They* say that justice is a verb.
Bah, this was supposed to be written in the past tense.
“Justice is a verb.” They said, over the prison intercom to mark the hour.
“This could wind up being downright bad.” Dawson Filter remarked, never stopping to take his feet off of the ground.
“We’ll probably get you out of here.” Twelve-Anne assured. “It’s probably pretty hard to find a person guilty of tax evasion committed by someone with a different face.”
“We cannot leave matters of things that matter to the system!” Babe Listowel pointed out, raising his fist to the sky, which was visible through the prison’s sunroof. “We sail out of here tonight.”
He pulled a rowboat from his real pocket, and watched Sylvester Denny grin, as sunlight stolen by the Earth moon shone down upon a grinning Sylvester Denny. Dawson offered a bout of applause, and Twelve-Anne feigned a cheer; but the frenzy was cut short by the mighty scissors of fate.
“Blasts!” Babe exclaimed, turning. “I’ve forgotten the oars.”
“We could call a lawyer,” Twelve-Anne suggested, “or ask someone good what happened.”
Sylvester Denny snapped one of his fingers to signal a guard. One such guard came to his side, saying “Yes?”, although not expecting a yes or no answer.
“I was just wondering if you could legally tell us what happened to force the officers of the system to write this fine, young anti-villain into their book of un-good things.” Said Sylvester.
“Well,” The man responded, wasting a full four letters, “this fellow was seen evading some taxes out by the deli; and we can’t have that, so my comrade Odysseus W. Packard fired some warning shots at him. Odysseus told me ran the man ran off; but not before dropping this.” The guard reached over to the evidence coffee table and picked up a birth certificate.
“May I please have a lawyer?” Dawson asked, well.
“If you can find one in the next fourteen hours.”
“The trial is in fourteen hours!” Dawson exclaimed with an exclamation mark.
“I’d understand your alarm if you had anything to prepare,” Said the guard, “but I can tell from the look in your eyes that to say such a thing as this would be to say such a thing as a lie.”
The guard turned about, and trotted off to attend to the desires of another prisoner. Sylvester and Dawson sighed in unison, and were about to do it again when Twelve-Anne said: “I could try to lawyer for you, Dawson. I had to take a course in law to qualify for the art school I went to, so I know some laws; and I watched Matlock.”
“Thanks.” Said Dawson, gratefully; because he knew it was better to be grateful than hateful.
“Also, I think I know enough conspiracy theories to convince the jury that time travel is a thing, so we might even be able to tell the truth.”
The Quest Committee set to work, writing down defenses, and thinking of cardless solitaire variations for Dawson to play in jail when those defenses would inevitable collapse. After several hours, the group separated by gender and degree of incarceration to sleep.
Six hours after that, they awoke to the sound of a gavel resonating through the courtroom which they had silently carried them to.
*They written in brown refers to indistinct members of The Official Government.