Floor Nine was a courtroom.
Not a symbolic courtroom. Not some abstract representation of justice conjured by the Protocol.
An actual courtroom.
Polished wooden benches lined both sides of a long central aisle. A witness waited near the front. A jury box sat to one side, filled with empty chairs arranged in neat rows, as if invisible spectators were expected at any moment.
Everything looked old.
Not ancient.
Just worn.
Used.
Like countless judgments had already been passed here.
Marcus stared at the room for several seconds before shaking his head.
"You've got to be kidding me."
His voice echoed softly through the chamber.
Pip looked around with visible disappointment.
"The Protocol has a theme."
Marcus snorted.
"The theme is annoying."
For once, nobody argued with him.
Th
