Harker frowned at the remark, but Chief Justice Kline cut it off there. "Regardless of what he is, Colonel Lockhart, answer Mr. Harker's question."
"Yes, they were."
"And you would have us believe that these enemies of yours; faceless, nameless; were able to break through military-grade encryption, replicate your signature, and funnel millions into your accounts, all without your knowledge. Do you expect this Court to accept such a fairytale?"
Alexander's jaw clenched, but his voice was steady. "I expect this Court to recognize that deception is the oldest weapon of war. That the very systems we use to guard secrets can be twisted against us. Yes, I believe it happened to me. Because the alternative is that I, after twenty years of service, woke up one day and decided to betray everything I've ever stood for. That, is the real fairytale."
Harker's eyes narrowed. "And yet, the money was there. Offshore accounts. Transfers. Payments. You claim you never saw it?"
"Never."
"So where is your proof? Where are your bank statements, your counter-evidence? You ask us to believe you, but all we have are your words. No documents. No digital trail. Just your voice."
Alexander leaned forward, his eyes hard as steel, and yet he laughed heartily.
"I'm sorry—" he chuckled. "What else do you expect me to have, when the very people framing me control the evidence? They planted it. They built it. And now you demand I show you what they erased?"
The room stirred again, the tension palpable. The Chief Justice rapped the gavel lightly for order.
Harker pressed one last time, his tone cutting. "Colonel Lockhart, answer plainly: if you are innocent, why does every piece of evidence point to you?"
"Because that was the plan!" Alexander's voice thundered in reply. "If a compass points north no matter how you turn it, then you can only look north, since that's all there is to look at!"
The words cracked through the chamber like gunfire. Even Harker flinched, momentarily thrown off his rhythm. The silence afterward was absolute, the air charged like a battlefield after the first volley.
Keiko's stared at the prosecution with a look so devoid of emotion, that it would make ones core freeze over were they to come into contact with her eyes. A tear slipped, but she steadied herself again, her shoulders square, her head held high.
Harker stepped back slowly, adjusting his tie. "No further questions," he said coolly, though his eyes betrayed irritation.
Alexander sank back into his seat, chains clinking, his chest rising and falling like a man who had just run through fire.
The Court recessed briefly, but no one truly relaxed. Reporters whispered furiously, pens scratching. Soldiers in uniform exchanged glances heavy with doubt. And Keiko sat alone, staring at her brother, willing her silent strength into him across the gulf of marble and law.
The trial was far from over as the gavel struck twice, calling the Court back into session. The break had done little to ease the tension. The air remained heavy, thick with the weight of what had been said and what was still to come.
Martin Hale stood, his notes clasped lightly in one hand. His eyes flicked toward Alexander; calm, reassuring; before addressing the bench.
"Honorable Court, the defense would like to call its first witness."
A soldier walked forward, boots striking the marble floor with a steadiness that betrayed nerves beneath the surface. He was in his early thirties, broad-shouldered, a scar trailing across his jaw. He took the oath and sat.
"Please state your name and service history for the record," Hale said.
"Captain James Rowe. United States Army. I served under Colonel Lockhart in Iraq and later in Syria."
Hale nodded. "Captain Rowe, can you tell the Court about your time serving under Colonel Lockhart?"
Rowe cleared his throat. "He was the kind of commander soldiers hope to get. He didn't sit back and issue orders from a safe distance. He was out there with us, in the dirt, in the fire. He… cared. More than most. I'd trust him with my life. I did, many times."
"Did you ever, in your years under his command, have reason to doubt his loyalty to this country?"
"Never." Rowe's voice grew firmer. "The Colonel was as straight as they come. He wouldn't bend rules even when it made him unpopular. If something didn't sit right, he said so. And he always, always put his men first."
Hale took a step closer. "Captain, the prosecution has painted Colonel Lockhart as a man who betrayed his own brothers in arms. You were one of those brothers. Do you believe that?"
Rowe's jaw tightened. His voice cracked, just slightly. "No. Not for a second. If you tell me there's evidence, then I'll tell you that evidence is wrong. Someone wants him gone, and they built a case to make it happen."
Whispers rippled through the gallery. Even some reporters lifted their heads, pens pausing. Hale gave a faint nod.
"No further questions."
Harker rose smoothly, his expression neutral. "Captain Rowe, thank you for your service. You said Colonel Lockhart always put his men first. But isn't it possible that what you saw in the field was a mask? That while he projected loyalty to his unit, he was selling information behind your backs?"
Rowe's eyes flashed. "With respect, no. Not him."
Harker arched a brow. "Your loyalty to your commander is admirable, Captain. But loyalty can blind. Would you agree?"
"'Your' loyalty may be blind, but not his," Rowe shot back. "Not when it's earned by actions. You don't forget who pulled you out of a burning vehicle, who shielded you when the fire came in, or took a literal bullet for you. That's not a mask. That's who he is."
Harker hesitated for half a beat, then gave a thin smile.
"No further questions."
Rowe stepped down, his spine straight, his testimony lingering in the air.
