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See No Evil: The Whole Truth (ch. 81)
🕑 Added 2022-04-06 15:00:33 +0000 UTCDC Earth’s version of humanity had a pretty broken threat tolerance when it came to registering danger. It stemmed from the fact that they could wake up one day and find out that the world had nearly been destroyed by one super villain or another while they were asleep. At some point, you just had to get used to it. It also probably meant that every human on the planet was a little crazy from PTSD and anxiety, which would explain some things.
The fact that my case was on schedule proved as much.
"How do I look?" I asked, holding my hands out to let 2B inspect me. Her gaze darted over my form before lingering on my face for a moment.
Her lips thinned ever so slightly, "Your appearance is within typical parameters." She decided on her answer, and I guess that was her way of saying that I looked normal. The hospital gown was gone, replaced with my traditional black three piece suit with a wine red dress shirt. The only chance there was had been to my face, or, rather, the bandages that I still wore. The public found out about the attack on me, and my medical records were out in the wind.
People knew that I had just about been beaten to death inside a police station. James Gordon was having to answer some awkward questions, which was unfortunate. However, it worked to my benefit. When people saw the bandages, they would feel some pity for me -- something that always grated on me, but it was useful in this case. It was to sell a narrative that I had spent the last few days before my trial meditating.
"You appear ready to take on the world," Miranda followed the comment up, her gaze going to my equally unnecessary cast on my arm and the ones on my fingers. I imagine I looked like quite the sight. It's what I wanted. "Are you confident that you can win that fight?"
It was a good question, I could admit as I started to walk towards the door to leave my hospital room that the world thought I had been cooped up in for the past week. My position was shaky, balancing on a knife's edge. Everything came down to the reaction that people had. It would determine my reputation going forward. If I didn't get the reaction I wanted then my rep was done for. The kind of stain that would seep into it would never wash off, no matter how hard I scrubbed.
"I made sure that I have a good hand," I told Miranda as I opened the door. The floor my hospital room was in was pretty empty with all the entrances and exits locked down. Mostly to conceal the fact that I was coming and going as I pleased.
The Warworld was one hell of an ace up my sleeve. As far as the world knew, the heroes had disabled the Warworld by taking its power source. Mongul made his escape, leaving the automated defenses on, but for now, the system gained another planet. The power source itself was out of my hands, but I spent the past week developing alternatives. Not that I had made much progress matching the output of a crystal that contained enough energy that it was equal to the total amount of energy the universe. All the same, my replacements could make the Warworld function at a severely diminished capacity.
The heroes thought that Mongul was still on the Warworld given that I was leading them on a wild goose chase. Still, they had followed through on their end. As for my other dealings…
"It'll be enough," I decided, willing it to be so. We made our way down the hospital, a team of my bodyguards clearing the way for me. People watched us go by while whispering amongst themselves. Everything that they said wasn't anything new. Even with a planet-sized gun pointed at Earth, the only thing people talked about was my arrest and what it meant going forward. Upon reaching the front doors of the hospital, I saw the veritable wall of reporters that had been camping out the front door of the hospital for this exact moment.
Miranda had made arrangements for me to roll up in a wheelchair, or use crutches, or a cane. Something to sell the image that I was injured to earn more sympathy points with the public. I was against the idea completely. That would sell the image that I had been beaten and weakened. When people saw me, when they heard about the ass-kicking I got, I wanted them to see that I still had my chin held up high and I was walking on my own two feet.
Even when I was trying to weaponize pity, I still had to project strength. I had too many enemies to do anything else.
The doors opened and I was hit with a barrage of noise, hundreds of questions screamed out as one until they all became completely senseless. It was just noise and people screaming at the top of their lungs. My bodyguards pushed through the crowd, carving out a path that the security ropes were meant to do. They shoved the wall of people back as it surged forward. People were going to be crushed at this rate.
I held up a hand, stopping in my tracks. That made some reporters still, but it was a solid minute before everyone quoted down enough that I could be heard. "I want everyone to take a step back. Altogether," I said, speaking up. The reporters at the front of the line did so, meeting some resistance. I let the message spread a bit before counting, "On three -- one, two, three." It wasn't a seamless thing, but this time, the reporters were able to take a full step back.
"Good. Now, you are standing in front of a hospital. A place where sick and injured people need to get to survive. An entire entrance was completely blocked off for a week. The hospital has been forced to use side entrances because of you lot," I continued, continuing to stride forward towards my vehicle. "It's fucking despicable. If you aren't sick, if you aren't injured, then clear off so the hospital can help people that need it." There was a brief moment of stunned silence before the reporters dissolved into chaos -- plenty of them were pissed, some were trying to do as I said, and others just screamed questions and snapped pictures.
That was fine. That wasn't meant for them. That was meant for people that would watch the news or read the tabloids about that show.
