Elliott: We are recording. I have not been provided an SCP numeric classification as of yet, so we will be referring to the subject matter in question as the Sowing Circle, which is the English translation of the local account. This is thus the formal ethics committee for the Sowing Circle, on its proposed use and ramifications. I am head of committee Danielle Elliott. Going clockwise around the table, could you introduce yourselves for the recording, please.
Tennyson: Former researcher Luke Tennyson.
Borges: Former researcher Julio Borges.
Sinclair: Former researcher Skye Sinclair.
Strauss: Active agent Chuck Strauss, and it's a pleasure to be here.
Elliott: You have read the dossier on the Sowing Circle?
Strauss: Yes, Ma'am, I did.
Elliott: Then you will understand my hesitation at this being a pleasure for you.
Strauss: Ma'am, with all due respect. I was previously assigned to task forces responsible for abducting newborns from maternity wards in Eastern Europe.
Elliott: I see. Which is why you're on this committee?
Strauss: I have a bit of a personal stake in anything that means I don't have to hold a clipboard and look a young mother in the eye and lie about why her kid died, because the Stag needed feeding again.
Elliott: I thank you for your services, Agent Strauss. While I ask you keep personal feelings out of this, your experience with current procedure might do well to contrast with the alternatives we are forced to propose here today.
Strauss: Stay objective, stay professional. Wouldn't be here if I couldn't.
Borges: I thought we had moles in major hospitals for that?
Strauss: When it comes to babies? Too risky to ask. There's the trust we have in their loyalty, and then there's trusting them to be complicit in stealing kids. We can't put that on them.
Sinclair: Instead of spreading the psychological distress on a lot of individuals, we put all of it on the shoulders of a very few?
Strauss: Welcome to SCP ethics. We're a bit beyond trolley problems here.
Borges: Needs must.
Tennyson: I'm sorry, I thought this meeting was just going to be a formality. That we'd shut this down as soon as it was proposed, lock this thing away in a concrete bunker and never speak of it again. We're seriously considering using this?
Borges: I thought it was open-and-shut that we'd be utilizing it. I thought we'd be discussing best-use.
Sinclair: There are enough Keter-class threats that need to be fed babies. The innocent, the blood of the pure hearted, the terminology is different, but the meaning is the same; human infants. Nobody here is saying this isn't… personally, no matter what comes out of today, I'm going to be having nightmares over this. But if we decide this is more humane than random abductions…
Borges: Or more effective.
Sinclair: Then we really need to be open to considering it.
Elliott: First on the agenda; A quick recap of the dossier as it stands. Paperwork at this time is very informal, and I would like to make it clear on the recording what the information we are working with is at this present time. After which we will hold a vote on whether to discuss the matter further or, as Tennyson has requested, to close the matter as too extreme a solution for the problem. Any objections?
[A pause of three seconds, absolute silence.]
Elliott: Very well. The Sowing Circle was found in southern Mongolia, and its anomalous effects remain after transportation. The Sowing Circle consists of an unknown mummified human, who has approximately 3-meter diameter of intestines formed into a ritual circle. The genitalia, specifically the testes, has seed-pod-like vegetation growing. The intestinal tract must be kept coated by wet O+ blood at all times for the seeds to regrow after harvest. The intestines exit the mummified man, form the loop, then return with no apparent breakage or restitching. Does this visual description match the images provided in your dossier, and your understanding of the Circle so far?
[Silence]
Elliott: This will be a recording. They can't hear you nod.
[All give various affirmation.]
Elliott: Good. The effects of the Circle are as follows: If a child-bearing female ingests the harvested seeds, first she will be wracked with intense, involuntary orgasms for an hour. This is the process of insemination. After which there is a seven-hour pregnancy period, during which time eight to twelve human infants - the paternal half of the DNA being Mongolian - will be brought to term. This is analogous to the number expected of a litter of piglets—
Sinclair: Disgusting.
Elliott: —which is where the Circle is believed to have received its name. Sinclair?
