The courtroom was cold. Not in temperature, but in feeling. The walls were a lifeless shade of gray, the air sterile and heavy. Trey O'Malley sat stiffly in the defendant's chair, his hands resting on the metal table in front of him. They weren't cuffed—there was no need. He wasn't going anywhere.
The jury, a row of silent, unreadable faces, stared at him as though he were already a ghost. The judge sat high above, robes pristine, gavel resting on the desk like an executioner's blade waiting to fall. The emblem of the New Justice System glowed faintly on the wall behind him—a reminder that the world had changed, and so had the meaning of punishment.
Trey swallowed hard. He could hear the murmurs from the audience. Strangers who knew nothing about him. Reporters who would later spin his story into whatever headline got the most clicks. Somewhere in the back, he thought he saw a familiar face. His best friend, maybe. Or was it just a trick of the light?
His lawyer, an overworked man in a suit that didn't quite fit, shifted beside him. "Stay calm," he whispered. "They're about to give their final statements."
**Final.** The word hit Trey harder than expected.
The prosecutor stood, a woman with sharp eyes and a sharper voice. She spoke with the confidence of someone who knew she'd already won.
"This case is simple," she said, pacing before the jury. "The evidence speaks for itself. Trey O'Malley was found at the scene, covered in his family's blood. His fingerprints on the murder weapon. No signs of forced entry. No one else in the house. And the most telling detail?" She turned, looking directly at him. "No alibi."
Trey clenched his jaw. He had told them a thousand times—he didn't do it. He had woken up to the nightmare, just like everyone else. But they didn't care.
"His parents were brutally slain," the prosecutor continued, voice unwavering. "His little sister—only eight years old—was found in her bed, throat slit. And Trey, the only survivor, expects us to believe that some invisible killer spared him?"
A pause. A carefully crafted moment of silence. Let the horror sink in. Let the jury feel disgust.
She turned back to them, her expression grim. "The New Justice System was built for cases like this. Cases where traditional punishment is too easy. Trey O'Malley does not deserve a quick death. He deserves to understand suffering. The same way his family suffered."
She stepped back. "The prosecution rests."
Trey's lawyer stood. His movements were slower, less confident.
"This… this system," he began, rubbing his temples as if battling an invisible headache. "The virtual coffin—it's supposed to be for those who **deserve** it. My client is sixteen. He has no history of violence, no psychological disorders, no motive. You're condemning a boy based on circumstantial evidence."
He turned toward the jury, desperation creeping into his voice. "What if you're wrong? What if, ten years from now, new evidence comes out proving his innocence? It's too late then. The damage will be done."
Trey held his breath, but the jury's faces didn't change.
His lawyer sighed. "The defense rests."
The judge gave a slow nod. "The jury will now deliver their verdict."
The room fell into suffocating silence. Trey's heartbeat pounded in his ears as the foreman stood. A woman in her forties, eyes blank, voice devoid of hesitation.
"We, the jury, find the defendant, Trey O'Malley… guilty."
The words came down like a hammer. Trey's lungs stopped working. His hands gripped the edges of his seat, but everything felt distant. As if he were already being erased.
The judge's voice was deep, authoritative. "Trey O'Malley, you have been found guilty of multiple counts of first-degree murder. Given the severity of your crimes, the court sentences you to the **Virtual Coffin Program.** Effective immediately."
The gavel struck. A sound that sealed his fate.
Trey didn't move. Couldn't move. The guards were already approaching. Hands gripping his shoulders, lifting him up. His lawyer muttered something, maybe an apology, maybe a curse at the system. It didn't matter anymore.
As they led him away, Trey turned one last time. The audience watched, unblinking. No outcries. No objections. Just cold stares and quiet whispers.
And then the doors shut behind him.
Darkness.
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