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墨書 Inktalez
When William reappeared in the public eye, he was no longer the charismatic Chair of the Department of History he once was. Instead, he resembled a shell devoid of a soul, alive yet profoundly hollow. His body was tightly bound to a stretcher with layers of restraints, his arms locked across his chest and his ankles similarly secured, completely stripped of the freedom to move. His head was forced upward, unable to lower, his gaze vacant, filled with confusion and despair. The entire setup made him look like a monster that had crawled out from the depths of an abyss, reminiscent of Hannibal Lecter’s first appearance in *The Silence of the Lambs*.
Outside the courthouse, a throng of reporters had gathered, their camera flashes incessantly capturing him as they fervently debated this "mad history professor." Their eyes brimmed with disgust and disdain, even tinged with a perverse sense of amusement, as if William's existence were nothing more than an absurd spectacle for their entertainment. Each time the stretcher moved slightly, the cameras zoomed in rapidly, and the reporters howled like rabid dogs, as if this scene were a top-tier tabloid show.
" William Conrad, once a prestigious professor, now reduced to this!"
"Look at him! How could someone like this have stayed in academia for so long?"
Each word pierced through William's eardrums like a blade. His head hung low, his expression hollow and vacant, mumbling something under his breath. Laughter and mocking voices echoed from the crowd; some even shouted and cursed at him. Yet none of it mattered to William anymore.
He had given up resisting.
As he was wheeled into the courtroom, silence fell over the crowd. Everyone fixated on this madman strapped to a stretcher as if he were a beast caged in iron. The judge regarded William coldly while the spectators in the gallery looked on with scorn and ridicule. This trial had ceased to be an opportunity for justice; it had become a public humiliation.
William's lips twitched as if trying to smile but failing to do so. Several guards pushed him slowly into the courtroom; his unfocused gaze swept over every face around him, yet no one connected with him in any meaningful way. The world had completely abandoned him, treating him merely as fodder for entertainment.
When the stretcher reached the center of the courtroom, everyone held their breath, waiting for this hopeless trial to commence. The judge lowered his head to review the case files while an oppressive murmur filled the gallery. William's breathing quickened; cold sweat beaded on his forehead as anxiety and fear began to surface in his eyes.
He was not afraid of the judgment he faced; rather, he understood that no one grasped the true danger at hand. No one knew James's secret; no one realized how that demon was orchestrating everything. This trial was already predetermined—no matter what he said, no one would believe him.
"I am not wrong... I am not wrong..." William murmured, his voice sounding particularly desolate in the silent courtroom. His lips trembled as he stared blankly into the distance, as if hoping someone would come to save him or hear his voice.
The atmosphere in the courtroom was tense and oppressive as William lay on the stretcher, completely bound and unable to move even an inch. The judge's stern gaze swept over him before coldly beginning to inquire about the details of the case, as if examining a soulless shell. His voice was heavy and icy, devoid of any emotion: " William Conrad, please state your intentions regarding your assassination attempt on James Quinn."
William's lawyer stood up, hurriedly adjusting his glasses, clearly feeling the heavy pressure of the trial. He understood that without a strong enough defense, William could face the harshest penalties.
"Your Honor," the lawyer's voice trembled slightly, "my client, Professor William Conrad, has long suffered from mental illness, particularly under the stress and anxiety brought on by the rise of Professor James. This has led to a gradual deterioration of his mental state... At that time, he was not mentally stable; one could say that William's actions were entirely the result of insanity and not premeditated criminal intent."
The courtroom fell silent, with only the occasional rustle of paper breaking the tension as everyone held their breath, waiting for the prosecutor's response.
The prosecutor, sitting nearby, rose with a composed demeanor, holding a document in his hand. He walked to the center of the courtroom and met the judge's gaze directly, his tone calm and precise: "Your Honor, we have sufficient evidence to demonstrate that this was not a case of temporary insanity but rather a meticulously planned act of violence. Professor William Conrad did not lose control in a moment of passion; he deliberately orchestrated a public assassination."
He paused for effect, pointing to the document in his hand as he continued: "According to our investigation, William was fully aware of James Quinn's class schedule and chose to strike during a general education course. This class is one of the most populated in the entire school. William selected this moment because the crowded environment would provide cover for his actions while maximizing panic and chaos. Such behavior is clearly premeditated and eliminates any possibility of actions being out of control due to mental instability."
The judge's gaze slowly fell upon William's face, as if scrutinizing a condemned man. William felt as if he were pinned to a stretcher, unable to move; every gaze felt like a cold blade slicing through his skin. His mind began to buzz, and everything before him blurred as if the entire courtroom were spinning.
The prosecutor's voice remained steady yet carried an unyielding coldness: "Moreover, William not only chose to act when there were the most people present but also deliberately created maximum panic and harm. Such actions demonstrate his complete disregard for campus safety; one could even argue that he represents an extreme danger within our educational institution."
The lawyer attempted to counter this argument, but his voice sounded feeble, like futile justifications. Everyone in the courtroom looked at William with disdain and contempt; no one seemed willing to believe that there was anything wrong with his mental state. Under the prosecutor's analysis, everything appeared indisputable.
William's lips trembled slightly; he could no longer utter any words. He knew that this trial had already sealed its fate.
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