Sinclair: Sorry, I just made the ‘sowing' connection for the first time. I was reading it like ‘sowing', to sow seeds.
Elliott: It's not pleasant, no.
Borges: I will admit, my first reaction to that was; ‘Ah, yes, the other-other white meat.'
Tennyson: Borges!
[Strauss chokes down a laugh.]
Strauss: Sorry, that got me off-guard.
Tennyson: I really don't see the humour in this.
Elliott: Nor I. May we continue, please?
Borges: It's just so… much, though, isn't it? It's excessive. We might not be using it for… sugary reasons? I don't know a good English expression, but the only reason I can think of for creating this anomaly is for the mass production of genetically-similar children.
Sinclair: From captured women…
Borges: Oh, yeah, they were absolutely not asking for volunteers for this, from what I've read. This seemed like it was made to be taken on long campaigns, for repopulation purposes. Light, compact, and it still worked after we transported it back here.
Tennyson: We tested it here? I don't see anything in here about authorizing that.
Elliott: Seed growth continued after the intestines were relubricated. Males that eat the seeds experience an hour of incredible gastric distress and spasms of the pelvic muscles, but otherwise no fertilization. From… what I believe was a very constipated D-class volunteer? The seeds are still active.
Tennyson: Right. Okay.
Strauss: How's the constipation?
Elliott: Treated. And the D-class was rewarded for his services with double cafeteria credits for the week.
Strauss: Worse ways to spend a day in D-class.
Borges: Beats having to feed the Baba Yaga.
Sinclair: I feel like we're getting a little off-topic here. The next question should be: Should we be using this? How do we minimize harm?
Borges: How do we get maximum utility?
Tennyson: And is this really better than any alternative we can think of?
Strauss: At the end of the day, the Foundation's gotta eat some babies to save the world. That's just the facts.
Tennyson: He who fights monsters…
Borges: Saves the goddamn world from monsters, yeah.
Sinclair: Personally, I think we should discuss harm minimization first.
Tennyson: Shouldn't we vote on whether we should be doing this at all before we spend time discussing… the nitty gritty of it?
Elliott: Then we run the risk of dismissing it out of hand, based on its broadest possible interpretation. Or, possibly worse, agree on it before stumbling upon details that makes this far worse than current methods. I agree, it's better to discuss how we would proceed before deciding whether or not we should.
Tennyson: Ah, the ‘shut up and calculate' school of ethics, then.
Borges: Yeah. So. Shut up and calculate.
Tennyson: Actually, allow me to play devil's advocate, if you will? Can we all unanimously agree that the current methodology is… awful? Truly awful.
Strauss: Sure.
Tennyson: When was the last time it was reviewed, or refined, seriously?
Strauss: 1975, when Franco of Spain died. Nearly a thousand babies stolen in Spain per year since 1939, we could hide in the margins.
Tennyson: Jesus Christ.
Strauss: Dictatorships don't usually get ethics committees, no.
Tennyson: Wouldn't it be better to refine current methods to a more… competitive standard? If we're truly going to vote between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Borges: I guess that makes me the deep blue sea advocate, then.
Tennyson: Sure. I'll try to work that out while you discuss… the implications of your proposed use of the Sowing Circle.
Elliott: I'm in favour of this proposal. Tennyson, you can work on that, then. Borges, you seem to have volunteered to champion the argument for the anomaly.
Borges: Alright. So, for us over here in open ocean, that leaves us with… well. What does that leave us with?
Sinclair: When we should use it, under what circumstances, how do we select… mothers? Donors? Subjects?
Elliott: I know you'll hate to hear this, but we're really going to have to argue over semantics.
[Borges groans audibly.]
Strauss: I'm with Borges. You're going to have to walk me through this one.
Elliott: If we decide on this, it will have to be written as a procedural report. Do we use dehumanizing language or not? Is that insulting to the women we subject this to, if we rely on volunteers? Does it propagate unwanted misogynistic thought processes? Or does it just make the job harder on the people who have to monitor and enforce the procedure? What balance do we strike?
