This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This work contains mature themes, including violence and sexually explicit content, and may not be suitable for all audiences. It is only intended for readers 18 years and older. Reader discretion advised. 

The individual at the top of Oclesa’s food chain was a man by the name of Hiram Martin. The youngest, and most ruthless of three sons, he had ascended to power in the wake of the first gate when fear and tension were at an all time high. The people called out for a leader to guide them fearlessly through the uncertainties that lay ahead, and just as he’d dispatched his siblings, each one dying rather mysteriously, Hiram Martin dispatched his competition, as well, to secure the position. The lucky ones were simply embarrassed publicly, debts and indiscretions brought to light to disparage them in the public eye, but there were others who met a more permanent fate. None of this kept the city’s citizens from celebrating his monumental rise. 

He was as close to an emperor as anyone had been in hundreds of years, and his ever-present gaze was felt, rather than seen, in every corner of Oclesa City. But if a citizen wanted to set their gaze on the man, they’d have to wait in line at one of his rallies, or settle for watching him on their television. An untouchable man in an unscalable tower– that was Chancellor Martin. From there, he mapped out their collective fate, and all eyes were fixed on the tower each time a new gate opened to see how destiny would manifest.

He was not the only chess piece on the board, however, and the one opponent he had not yet learned how to best was all too familiar to Alexei– the Church.  The two pillars of Oclesa were caught in an tense union, each distrustful of the other and yet entirely dependent on one another, as well. They did, however, present a united front when it came to the rule of law. "Everyone must do their part," was just as much a rallying cry for the government as it was for the Center. Chancellor Martin commanded the military, and the Church– or rather, the Lamb Center, had total control over the training and dispatching of awakened. It was their belief, along with many, that the awakened were a gift from God, and therefore they should remain under the care of the Church. Alexei remained unconvinced. 

From the little he’d seen on tv, the awakened were simply humans that had evolved rapidly to fit a necessary evolutionary need. Even at his most devout, he had never found science to be at odds with his religion, though now he felt with almost total certainty that if there had ever been a god, they were long dead. For the awakened, most were sent out to patrol lower level gates with the support of military troops after basic training, eliminating the beasts inside before overseeing rift closures and tending to any civilian casualties. It was still unknown where exactly in the cosmos these gates stemmed from, though the nature and similarity of the beasts suggested it was one world, rather than many. A small blessing if it could be counted as such. 

The more specialized awakened were restricted to high-level gates and public appearances, where the Lamb Center would parade them around like gilded relics. Among them was a team of espers known as The Merciful. There were seven of them, and they were lauded as a testament to God’s divine perfection, his chosen and most cherished servants. Alexei remembered seeing them on tv and laughing. They were dressed in white and gold suits, covered entirely except for their heads, and each had a hair color found in the spectrum of a rainbow. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, and pink. When they flew in unison over the square the people gawked up at the sky as if God himself had sent the symbol of peace to soothe their weary hearts. It was a crock of shit. Alexei knew a marketing ploy when he saw one. 

He was one of the few who found them silly though, and even he would have struggled to deny the Merciful's impressive ability to keep the city safe. Even in Masonville, where the city’s trends tended to hold little sway, it wasn’t uncommon to see people adopt a favorite from the team, carrying around illustrated cards or charms, praying to them in the same manner that one might call upon a saint. Alexei had never paid much attention to them, and aside from their hair color, he would struggle to tell them apart from any other stranger on the street if asked to do so. Very little was known about the personalities of The Merciful, so he assumed most people simply picked their favorite depending on which color they liked best. No matter how much he loved the color green, he wouldn’t be offering up any cries to a green-haired, flying woman in the foreseeable future. 

Alexei passed through a row of polished columns, stepping into the shade of a large plaza. On either side were narrow, battlement-like buildings used for holding citizens awaiting trial and the offices of judicial staff. All around him guards patrolled the manicured pathways, their stark white berets drawing his eye as the sun illuminated them like solar flares. From a distance, they looked quite like the small Dogwood petals he’d seen earlier– though these small white dots moved in an inorganic, practiced rhythm, rather than calmly on the breeze. He would be lying if he said it did not worry him, seeing so many of them here. The long reach of the Chancellor hovered over this place like a lingering storm cloud, and there wasn't a single banner or bulletin flapping against or plastered to the walls that would let one forget it. Still, he felt safer here than anywhere near the Lamb Center, which now operated in a large complex attached to the cathedral on the opposite side of Downtown. Alexei wasn’t exactly sure what the consequences were for abandoning one's post and vows as priest, but he was hoping that he wouldn’t have to find out. 

Inside the courthouse, Alexei was processed quickly and moved into what would be his booth for the remainder of the day. It was a wooden box, similar in size and shape to a telephone booth, though it boasted a one-way viewing window, a cushioned chair, and a small ledge that acted as a makeshift desk, as well. On the ledge sat a small device attached to the booth with a coated wire. His juror number blinked across the screen as he picked it up and roused it to life. 

WELCOME, JUROR #03270901 - - - THE TIME IS 10:15 AM - - - THE TRIAL OF ALBERT ROSEMONT WILL BEGIN MOMENTARILY. PLEASE FAMILIARIZE YOURSELF WITH THE PROVIDED DOCUMENTS - - - IN THE EVENT OF AN EMERGENCY, PLEASE DO NOT EXIT YOUR BOOTH. A STAFF MEMBER WILL BE DISPATCHED TO ASSIST YOU IN EVACUATING THE BUILDING - - - PLEASE REFRAIN FROM SMOKING INSIDE THE BOOTH - - - THANK YOU, JUROR #03270901 FOR DOING YOUR PART - - - PRESS 1 TO ACCESS THE BRIEF.