NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is a series of vignettes based on the passage of "The Code," similar to Hammurabi's code. You may post comments, or threaten me with your million nukes or whatever you want with this RP.

IC: The Senate room bustled, its large flatscreen monitor behind the President tallying the votes of each of the 500 members. Most of the Senators were returning to their large black armchairs after voting, but some mingled about chatting about their recent golf games or how many servants they had.

The final Senator cast his vote in the electronic machine, and it was an "aye." That made 500 ayes and zero nays. The multi-sectioned Code had many articles, aimed at everything from property rights to the military. It had passed unanimously due to its sweeping reforms of criminal sentencing, and The Captain's prisons had grown exponentially as the population steadily increased. Some wacky people had noted that if The Captain wasn't so much of a police state there would be no need for multi-inmate cells. Those people somehow found themselves on the other side of the law and ended up in the cages they had fought so adamantly against.

Outside, the ruling was read on the loudspeakers that surrounded the Senate complex. No civilians were allowed within the gates, but they all knew what was going on inside. They would have to stay on the right side of the law, or there would be serious consequences. The Information Ministry already had a press release prepared, and released it when the majority of votes were cast.

*****

In another part of Mount Captain, a magistrate sat behind his bench and felt smug about himself. There was a need for more judges in the courts these days, and he had elevated himself to a position that was higher than most of the others, giving himself the good cases and delegating the summary executions to the lower magistrates. Lately, he had been reading some pamphlets he'd acquired from an underground movement, and he'd hoped to become the influential new leader of this group. He was feeling too mighty in his position and felt he could take on The Senate. He'd even ruled against some corporations, and in favor of some of the lesser criminals of the State.

He parked in his space in the parking garage of his apartment building and took the elevator to the 64th floor. It was a nicely sized two-bedroom living quarters, paid for nicely by his magistrate's salary. As he had no wife to share his wealth with, there was a nice cushion of savings he had for him to retire on. He changed into a more casual outfit, and he was out the door again. There was a meeting of the underground group, and he didn't want to be late.

He started his car up in the garage and drove up the three levels to the entrance. But the gate was closed, and through the perpendicular bars he could see a black SUV with blue lights on the top. He almost relieved himself in his pants, realizing that the Justice Ministry was there to pay him a visit due to his recent choices in hang-outs.

Two more SUVs pulled up behind him, blocking his back and front exits. Running was not an option, as they probably had officers in the streets, with a complement of German Shepards at their disposal.

An officer in a sleek black suit walked up to the magistrate's car, two uniformed guards behind him, carrying the standard issue automatic shotguns. The plain-clothes officer knocked on the window and the magistrate rolled it down.

"Magistrate Fisher?" the man asked.

"Yes?" he replied.

"You need to come with us."

And with that, he knew he had been caught. The Justice Ministry was usually quick with its convictions and sentencing, but sometimes they let the really rotten eggs wait it out in a unsupervised penitentiary. A magistrate would not do well there...

He didn't say anything until he was brought before a magistrate, in chains, in his same court. The new guy was presiding over this case, the same new guy whose toes Fisher had stepped on a few times while he was trying to consolidate power.

"Mr. Fisher, you have been brought here upon charges related to your performance as a magistrate during your tenure in this very court. You have entered these opinions into the record of The State, have you not?"

Fisher took a look at the documents. He had definitely written them, and there was no use in adding a perjury charge to whatever crimes he was answering for now. "Yes, I did pen these opinions."

"Thank you. Court reporter, you may enter a guilty plea in for Mr. Fisher." The magistrate paused to write something in his ledger, and then continued to Fisher. "You entered judgment against Third Enterprises Incorporated, for an amount of three billion dollars, for what you called 'utilizing market power to the detriment of the consumer.' However, we have official government documents that state the otherwise. An official from the Treasury Ministry already gave his testimony, and the court ruled in favor of the government.

"Per the new law, it is ruled that you made an error in your opinion and judgment and therefore must be penalized. Here is a copy of the retroactive law." He handed Fisher an official Senate document.

If a judge try a case, reach a decision, and present his judgment in writing; if later error shall appear in his decision, and it be through his own fault, then he shall pay twelve times the fine set by him in the case, and he shall be publicly removed from the judge's bench, and never again shall he sit there to render judgment.

"You are hereby fined thirty-six billion dollars, and you are stripped of your title and all amenities due to the position of magistrate. You are reduced to an ordinary citizen, and... I am to assume that you don't have thirty-six billion dollars in assets, correct?"

Fisher sighed and almost wept the word "No."