Borges: Jesus.
Strauss: We're really going to have to argue semantics, and it's actually going to matter, isn't it?
Sinclair: Welcome to SCP ethics. Where it's necessary to be politically correct about baby-culling.
Strauss: God damn. We're really going to have to be careful about misogyny? How's that play into this?
Borges: People have strange ideas in their heads about women's rights to their reproductive organs and their role for ‘breeding', which we might re-enforce by using dehumanizing language. We just laughed about a guy volunteering for this, too, because it's… I agree with Elliott. We need to be careful when we write this.
Sinclair: I want to pick up on the misogynism, actually. Or, follow on from that. There's already language in here I'd like to protest.
Borges: Just in the dossier? What do you mean?
Sinclair: Right here it says ‘wracked with intense, involuntary orgasms for an hour'. Do we really need to include this? Do we need to say this? It's beyond puerile and unnecessary.
Elliott: It's going to have to go into the formal report, so whoever has to follow this procedure knows what to expect. We don't want this to be a surprise, and we don't want that information to be spread by rumours.
Sinclair: It's repulsive, and there's the legitimate concern to me that including it in the report will cause some unwanted rationalisations; Dare I utter ‘It's okay, she'll enjoy it at first'.
[Sounds of groans and sighs around the room. Researcher Tennyson audibly gags.]
Strauss: We can lie on the report about the nature of the physical response. Call them seizures. They're not going to be doing this under an MRI.
Elliott: We could lie. I'm not convinced yet that we should.
Tennyson: There'll be consequences if we include it unnecessarily. Are you willing to hear an internal investigations report accusing us of fetishizing documentation?
Elliott: Let the record show that I am willing to take the entirety of that responsibility on my own shoulders. If you still have legitimate reasons for wanting to omit that detail on the report without the bias of being reprimanded for doing so, do so. But we are discussing an abhorrent occult fertility rite.
Tennyson: Let the record show I still hate this.
Strauss: Agreed, Tennyson. Just stay focused and this'll be over quicker.
Tennyson: Lie back and think of England?
Borges: Of every innocent child we no longer have to abduct just to throw into the meat grinder.
Tennyson: Instead we're just forcing women to mass produce them.
Sinclair: Let the record show I also hate this.
Elliott: That brings us to the next issue. Are we forcing women into this? Considering the risks involved, would it be fair to offer female D-class amnesty for voluntary participation?
Sinclair: There's implicit coercion there, considering what D-class are. It wouldn't be meaningful consent.
Strauss: Wouldn't fly. D-class aren't all idiots. If you don't show them the volunteer at the end of the procedure, they're going to think it's a discreet execution, that the amnesty is a lie to get them to walk into the proverbial gas chamber.
Tennyson: Christ. They wouldn't be wrong, either.
Strauss: The alternative is that we have the surviving volunteers do a ‘victory lap' of the facility on the way to their hard-won freedom, so there are enough witnesses in their peer group to corroborate. We'd have to be honest about it, too, have to be the same people who went in. I'm sorry to do this to you folks, but I got a slide of what the best-case-scenario of the aftermath can look like. Full gestation of up to twelve, in an eight hour pregnancy? It looks like this at best.
[The click of a slide projector. All but Elliott make loud moans of pain and disgust.]
Strauss: At worst?
[Another click. Tennyson audibly gags. Sound of Sinclair's head hitting the table and pained whimper. Borges wheezes loudly.]
Strauss: This isn't open-casket material. Volunteer method's out.
Tennyson: Jesus Christ. This is going to happen to people. We're going to make this happen to people.
Elliott: We can't give sedatives during the pregnancy. We can give epidurals for the delivery, and most of the damage heals over time.
Borges: We can't give sedatives?
Strauss: It's in the dossier. The rapid pregnancy is also very susceptible to miscarriages from chemical influence. Everyone subjected to this will have to do it stone-sober.
Borges: There goes that plan.
Sinclair: What do you mean by ‘most' damage heals'?
