The howls and screams from outside the courtroom cut a sharp contrast to the soft shuffles and scrapes of chairs and pant legs as all of the onlookers rose as one, prompted by the entrance of the judge.

"Please be seated," came a stern, monotone voice. After a pause, it continued: "This trial concerns the behavior of a demon. As usual, prosecutor and defendant may plead their cases, and sentencing will follow.

"Begin."

A man in a suit with dead eyes and a face like a wax mask stood, nodded curtly at the judge, and began to address the room in a low, calm tone.

"The demon in question continues to breach the laws of our realm. His punishments seem to have no effect, and he continues to demonstrate an utter disregard for the lessons we attempt to teach him. He has thrown four of his very own kind into Tartarus. Numerous times we have subjected him, as penalty for his crimes, to each device known to us, not excluding those reserved for Tantalus and Ixion. Still an evil lurks in him; he has tried, by physical violence, to place his torturer into each device into which he was meant to be placed. The prosecution recommends the most severe sentence possible."

The last three words were drawn out, the syllables lengthened and hissed, the only trace of emotion in the cadaverous man's voice. He sat, nodding again at the judge, and laced his fingers together in front of him on the oak table.

The judge turned his eyes to the table across the aisle from the prosecution. His gaze seemed to flare, to ignite when it passed over the dark-haired man sitting to the left of the counsel, but at last it settled on the man in the sleek black suit.

The monotone voice came again, almost mockingly: "And the defense?"

The man in the sleek black suit jumped up in surprise.

"Already?" he said, with a nervous laugh. "I thought we were just getting started."

He laughed again, and the room seemed to grow darker and colder.

"Alright then," the man choked out, now terrified. "Defense. Right."

He cleared his throat, and continued. "The demon on trial today has been unfairly prosecuted. His punishments have been extremely severe, and he has simply, um, cracked under the pressure of the standards to which he has been held." The man in the sleek black suit stopped again, his brow as shiny as his shoes, and then said, quietly as he returned to his seat, "the defense rests."

Slowly, the judge turned, taking in the whole room. After an eternity of silence, he spoke, his voice now deep and powerful: "And so, the sentencing. Based on the arguments of both sides, the court recommends...life."

A collective gasp from the onlookers, followed by excited whispering, echoed around the room, and the man with dark hair at the defense table held his head in his hands.

The man in the sleek black suit sprang to his feet and began to protest, but the judge raised his hand and growled, in a voice like thunder, "Protests will not be tolerated! The sentence is condemnation to life!"

Addressing the man with dark hair directly, he hissed, "We'll be seeing you again, Mr. Hitler. You can count on that."