Novel & Cerita Justice Is Best Served Cold

Journalists, civilian liaisons, senior Pack officers, all waiting for confirmation that the worst had passed, that we were steady again. I adjusted the cuffs of my jacket and stepped up to the podium, the wood worn smooth from decades of post-crisis addresses. Every time I stood here it felt heavier. The ghosts of previous speeches pressed into my shoulders. “Yesterday,” I began, “justice was carried out under Old Law. A traitor was identified, detained, and burned as tradition requires. Not for vengeance. For closure. For containment. For safety. He had access to systems no enemy ever should have, and now he doesn’t.”

"We’re gonna make that bitch rot in a cell, and when her time is finally up and she crawls out, we can end her dirty-ass life for good. But first? I need her to taste the raw, agonizing torture of prison." "We’re all in, girl. One hundred percent," Sophia said, her gaze ice-cold as she stared into the night. "Justice is ringing our line, and one by one, we are gonna pick up that call and make every single one of these culprits pay with their fucking lives."

He wore it now like armor. Vincenzo studied him over his cards. “Tell me, Detective. What do you make of my little casino?” “I think it’s illegal as hell.” “So are plenty of things people do behind closed doors. That doesn’t stop them from enjoying it.” Vincenzo glanced at his next card. Another king. “The real question is whether you can appreciate something that exists outside the law. The freedom in it.” “I appreciate justice.” “Justice.” Vincenzo rolled the word around like it tasted odd, something he’d only read about in books. “And how has justice been treating you lately, Detective? Suspended. Disgraced. Partner gone. Career in ruins. Is that what justice looks like?”

“This book isn’t for you.” “But I like the story.” “‘Like’ isn’t part of your life curriculum,” she said coldly. “Ace, this is a weak book. One that tries to make justice sound like a matter of emotion. And the world doesn’t work that way.” “It’s just fiction, Mama. For fun.” “Fiction won’t make you anybody.” Her eyes went ice cold. “We don’t read books that justify rebellion against the law. Especially ones that humanize criminals.” “But it’s not—”

Her high pitched voice pierced into the atmosphere, “I’m an adult! One old enough to know what injustice looks like!” “Really?” The alpha asked inquisitively although his anger was palpable. “Tell me, what is Justice?” “Justice is doing the right thing. Not being unjust to a loyal person! How can Valerie’s parents serve so diligently even to the point of losing their lives yet….” Breaking down shortly in tears. “Yet, you want to demote her to being a mere omega. That’s unfair!” “So you were eavesdropping on my conversation?” “Dad, that’s not the point.”

Cynthia sat on a cold metal chair, her fingertips tapping lightly on the table. The officer pushed a stack of interrogation notes in front of her—three middle schoolers' statements, their childish handwriting crooked and clumsy, but filled with the phrase "delivering justice." "They thought they were punishing evil and promoting good," the officer sighed. "But they were just being used." Cynthia lowered her gaze, a cold smirk tugging at her lips. "Justice?" she repeated softly, her finger gliding over the line that read: ‘Acting on orders from above.'

“I’m pretty sure we have that kind of money.” “I know you’re angry.” Ajax turned to look at him, his dark eyes just as intense as they always had been. Save for the circles of exhaustion around his eyes. “I am too. But you can’t right a wrong with another wrong. It’s not how it works. We have to do this the right way. Hiring a criminal might sound like something he deserves, but let’s not be selfish when it comes to justice. Everyone deserves it the same. Especially his victims. I think they deserve it more than either of us does.”

“Misha, you my dear, want the steak fajita nachos rare with a frozen blue raspberry margarita.” “Oh, shit!” Ana exclaims. Misha blushes slightly, “You're right I do. But do you know why I want something frozen when it's twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit outside?” Oh, I will take this challenge! “Because when it's this cold out most people crave something warm to heat their insides. But you need something cold because your insides are already blazing,” I responded smirking, relishing my demonic nature. Ana gasps, “Oh my god!”

Justice is a friend of no man. He is also a stranger to all. You seek him but never find, You find him only to lose him. In the end, you settle for vengeance. Most people believe to protect your home, make the thief the security, he would not steal because he will be too busy stopping others from stealing. The government too thinks this way. They pick the people supposed to be arrested, offer them jobs at the bureau while the civilians willing to stop the guys like the ones they put in the bureau end up with a crappy desk a singular mug and a coffee maker too old that the coffee tastes like plastic deposits.

“…all of you sit at the edge of the same blade.” Judge Ellington cleared his throat. “We—we have always served justice, Boss. Whatever happens to the others, we—” “Spare me,” the Boss cut in, you served yourselves. You took the money, signed the papers, closed your eyes. You served me, and you served Kroos, and you served Marquez. But justice?” He laughed, shaking his head. “Justice is just the mask you wear while you eat.” The words hung there, bitter and true.