Elliott: The words ‘fourth-degree perineal tear' come to mind.
[Tennyson retches]
Strauss: Excuse me?
Borges: The internal tissue between the genitals and anus.
Strauss: Yeah, I don't think I need to bring the slide back up to see what 'fourth-degree' means, then.
[Tennyson vomits into paper bag.]
Elliott: For God's sake, Tennyson, show some more decorum and a little less lunch.
Sinclair: I'd like to request a fifteen-minute recess, or I'm going to be doing the same.
Elliott: Borges? Strauss?
Borges: I'm good to keep going, but I'd love another coffee.
Strauss: Actually, coffee and a sandwich sounds pretty perfect, now you mention it.
Tennyson: How can you still have any appetite?
Strauss: Need to keep the blood sugar up. This is a marathon, not a sprint.
Borges: I really don't want a caffeine headache on top of all this.
Sinclair: Tea. Lots of tea. Milk and sugar, I think.
Tennyson: … Yeah. Yeah, alright. Does the vending machine still stock Gatorade?
Borges: Need to rehydrate, huh?
Tennyson: Fuck you.
Strauss: Give us a chance to calm down and come into this with fresh heads?
Sinclair: And permission to bring the kettle back with me?
Elliott: All granted. Fifteen minutes recess then.
[Sound of people filtering out, scraping of chairs being pulled out from the table, all leave.
Elliott returns after twelve minutes, Borges and Strauss return together after fourteen minutes, Sinclar and Tennyson return after seventeen minutes. Transcription continues.]
Tennyson: Sorry, Sinclair and I were talking over lunch about my proposed alternative.
Elliott: Off the record?
Sinclair: Sorry.
Elliott: Well, might as well get it on-record now.
Tennyson: Twins, triplets. We screen for parents with multiple children, tell them it's one fewer than expected from delivery, and have an agent smuggle it out. Mostly the same plan as we're using currently, just the parents are never made aware of the loss.
Borges: Look at you. Stealing babies and fighting monsters.
Tennyson: You said it, needs must.
Sinclair: I talked him up to it. He's putting on a brave face, but-
Tennyson: I'm fine.
Sinclair: Sorry.
Strauss: Think about that from an operational perspective, though. Miscarriage, you just sneak a baby out and file paperwork. Easy and awful. Now? You gotta make sure you lie about every… I can't remember the word right now, but that thing where they put the gel on the mother's stomach and you can see the baby? Yeah, you gotta make sure they only go to Foundation doctors who are willing to help and fake it, then you gotta make sure only Foundation personnel are present for the delivery, no family, and the mother's unconscious… Just so you can still steal an innocent kid to murder.
Borges: It's less traumatic for the parents, certainly.
Strauss: It's a logistics nightmare just to justify doing the same goddamn thing: Stealing a baby from its parents. And you can make it junkie teens who never deserved the kid, or only steal from below the poverty line, or justify all you want that it was a baby ‘worth less' than other babies, but you're still doing the same goddamn thing.
Elliott: Deep breaths, Strauss. Stay objective. Your words.
Sinclair: We'd be minimizing victims. Right now the parents are unnecessary casualties.
Tennyson: And the babies the Circle… manufactures? Are entirely non-anomalous. Which means they're just a normal baby as much as any other.
Strauss: I'll cut you a compromise. Standard procedure as it currently stands, but only on twins and above, so the parents keep their consolation prize. Anything more than that's infeasible, logistically.
Tennyson: I could be forced to live with that. Table it as plan B for now?
Elliott: Sure.
Borges: Strauss and I talked a bit too.
Elliott: Gentlemen, please.
Strauss: Sorry, ma'am.
Borges: We have major problems with this, ethically. We can't justify volunteers. Forcing people into this would be even more abhorrent. We can't use pain relievers. The surgery to get that best-case-scenario is… intensive. There's the issue of terminology, and dehumanization.
Strauss: What we need are non-people. Or as close as we can get.
Borges: The living brain-dead. Women in deep comas. Essentially? Body donors.