The defense called another witness. A medic, Sergeant Elena Ruiz, who had served alongside Lockhart during a brutal mission in Syria. She described a night when a convoy had been ambushed, bullets tearing through the dark, and Lockhart had carried two wounded men half a mile under fire.
"Colonel Lockhart doesn't abandon anyone," she said firmly. "He doesn't leave men behind, and he doesn't sell them out. He's the reason I'm standing here today."
The prosecution pressed her too, but her words rang with conviction that no cross-examination could shake.
Witness after witness spoke. Soldiers, officers, even a chaplain who had counseled Lockhart's unit after losses. Each one painted a picture of a man who embodied loyalty, who lived and breathed service.
And yet, with every testimony, Harker reminded the Court: loyalty did not erase evidence. Good men had fallen before. Good men had been corrupted.
When the defense rested its case, the chamber was thick with unease. Two truths clashed like swords.
On one side, the cold, calculated evidence of codes and accounts; on the other, the flesh-and-blood testimonies of men and women who swore Lockhart was incapable of betrayal.
Chief Justice Kline leaned forward, her eyes grave. "This Court will now hear closing arguments."
Harker rose first, buttoning his jacket, his every motion deliberate.
"Honorable Court, we have heard stirring words. We have heard stories of loyalty, of bravery, of sacrifice. But stories are not evidence. The facts remain unchanged: Colonel Lockhart's credentials were used. His accounts were filled. His codes unlocked our nation's secrets. No amount of testimony can wash away what the evidence proves. We do not convict on sentiment, but on truth. And the truth is clear: the defendant is guilty of treason."
His voice cut like steel, his eyes cold as he sat.
Hale stood, his face calm but his words carrying weight.
"This case is not about facts. It is about shadows dressed up as facts. The prosecution would have you believe that because Colonel Lockhart's name appears on a file, he must have been the one. That because money appears in an account, he must have taken it. But shadows can be cast. Evidence can be forged. And when you peel away the surface, you find a man who has spent his life proving his loyalty—not in words, but in blood."
He turned, gesturing toward Alexander.
"This is a man who has stood in front of bullets, who has buried comrades, who has carried this nation's weight on his shoulders. And now, with no proof beyond circumstantial chains, you would brand him traitor and condemn him to die? History will not forgive that. Truth will not forgive that. This man is innocent."
His voice broke slightly on the last word, but he did not falter. He returned to his seat.
The justices withdrew to deliberate. The gallery buzzed in whispers, reporters scribbling furiously. Keiko sat motionless, her hands gripping the edge of the bench, her face pale but unbowed. Tears slid silently down her cheeks, one by one, each a blade to her heart.
Alexander sat shackled, eyes fixed on the bench, his chest tight. He could feel the inevitability pressing down, but he clung to the thought of Keiko, of their children. If he fell, let it be with his truth intact.
Minutes dragged like hours before the justices returned. The chamber stilled, a silence so deep it swallowed even breath.
Chief Justice Kline's voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed the heaviness of what she was about to say. "Before I announce our decision, would you like to say anything Mr. Lockhart?"
Alexander took a deep breath, letting out a sigh. "Between you and me, your honor, this is a formality... at best. A decision was made on this from the very start."
He paused. "This trial is just for appearances, and this parading fool," he gestured towards Harker, "Is selling his act a bit too hard, for the decision on a case that has already been decided from the moment it was brought up."
He took a breath. "You will sentence me, your honor, and the sentence will be death. Not because it is the truth. Nor because it is right." He smiled, sending shivers down the faces of anyone that could see him.
"You will sentence me to death, because you've been told to by someone so far above your head, that frankly," He chuckled. "you'd snap your neck trying to look up at them." He paused. "And you will do so without flinching. So here is my gift to you, and the lot of you orchestrating this; an everlasting nightmare, for this injustice that has been carried out upon me.
You will hear my voice whenever in the silence, you will see my face whenever you close your eyes, this punishment is your penance. Until, one day, you will hear my voice, turn, and see me... not in the flesh, but a copy of me."
He turned to face the Justices.
"There was a look on your face, when you noticed I wasn't using 'my country', but rather 'this country' or 'the United States'. That is because 'I' have denounced this country for this betrayal against me."
He turned facing his wife, Keiko, seated amongst the masses.
"I stand here accused of betraying the country I swore to defend. I have given two decades of my life to its service. I have bled in deserts and jungles, watched brothers die in the mud beside me, buried men whose names history will never remember.
I have carried out several orders without hesitation, not because I was blind, but because I believed that loyalty mattered, that my oath mattered. And now, I am told that I have broken it... that I have sold out this country for enemies I have never spoken to, causes I have never shared. It is a lie. A manufactured lie."
His voice strained, but he pressed on, his eyes never leaving Keiko's.
"I am not a perfect man. I have made mistakes in battle, in life, as a son, even as a husband. But betrayal? No. I am guilty of one thing only: trusting the wrong men, and ultimately the wrong nation. I was framed by hands that knew my patterns, my codes, my honor. They built this case not from truth, but from shadows. And yet, I know how this ends. The truth rarely matters when fear is stronger.
