The cell was sterile. Behind those bars were nothing more than a cot, a toilet, and a mare lying asleep in her army fatigues. Sleep was a subjective term in this instance, it would perhaps be more correct to describe her state as dormant, still with her eyes closed but simply waiting. This cell was only a temporary home and she knew it.

Depending on how these next few days or weeks play out, her fate is slated for either a penitentiary… or the gallows.

Her sense of time was thrown off by the lack of windows or clocks in the jail, her only clues coming from hearing the guards switch patrols or from other detainees chatting in the adjacent cells. It made little difference, however. Given who was set to try her case, it was almost certain the concept of time was going to lose all meaning by the end of this entire process. There was no use fretting over it.

The sound of footsteps echoing from down the corridor knocked her out of her faux sleep. The morning patrol, most likely. It was time to stand and stretch her limbs. Maybe she would have some time to do some wingups before breakfast was served.

“Private! It’s time to go. Her Excellency will be here shortly.”

Alas there went that idea. But at least things are moving along. With any luck, this will be over swiftly and she can finally be out of this hellhole. The mare popped the vertebrae in her back and neck before stepping forward and putting her hooves through the small opening in the cell, allowing the guards to slap on her shiny silver bracelets. The cell opened and the guard barked for her to step forward, an order that she complied with without resistance and with patience as her hind hooves and wings were ruther restrained. The efforts to impair her movements weren’t necessary in her mind, there were literally zero reasons to even consider running away or fighting. She had accomplished what she set out to do and now it was time to face the music.

Flanked by the guards on both sides, the pegasus was escorted through the jailhouse and into the city building it was attached to. Many public servants stood aside and gawked at the unusual sight of seeing a military servicemare being frog marched without a hint of regret.

“Is that her?” one paralegal asked her colleague.

“Yeah, I believe so.” the colleague responded. “She’s more emotionless than I expected.”

“I’ll say. I would’ve expected to see her recieving a medal, not a prison sentence.”

“Given what she did, I think she’d sooner be slated for the razor.”

“The razor? You mean… She’s being tried by…? In a court-martial? And here? This is highly unusual…”

“Her Excellency must have thought this was extremely serious. Hey, you wanna attend the gallery?”

“Brr, no way! After that last trial, Her Excellency’s mere presence scares the sin out of me.”

“Yeah, I hear you. And that mare has to face her? Poor bastard…”

The mare rolled her eyes at this idle gossip. There was nothing productive about it. If they had time to talk, they had time to work. But a dishonored soldier like her has no place to speak.

The doors to the courtroom were open well in advance prior to being led through them. The gallery was modestly packed with law students, journalists, and curious observers who wanted to watch and study this trial. The prosecution sat across from her, the seat where her public pretender had nervously been preparing what was sure to be an impossible-to-defend case. The prosecutor looked equally uneasy despite being almost guaranteed to receive a victory here. Maybe it was because of who the judge was, it was all over the news and virtually nobody wanted to interact with her, in or out of the court.

Glancing over at the jury panel yielded a sight of six armed forces personnel, a third of which were enlisted and the remainder officers, all of the different branches the empire took pride in cultivating. Being just as stoic as she, yet showed no desire to be here either. The mare sighed and took her seat, resting her hooves on the table clasped and sitting up, quiet in her demeanor. You would think she was simply waiting for the coffee she ordered at the cafe rather than about to take part in the most stressful point in her life up to this point.

It was soon after that the gongs of the Solar Cathedral bells rang and signaled to his glorious holy city that oh-seven-hundred had arrived. And on cue, an orange, blue-haired pegasus dressed in his own fatigues marched in and, upon stopping in front of the bench, commanded the attention of all present.

“All rise for Her Excellency!” ordered the bailiff.

Complying with this order, everyone stood. The air was tense, eyes darted around in anxiety. It was at the entrance where the guards dipped their heads with a genuflection to greet Her Excellency who with her head held high passed through those doors.

There she was.