Elliott: I'm listening.
Sinclair: Oh my god…
Strauss: If we're harvesting from hospitals either way… Transporting vegetables, telling the families they passed, it's a much easier process.
Borges: Some families might honestly be relieved, by sharp contrast.
Tennyson: I hate that you're not wrong. I hate it so much.
Sinclair: You can't count on that, though.
Borges: That's only in direct comparison to your plan B, which would be, again, stealing babies instead.
Tennyson: Jesus…
Borges: We make it clear they're not people. We can use all the dehumanizing language we want in the report to make it as easy as possible on the people who have to follow the procedure. The babies that result exist only to be culled, and are made-for-purpose.
Strauss: At a full term of eight hours? We've basically made it a nine-to-five veal farm.
[Tennyson dry heaves. Sinclair turns her kettle on.]
Elliott: Was that a necessary remark, Strauss?
Strauss: I want there to be no illusions as to what we're suggesting, Ma'am.
Borges: We agree it sounds absolutely abhorrent. Honestly, it is.
Strauss: But the Foundation eats babies.
Elliott: Informally, it seems we've formed two teams. Sinclair, Tennyson, can you find any holes in their logic?
Sinclair: Theirs is better.
Tennyson: Skye!
Sinclair: It just… it just is. To me. Producing eight to twelve babies from a single braindead mother against that many individual kidnappings? Eight-hour turnaround instead of nine months and abduction? It's incomparable.
Borges: A single body donor should survive multiple pregnancies. Pain and survival are no longer factors. So more like sixteen to thirty per body donor. One braindead woman, against up to thirty individual kidnappings.
Tennyson: It's such ‘shut up and calculate' ethics.
Borges: Do you disagree with it?
Tennyson: No.
Borges: Dr. Elliott?
Elliott: There can be no dispute. It is unanimous that this is favoured over current alternatives. Which just leaves the questions of who will write the report-
Sinclair: I volunteer.
Elliott: I agree. The second question is; What do we name the proposed procedure?
[Borges chuckles]
Elliott: Do you find the issue laughable, Borges?
Borges: No, Ma'am, but it's that or crying, and crying looks unprofessional.
Elliott: So you have a reason to cry, then.
Borges: Yes, Ma'am. I think I might have a good name for this. Have you ever read A Modest Proposal? The Foundation eats babies, Ma'am. We've just proposed The Modest Procedure.
Sinclair: It's honest. I'll give it that. It's brutally honest.
Tennyson: No. Absolutely unacceptable. We can joke here, but none of that can show up in the official documentation.
Strauss: Joke? I'm sorry, I don't get it.
Elliott: Sinclair, try to think of a more formal name in the meantime. Because I see Borges bringing the article in question up on his laptop to show Agent Strauss, I'm going to call this meeting to a close. End recording.


« The Moon Is a Dead World | Only Once Away My Son | Th Vmpr f Tm nd Mmr »
Hub

Year 2,500,000

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and folks identifying otherwise, we are live at the William James Courthouse, where we are bringing you live, that's right, LIVE coverage of the trial of one Researcher █████ Talloran and the charges levied against them. I'm James Talloran, and joining me today, as always, is the lovely Jessie Talloran."
"You know it James! Yes, this is a very special case today, as the charges levied against Talloran are of a very serious nature, and it's been, what, some million years since the last trial held here hasn't it? So the fact that we're having a session today is absolutely astonishing, and frankly after everything that has happened, unprecedented even. We'll be following along closely as developments happen."
"That's right. Throughout the trial, we'll be switching back to Jessie primarily and getting her on-the-ground updates. I'll be joining periodically to give my thoughts. Trial is in pre-session and expected to start in a few minutes. Stay tuned for the latest on JTTV News 45."

Talloran sat at their bench, surrounded by busybodies, staff, and news journalists setting up cameras all over the courtroom. The entire world felt suffocating, moreso than usual. If you give the illusion of a media presence, it'll end up feeling a lot more real.
