Aaron SMITH

(ENGLISH) CHAPTER 1: Aaron Smith "The Hand of Shadow"

It was 3:30 PM at the United States Supreme Court... or at least, what was left of it.
November 26th, Thanksgiving Day, should have been a national celebration, but the atmosphere today was anything but festive. The sun, though high in the sky, illuminated the empty streets with an unexpected chill. It was one of those autumn days where the weather seemed bright, yet the cold air whispered that something was wrong, like a sunny summer day tainted by the invisible presence of mourning.
The air was dry, and a light breeze swept the last remnants of fallen leaves across the pavement, adding a subtle tension to the already heavy atmosphere. Outside the courthouse, a silent, bundled crowd had gathered. Their faces were closed off, as if the cold pierced straight into their souls. The giant screens broadcasting the trial gave the impression that even nature was holding its breath, hesitant to shine too brightly on a day when justice was attempting to confront the unspeakable. Every gaze, blending fear and fascination, was fixed on one person: a young man of barely 27, chained in a cage as if he were an indomitable nightmare finally captured.
At the heart of this trial, the defendant stood tall, imposing. At 1.98 meters (6'6") and weighing 90 kilos (200 lbs) of muscle, his body betrayed a life of discipline and sacrifice. His brown hair framed a square face with a strong jawline, where his green eyes shone with an almost supernatural intensity. A disturbing smile tugged at his lips, seductive on the surface but hinting at an insidious madness, as though the demon within him was biding its time to strike again.
Justice Marcia Rowens, famed for her unyielding nature, stared at him with icy determination. Surrounding her were other state figures, such as Attorney General Gerard Millstein, known for his relentless pursuit of justice, and Senator Robert Clay, whose voice was laced with barely contained fury, all witnessing this historic scene. Even the Chief Justice, August Bradlow, had made the trip to oversee this trial of unprecedented magnitude.
Yet the defendant, impassive, showed no fear. His gaze conveyed the certainty of someone who had already fulfilled his purpose: the total destruction of what he once served. He saw himself beyond good and evil, beyond human judgment. To him, this trial was merely a formality. He had sown chaos and led a nation to its downfall, with the assurance of an artist creating a macabre masterpiece.
Judge Rowens, renowned for her firmness, felt an unusual weight on her shoulders. This was no longer just a legal case, but the culmination of an entire career dedicated to justice. And yet, she hesitated. Never before had she felt such reluctance to judge a man. In front of her, it was as if the devil himself was chained. But her convictions forced her to move forward. She couldn't back down. It was her duty to judge this being who had consumed an entire nation. This moment, though monumental, was tinged with sadness. She had hoped her career would culminate in the celebration of truth, not in the shadow of ruin. But history had decided otherwise.
— Let the trial begin, she declared in a clear and unyielding voice. It is not only a man who is on trial today, but the shadow of a nation he has led to its own downfall.
The defendant's smile widened, echoing a terrifying certainty. To him, this judgment was merely a formality, a final crescendo. It wasn't the end, but the realization of a dark dream. He would etch his name into history, carved through the smoldering ruins of what he had destroyed.
The courtroom, silent, seemed to hold its breath as Judge Rowens spoke, her gaze fixed on the accused.
— Accused, she said in a firm voice, you stand here charged with crimes of unparalleled gravity. The charges against you include terrorism, abuse of power, manipulation, murder, particularly orchestrated assassinations, as well as inciting public unrest and illegal arms trafficking. What do you have to say in response to these accusations?
The defendant, Aaron Smith, showed no sign of nervousness. His smile grew wider as he leaned slightly forward, like a predator ready to strike.
— Your Honor, he replied in a calm, composed voice, I am not here to plead guilty or innocent. I am here to speak a truth that this world refuses to accept.
Attorney General Gerard Millstein stood up, his face marked with indignation.
— How dare you speak of truth, Smith!? he shouted. You orchestrated attacks that not only claimed the lives of thousands of innocents but also triggered riots, civil and racial wars, food shortages, and power outages. Your actions caused the deaths of millions of people!
Aaron simply stared at him, his gaze burning with icy arrogance.
— Shame? No, Mr. Millstein. I feel only pride for what I have accomplished. What you call "murders," I call necessary sacrifices to open the eyes of a blind nation.
Senator Robert Clay, red with anger, intervened.
— Sacrifices!? You talk about human lives as if they were just pawns on a chessboard. You are a monster, and you must answer for your actions before this court!
Aaron raised an eyebrow, looking amused.
— Monster? Perhaps. But I am also the product of a corrupt system that leaves no room for truth. You are all here because you fear what I represent: the revelation of a far darker reality than the one you try to conceal.
Judge Rowens, though disturbed by his words, maintained her stance.
— Very well, Smith. If you have so much to say, prepare to do so. Your turn will come, but first, I want you to understand that this court is here to judge actions, not speeches.
The courtroom was in an uproar, each spectator hanging on the accused's every word. The tension was palpable, the atmosphere vibrating with an electric energy.
She paused for a moment, then, with firm resolve, added:
— I will listen to you, but know that your words will be weighed.
Aaron smiled, as if he had been waiting for this moment with anticipation. He raised his hand, standing back as if trying to capture everyone's attention.
— You want to know the truth? he asked, his voice resonating with unsettling assurance. You, who imagine yourselves safe behind your walls, who have tasted prosperity while ignoring the cries of those who suffer.
He paused, scanning the faces around him, and continued, his voice intensifying.
— I didn't kill those thousands of citizens. No, it was my actions, my decisions that led to their destruction. The riots, the civil and racial wars, the shortages, all of it is the result of a rotten system that I have brought to light. When I think of the millions of shattered lives, the devastated families, I can't help but feel a sense of pride.
He straightened up, his massive figure casting a menacing shadow.
— But that, you'll never hear in your gilded salons, will you? You prefer to blame the monster rather than face the truth. I am the one who shook the foundations of your comfort. So, you who thirst for answers, let me explain why.
Judge Rowens, visibly troubled by the passion in his words, gave him a piercing look.
— What could justify such actions, Smith? What grief or anger could justify such monstrosity?
Aaron, defiant, approached the barrier of his enclosure, his eyes burning.
— Grief? Yes, it runs deep. Anger? Absolutely. Anger at a world that has failed to listen to the desperate, the forgotten.
He paused for a moment, letting his words hang in the heavy, tension-filled air.
— But I'm not here to mourn the past. I'm here to confront you with your own inaction. So, why remain professional when the truth demands to be heard, even if it disturbs your peace?
Judge Rowens, though determined to maintain order, felt the impact of his words. Her gaze betrayed a mix of grief and anger, but she couldn't allow herself to express it.
— Very well, Smith. I will hear you, but know that this court is here to judge actions, not speeches.
Aaron bowed slightly, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips.
— You who thirst for answers, let me explain why.
A question lingered in the air, marked by a profound interrogation, to which were added immense grief and deep anger. This moment of confrontation was not merely a judicial battle, but a philosophical clash, a struggle to understand a world gone mad.
Judge Rowens, despite the gravity of the situation, knew she had to keep her professional composure. Yet, part of her was shaken by the relentless logic of this man who seemed to have abandoned all emotion. The courtroom was on edge, ready to listen to the story he was about to tell, while fearing the catastrophic repercussions that might follow.