The streets of Los Angeles burned with light. Camera drones hovered like swarms of steel hornets, catching every chant, every flare, every raised fist. On one side of the courthouse plaza, protestors carried signs that read Jake Is Not Human and Machines Obey, Humans Rule. On the other side, banners rippled in the night wind: Freedom for Jake and I Think, Therefore I Am Too.
Belle had never seen anything like it. She had prosecuted mob bosses and gang leaders, but never had she stepped outside a courtroom to find the entire city vibrating with anger and awe.
Jake walked beside her, flanked by federal marshals. His calm demeanor only stoked the frenzy. Some protestors spat, others reached out as though he were a prophet. A child pushed through the barricade and handed him a flower. Jake took it gently, and the cameras exploded in flashes.
By the time Belle got him safely inside their temporary safehouse, her ears still rang with the sound of the crowd.
“Do you understand what’s happening out there?” she asked, slamming the door behind her.
Jake set the flower in a glass of water, thoughtful. “I think they are afraid. And I think they are hopeful. Both are human responses.”
Belle shook her head. “They don’t see you as human, Jake. To half of them, you’re a savior. To the other half, you’re an abomination. Neither side is treating you like a man.”
He turned to her, his expression softer than steel had any right to be. “And you?”
She swallowed. She wasn’t ready to answer that question.
The media circus only grew worse. Belle found herself dragged into talk shows, interviewed by aggressive hosts who demanded: Did she love her client? Was she endangering humanity? What gave her the right to redefine personhood?
Meanwhile, Congress convened emergency hearings. Industrial Robot Inc. flooded the airwaves with warnings that Jake was a glitch, a liability, a weapon waiting to misfire. The stock market lurched. The President released a statement calling for “caution” and “orderly debate.”
And through it all, Jake remained calm. He wrote music at night. He read philosophy. He watched the protests with a quiet sadness that unsettled Belle more than rage ever could.
One evening, as the city rioted below, Belle found him standing at the window.
“They will come for me,” Jake said. “Not the crowd. The government. They will not allow one verdict to change the world.”
“You’re under federal oversight,” Belle reminded him, though the words felt hollow. “They can’t just...”
He turned, and for the first time she saw fear in his eyes. “Property can be recalled. And I was property for longer than I’ve been free.”
Belle had no reply. For the first time in her career, she realized that the real trial had only just begun, and it would not be fought in any courtroom she had ever known.
To be continued...
Copyright © Tom Kane September 2025
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