Thud!
The gavel struck again—this time sounding like old parchment tearing apart.
"Defendants," the judge intoned, sermon-like, "this court is not cruel. The Void is vast, merciful. The Void grants you… a choice."
The hollow eyes quivered with excitement, a dark sea stirred by wind. The jury of dead kin bowed in solemn assent.
"A choice?" Eileen arched an eyebrow. "What, sign a loan contract? Infinite interest rates included?"
The judge grinned with a mouth of mismatched teeth. From its palm unfurled a page of rotting parchment—blank, yet sharper than any blade.
"This is the Pardon of the Void," it declared. "Simply surrender yourselves. Flatten your souls. Become a page in the Archive of Nothingness. No pain. No desire. No memory. Eternal peace."
The hall froze.
—Surrender the self? Become a file?
One young teammate faltered, relief flickering in his eyes. "So… no more running, no more fear? Just… lie down and end it?"
"Yes." The judge nodded, voice equal parts fatherly and carceral. "You will be filed neatly onto the library's endless shelf. Ordered, silent, incapable of error."
"That's not peace!" barked a scarred comrade, slamming his fist. "That's suicide stapled to paperwork!"
Rippling laughter washed from the audience. Hollow eyes twitched mockingly, as if saying: "He still doesn't get it—life itself is the crime."
Eileen's tone cut like ice: "Call it pardon if you want. It's recycling. We're old newspapers to be pressed into neat little bundles and shelved."
The judge applauded itself, mouths laughing from every seam: "Exactly! The Void wastes nothing. Every memory, even a dog's, pressed into a page. Orderly, eternal! You should feel honored."
But the boy wavered, picturing himself as one page of quiet paper. "I… I'm tired. Maybe it's not so bad…"
"It's pathetic!" the scarred man roared. "Better a minute alive than eternity as trash paper no one reads!"
The protagonist sneered: "This is less 'absolution,' more like a sleazy marketing pitch. 'Join the Void! End your pain! Free with eternal stasis!' What's next—three souls for the price of two, plus a half-off binder?"
The hall howled with laughter. Even the jurors of dead relatives chuckled eerily.
The judge spread its arms: "Mockery or refusal, the pardon is the only road. Otherwise, you remain defendants—tried forever for the crime of being alive, until you crumble to dust."
Its laughter rose, like broken gramophones skipping in unison: "Choose! Choose! Hahaha!"
The protagonist exhaled slowly, mouth curling into black-humored defiance: "Heh. Only in the Void could 'pardon' sound like a telemarketing scam. Too bad—I didn't bring my wallet."
A stunned silence—then explosive laughter, louder than ever. The hollow eyes stretched wide, hungering for their answer.