"Then your assets will be seized and you will be forced to work off your debt to Third Enterprises. I order myself to take possession of your apartment, and to sell all of your belongings for cash, which I will then turn over to Third Enterprises, with a small fee for myself. You will probably be sent to a manufacturing plant for Third Enterprises and forced to live in a debtor's ghetto."

The magistrate, now the only one in the room, banged the gavel. "Such is the ruling of This Great Court. Long Live The Captain!"

Damn, sucks to be him. :eek:

The same underground movement that had caused the now Mr. Fisher to break away from his conservative views was meeting at a new location, having to change after the arrest of their "comrade."

"So, what's it going to be? Are we going to sit back and let them shovel more garbage in our minds, or are we going to fight back?" The questions came from a man in the back who was new and idealistic, not having seen the harsh reality and cold efficiency that is the Justice Ministry.

"Patience, comrade," the leader said from behind his podium. He was worried that Fisher may talk, but he was also relieved that there was no competition for his position anymore. "There will be a day when all of the citizens see the light, and we will have an uprising far larger than the government and its minions can control. Until then, we have to stay out of the light and gain underground support. There is an off-shore website where people just like us air their views about the leader of their nation, and we get reports hand-delivered to us of what they say about our movement."

He passed out some papers and the group of 50 took a minute to read them. "This is what they're saying about those pigs in our government," he started to preach, "and I think they're one-hundred percent right! They sit in their complex in the center of the city, guarded by an entire army exclusively under their control, with their fingers on the buttons of the most horrible weapons known to mankind! They make people like us meet in dark dank basements, and we have to sneak around just to be able to say what we want to say!"

The new guy in the back stood up. "I'm not going to take it anymore!"

The crowd roared in concurrence, but the man did not stop at his outburst. He picked up his worker's coat and marched towards the door.

"Comrade, where are you going?" the leader asked from his lectern.

"To take down the government!" was the excited reply.

"That's crazy! Do you know of the 'Code' they just passed? It makes them even more powerful, and if you challenge them you will be put to death!"

"So be it!" screamed the fresh young face. "I'd rather die than live in a world where this great injustice occurs!" He opened the door and walked out. He heard the people inside calling for him to come back, but the door closed and he was on his way to the local TV station.

*****

The room was abuzz with activity, reporters writing all the good news that would come from the passage of The Code. There was also a story about the first conviction coming from The Code, a magistrate who had ruled in error, ignoring the correct government documentation right in front of him. Other than that there would be regular reports on how to be good citizens and what was going on in most of the "uncivilized" world.

Suddenly, there were gunshots in the air coming from the vicinity of the camera room. A man was there, armed, demanding time on air. Every once in awhile a crazed lunatic would try this stunt, so the producers were ready for it. They rolled the cameras and turned on the "On Air" sign, but the regular broadcast would still be seen on the other end, with nobody the wiser of what was happening at the station. The authorities were alerted, and the man was given the time to speak as he felt.

The man with the gun looked into the camera. "My name is Brad Tripp. I work in the manufacturing district for almost no money. My chest hurts at night and I think the smoke in the factory is poisonous. I came here to air my grievances with the government.

"There are many problems with the government, some so bad that I have to break into a newsroom to be able to tell them to you all."

He went on for a few minutes, until the sound of a hovering helicopter drowned out his voice completely. He looked around nervously and held up his gun. He fired it a few more times into the air in an attempt to scare those advancing on his position, but he made a grave mistake in doing so. In trying to make himself seem serious about defending himself, he emptied his magazine. He was now unarmed.

"Sir, you're not going to believe this," said one of the officers watching the "broadcast" on one of the closed-circuit screens. "He just unarmed himself."

"All teams, move in," the plain-clothes captain said over the radio. "Non lethal force only." The officers knew the penalty for disobeying the captain's orders.

Tripp realized what he'd done soon enough, but he'd heard the door kick in and it was too late. He suddenly felt dizzy, but retained consciousness. The police, clad in their urban combat armor, brought Tripp to his knees. They roughed him up a bit and then ironed his hands and feet. He was brought outside and thrown in the back of a black van with blue police lights on top. It drove off with two SUVs of the same description and a motorcycle in the lead.

*****

The Senate Chamber was again full of activity, but this time it was more subdued than their last vote. They were all seated at their long mahogany desks, in their plush leather chairs, looking down on the President's desk from their stadium-style seating.

The President banged his gavel. "Bring in the accused!"

A rectangle in the floor opened up and a rail came out of it, the height of a man. Two officers accompanied Tripp, chained and ironed, down the aisle to the rail and chained him up there. It rose a little, bringing him off the ground as the guards stood at either side of Tripp.

"You are in violation of The Code," the President of The Senate said. "Section Three states, 'If any one bring an accusation of any crime before The Senate, and does not prove what he has charged, he shall, if it be a capital offense charged, be put to death.' Do you have any evidence?"

