What happened

Judge McRiley entered the court room and sat down. The room was eerily silent.

"Bailiff, enter the jury, please."

The group arrived in a single file line and filled in the seats. The judge remained quite for a good five minutes after everybody had settled in. He was gathering his strength for this. There was no telling which way the jury had voted. No way to know what they were thinking right now. And he wouldn't know until he called for his answer.

It had to be done. Putting it off would not make things better.

"Miss Forman, have you come to a decision?" He asked.

"We have, your honor." Said a slight blonde woman.

The judge motioned for the slip of paper. It was brought to him, and he read it. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not. He passed the paper back.

"Please read it for the court."

She nodded. "On the count of malicious harassment we find the defendant guilty." She paused and went on. "On the count of assult, we find the defendant guilty. On the multiple counts of murder, we find the defendant guilty."

"Thank you."

"Sir? We have a recommendation."

"Go ahead."

"Given the light of the situation surrounding these crimes, and what we've seen in this court, we have deemed Jack Napier unfit for the public. We see him as severely mentally ill, and would request the court take that in stride with the sentancing."

"Thank you, Miss Forman, you may sit."

The judge, frankly, felt the same way himself. Jack Napier should not, in any case, ever, be allowed to commune with the populus. It wasn't right. There was too much danger in it, and in him.

"I don't think I need any time to think this over. I am ready for ruling now. Please stand, Jack Napier, and hear your fate." He waited for Jack to stand, and was surprised that there wasn't anything wild or scary going on. "Given the decision of the jury, and their recommendation, and given the state of this entire trial, I have to agree with the idea that you are completely mentally unfit. For anything. I cannot in good conscience send you to prison and hope that you get the help that you need. And that society needs for you. So. My ruling is this: Life imprisonment in Arkham Asylum with a strick rehabilitation program. I have no faith that you'll ever actually get help, but, we can hope."

The gavel banged. It was over.

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There was something interesting happening. It wasn't so much the number of people involved, or that the activity was centered around a courthouse, that caught Nemesis's attention. The people themselves could be divided into categories, it seemed. One group was like Mapleleaf had been - exuding pure, unadulterated and nausea-inducing goodness - though she'd yet to find someone quite as decidedly Good as that boy. Others were on the other end of the spectrum, at least from a hero's point of a view. The rest were where she was - good on occassion. Oh, some were more good than bad, and others were more evil than innocent, but they all had their places.

None of them, really, were normal.

She perched on the roof of the building, sword hanging at her side, and watched. There wasn't much to see out here, right now, but it was interesting nonetheless. The scales were being tipped now, one way or another, and she wouldn't find out until someone actually exited the building.

Now was the time for placing bets on the outcome, if only she were a betting woman.

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