A Gamer's Guide To Beating The Tutorial

Courthouse, exterior. Crowd is even bigger than yesterday. More signs, more shouting, more things thrown at me, more guards trying to suppress the rioting with less faked enthusiasm.

The only major difference would be in the addition of an anti-riot, consisting of a whole two people. When I and Moleman pass them by, Virgil tries to wave my way, but I ignore her. If the other people in the tutorial knew we were actually friends, I can’t imagine how they’d treat her. So, although it pains me, I turn the cold shoulder. She seems hurt, but it’s necessary.

A few people actually try to push their way inside as we enter, but a wall of guards keeps them at bay. I’m unhappy to find that there are now a number of guards inside the courthouse as well, likely to counter the increased interest in the trial. Normally speaking, at least in Swedish courts of law, civilians have a constitutional right to partake in trials since the law is meant to be an extension of the civilians’ rights and such. However, this is not that kind of case, and we aren’t exactly following Swedish law, so… yeah. I wonder how the outside governments might react to this whole situation? I mean, if they decide to execute me, it could very well be considered murder, maybe even vigilantism, assuming Sweden has laws against that.

Nevertheless, my thoughts are interrupted as we take a wrong turn, head down a number of stairs, and go through several confusing, winding hallways to finally enter into a room that seems more like a bunker than a courtroom. Security reasons, I suppose. Same as why there are guards now on stand-by outside. Not a one in here, though.

The judge, jury and other various members look kind of undead? The jury all seem positively constipated, and the judge is even worse off. Pale, red-eyed, hunched… He looks really bad, which is made a twinge worse by the fact that he also looks at me like that.

The only one who doesn’t look like he belongs in hospice is the prosecutor Venedict, who only looks arguably more tired than yesterday. Sleepless. Same as Moleman. Unlike Moleman, though, Venedict has a look on his face that radiates ‘I told you so.’

“Welcome back, everyone,” Logghammer says, voice heavy. “I hope you’ve all gotten some rest and relaxation.” Sarcasm, in the first two sentences spoken? Bad sign. “Let’s not dilly-dally. Since the prosecution is in favor of the death penalty, I’ll ask Venedict to begin with his argument. Please.”

“Thank you, John,” Venedict says, standing up. I don’t know whether the cue cards in his hands are worrying or not. Moleman seems to think it’s the former. I really am lucky to not have to partake in this myself. “I was very happy to see you all in the colosseum last night, where we were all witness to the barbarism of the offender, alongside what the general public’s clear desires were. Was there a single person in the audience yesterday who did not partake in the chant, who was not filled with unfathomable glee and relief when said cat was skinned? That is, aside from our dearest defense.” Venedict shoots a jeering little glare not at me, but at Moleman.

I can feel myself bristle.

“This jury, these separate leaderships come together, were all formed to speak for the people of the servers—to introduce justice and law where there were confused and frightened people. You are the will and want of the people.” He turns grandly to the jury, pointing one big finger at the ceiling, where you can yet hear the murmurs and stomping of angry people. “Even down here, can we not hear the people clamoring? Through meters of earth and stone, we can still hear the will and want of the people.” ‘The will and want to see my head roll.’ He gives a coaxing smile. “Isn’t it your duty to follow it?”

Moleman stands up. Logghammer nods at him, and with that, Moleman begins to speak. “Although the government is formed to speak and act for the people, the people is not always in the right morally. When many people shout, the logic is often lost. Your duty is not to obey those who shout the loudest, but rather to bow down, and listen to the small voice of reason.” Moleman penetrates the jury with his sharp gaze. Bach squirms a little in her seat. “You must uphold civility even against the barbarism of the people.”

“Even against the barbarism of the criminal?” Venedict retorts.

Moleman nods deeply. “Yes. Civility must stand strong. The way to defeat barbarism is not to kill it, but to reason with it.”

Venedict takes one look at me and goes, “Some barbarism can’t be reasoned with.” While he smiles about his clever turn of phrase, I try my hand at telekinetically twisting his head off. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. Bummer. “Some people simply can’t get better. They kill and then they kill again. Maybe they give a show of repentance and humility, but in the end, they just do it again. These unforgivable people can only be dealt with in one singular way.”

“Nobody is unforgivable,” Moleman bites out. “Anybody can get better. You can’t assume everyone who ever commits a crime will be a repeat offender. If that was really the case, all prison sentences would be lifetime.”

“We both know that the offender is an exception to the rule.”

“Yes, but if we make one exception, it opens the door to make future ones as well. At what point is a criminal ‘unforgivable?’ When do we as a society decide to give up on those who need our help the most? When they kill ten people? Five? One?”

“When,” Venedict enunciates clearly, “they willingly burn a city to cinders.” He thumbs his lower lip. “Or how about, when they kill, dismember and eat children? Is that specific enough?”

Moleman’s face crumples up and he turns to Logghammer. “—Could we take a small breather, please?”

Logghammer nods. “Of course.”

The break lasts three minutes and it is spent in horrible, uncomfortable silence. A guard, or maybe a plaintiff of some sort, came in and left water for us. Moleman didn’t touch it. I wish I could tell him something to turn this all around, but I can’t think of a single idea. I’ve never thought much about the death penalty myself, and when I hear Venedict speak, I can’t help but think that it isn’t horrible. It’s basically just lifetime in prison with fewer steps and expenses.

