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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Father Everett was the pastor of a big church. It was such a big church, that one could probably get away with calling it a cathedral, and they wouldn't be exaggerating. But the Father was only one man, and there was a distinct lack of help around here sometimes. Laura had seen an alter boy, when Father held the Sunday Mass, but since then, she hadn't seen anyone else.

It meant that when it came to upkeep and maitanence of the church, the Father was alone in his duty. Despite Everett's insistance that Laura should not feel obligated, Laura couldn't help it. She began doing odd jobs around the place, just to help out a bit. Going outside was a bit of a gamble these days anyway. The sun was hot on her dead skin, and it was getting harder and harder to cover up the fact that she was dead. She'd coughed up some maggots the other day. She dreaded to think what else was feeding off her dead flesh.

She'd have to do something about that soon. Things were getting desperate.

But she wasn't going to do anything about that today. Instead, in her effort to give back to Father Everett and his generosity, she'd found a large broom, which she was using to sweep between the pews. It wouldn't do to have people kneeling in penance, only to have their pants soiled with grime and dirt.

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It had begun like any other trial. Smoothly. Calmly. The judge entered and the people silenced. The baliff called for everybody to stand, and they did so, respectably. They sat just as silently, just as calmly when the judge called for them to do so. Judge Scott McRiley presiding...

It was just as the judge was settling in that the first mishap occured.

Jack Napier stood up to introduce himself to the court. And to the audience of people attending. He did so with a flourish and a bout of laughter so nerve-wracking that it took Judge McRiley a good ten minutes to quiet everybody down again.

"That is the last we'll have of that, I hope." He stated, looking Jack directly in the eye as he spoke.

Little did the poor judge know that this was only a pre-cursor to the sorts of things that could go on in a trial like this. A trial against Jack Napier. Maybe the only truly insane genius The City had ever seen. The misguided fellow might actually mistake to think he'd be able to control The Joker.

Jack himself spent a good few moments blowing kisses at Harvey Dent while Judge McRiley tried to call for order and the beginning of the trial.

He looked out at the lawyers and nodded. "Prosecution? You may begin."

And then he sat back, ready to hear this fantastic case.

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The City, he'd found, was vast, yet limited. Finite. There was a definite end to it. In some places, buildings met the edge, in other places, water or nothing. Everywhere though was a wall. A fantastically crafted wall with no holes. No breaks. It flowed over everything as if it were a naturally occuring thing. Grown instead of built. Living and breathing.

He could fly high enough to see over it, but there was no way to get over it. Like a force kept them all inside somehow, though he could see nothing there to stop him. Beyond the wall was a forest. A grand thing with enormous trees that had been given the chance to grown untouched by the ravaging hand of humans. These were what trees were supposed to look like. Had likely been before. Full, tall and healthy.

Gabriel could see glints of water between them at certain points, and beyond them it seemed, but he couldn't be completely sure. And beyond that? His eyes weren't good enough to see that far. Only God could have. And even then it might not have been seeing so much as Knowing.

Not that he was really looking for a way out. He'd been sent here for a reason, and he was sure he deserved it. Gabriel was neverthe type to try to escape punishment. Responsibility for one's own actions and all that.

The only thing to be done now was to seek out the reason. The why. Perhaps there was multiple reasons, perhaps not. He felt that he would know when it presented itself to him.

And so, Gabriel resigned himself to roam the City and do what he had to do, find what he had to find and survive in the meantime.

He'd met Death and Laura, two very different females. He'd liked both of them though, to some extent. Actually, like was probably too strong a term. Both were the type of being that he was simply forced to tolerate.

Unlike the blonde with the slit throat in front of him, Bartleby could not kill Death. Nor could he kill Laura, who happened to already be dead. So he'd chosen to help the latter and just tolerate the first and only when he had to. Death made him feel overly guilty and remember too much the details and feelings he was working to forget. He didn't feel that what he was doing, and the methods in which he was doing it, were wrong.

As usual, he deigned it necessary neither to hide the body or his wings when he left the secluded area of the park he'd just committed murder in. This one had been relatively clean and there was no blood on his hands. He'd aimed most of it at the girl's boyfriend who he'd let run off. Maybe he'd learn something from the experience... such as to not have premarital sex ever again.

Bartleby wiped his knife on the grass before standing and placing it back into the sheath he'd fashioned for it around his waist. The part was still relatively empty, even when he walked back out to the path. The trees were thick here, enough so that he didn't want to fly straight through the thick cover of leaves and branches. Instead he began to walk down the paths for a clearer area.

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If only somebody had told him before now that the First had been killed, and that he wasn't so much consigned to Hell any longer. Can't be kept some place by somebody who wasn't there anymore, can you? He let the irritation slide off of his back. It didn't matter now anyway.

The only real problem was that the heart he had in him now wasn't whole. Wasn't even particularly even mildly put together. He'd found the bits that had been squished, and shoved them back together and put them back inside. It had all been rather morbid.

But he'd been so twisted up inside at the time that he hadn't cared at all.

Something in him had changed down there. There was a new sort of cynasism in him. Bitterness. His Doubt had only grown. He couldn't go back up. Not all the way, anyway. He didn't want to face any of Them. And especially not Him. How could He let his son go through everything that he'd gone through? How? How could He turn a blind eye and cast out His son because of what somebody else did.

Alright. So he'd been doing something that maybe he shouldn't have been doing. But why didn't he get free will like those stupid fucking humans did? Why didn't he get a choice?

Of course, now that he was back... he wasn't sure where he was. This wasn't the place where he'd dropped from. Not any place that he could recognize at all. There wasn't much he could think of right now other than finding a bar and getting a beer.

A sign blazened overhead and he looked up at it. LUX it screamed out at him. Well. This was as good a place as any. He ducked his head and pushed through the door.

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