She was a tall mare, dressed in her iconic white and gold robes, a stylistic necktie decorating her collar. Her long pointed horn sparkled in the morning glow of the light through the windows, her documents and files held under one wing and her gold encrusted mahogany gavel firmly clenched in the other. The gold and jeweled halo head-dress on the back of her head accented her dark sapphire streaked mane and violet coat. She walked straight and narrow despite her eyes closed—or at least narrowed—with cold indifference, like all present was beneath her and not bothering with eye contact.

That did not last long, however.

She took her seat up on the bench, placing her documents and banging her gavel. It was at this point, she opened those lids to reveal the harsh golden eyes that sent a chill down even the most hardened of veterans in the chamber, the very glare that made one involuntarily hold their breath as their heart rate spiked for a millisecond.

“The Supreme Criminal Court of the Greater Solar Dominion is now in session. Her Excellency Saint Twilight Sparkle presiding. Please be seated.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sentry. As representative of this highest of holy criminal courts, I, Saint Twilight Sparkle of House Magia—Supreme Chief Justice and acting archbishop of the Holy Empire of Equestrian Dominions—shall hereby exercise my authority and act as the representative of the court in what is a nonstandard military court-martial, in lieu of normal due process. I understand that the jury has already been sworn in. Very good. If both sides are ready, will the council for the prosecution introduce themselves?”

The processuctor, a rather portly earth pony who’s mane practically inorganic with the amount of hair gel he seems to put in it. “Yor Excellency and members of the jury. Sir Gladmane, I shall be representin’ tha State. The evidence I will be presentin’ will prove to the court why the defendant should be found guilty of the crimes accused.”

Her Excellency nodded as the prosecutor unbuttoned his jacket and sat back down. “Will the council for the defense introduce themselves?”

The mousy earth attorney, who had the most unenviable job in the courtroom, stood and buttoned his blazer in order to appear at least somewhat confident. “Y-your Excellency and members of the jury! Mr. Silver Shill, I shall be representing the defendant. Under the law, my client is presumed innocent until proven guilty. The evidence I will present during this trial will prove why the defendant should be found not guilty by reason of insanity.”

(“Insanity, eh?”) The pegasus thought with an inward sigh. (“Guess he has no possible argument for a not guilty plea. Whatever, not like I expected one.”)

Her Excellency seemed rather unamused by the proceedings that had only just begun, an observation that made both lawyers extremely concerned. This was going to be a painful one.

The tapping of the stenographer was the only thing keeping the silence from being deafening. “Could you please spell your names for the record?”

After a slight pause in the proceedings to get the record up to speed, Her Excellency took a sip of her coffee before continuing. “Will the defendant please step forward and state your name, rank, and occupation?”

Here it is, the moment of truth. The mare stood and straightened her back, adopting the most emotionless neutral face she could muster. “Your Excellency. My name is Lightning S. Dust. I am a private-first-class assigned to the eighty-third infantry division of the Holy Equestrian Imperial Army, three-hundred thirty-first regiment headquartered in Cloudsdale. I served as part of Bravo Squad during the siege of Griffonstone before my arrest."

"You seem to have some prestige behind you. I have it on file that your father is the Major General Blitzshlag who commands the very division your battalion is attached to. In addition, your uncle, Colonel Strom, is the commander of your very regiment. Additionally, your two cousins are, respectively, a marine gunnery sergeant and a naval petty officer serving in our Holy Imperial Navy, is this correct?"

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"I see. Your family has, for generations, served this great bastion of righteousness in our mission to spread the guidance of the Messiah and distribute punishment for the Adversary. And yet you, just six days prior at the forward operating base in the heretical lands of Griffonstone, are accused of committing one of the most serious offenses in recent history. One that surely disgraces your family's name and forces them to regrettably cut their ties with you."

Dust stood silently. Those six days had allowed her to prepare and strengthen her resolve. There was nothing more left for her to consider.

“Alright then. Let’s see here…”

Her Excellency opened the folder containing this case's documents and after adjusting her reading glasses, exhaled a disdainful breath, accompanied with a stern glare that shot right through the emotional armor guarding the defendant.

