Dr. Truth

Warning: Violence and mentions of torture, language

October 27th, 2079

I've got a plan now and all the pieces are in place. I’ve cleaned my office and organized my desk. The letters are addressed and ready to be sent out. God knows it’ll be a while until I can see my family again. 

When I started this journey, I wanted to make sure the world understood that anyone can be a hero, and anyone can be a villain. In the end, we’re still all just people. 

I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I've no doubt that after today…the world will never be the same. 

I can see his lips quivering slightly, his shoulders forward and his eyes glued to the shoes of the security guard in front of him. I don't blame him. The stakes are high enough to make anyone in his shoes buckle. I put my hand on his shoulder.

"Don’t worry." I whisper to him. After a moment he just bobs his head up and down without taking his eyes off the ground.

Right on time the courtroom doors open and we shuffle forward, the magnetic shackles keeping my client from moving comfortably. As always, it's packed on the prosecution's side, desolate on mine. I'm surprised to see The Great Flame and Armadillo Man here, they usually stay out of the spotlight. Beyond that, we have our regulars: Captain Righteous, Electrode and his sidekick Techno-boy (he's 28 years old Electrode, let the bird leave the nest already geez), The Liquid, Timeline, Whipper Girl…all the usual suspects, here in 'support' of the plaintiff. On our side of the bench, there are a few students and ragged looking characters, those shunned by the righteous. In my eyes, the most honest people I know.

I look at the Jury and can feel their disdain under my skin. When a handpicked jury is surrounded by their heroes, the verdict usually decides itself. A slight smirk finds the corner of my lips. That's all about to change.

We get to the bench and I wipe the spit off my shoulder and off my client's face with a rag before pocketing it. We'll surely need it later. We rise as the judge enters, and sit at her command. And we begin.

The prosecution calls up the plaintiff, world famous superhero and narcissistic shit, Mr. Maximus. The flying, super-strength mega star describes his ordeal in spectacular theatrical fashion. Tears flow down his cheeks as he speaks, clenching his fists, recalling the horrors he witnessed in the slave factory. He spoke of little Esmerelda, the young girl who died in his arms, at the hand of my client. A picture of a smiling, happy young girl came up on the screen. I don't object to the shift in the narrative. My client silently sheds a tear. Then, My client is asked to come up to the stand. I simply advise him to speak the truth.

I watch silently as he is absolutely shredded. Evidence of his involvement was clear. Video of him bringing the children to the factory and torturing them were plentiful. Recorded conversations of him "getting his revenge" played with crystal clarity. He was asked strictly yes or no questions, all of which pigeon-holed him into appearing even more guilty. I caught the faces of the jury twist in disgust at the revelations.

"You call yourself Doctor Truth, but the truth here is plain and simple: You are a child torturing murderer." The prosecution rested their case. Now, It was my turn. 

"Dr. Truth, why do you go by that moniker?" I ask him. It was a question he had been asked a thousand times before. "Because, like a doctor, I want to help all those who have been hurt by lies. I want the truth to shine."

"And how do you go about finding the truth?" I ask him.

"I let the truth find me."

"I see. Say you believe the 'truth' of something has found you. How do you know it to be the absolute truth?"

Dr. Truth bows his head. "Because it's my super power." There's a chuckle in the crowd. The judge knocks her gavel down and asks for order.

"Dr. Truth, this is a very difficult power to prove. Absolute truth is hard to define, if it can exist at all. Evidence is needed. What then is the absolute truth about your ordeal?"

Dr. Truth takes a long shaky breath, then sits up straight and looks at Mr. Maximus.

"Mr. Maximus has an undocumented power." More mumbles and whispers in the crowd. Mr. Maximus scoffs.

"Dr. Truth, are you able to provide evidence of this?" His head hung low again.

"I would need...one of the children." gasps of horror rip through the courtroom and the judge slams her gavel down hard.

"Order! Order!" The prosecution objects for irrelevance: proving whether or not the plaintiff has undocumented super powers is not the purpose of this trial. It is sustained. I have no further questions for him. He returns to his seat.

"Do you have any other witnesses?" the judge asks me. I turn to the defendant and let a small smile crease my cheek. His face folds in confusion and despair. I turn and look at Mr. Maximus' straight in the eyes, my gaze unflinching.

"Only one. I call to the stand Ms. Esmerelda San Lokas."

The color immediately drains from Mr. Maximus' face as a young girl no older than 14 gets up from the very back and comes to the stand. The courtroom erupts in chatter and gasps. She stands firm, and walks right up to the witness stand. Dr. Truth's mouth hangs open. As the quiet finally settles over everyone at the 'clack clack' of the gavel, I begin.

"Could you please state your full name?"

"Esmerelda San Lokas."

"Esmerelda, do you recognize this man?" I point to my client.

"I do."

"How do you know him?"

"He is the man who showed me the truth."

"Can you elaborate? What do you mean?"

"He showed me that I am my own person. That I could be free."

"And how did he do that?" I hold my breath.

"By killing me."

Shock and confusion fill the courtroom. I wait for things to calm down before continuing.

"But you are here, now! How can you be dead if you are here?"

"Dr. Truth strangled this body to death. I was revived through CPR in the ambulance. That is when I realized the truth."

"And what is the truth?"

"That I was born from a single body. I was created to be human, but I did not have my own autonomy. I was a puppet."

"Do you mean like a clone?"

"No. A puppet."

"I see. But Esmerelda, all puppets need a master to move. Who, then, was the puppet master?" Esmerelda slowly turned her gaze at Mr. Maximus and pointed to him with a slow steady finger.

"This is preposterous!" Mr. Maximus says, standing up. He yells more vitriol as the judge uses her gavel again, and I can tell her patience for this circus is wearing thin. But Maximus is sweating, and sweating hard. I have him.

"Esmerelda, what you claim requires evidence. Do you have evidence of this?"

Esmerelda holds her right hand up, grabs hold of her pinky finger, and in one swift movement twists it downwards until it breaks with a horrifying crack. Mr. Maximus wails and folds into himself, clutching his right hand. His pinky is twisted and bent and immediately begins to turn dark red.

"We are still connected." Esmerelda says, loudly enough for all to hear behind even more gasps.

Esmerelda explains her birth. How Mr. Maximus is able to create humans from his own flesh, and how they are him. How he has thousands of 'him' all over the world, how he is influencing everything. How she, a product of him, gained autonomy after death. How Dr. Truth knew, through his own power, who she really had been.

The trial didn't end that day. I don't suspect there will ever be a final verdict. And I guess it doesn't matter now. We have bigger problems on our hands. The heroes are divided. There is no more trust. The revelation has drawn investigations on an international scale. There's no doubt about it. There will be a war.

Esmerelda, Dr. Truth and I get through the mob of media into the car. I take out my handkerchief and pass it to Dr. Truth, but it looks like he doesn't need it.