Getting in my car, I settled in the seat while Miranda and 2B joined me. Miranda wore a faint smile on her face, pleased with the display of soft power. Even charged with every crime under the sun, I still had influence. 2B seemed more discontent than anything, watching the reporters try to stop the car as we made our way to the courthouse. I reached out and patted her hand as the car moved forward, and while the reporters wanted a story, they weren't willing to get run over for it.
2B looked vaguely reassured for a moment, giving me a thankful look, but she also understood that this was going to be the start of a very long day.
We arrived at the courthouse in Gotham City, a building that I had built from the ground up. That was some influence on my part as a consequence of how fast and sloppy this whole case was. The case should be going through the supreme court. It should be dragging out for years. However, it was a testament to my enemies that the law was being bent to the point of breaking just to fuck me over.
Getting out of the car, I was besieged by more reporters that had camped out at the courthouse. I did spot Louis Lane, but I ignored her this time as I started to make my way up the steps. The processes of the court had been blitzkrieged -- I entered a plea of not guilty a week ago. There should have been days or weeks of sorting through jury members for an impartial jury of my 'peers.'
The entire process had instead taken less than a handful of hours. It seems that despite my incredible influence, it was incredibly easy for the prosecution to find a jury that not only was unbiased, having no opinion on me, never used any of my products, but had also never even heard of me. It was pure bullshit and everyone knew it. Even then, the process should have taken like a month for both prosecution and defense to prepare their cases. Instead, there were three full days.
I came to a stop at the top step before turning around to gaze down at the sea of reporters that were just barely kept at bay by my bodyguards. "I don't have time for any questions, so instead, I'll give you all a statement," I spoke, my tone confident as the reporters shut up to listen to me. "This entire trial is a joke and a bad one at that. However, I promise you, not just to the American people but the world itself -- Justice will be served today." The prosecution was confident that this was an open and shut case, and it was what they were told to treat it as.
The case itself was only going to last for a few hours. Just enough time to call some witnesses to provide evidence on both sides, and the jury would be back in a handful of minutes with a verdict.
The reporters were in an uproar, but I was already moving on. I felt all eyes on me as I entered the courthouse, then the courtroom. It was a large area filled with benches, a small wood gate to separate those on trial. The judge and jury were already in place, as were the lawyers. The courtroom was packed to the absolute brim, with most of the room dedicated to news reporters that were given a VIP pass. Lois Lane was among them, but I ignored her as I took my seat.
I had to suppress a smile when the judge slammed his gavel down, "The court is now in session," he spoke as soon as my ass hit the seat. "All rise for the case of Vergil St. Jude vs the United States of America. To begin with," he tacked on. I don't think he was supposed to make snide remarks like that. I guess he saw this for what it was -- a clownshow. I knew for a fact that the guilty verdict was already signed. "Would the prosecution like to make an opening statement?"
"We would, your honor," Mercy Graves answered. Lex Luthor's right-hand woman. His secretary and bodyguard who also, apparently, had a law degree. One that she didn't use often. I'm guessing that it was a farce -- Lex was feeding her questions, statements, and so on to make and she was just acting them out.
The judge himself was Arthur McCoy. A longstanding judge with a reputation for being fair even in Gotham. He was actually a supporter of mine under the table, but not so much so that he was willing to set his own career on fire. Couldn't blame him there.
I also learned that the court had a lot of odd little permissions needed. Like the lawyers needing permission to approach the jury and so on. Mercy asked for permission to approach, it was given, and she made her statement.
"Betrayal is not a word that should be used lightly," she started, her tone grave and serious. "It's a word that implies more than a breach of trust. Betrayal is something that is malicious, deliberate, and self serving. What the defendant, Vergil St. Jude, has done is nothing less than a betrayal of not only America and our values, but the world itself. Millions are without jobs because he deliberately crashed the world economy for his own ends. He arranged for the deaths of thousands, and above all else, he had our president assassinated because it was convenient for him to do so."
She dramatically turned and gestured to me, "Since the beginning, St. Jude has preyed on people's desires for change, claiming that everything he has done was for the greater good. The prosecution will rip away the facade that he has been hiding behind to deceive the public -- we will show his true face, a narcissistic megalomaniac no different than any other villain that we put behind bars." She finished, and I saw the jury making a show of nodding. It was just a show. Every single one of them were brainwashed.
My lawyer leaned toward me, "What'd you do to piss her off?" He questioned, giving me a side-eye.
I had a team of three lawyers. Each picked out for a variety of reasons -- dramatic displays in court, underhanded tactics, and charisma beaming out of every pore. Saul Goodman, Jared Franklin, and Peter Bash. They weren't corporate lawyers. They were defense attorneys that excelled when they could make a show.
"Allegedly tried to assassinate her boss, Lex Luthor," I answered, making Saul Goodman nod slowly as he processed that, leaning away from me a little further away than he had prior.
Once Mercy was sitting down, the judge looked to us. "Would the defense like to make a statement?"