With that being said, so you have accused me, you have tried me, you have judged me, and finally, you will condemn me. And history, for a very brief period of time, will call me traitor. But I tell you now, to sleep not with both eyes closed, as they will grow into strength, and they know that I was not broken by lies. That I stood until the end."
He sat down for a moment.
"As such, One of them will accuse you. One will try you. One will judge you. And inevitably, as you have condemned me, One will condemn you. And that, is your fate and your inheritance from me."
There was a silence that stretched for one too many seconds in the court, as every soul there sat speechless. Chief Justice Kline breaking that silence.
"Alexander Lucien Lockhart, this Court has considered the arguments and the evidence presented. By unanimous decision, we find you guilty of treason against the United States of America."
Her next words fell like stone.
"The execution is set to be carried out 5 days from today, on Saturday, April 3rd, 2010."
The gavel struck. The sound echoing like a gunshot.
Keiko's lips trembled, but no sound escaped. Her grief barely contained, as her exhausted mental state struggled to remain a mask against collapse. She stared at her husband, willing him to see her, to feel her love across the gulf.
Alexander's eyes found hers. He mouthed the words, silent but clear: Je t'aimerai toujours, ma sœur.
He let out a deeply-piercing, genuine smile that betrayed his fate. Those seeing his expression were either shocked, confused, or in the cases of a few outright terrified by it. As for Keiko, it broke her as she watched this, but she smiled nonetheless.
The guards seized his arms despite the vast difference in stature, pulling him away. The courtroom erupted in noise, reporters scribbling, spectators gasping, but Alexander heard none of it. Only Keiko's invisible tears, only the knowledge that though the world called him traitor, his truth lived on.
And as he was led from the chamber, chains clinking like tolling bells.
If one looked carefully, of those who remained, many were of the prosecuting side. Several high-ranking military figures were still present as well.
...and not one of them was at ease.
~ Monaco ~
~ February 2012 ~
Poliosis, heterochromia–red and violet, blasian.
A genetically aesthetic, anomaly was what some doctors labelled him and his younger siblings as, given they had the same genetic anomalies as he did.
Their mother Keiko, possessed similar features, albeit somewhat muted. They were a fairly humble family, all things considered. The execution of their father had not played too well on their hearts.
His mother's wealthy family shunned them like they were swine, disowning his mother before the verdict was even passed. As a result, Keiko found it impossible to secure a job, eventually resigning herself to take what little she had left, moving to the DRC with her children.
Somewhere no one knew them. Somewhere they could start afresh, with their history not hanging over their heads like a resounding bell.
Reis, a name meaning: 'Ruler', full name: Reis Asterion Citlalli Evigheden; being the oldest, had to take the reins, despite being so young when it happened.
He was six years old now. Eimi and Emrys; meaning eternal ocean and immortal respectively; the twins, were five years old. Svanhildr; which meant war swan; was three years old, and Diatah; which meant lioness; had only been two years old now.
Each of them were impossibly intelligent.
This in turn made it significantly easier on their mother, and psychologically healthier for each other. Being able to talk to each other about how they felt, what they felt, and why they felt that way.
Asides that, they were all capable of speaking english, japanese, french, and italian fluently at a year old. Speaking at least 12 languages fluently by five. Perfect SAT scores... at 3 years old, Svanhildr and Reis had both done so at a little over two years old.
Home schooled, as Keiko sought to protect what she had left. It was consistent with each of them, at least, up until the twins, but even with all that genius, they often made dumb mistakes, or forgot simple things.
His mother had pulled herself together as well as could be expected, and while she had recovered now, it took a long period of time to get to where she currently was. Days of sobbing, weeping, wailing... eyes void of emotion, they had to be overcome to get here.
The day his father was sentenced was the day he became a man, it was on that very same day when his dreams started becoming rather... vivid. Pieces of another planet being destroyed, alien like creatures, fragments of knowledge fragments.
But eventually every puzzle must be completed, whether one wants to or not, with the right or wrong pieces... as often times, that choice is out of one's control.
It was currently 2AM in the morning, and Reis was asleep in his room. Though, if one were inside his room, the sight were entirely different. He... or rather, it, was writhing in pain as it clutched its head.
Laid down on the bed was a being, massive in stature... easily 4 meters tall, hair of white liquid starlight, eyes that appeared to hold a galaxy within, and obsidian marble-like skin, and a second pair of arms made from energy.
Even in his pain, the chaotic outbursts of energy didn't extend beyond the room, as though a localized containment field were keeping the event contained in the room.
This went on for hours, as droves of information that had been fragmented since his coming forth in the congo basin, pieced themselves together within his mind, histories, technology, medicine, war, peace, death... life. By the time it came to a close, he shrunk back into his normal form, and fell back unto the bed.
His eyes shooting open as he panted, as while he hadn't seen or had any on knowledge what happened to him physically, reverting him to his void-walker form temporarily, he remembered every piece of information from that culmination of universes in vivid detail; detailed formulas, codes, scripts, medicines, blueprints, schematics.
He remembered everything.
All of which were remnants of a collapsed multiverse... what happened after the collapse of reality that birthed him, and right before he was first brought forth in the congo basin.
...or rather, his inheritance.