"Private Dust. You stand accused of the following crimes: you are accused of one count of first-degree murder of your superior officer Lieutenant Colonel Wind Rider, himself a national hero; you are accused of four counts of voluntary manslaughter for the deaths of the officers the victim was consulting with at the time of the incident; you are accused of two counts of attempted involuntary manslaughter for the injuries sustained to the patrolling military-police at the scene, by way of friendly fire; you are accused of first-degree feloney property damage of equipment and posessions owned by the state ranging in the excess of ten-thousand bits; and finally you are accused of high treason for attempted interference in the operation the victims in question were in charge of wherein the aforementioned murder, manslaughter, and property damage charges stem from. If you are found to be guilty of the accounts of murder and treason, be aware you will be facing the death penalty at most, and life in prison at least. With these charges brought forward to you, how do you plead, Private Dust?"

"No contest, Your Excellency."

The judge raised an eyebrow. “No contest, you say? You understand the implications of this phrase, correct?”

“It is neither an admission of guilt, nor an appeal for innocence. I have done what I set out to do, I do not want to drag out this trial.”

“I see.” Her Excellency removed her glasses and leaned forward, as if to look the accused directly in the eye. The accused mare’s eyes were devoid of all meaning in life, a distinct apathy painting glazing over her irises. “Just to clarify. You do realize that by pleading this, you surrender all rights to a trial and your fate will be decided based on doctrine alone?”

“Yes, Your Excellency. I am not afraid. I shall answer to the Messiah and will be judged by the Adversary, for they are the only ones who hold true jurisdiction over my offenses.”

The two attorneys glanced at one another, perplexed but somewhat relieved. Perhaps this was for the best, a quick and easy job they can put behind them.

Alas, it was not meant to be. For through the doors leading into the court sounded a threatening pair of hooves, heavy and deliberate, full of conviction. In any other circumstances, this sort of interruption would draw the ire of the court and the authorities involved. But the mare those hooves belonged to was equally infamous as the justice taking charge… Perhaps moreso.

She was also a tall mare, a spear glowing with the might of lightning, complimenting the thunderous claps of her hooves and illuminating her horn and highlighting her multi-colored mane with various shades. She too wore a tunic of white and gold, vaguely stained with residue of pink in telltale areas. Her face displayed an extreme arrogance, the harsh gold eyes angled with malicious intent to partner her malevolent toothy smirk.

As if the audience of the court weren’t already threatened by one…

“Woah now, Saint Sparky,” said the newcomer with a deep yet subdued accusative tone. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This one is a terrorist, plain and simple. I know you’re just itching to have that razor of yours send her to meet the Adversary, but the state has a right to know of the circumstances that occured. If we send her to the blade now…” she paused to emit a quiet condescending cackle, “the knowledge we could gain from her accomplices will be lost forever.”

“Your Eminence Saint Rainbow Dash,” Her Excellency stated with narrowing disdain. “You will not speak to the representative of the court and your colleague in such a manner.”

“Oh whatever. I’ve no obligation to pay heed to such nonsense. You are a talker and a coward, sitting behind that desk while you have your scarlet paladin deliver your so-called ‘justice’. I however am a mare of action and this one’s transgression did happen under my watch. Besides, bestowing mercy upon her in the form of a quick death is too good for her. Can’t you see, she wants to fly into the grave. And with it, take all her secrets of those blasphemous revolutionaries who dare undermine this…” The Saint hopped over the bar and stood before the bench, popping her neck as her spear vanished. “...Most glorious empire.”

Her Excellency narrowed further into a glare, one that did nothing to intimidate the prism-haired pest before her who only returned with a smug and knowing grin. But there was no further course of action she could take against her.

“...Very well,” Her Excellency said as she placed her glasses back on her face, “perhaps you are right. The court does need to hear about the events of that night in question. As such, I hereby suspend the defendant’s right to forego a trial. We shall deliberate as planned.”

The prism prelate paced pompously, pestering the presiding and perplexed prosecutor with a thick file yielded from under her wing, practically out of thin air. “What’s your name again?”

The prosecutor’s eyes attempted their hardest to force eye contact as he frantically searched for an answer. “Uh, It’s, er… Sir–”

“Actually don’t bother, I’m just gonna forget it in a minute. Listen, this isn’t really your specialty, this court-martial business. Your jurisdiction is civilian courts. I’ll cut you a check for the time you would’ve spent here, why don’t you just leave things to me. Else things get…” The saint drew her face close with a menacing glare, betraying her earlier display of hubris. “... Complicated. If you are so inclined to understand my meaning.”

