Adrian stood in the same dilapidated room, gazing out through a smudged window that offered a view of the shanty rooftops of the slums. The past few days had imprisoned him within these walls, affording ample time for reflection on the tumultuous events that had brought him here. His wounded arm, once a source of agony, had begun to heal, yet it seemed an inconsequential detail now. Deep within, he had come to terms with his uncertain fate, whatever it might entail. What gnawed at him, however, was the knowledge that his judgment would be rendered by the Alderian revolutionaries – individuals he, in his former life, would have deemed nothing more than common criminals. His self-respect had dwindled to its nadir, and part of him acknowledged the grim irony that he, a former upholder of the law, would now face the judgment of those he had once pursued. Not because he had transgressed against the Empire's statutes, but because he had become a criminal in the eyes of his own conscience. For years, he had woven a narrative of himself as an exceptional detective, a solitary figure capable of unraveling the complexities of Imperial society. But all of it now felt like an elaborate performance, with his own conscience seated in the front row, bearing witness to and believing the very lies he had spun.
The turning of the door's lock roused him from his contemplation, and he pivoted to find Tima standing in the doorway, regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. Adrian scrutinized the young face before him, no more than twenty years old, and this sight deepened his despondency. While his understanding of the inner workings of the Alderian Labor League remained incomplete, one glaring truth stared him in the face – its members were composed largely of young, impressionable souls drawn into the realm of crime and politics by the fiery oratory of Jeremy Alder and his associates. Johnny, or Johan as he now called himself, was, in essence, much like Tima – a young man who had devoted his all to an ideal that Adrian perceived as unattainable. The Empire had endured for over five centuries, and he harbored no illusion that it could be brought to its knees by the hands of impressionable teenagers.
Tima beckoned for Adrian to exit the room, and he responded with a silent nod. Before he stepped out, he cast a lingering glance at the room that had served as his prison for the past few days. It was, in all likelihood, his final earthly abode, and deep within, he harbored a sense of relief that this ordeal was drawing to a close. Inwardly, he urged them to hasten their deliberations, for the train to the afterlife brooked no tardiness.
Adrian descended the creaky stairs, Tima close behind him. They descended further into the basement, where the lingering scent of preserved vegetables hinted at its former use as a storage area. Adrian's eyes swept the surroundings and alighted on a large wooden table illuminated by flickering candlelight, around which nine individuals were gathered. They wore a motley assortment of worker's attire, some cradling rifles, others puffing on cigarettes, and most engaged in hushed conversations. A few faces were familiar – Red and the lady doctor who had tended to his gunshot wound days ago, locked in an intense discussion, heads close together. Yet Adrian's gaze was inevitably drawn to her, seated quietly at the table's edge, her downcast eyes betraying an unspoken sorrow. She met Adrian's gaze, and he attempted to decipher the emotions hidden behind her usually expressive eyes. However, they remained blank, veiled by an unsettling sadness. Adrian bowed his head, comprehending that his fate might already be sealed, a message she conveyed through those forlorn, uncharacteristically emotionless eyes. At the head of the table sat Johan, tapping his fingers on the wooden surface in patient anticipation.
Tima settled Adrian into a wooden chair positioned before the table, offering a slight nod to Johan before taking a seat himself. Alone before the assembly, Adrian was gripped by an overwhelming wave of claustrophobia. The room was small, its feeble illumination sourced from an overhead lightbulb masquerading as a chandelier and the dancing flames of the candles upon the table.
Johan rose, punctuating the quietude with the sharp sound of his metal cigarette case striking the table's surface, signaling the need for silence.
"Comrades, I have convened this council of brothers and sisters to determine the fate of the former Detective Adrian Belinsky," Johan declared as he resumed his seat. "Before we commence our proceedings, I extend the defendant the right to speak. If there are no objections," he added, casting an assessing glance around the table at his comrades, "then you may begin."
Adrian could sense the weight of every eye in the room bearing down on him, scrutinizing his every move and word. He hadn't anticipated a fair trial or, indeed, any trial at all. Strangely, that lack of expectation had made things worse, as it had fostered a false glimmer of hope – a glimmer he had tried to bury in the confines of that room upstairs. With no prepared speech, he began, "I understand that many, if not most of you, harbor a deep loathing for me," His gaze briefly met Artemia's, her arms crossed defensively, seemingly attempting to shield herself from his sight. "Believe me, the feeling is mutual. I neither comprehend nor care about your politics," Adrian half-smiled, a touch of wryness in his tone. "In fact, I think you're all being duped by Jeremy Alder and his cohorts."
A wave of protest erupted around the table, with Red among those voicing their objections. "Come on, Johan! Can't you see this rat is a full-blooded Imperial dog? He wouldn't hesitate to shoot us down if given the chance!"
Johan turned his gaze toward the irate Red and asserted, "We will adhere to revolutionary wartime protocol, which grants a man the right to speak."
Red reluctantly settled back into his chair, arms crossed in simmering discontent. Adrian resumed after the voices had ebbed. "However, there's one thing you can't accuse me of, and that's blind allegiance to the Crown." Adrian surveyed the various expressions in the room before continuing, "I joined the force to solve crimes, not to bolster the Emperor's political stability. That's the Royal Department's job, and I fired upon them. Now, undoubtedly, I am considered a traitor and will be charged as any of you." Adrian fell silent, retaking his seat in quiet resignation.