"H-Hey, excuse me, can I get a lawyer?" No one answered Talloran's question. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure courts are supposed to provide a lawyer to people who are unable to afford one?" An old janitor cleaning the aisles next to Talloran looked up at them and grimaced.
"Don't you remember the predicament you're in, sonny? You won't get any lawyers here. Hrmmmm…" His voice trailed off as Talloran stumbled for responses.
"Hey, wait, hey hold on! I still deserve some sort of legal presence even in this bullshit nonsense! Can't you like, tell them to give me a lawyer? It'll, i-it'll help at least," Talloran spat out frustrated at the absurdity of the scene around him.
"I guess I can bring it up with the Judge, see if we can find you a quick guy to fill in for your legal defense, but don't expect anything." The janitor grumbled as he continued to clean the aisles, stepping over the spectators rushing to their seats.
The court had started to amass more people, none of whom would even accidentally glance Talloran's way. One by one, the room started to fill in to any open space they could stand or conceivably sit on or in. The claustrophobia Talloran felt was starting to creep up on them. Unfamiliar empty face upon unfamiliar empty face. It felt hopeless to rebel against the situation as it was right now.

"All rise!" a voice yells. All 694 beings stood up as the Judge enters the courtroom, making Its way to the bench. With bated breath, all waited for It to go through the motions. The defendant in particular glared at It, watching, waiting. Soon, they'd be able to make their break. They just knew it.
The Judge sat down. It occurred to them at this moment that they've actually never attended a trial proper, been on jury duty, or actually knew how court proceedings worked outside of fictional media.
"You may be seated." Everyone but the defendant sat.
"Researcher █████ Talloran," the Judge boomed, "as requested, you have been given a lawyer by the court. We will institute a new and unusual two-minute pause as you discuss with your lawyer your current situation and proceedings." Wait, wha —
"Hello there, [insert name here]." The defendant turned to look at their right, and spotted, in a court full of horrendous figures, bizarre anomalies, and hordes of empty canvasses, the most upsetting sight yet; their lawyer. "Name required for continued use. pal."
The lawyer, a robotic husk of parts, wires and AI, was dressed rather sharp and fancy. A tight suit adorned with fancy nonsensical seams and a collar entirely unsuited for non-humans. A red-and-brown hat garnished with gloss. Grey leather gloves. Despite the appearance of a digital smile on its face, it spoke in an utterly monotone voice; as bored as a robot could possibly sound. To say that the defendant was taken aback would have been an understatement.
"U-Uh… um…"
"Name not valid. Name required for continued use, pal."
"Talloran."
"Hello there, Tall-lor-ran." Every syllable was mispronounced and dragged out painfully. "I will be providing your legal counsel in court today. I have been informed and up-to-date on the charges against you. If there is a course of action you would like to pursue, please let me know and I will do my best to assist you." What could possibly be a good way to respond to something so utterly useless? What would be the point?
"Uh, I guess, let me just. Handle the stuff I am able to handle on my own, and you can handle the rest?" the defendant hesitantly answered.
"Affirmative, Tall-lor-ran. Plan of action noted. Thank you for choosing Designated Extraordinary Case Interpreter, Version 23." Unbelievable.
"Talloran, you have been initially charged with the following crimes: Working for the Foundation Instead of Pursuing a Better Career, Anhedonia, Mental Illness in General, Inability to Cope, and █████████ ███████. How does the defendant plead?" The Judge's voice boomed throughout the entirety of the world; it was hard not to wonder how it couldn't have reached the outside by this point.
"I don't see how any of these could be considered crimes, Your —"
"Not guilty then. In addition, you have also been charged with the following crimes: Non-Conforming Gender, Non-Conforming Sexuality, Taking Shit Too Seriously, Unable to Care About Others Adequately, and Frustration With Hobbies. How does the defendant plead?"
"Wait, how are any of these crimes? What are you doing with thi —"
"Not guilty then. The trial is now in session." The Judge bangs Its Gavel, and the scene shifts entirely to the same court room. The defendant can feel the atmosphere shifting them onto another plane entirely, finding themself on the stand with a splitting migraine.