Saul Goodman stood with an easy smile on his face, "We would. Permission to approach the jury, your honor?"
"Granted."
Saul unbuttoned his colorful suit -- sea pea-green dress shirt and a sky blue suit. He painted quite the image when he strode up to the jury. He had his instructions, even if he didn't fully understand why. The jury was a lost cause. The show was meant for those watching on tv to witness my fall. Saul clapped his hands together and rubbed them, and very pointedly turned to face the cameras instead of the jury. "My client is a young man. Sixteen years old, though I have been instructed to clarify that he turns seventeen in a month." He said, making a face at me as if to say, 'see, I remembered.'
"He's had a rough go of it for most of his life. He was orphaned young -- his parents choosing a needle over their flesh and blood. The system that was meant to take care of him failed uncategorically in every way. A young- a younger, Vergil St. Jude just slipped through the cracks of the system and he grew up learning harsh lessons about the world. He didn't learn his ABC's or 123s -- my client not only didn't go to high school, but he didn't go to middle school or even preschool. Never even saw the inside of a daycare."
Saul pointed at the cameras, adopting a solemn expression, "but that's not to say he wasn't learning. He learned the lessons of the streets. A six-year-old kid could have told you which drug dealers were safe to rip off and which weren't -- the former only beating him and the latter trying to murder him. He knew which streets to avoid at night. He learned where it was safe to sleep. He learned who to trust and who he couldn't with painful lessons -- as the prosecution put it -- came from brutal betrayals." Then he shook his head, clasping his hands together.
"Above all else, my client learned how to hate. He learned to hate the system. He learned how to hate people. He learned how to hate the disparity of power… not because these things failed him. But because they failed so many like him. He hated the way things were because his story was so common on the streets, and Vergil St. Jude understood, even when he was on the streets wearing diapers, that there were many that had it worse than he did." Saul continued, and there was a stirring in those that weren't brainwashed. He knew how to tell a story, even if most of it was bullshit.
Not that he knew that. Or anyone in this world.
The idea that lies would remain lies was an outdated belief. Any lie could become the truth with enough evidence and belief.
"My client used that rage and hate to change the world. I'm getting on in years -- hell, I remember the days when a phone was a brick in your hand. And then, I thought that the world was changing fast but this past year… global hunger has an expiration date because of my client. Humanity is about to spread across the stars because of my client. Gotham city, which had failed so many people like my client, has been rebuilt better than ever before after the destruction that the Joker wrought, who my client personally dealt with." More shifting in the pews that housed all the witnesses to this historical case.
The jury wasn't moved. Even the judge was.
Mercy narrowed her eyes at the jury for a moment, but she was forced to avert her attention back to Saul Goodman when he made his final remark. "The prosecution is going to make my client out to be the devil and, as she so aptly put it, a narcissistic megalomaniac. I can't tell you what to believe, but I will ask you to keep an open mind. Vergil St. Jude isn't the devil. He's not a mustache-twirling villain either. He's a kid. He's a kid that should be buying a flashy car to impress a cute girl in high school and shit-talking on online games, but he's not. He's not because he made the decision that he would be the last person that the broken systems of the world would ever fail."
That was a hell of an opening start. Saul took a seat next to my other lawyers, Franklin offering a discrete fist bump under the table that Saul tapped lightly.
Judge Arthur spoke up, "With the opening statements concluded… If the prosecution would call its first witness?" I had to suppress a smile when he skipped the normal recess that happened after opening statements. My lawyers were caught a bit off guard by it. The people watching too. Only the prosecution seemed prepared for the decision.
Court was pretty different from what TV shows portrayed it as. There were no surprise witnesses or anything like that. All the evidence entered into the case had to be declared -- from smoking guns to witnesses. The battle between lawyers was to get certain pieces of evidence suppressed, either by not declaring it at all, which was illegal, or by questioning its validity. The point being, both sides had the other's playbook.
However, it was much easier to play defense than offense.
"I would like to call Vergil St. Jude to the stand," Mercy spoke, standing. With the little prep that I had, I had been prepared for this. My lawyers had expected it to be later, when the prosecution had a little more foundation to work off of. However, they didn't know that this was just a formality… and a battle of wits between me and Luthor.
I got up to take the witness stand, the cameras following me. There were some soft whispers about my appearance, something that discomforted people. With my injuries, I should be in a wheelchair at least, preferably a hospital bed. The fact that I wasn't was sending exactly the message that I wanted. People were feeling bad for me and feeling worse that I was trying to look tough.
"Raise your right hand," a portly man that acted as the ballif instructed, and I did so, revealing the bandages that were colored with just a hint of blood to the cameras. The bailiff shifted but he continued, "Under penalty of perjury, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you god?"
"I do," I answered, giving a lazy smile to the cameras. For the first time since I arrived in this world, I intended to do exactly that -- tell the truth and all of it.
"So help me god."
