“Let him speak for himself, then!  You’ve kept him up there for two days without letting him say a goddamn word.  I want to know what Richter Cole has to say to this Council, in defense of his own life and others like him.”

Every eye in the room was on Cole.  This was important, he could feel it.  What he’d done here had set the tone for the entire rest of the trial.

But he had no idea what that was.

Memory-Elbridge looked up at Cole and gave a quick shake of his head.  He wasn’t fit to speak in his own defense, and he wasn’t required to.   Anything he said would be used against him.  Silence was safety.

“I see.  Nothing.” said the prosecutor.  He glared up at the podium. There was no glint of yellow in his eyes, but Cole recognized the old wolf this time.  That sinking feeling in his stomach got a lot stronger. A memory full of holes could be rewritten.  All she had to do was make sure he lost the trial and he’d lose his head without her having to lift a finger.

Elbridge cleared his throat, prepared to resume the debate.  But the shadow of his friend wasn’t going to save him from Hecate this time.  He’d have to win this one himself.

“Wait!” Cole said.  “I do have something to say.”  He paused for a second, gathering his thoughts. He’d only get one chance at this.

“Well?” the prosecutor frowned at him.

[i]“Make it mean something.”[/i] he said, finally.  “It’s the last thing Rachel said to me.  That’s all we want at the end, for our lives to matter.  Well, they do matter!  I can’t throw my life away just because it’s going to be hard. I can’t give up before I even try to learn to live with what I’ve become.”

“What if you can’t?”  Hecate snarled.

“This is my second chance.” Cole said calmly.  “I’m not asking for a third.”

The crowd murmured softly in agreement. Captain Bellworth managed to look vindicated without cracking a smile.  Even Elbridge gave a barely disguised sigh of relief.

The prosecutor grimaced.  “Prove it then.  Prove you deserve a second chance.”

He produced a knife from his pocket and drew it over his arm. The sharp copper-scent of blood flooded the room.  Cole’s eyes dilated to full black as the phage in his skull screeched with desperate need.  There were no warding tattoos to protect him from it here, no years of mental wall building to shut out the hunger.  He stared at the trail of crimson leaking from the prosecutor’s arm, dripping onto the floor.  The ivory handle of the moly-knife in the man’s hand barely registered as important.

Before he could stop himself he’d climbed over the iron railing and was pressing his face and hands into the barrier that encircled the podium.  The one that had been there ‘to protect him’, but was really there for the assembly’s peace of mind.

“Look at him!  He’s a monster!” Hecate shrieked.  “He almost had us all convinced but we can see what he really is!”

 The crowd was on its feet now, and things were getting out of hand.  The Senior Council members looked at each other with worried expressions and Cole had the vaguest of notions that he might have just been written off.

The bloodlust had never been this bad before, not even the very first day.  But he’d never been exposed to godsblood while he was infected.  It was completely intoxicating. “[i]You want it just as bad as the phage does.  Just like Circe said you would.[/i]” his subconscious whispered.

“Nnngh… No!” He smacked his forehead off the barrier, using the pain to try to reorient himself.

“He’s trying to break loose!” Hecate yelled.

The containment circle abruptly flickered and vanished, and he stumbled off the dais and onto the main floor.  Now the Senior Council were on their feet too and someone was screaming and everyone else was shouting but he couldn’t make out any of it.  Elbridge was staring at him in horror.

“I didn’t…!”  He tried to explain but the words came out as garbled snarls.  He tried to run but something hit him from behind and he went down in a heap.  He couldn’t get up. The nameless Warden’s knee in his back pinned him to the ground.  The moly-knife came up to the side of his throat.

Dizziness overtook Cole. He couldn’t remember where he was.  He should be in the basement of the cabin in Colorado, but he’d never been down there so he didn’t know what it looked like.  All he knew was that there was a still.  Elbridge had been so sure of it.

He could see it out the corner of his eye.  Steel barrels, copper piping, something straight out a 20’s mobster movie.  It was right there in the middle of the dais, next to the podium.  Why hadn’t he seen it before?

[i]‘He was close.

So very close.

Goodbye, my son.’[/i]

“No… No goodbyes.” Cole grunted.  He reached one hand forward. 120 proof, pure grain alcohol, Elbridge had said.  “[i]Umlilo...[/i]”

The memory exploded.