"The prosecution may now begin."

For the Charge of "Unable to Care About Others Adequately"
The prosecutor, Talloran, Esq., approached the stand with a manila envelope in hand.
"Now, Mx. Talloran, do you recognize this envelope?" The defendant stared at the envelope, mystified. It wasn't labelled. It didn't have any special marks on it. How were they supposed to know what was in it?
"No."
"It is an envelope containing a letter addressed to you a long while ago. It is from…" The prosecutor lifts the paper from the envelope and nods, showing it to the defendant. The words are in writing they are unable to read or comprehend, but it's immediately clear what it is supposed to be. "…Benjamin Kondraki. Do you understand now?" Their eyes go wide. "Excellent. People of the court, this is a letter written to Researcher █████ Talloran in 2016, approximately a few days before the suicide of Benjamin Kondraki. Its significance is lost on you right now, but when I read it, it shall be clear. Ahem." The prosecutor opened his mouth.
The sound of large metal screeching against metal sounded, blasting itself onto the defendant. They were too dumbfounded to move, to cover their ears, as blood started trickling down the side of their head. Yet they knew what was said, what was written. And regret filled their body.
"Now, Talloran, have you gone on to honor this letter since you first read it?"
It was impossible to answer. Maybe? How could they have remembered? It was hard to keep track of the memories from reality and from here. But… they had a nagging feeling in the pit of their stomach that…
"No, I have not." Murmurs in the crowd. The Judge bangs the Gavel. "At least, I don't remember doing so? It's been hard to tell, with the few million years or whatever that I've been in here by this point."
"So you don't even remember its contents?"
"Not really…" The defendant trailed off. "But that means nothing! I could have done something in relation to it!"
"What matters here is whether you did or not. To the best of your recollection, did you honor the letter and its contents, or did you not, Talloran? Please remember that you took an oath under penalty of perjury. I'll repeat the questions. Have you gone on to, or did you in any way, honor this letter written by Benjamin Kondraki and addressed to you and the contents therein?" All eyes on them.
"Not to my recollection." Talloran, Esq. nods, jotting down the statement.
"Thank you."

For the Charge of "Mental Illness in General"
"Now, if the court will look to this table here, we can see the medical records of one Dr. Manwell Cutler of the Ethics Committee, who for the months of March 2017 to July 2017, had biweekly appointments with Talloran for assessing their mental health and ability to work on various Keter-class projects, both standard and those handled under different moral codes." Talloran, Esq. flipped through the pages.
"Here, we can see Talloran's records. These will be important later. However, going back to the page before it, we can see that —" The prosecutor struggled to flip the page back. "Shit, excuse me, sorry, uh, crap. Here we go. This is a record of how often Talloran showed up to appointments. You can see that starting in May, attendance started to slip, with —"
The defendant zoned out, unable to hone in on the proceedings. All this reminded them about was the nightmares, night in, night out. This turned into full-on dissociation. Everyone was mannequins.

For the Charge of █████████ ███████ [REDACTED]
[DATA EXPUNGED]1

"I rest my case, Your Honor," Talloran, Esq. said with smug satisfaction.
"I've heard enough. I've reached my verdict," the Judge proclaimed, and with a bang of the Gavel, the defendant was back to their bench and they immediately snapped back into their body. It was the same scene as the start, but this time with only cameras, the Judge, the defendant and their lawyer (who had not once helped in any capacity). D.E.C.I. v23 nudged its client for the singular moment it did anything but stand still since the trial's beginning. So much for it coming in handy. The defendant looked over.
"If everything goes according to plan, Tall-lor-ran, you shall be found Not Guilty by the court and free to go. However, if you are found Guilty and you do not believe such a verdict to apply to you," D.E.C.I. v23 droned on (what fucking nerve on this shitty robot, programmed in such a stupid way to talk like this to its clients, even if this is all still somehow just a bad dream it was a joke of a dream), "then please take this Complimentary Apple, pull the stem, throw it on the ground nearby, and run forward." The defendant was then handed a Red Delicious.