Tripp spat and was given an electric shock by one of the guards. "I have plenty of evidence! Just look at the code!!"

"You came from an underground meeting," the President said unaffected by Tripp's comment. "We have rounded them all up. Those who were not shot are now in jail. However, they have not committed a specific crime such as you." He motioned towards one of the assistants sitting to the right of his desk. "Tripp, civilians are not allowed into the Senate Complex. Think for a minute about what that means for your future. "Show the evidence."

The flatscreen panel used for recording votes lit up with the image of Tripp. The smaller monitors on the Senators' desks lit up as well, and the recording Tripp had made at the TV station was shown in entirety, with his various rants about the wrongs The Senate was committing.

When it was finished, the President spoke again. "All in favor of a guilty verdict?"

The room filled with "ayes."

"All opposed?"

"NAY!" Tripp yelled, getting him another shock of electricity.

"A guilty verdict has been reached. The penalty is execution after lengthy torture. So ruled." The Senate President banged his gavel and stood. The other Senator stood and left, with only the guards and Tripp left.

They lowered the rail with Tripp still attached to it, crushing his stomach between the floor and the top of the rail, mechanically trying to go back to its place in the floor. They let him wither there for a minute, unchained him, and dragged him out to complete his sentence.

Welcome, tonight's newscast is brought to you by Third Enterprises. 'Third Enterprises- getting you where you need to be for the last eight generations.'

In our top story, The Code passed by The Senate has reached into the realms of crime everywhere, pausing for no criminals as police everywhere have had easier times in dealing with everyday street vermin; sometimes administering justice right there on the street, if The Code calls for such action.

Up next, we have footage from the latest treason execution. This one was a firing squad, and the lottery for which soldier had the real bullet...

He turned the TV off. It was one thing to watch movies, but it was completely different to see death in real lift. Instead, James Vista decided to have another glass of vodka, a cigarette, and then it was time for him to get some sleep. It would be another hard day tomorrow.

He downed the vodka and was feeling drowsier than before, but decided to light up anyway, finding comfort in the nicotine that had transformed his body into the addict it was today. He was about halfway through when he passed out on the couch, cigarette falling onto the pillow he had been using to rest on.

If he'd read the manufacturer's tag, Vista would have known that the pillow was made out of flammable material, and he may have thought twice before taking his chances. But he didn't, and now it was too late.

The pillow burst into flames, which quickly spread to the equally inflammable couch he had just lost consciousness on. Soon, his whole house-- if you could call it that-- was ablaze, which caught the attention of some of his neighbors. One neighbor in particular had always been covetous of his friend and fellow slum-dweller, and quickly rushed into the house to try and douse the flames. He tried as hard he could, but the fire was too fierce for him alone, so he decided to do the next best thing. He searched the house, looking to gather what few possessions Vista had acquired from his paltry disposable income. After he'd picked up a few things, he heard the sirens of the fire department and decided to make his exit before anybody noticed what he was doing.

In his rush to get to the front door, he ran into a fallen board and ripped his pants just above the knee. He stopped to check himself out and quickly made his way into the front yard... with just enough time to see the red lights flashing upon him. Some of the men rushed to him and asked him if he was the owner.

"No, I'm a neighbor, just trying to find my friend and get him out alive!" the man claimed excitedly and untruthfully.

Then, in front of the firemen and an arriving police officer, his pants gave way. Combined with the heat of the fire, his ripped pants could not take the pressure of the pilfered items in this man's right pocket. Silverware and cash came falling out of his pants to the ground. The shocked firemen looked at the literally "hot" possessions and turned towards the officer, who was now approaching with his gun drawn.

"Get on your knees," the officer ordered the man.

"Please, this isn't what it looks like!" he pleaded to no avail.

The officer turned to the fire commander, who was one of the audience in this man's wardrobe malfunction. "Don't stop the fire just yet. I've got irons in my car. Please go get them."

The officer turned back at the man on the ground. "You are in violation of The Code, Section Twenty-Five. It reads, 'If fire break out in a house, and some one who comes to put it out cast his eye upon the property of the owner of the house, and take the property of the master of the house, he shall be thrown into that same fire.' You tried to put out the flames, and decided to rob your neighbor instead. The penalty is clearly stated, and I am here to enforce it."

The fireman came back with a pair of hand and leg irons, which were affixed to the man still in shock after hearing that he'd already been sentenced. Once ironed, the firemen carried him to the door and heaved him inside. They stepped away and listened to the screams come from the house, until all they heard was the fire cackling from inside.

The officer gave them a nod. "Now you may do your jobs, as I have just done mine. And let this be a lesson to you all about The Code."