever.

They let me keep my recorder, so, that’s something. Although I get the impression I’m not going to want to use it much once I get Reinforced.

If it sounds like I’m pretty relaxed about this whole situation, well, that’s because I’m desperately trying to keep myself from crying. Cavalier is my default under pressure, but this is a lot even for me.

This sucks.

The cell sucks, too. Once you get hauled through this gorgeous, white-painted hallway, they throw you into this small, cramped room. No windows, all gray walls. I’m persistently disagreeing with my surroundings as I look around. It’s like living in an apartment on Floor 15.

I kid. Not really.

One of the guys from Security mentioned that I’d get a trial before I was Reinforced. Uh, thanks, bud. What’s the point of a trial if everyone knows you’re going to be pronounced guilty anyway? Maybe it makes them feel better about what they do. I dunno.

All I know is that my hands are like slick oil spills, my voice feels like a dehydrated apple, and my eyes are burning as if someone jammed hot peppers in them. It’s been a long time since I just wanted to be at home with Mom and Dad.

The courtroom is surprisingly impressive. I watch as this guy takes a seat on an elevated chair in front of me. He looks kinda like a wizard, like, he’s got this white beard that drops down to his chest. I almost laugh at his squirrelish eyebrows—then I remember my life’s on the line. That’s enough to make anyone shut up.

So we don’t really do trials in the Tower. At least, not on any of the other floors. All crimes are handled by Security, and any serious violation gets a person taken to Reinforcement. You can probably imagine that most people try really, really hard not to do anything that’ll get them taken in. Well, most people try not. Apparently I actively do attempt to get into trouble.

This is the culmination of a life committed to being a misfit, though, I guess. What is it that people say? Curiosity kills the cat?

Yeah, well, my nine lives are up.

There’s a row of Security behind me, this wizard guy in a white suit in front of me, and a couple of older, white-clothed men and women on either side of me. The room’s big enough that I’m not claustrophobic, but small enough that I can make out the pores on their skin. It’s like they wanted to give you enough room to breathe but still make you feel intimidated.

It works.

They’re talking among themselves as Mr. Big Shot gets himself comfortable in his chair. For the first time, I notice the sign hanging behind him. It’s this big, brass plaque, lined around its edge with a ring of stars. Inside that ring is a series of towers, and written in a language I don’t understand are the words E Pluribus Unum. Well, that’s pretty mysterious.

One of the Security guys yanks me up out of the chair. He’s way too strong for me to resist, I mean, he practically lifts me up single-handedly. He looks around to everyone and almost shouts, “All rise for his highest honor, Judge Reaver.”

Everyone gets up to this, bowing their heads for a second as the old guy in the single chair stands up, bowing to both sides of the room. Then everyone sits down all at once. The Security guy holding me up practically throws me back into the chair. Jerk. I scowl at him as he walks away, but notice that the old guy… So, he’s the one I should call judge?… the judge looks at me, those wrinkled hands of his running through his beard as he talks.

“We begin this session on Tower Date 515.14.21. May the Builders smile upon us and this honorable court.”

“Here, here,” everyone else says in agreement. Not me, though. Obviously.

“Young woman, you stand before this court accused of some of the most egregious violations possible within the Tower. As of this date, you are charged with a Violation of Movement in the Highest Degree, a Violation of Speech in the Highest Degree, and a Violation of Thought in the Highest Degree. To all these charges listed, what say you?”

I look around, like… are you serious? For real? “Obviously, Your Honor, I plead, ‘I don’t know what the hell is going on.’ I don’t know what these charges mean, so don’t I get at least, like, an explanation?”

“ Ignorantia legis neminem excusat ,” the court says all at once, and I just look around, like, do these people rehearse this on their free time? I almost want to laugh. They’re actually serious. So what am I supposed to say?

I shrug. “Guys, give me at least one break. Something, please. I don’t even know what that means. I’ve lived in the Tower my whole life and never heard whatever that weirdo language is that you’re speaking.”

The judge stares at me and nods. “Your ignorance betrays your ignorance. To translate, those words mean that ‘ignorance of the law excuses no one.’ You know the essential rules of the Tower. Nobody speaks of Angels. Nobody comes to Floor 1 without invitation. Nobody is allowed to think of resisting the Authority in any concerted effort. Behaviors such as these threaten the stability of the Tower.”

“Yeah, I get that, but even if I haven’t ever been to a trial, I’ve at least seen some movies. Plus, if you’re not going to tell me the rules about how to do this trial thing, then you’re going to just have to put up with some of my ‘ignorance.’ I mean, is it ignorant to ask whether or not you can even prove I did anything?”

Reaver seems to be getting a real kick out of watching me squirm, and that jerkface smile of his really bothers me as he says, “That is why we first ask you to plea. Yea guilty, or nay not guilty. There can be no presentation of evidence if you have not yet put in your plea. As for being ignorant of the process of our trials, well, I will guide you.”

“Oh, well, that’s real comforting. So, I’m supposed to plead yea guilty or nay not guilty?” Duh. What else am I going to plea? “Nay not guilty, for reasons.”

“So be it. The plea has been entered into our records; may they stand until Tower’s end. Prosecutor Davis, if you please.”

Another man steps up from out of the seated group. He’s definitely younger, but, still, around his late forties. I notice for the first time something funny about these guys. The judge is the only person here wearing what you could call “normal” clothes. It’s a suit, like the kind that even we have on my floor. The material’s just a lot fancier. This guy, though, Prosecutor Davis, he’s wearing this, I dunno, bodysuit. It fits him really close to his skin. You’d be able to see every outline if not for the fact that he has a kinda jacket over his chest, but everything he’s wearing looks like it’s made out of plastic or something. At least the judge’s clothes look like, you know, they’re made out of cotton. So, for the first time since I came to Floor 1, I put something together in my head. I’ve seen something similar to these outfits before.