Complete Autonomy
Words, Fiction
Denver, CO

The figure with the bucket spoke. "This, my good sir, is a trial."

"A trial? What in God's name are you on about, kid? This is no courtroom. This is... what is this place, a basement?"

Unpleased with being called a kid, the voice with the bucket deepened. "This is the people's courtroom", he said.

"Is this some kinda joke? One of those foolish prank shows? I say, you are all going to be in serious trouble when I get out of here! Do you have any idea who I am?"

"I assure you this is no joke, nor will you be getting out of here, and we all know exactly who you are, Dr. Fritjof Agama", the last two words spoken slowly, deliberately.

The gravity of the situation began to dawn on poor old Fritjof.

"Listen, I... I am just a humble man of books and science. I don't have a lot to offer you if it's money you're after."

The silhouetted trio laughed. It was the taunting laugh of youth, most uncomfortable when fallen on older ears.

"You've got it all wrong, old man" said the female voice behind the light.

"You're here on trial" said the Mohawk.

"For your crimes against humanity" continued the one holding the bucket.

Excerpt from Complete Autonomy, a Times New Human story.