The big haired attorney was at a loss for words. Whether he was being threatened or bribed was a genuine question. One he knew he would be foolish to dwell on as he swallowed the lump building in his throat and nodded. “Y-yes Yer Eminence, I understand clearly. I, uh, I shall be goin’ immediately.”

Without further delay, Sir Gladmane stood up and sharply exhaled as he gathered his belongings before hurrying past the bar, leaving behind the evidence he had prepared and giving the public defender a knowing sympathy nod. The rainbow-haired saint made a show of dropping her folder onto the desk, causing a loud thud that was audible throughout the court, further infuriating the judge. “Let it be known that I will be representing the state and presiding over the prosecution going forward… acting as high prosecutor, as is my holy right.” she said she glanced over to Her Excellency and winked. “If you’ve no objections, My Kin.”

A grunt of annoyance snorted from the judge. “Your courtroom etiquette is atrocious, Saint Dash. But the court will allow it, as is your right. Do not waste anymore of the court’s time with your antics.”

The defense attorney visibly trembled by this point, dropping metaphorical bricks in the presence of not one but two of the empire’s infamous autocrats taking point at the bench and the prosecution. How in the absolute hell is he supposed to keep his composure like this? Private Dust rolled her eyes and sighed. “Your Excellency? May I make a request?”

“What is it?” the judge said as she closed her eyes with a sigh of resignation.

“If it is within your power to do so, I would like to discharge my attorney and represent myself going forward.”

Both the judge and the high prosecutor, along with the attorney in question, snapped their heads up, their eyes fixated on the defendant. For the high prosecutor, a look of amusement. For the public defender, a look of relief. And for the judge, a rare look of bewilderment. “Uh… Huh. Apologies, you want to forgo…? You know what, sure. Fine. It is probably for the best anyway. The court hereby grants this request. Mr. Silver Shill, you will be allowed to leave as you wish. The state will grant you a check for your wasted time. Oh and Mr. Shill?”

The lawyer, who was in the process of grabbing his belongings, tensed every muscle in his body upon hearing his name being called. “Y-y-yes, Your Emine- I-I m-mean Your E-Excellency?”

“...Please breathe, you are turning my shade of purple.”

A bit of silence followed her quip, followed by the bailiff clearing his throat. “Her Excellency made a joke, you are free to laugh.”

“Uh, thank you, Mr. Sentry,” Her Excellency responded to her bailiff blankly, who merely gave her a confused shrug.

Following the most forced nervous laughter of the gallery—and a groan from the high prosecutor—Silver Shill genuflected out of respect for the supreme justice and made his hasty retreat, likely to seek refuge in the pub where he was sure Sir Gladmane was waiting for him.

Now, the actors were assembled to play their parts, each suspicious of each other and leaving the jury and the audience curious for what is to come. Her Excellency slumped back in her chair to compose herself after a rough opening statement. Chatter among the gallery started up and the noise knocked the saint out of her respite, bringing her back to reality. “Order! Order!” the judge commanded as she banged her gavel, bringing the gossip to a speedy halt. “Very well then. This has been… Unorthodox, but then this is an unorthodox trial to begin with.”

“Knocks the sense out of you, does it not?” Saint Dash snickered, prompting Her Excellency to shoot daggers at her once again. With a triumphant confidence in herself, she leaned forward and rested her hooves on her desk, slouching as she scrutinized the defendant as if to analyze her prey. Her gaze challenged Private Dust, a challenge she met with a stern, if empty side glance. “Well then. Shall we get the ball rolling?”

Her Excellency, herself leaning forward after fully composing herself, focused her sights on her complacent colleague. Though this uncouth cretant presented herself in such a way, deep in herself the saint of justice was deeply interested in the machinations at play. And how Saint Dash was planning on spinning them.

“Very well. Our first order of business shall be to get a grasp on the events that happened on the night of the incident in question. I hereby declare that this trial is now in session...”