Johan rose once more, retrieving a cigarette from his metal case and igniting it, his features cast in contemplative shadows by the candlelight. "So, comrades, here we have a man who served in the police force, combating street crime and solving cases that undoubtedly dealt blows to our criminal adversaries," he acknowledged, nodding to Adrian in acknowledgment. "However, perhaps unwittingly, he also disrupted our pursuit of freedom for all." Johan's statement elicited murmurs of discontent from some at the table. "So, whoever wishes to voice their opinions and thoughts on this matter is welcome to do so. Following that, we will cast an anonymous vote to determine the fate of this defendant."
Red was quick to seize the opportunity. "May I speak, comrade?" Johan granted him a nod, and Red continued, "This individual is a seasoned, skilled detective. How do we know he isn't playing us?"
Johan responded, "Well, Artemia vouches for him, which carries weight."
A sardonic chuckle escaped Red's lips. "With all due respect, Artemia," he swiveled to face her, "you haven't had a man for a long time, and you've fallen in love with this rogue detective. You temporarily lost your cold, analytical mind, succumbing to emotions. Revolutions can't be won that way."
Artemia sprang to her feet, her gaze locked onto Red's with fierce intensity. "Yes, I love him, if that's what you want to hear," she declared, pointing at Adrian before pressing on, "and that's only natural. As Jeremy Alder wrote, 'Love is the unwavering flame that warms the hearts of those who kindle it, regardless of whether the world deems them deserving.'" She noticed that everyone in the room was now focused on her, including Adrian, and she continued the quote, her voice unwavering. " 'It is in the act of loving, in the fierce determination to extend compassion even to the most wayward souls, that we illuminate the path to a better world.'" Artemia finished her statement, then quietly retook her seat, followed by a contemplative Red who chose not to pursue the argument further.
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A previously silent man at the table, whom Adrian hadn't noticed before, chimed in, his voice steady and thoughtful. "If I may, Comrade Johan, I don't think it matters too much to us what he did before or what his relationship with Artemia here entails." His gaze swept across the assembled members. "We must decide what use he has for us now. Clearly, he is not interested in joining our cause and wouldn't pass initiation." He then fixed his gaze on Adrian, considering him. "Perhaps it's worth considering a trade. We could exchange him for some of our comrades captured during the Scarlet Uprising." He sat down after delivering his proposal.
Adrian looked around, perplexed. "Scarlet Uprising?" he mumbled, almost to himself.
Johan clarified, "The events of last Thursday, the government launched a severe crackdown on League cells across the country. Many of our comrades were apprehended."
Adrian nodded, absorbing the information. Johan scanned the faces around the table and inquired, "Does anyone else have something to add?"
Artemia rose to her feet. "Comrades, while some of you might suspect that my words are influenced by my personal feelings for this man," she cast a pointed glance at Red, "Adrian could prove to be an invaluable asset to us. It would be a grave mistake to let this opportunity slip through our fingers. Adrian served years in the Police Department, and he knows how they operate, inside and out. We've never had someone so intimately acquainted with their world working for us. Consider the opportunities it could offer us in advancing our just cause." Artemia spoke earnestly and then slowly resumed her seat.
"Wasn't he kicked out of the department?" someone inquired. "He might hold a grudge against them," another member pondered aloud.
Johan, deep in thought, massaged his chin before retrieving a metal canister from beneath the table, accompanied by ten slips of paper. "I believe we've heard enough," he declared, "and now it's time to vote on three potential outcomes. First, Adrian Belinsky is charged with sabotaging the revolution and is sentenced to death by a bullet in the head." Adrian shifted uncomfortably in his seat upon hearing this proposition. Johan continued, "Second, we negotiate his release in exchange for Alderian comrades currently held by the Royal Department. Lastly, we utilize him to further our interests." Johan distributed the papers to each comrade at the table, saying, "Let us begin."
A heavy silence enveloped the room, with only the faint sounds of breathing and the scratching of pens against paper breaking it. Adrian could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat resonating through his veins. Each member folded their paper and deposited it into the canister, some casting curious or disdainful glances at Adrian, while others ignored him entirely. Johan meticulously mixed the papers and withdrew them one by one, reading aloud the verdict written on each slip. Three voted for Adrian's execution, three for his exchange, and four to employ him for their cause.
"Comrades, rejoice as we have witnessed the true power of the people who shape the future of their fellow man," Johan proclaimed with a triumphant smile. "Adrian Belinsky, you have been acquitted of your past crimes, whether committed willingly or not, against the Alderian Labor League. You are now in the service of the revolutionary forces until further notice."
A collective breath seemed to release in the room, and Adrian let out a sigh of relief. Once again, he had narrowly escaped a bullet. It struck him, in that moment, that life, as cruel as it could be, had a peculiar way of playing with the human soul, keeping it tethered to toy guns and wooden soldiers, even when one yearned to leave the playroom behind altogether.85Please respect copyright.PENANA9MJrtDJHOC
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