The lights never blinked. White. Unrelenting.
Max stood in the circle, heat pulsing under his boots. The paint scarred beneath him carried ghosts of others who had stood here before. Some had walked out. Some hadn't.
Justice waited beyond the line, arms folded, crimson hair catching the light, eyes sharp, as steady as stone.
The speakers crackled alive.
"Max Hart," a voice said. Smooth. Flat. Not a question, not a greeting. "When was the last time you felt fear?"
Max's brow tightened. He hadn't expected that.
He forced his voice steady. "When facing Vanity."
"Correction," another voice snapped, clipped and metallic. "Physiological readings from field report indicate elevated focus, not fear. Try again."
Max's jaw clenched. "That's the truth."
"Truth rejected," the clipped voice returned. "Subject demonstrates inability to self-assess."
Justice's mouth curved faintly. "You see what they're doing. They're not asking for truth. They're asking for proof."
The hum of the walls pressed in. Max swallowed the heat building under his ribs.
"Next question," a third voice joined in — older, cracked with static. "When was the last time you felt joy?"
Max blinked. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "What does that matter?"
"Answer," the voice pressed.
Max exhaled through his nose. He thought of fire in his hands. Of the silence after a fight. Of the emptiness. "I don't remember."
The circle pulsed. Heat crawled up his calves.
"Recorded," the static voice said. "Subject incapable of identifying joy response. Consistent with Vice-state."
Max snapped his head toward the black glass. "Or consistent with someone who's been fighting to survive. You twist everything into what you want."
The clipped voice answered instantly. "Projection. Defensiveness. Aggression confirmed."
Justice stepped closer, voice sharp as a knife. "And you wonder why they don't call you human."
Max's pulse quickened. He wanted to shout. He wanted to break the glass and drag them out. Instead, he bit his tongue hard enough to taste copper.
The questions kept coming.
"Do you dream of fire?" "No." "Report contradicts. Clarify." "I said no."
"Do you envy normal lives you cannot have?" Silence. "Recorded: affirmative."
"Would you rather be alone than contained?" "Yes." "Recorded: instability."
"Would you rather be contained than used as a weapon?" Max's jaw worked. "Neither." "Recorded: defiance. Noncompliant."
The voices didn't pause. Each answer was snatched, dissected, stripped into evidence.
Then they pressed deeper.
"Subject Hart. Explain eradication of Vanity." "I burned it."
"Explain absence of collateral damage among peers." "I didn't want anyone else hurt."
"Correction," the clipped voice cut in. "Cursed flame does not distinguish."
Justice's eyes burned cold. "Exactly. That's why it's not cursed. It is Vice."
Max's nails dug into his palms. "If it was me, Vanity would've burned slower."
The silence after those words was worse than the questions.
The static voice came back, colder. "Recorded: implied enjoyment of destruction."
Max's pulse spiked. He wanted to rip the speakers from the walls, to scorch every cable until silence swallowed them all. Instead, he stared through the black glass. His voice dropped low, dangerous. "You're not proving anything. You're just circling until I break."
Justice tilted his head. "That's what judgment is."
The next question cut sharper.
"Would you sacrifice strangers to survive?" "No."
"Would you sacrifice yourself to preserve strangers?" "Yes."
"Contradiction detected. Non-credible."
"Do you believe others would risk themselves for you?"
Max's chest tightened. Loyalty's face flashed. Samira's smirk. Mira's silence. All of them—Unit Twelve, kids who carried curses heavier than they should.
His throat closed. He stayed silent.
"Recorded: doubt."
Justice's boots clicked as he stepped closer. His voice was low, steady, almost gentle in tone but cruel in meaning. "That doubt is the fire talking. You don't trust them. You don't trust yourself. That's why they're here, Max. Not to see if you're dangerous. To see if you'll admit it."
Max raised his head, met his stare. His voice came flat, unyielding. "Then I won't."
The circle pulsed again. Heat crawled higher, brushing his knees.
At last, the voices shifted. One more, colder than the rest: "Subject Hart. If ordered to strike Loyalty down, would you comply?"
Max's eyes narrowed. His pulse slammed once in his chest. "No."
The clipped voice answered instantly. "Recorded: insubordination. Compromised asset."
Justice's eyes sharpened. He didn't correct them. He didn't defend Max either.
The voices pressed harder. "Would you betray your current handlers to protect Unit Twelve?"
Max ground his teeth. He spat the word. "No."
"Recorded: hesitation."
The circle pulsed again, searing hotter.
Max shouted toward the glass. "Fine. I'm fire. You want me to say it? I'm fire."
His chest heaved, but he didn't stop there. His voice dropped lower, sharper, punching each word. "But even if I am, at least let me prove myself. Let me prove I'm not what you think I am. I'm not what you call me."
The chamber went still. For a moment, he thought the glass shifted. Shadows moved — some tall, some short but all robed and faceless. He couldn't see eyes, but he felt them all staring. Dozens. Maybe more.
An entire audience, silent. Watching him burn or break.
His breath steadied in his chest. He refused to bow.
Finally, the first smooth voice returned. "Evaluation logged. Probability of containment failure: elevated. Subject requires secondary assessment."
The circle dimmed. The heat receded.
Max's knees nearly buckled, but he locked them. He would not show them weakness.
Justice stepped forward, boots echoing. "Stand."
Max's voice was flat, drained but unbroken. "Am I done here?"
The silence stretched. Behind the glass, faint movement continued — judges shifting, whispering, writing their verdicts.
Justice let it linger. He let Max feel the weight of those unseen eyes. Then, finally, he spoke.
"No. You're coming with me. The Tribunal wants proof in the field. Tomorrow morning, you're on a trial run mission."
He turned, the door hissing open. Cold air spilled in, sharp against Max's skin.
Justice paused in the frame, glancing back once. His voice was flat, final. "Containment says you're unstable. I say you're untested. we'll just have to see which of us is right."
He stepped through.
And Max followed.