Before I’ve realized it, the break ends and Moleman speaks first, saying, “There must be no exceptions. If there’s no first, there won’t have to be a last, either. Death, killing…” He gropes for words for a moment. “It is the greatest tragedy of life. If we decide that there’s a certain group of people who cannot change, who cannot get better, who may not be forgiven through anything other than death, then we place ourselves above the order of death and life. The power to order the death of a person should never…” He abruptly shakes his head. “No, sorry, let me start over.”

“By all means,” Venedict says casually. “Take all the time you need, Mole.”

Moleman bites down on his lip, chewing, brows heavy with thought. “I, um…” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “I’m the opposition, I don’t…” Another shake of the head. He takes another moment before speaking again. “If we begin designating certain people as ‘unforgivable’ then—”

“Slippery slope fallacy,” Venedict says sharply.

“I—” Moleman gulps. “S—sorry. Yeah, I…” He tugs at his collar. When did he get so sweaty? “Heh, I haven’t been in a debate since high school, so…” Cold crowd. The way they look at him… It’s changed. They see him standing next to me, and they don’t just see him anymore—they see him together with me. An ally of the monster. “Simply put,” he says, taking a long time to find the right words to follow, “the death penalty is simply morally unjust, and ineffective at what it is. Simply, it lacks the deterring effect often associated with such barbaric punishments, alongside being inherently immoral, since killing is always wrong. To live is a perpetual, self-making good, and to end that is therefore evil.” Moleman gives Venedict a long look, clearly hoping desperately for him to give a response of some sort.

Going only by Venedict’s casual, half-leaned posture, I can tell that he knows how this game is played. Instead of making his own argument, he convinced his opposition to try to flounder for arguments, making a fool out of himself while making Venedict seem to be in a much better position than he really is. If Moleman had been in a sounder mind, I’m sure he would have noticed it and returned fire much earlier. But now, it’s a stalemate.

One that Venedict would probably have continued in perpetuity, had Logghammer not said, “Well, Venedict?”

“Hm?” Venedict says. “Oh! Yes, of course. If it is inherently evil to kill, then does that mean you find war fully unjust?”

“My opinion on the necessity of war is unrelated to the discussion.”

Although Venedict seems to want to argue it, he can’t find the words and instead says, “Some evil is necessary for the betterment of society.”

“An argument that could be used to excuse any number of genocides.”

Venedict pauses briefly. “—Yes, but a valid argument nonetheless. The ends justify the means.”

“And what ends are you looking to achieve by executing the offender?”

“The prevention of an untold amount of future deaths.”

Now, Moleman hesitates. “We can never know for certain whether or not a criminal will—”

“I’m not talking about a nondescript every-man criminal. I’m talking about the offender.”

Moleman bites his tongue. He glances at me for just a second, pleading, hoping to hear me say ‘I will never reap another life again!’ or ‘I’ve turned over a new leaf—I’m a new man, your honor, and I’d never eat a baby moving forwards!’ or some other such lie. But I don’t say anything. My eyes are stuck looking at the judge, looking at the jury, who are all looking at Moleman as though he’s as much of a madman as I am. As though we’re both lunatics in this together, and maybe, just maybe, he also deserves what’s coming to him.

Sin by association. An ancient, long-disproved notion that wrongdoing tarnishes like crude oil to silk.

It is as old as it is human.

They look at me and they look at Moleman and they see one. I can’t stand it.

Opening my mouth, I finally speak up for myself, and say, to Moleman’s horror, “I’d do it again.”

Silence. Everyone looking at me like I just told a locker room full of classmates that I’d been having homosexual thoughts lately. Moleman worst of all. He stares at me for almost a full minute before the reality of what I just admitted sets in and his head flies to face the judge and jury, mouth moving rapid-fire, saying, “He isn’t—he doesn’t know what he’s saying, once he leaves the tournament he’ll be of a different mind, and when he beats the tutorial he’ll be perfectly ready and willing to help Earth defeat the threat of the—”

“And,” I say, my single word choking all noise again, “I don’t regret what I did one bit.”

Moleman’s jaw trembles. “He—he doesn’t—”

“It kind of sucked that people didn’t like what I was doing, and that I lost my friend over it, but the actual things I did? I don’t regret it in the least. It was totally worth it, and if I went back in time to before all of this happened, I’d still do all of it over again.” I turn to Moleman. One final nail in the coffin. It’ll hurt, but I have to do it. I can explain it all afterwards, so for now, I just have to make this convincing, at any cost.

“Including killing you.”

Moleman looks at me. I look up at him. My words echo through the bunker briefly before fading away. And in those little moments, where I can still hear the calm, icy-cold words I just said, I can see a little something form in Moleman’s eye. A look of realization. An understanding of who I am when I’m not his friend. I see him, and he sees me, for once.

He turns to the judge and jury. “If anything else,” he says, quietly, “letting him live will surely grant him more pain than the absolution of death ever will.” He takes a trembling breath. “And maybe, one day, he’ll come to regret your mercy.”

Logghammer looks up at Moleman and smiles softly, eyes bright.

“Thank you, we’ll be sure to keep it in mind.”