"Uh, oh geez, I guess thank y —"
"I find the defendant guilty of all charges. Sentencing shall begin." Bang, and the scene shifted again.
This time, Talloran was alone in the room, surrounded only by cameras.
"I sentence you to more continued self-assessment and prolonged imprisonment. Court is adjourned." Bang, and Talloran was dragged away by sheriffs to leave the court room. The paparazzi swarmed upon them.

"Talloran, is it true that you've committed unthinkable crimes against —"
"Talloran, did you really —"
"What went through your head as you pursued psychotherapy —"
"Are your plans for the future compromised by this ruling in any —"
"Did you really think this was winnable?"
Just trust yourself here.
"Will the next million years be any different for you?"
"What do you think Draven thinks about this?"
How can you ever rebel if you'll believe your own lies?
"Talloran, do you believe you're innocent?"
"Is this going to affect your projects from Site-118 any more than usual?"
"When will we find out about the destructive biases of the court system that handled your case?"
Run.
There's still a path to take.
Still a way to escape.
"Do you believe in free will, Talloran?"
There always is.
There's always a way through.

"And there always will be…"
Talloran took the apple, pulled the pin and threw it at the ground. As the crowd backed away, they managed to break free of the sheriffs and run. Someone screamed.
Then Talloran's vision went white, and they could no longer hear.
It took a minute for it to wear off before they realized it was a stun grenade, and they realized where they were now; nowhere, surrounded by nothing.

…

Talloran ran.

Footnotes
1. When Talloran was a kid (five years old), they remembered walking on the shores of a beach — some beach, the name isn't as important — when they stumbled across a crab. It was a peculiar sight. Crabs at the beach were normal; wounded, fragile crabs weren't. It was in trouble and only a kid with big hopes and aspirations as someone who wanted to help the world could save this crab. But it wouldn't hurt to observe it.
For the better part of an hour, Talloran watched this crab limp along the shore of the beach, struggling to find shelter, to survive. It didn't attempt to head back into the water even once. After a while, the crab spotted them and made its way to them when a seagull came and picked it up. This didn't distress them, nor was it even too memorable. It was just their first experience with death. All they remembered from the incident was thinking something along the lines of (if they were to use adult vocabulary in place of a five-year-old's) "I guess so".
Between the ages of 17 to 24, they tried to find stable housing. For the first few years, they just wanted anything, and once a cramped studio apartment wasn't working, it was onto more cramped studio apartments, but with less mold, more air, less pollution, less claustrophobia. Even once (relatively) stable, every day felt like an ordeal. At least when they were briefly homeless as a kid, their mom could protect them. It was harder when you were on your own.
The day Talloran turned 25, they got a call from an old high-school friend. According to her, someone in their graduating class killed himself the week before. He loaded up his car with smoke bombs, drove the car into the ocean, and detonated the bombs. Despite eyewitness testimony, it took a full day to find the vehicle and its passenger, who had passed out before his unconscious body was carried down the current. She figured that everyone who knew him even a bit should know. Talloran thanked her, said their condolences, and hung up. All they could think was "I guess so".
Hikari Yamada later pointed out to them, after the transfer to Site-118 and hearing this story, that this wasn't a particularly normal reaction to death. Not unusual, she surmised, but certainly not normal. Talloran asked why.
"After all, we have to at least pretend to care about other people, right? At the very least, it's our so-cial con-tract!"
"But I did." They then told the crab story.
"Well… you were a kid. Kids react in uncertain ways. That's not that unusual!"
"I still have nightmares about it. It's the exact situation, but it always feels worse and worse each time I dream it."
"Hmm. I guess so." The two then went back to working on containment procedures for a humanoid SCP that later had to be neutralized with great force.
That's all that Talloran could really think about death as. Something that just is. Even for loved ones, even for friends, even for the self (but not by the hands of others).
I guess so.