A Little's Path to Redemption

01. Little Criminal

—Asher—

Criminal.

The judge slams her gavel down, finalizing my sentence. No one listened to me, no one at all.

They caught me again, and decided this was the last time they wanted to arrest me. The gang didn't even come for me, didn't bail me out.

I whip my head around as my lawyer stutters out for a classification plea. I slam my hand down on the table, standing up in a fit of anger. "There is no plea! I am a neutral, not a stupid little!" I snarl, knowing exactly what this blubbering idiot is trying to do. If I get a classification plea, and they find out for sure that I'm a neutral, I'll go to prison. If my classification was wrong and I'm a.. little. That would change everything.

The judge hits the gavel down again, yelling over the commotion. "Order! Order in my court. Mr. Smith, sit down and let your lawyer speak, please." The stern woman, Judge Anders, commands in a firm tone. I glare up at her before hesitantly sitting back down, tapping my finger against the table. My dumbass lawyer stands up, holding a few papers.

"Judge Anders, if I may. If my client was misclassified, that would reduce his sentencing to one acceptable of a little. I would like to propose this request, for an immediate reclassification test." The lawyer sits back down, and to my horror, Judge Anders is actually considering it!

Judge Anders intertwines her fingers, resting her hands down on the polished wood of her bench. "Well, I can certainly agree that the defendant has had quite a few.. 'tantrums' over the period of his arrests." She sighs, shuffling the papers and fixing them. "I will approve this request. Testing shall be immediate and thorough, once completed court will resume for resentencing."

As Judge Anders hits the gavel down, I feel my heart shatter. Handcuffs are put back onto my wrists, and I'm led out of the courtroom to a cell. Sitting on the bed, I hold my head in my hands. I can't be a little, I won't be.

After a not very restful sleep, I'm taken away to a doctor's office. I sneer at the childish building, glaring at the toys that I desperately want to play with despite my disgust. I angrily sit with the cop who's watching me, tapping my foot on the floor.

After a few minutes my name is called, and I hesitantly step into the exam room. The doctor sits in a comfortable chair, and turns to look at me with a smile. "Mr. Asher Smith! Come on in, take a seat."

Awkwardly sitting down at a small desk, the doctor comes over with some papers and a pencil. I read their name tag to see 'Dr. Taylor M. They/Them'.

The doctor smiles at me, setting the papers and pencil down. "I'm the doctor here, Taylor Moore! You can just call me Taylor, I don't like being called by my last name." Taylor chuckles softly, their pointy ears wiggling slightly. "If you're a little confused about why you're at a doctor's office instead of a testing center, it's because I also specialize in classification testing!" Taylor does a little happy hands motion, and points to the papers. "Please fill these out for me, then we'll move onto a few other tests! Let me know if you need any help." The kind doctor goes back over to their desk, and I look down at the papers.

The papers are filled with multiple choice questions, about my mental health, if I have gaps in memory, things like that. I hesitate as I fill in the little bubbles. I know that if I fake this test, that will just land me in prison. If I pass.. that seems worse to me than prison. I chew my lip, fidgeting more the longer I have to sit still.

Once I'm finally done with the questions, I slam the pencil down. "Done!" I cross my arms, scowling. Taylor smiles and comes over to me. "Wonderful! I'll take those. Now, I do need to do a blood test, are you scared of needles?" Taylor gently questions as they set the papers in a file. I freeze up at the mention of needles, but try my best to act like I'm not. "Only a stupid baby would be scared of needles!" I slightly raise my voice, anxiety spiking.