The courtroom wasn't as grand as I'd imagined.
White walls.Sterile. Featureless.Five judges sat in a row behind a long desk, wearing black robes that looked more like graduation gowns than anything sacred.They were frantically flipping through documents, as if they were behind schedule.There was no audience. No lawyers. No prosecutors.Just me—seated on a small chair in front of them, feeling smaller by the second.
It didn't feel like a courtroom.It felt like a job interview at some underfunded company.But my heart still pounded.
thump... thump...
I'd spent years watching courtroom dramas—prosecutors, defense attorneys, last-minute evidence that turned the tide.I once dreamt of being part of that system.I studied laws like scripture. Memorized entire codes.But here, none of that mattered.
This was hell.
And hell had its own rules.
The middle judge finally spoke.
"Eric. Born February 2, 1987, in West Carson.Died April 4, 2017, after falling from a construction site in Inglewood. Is that correct?"
"...Yes."
"Your father, Edward Lang, was killed in the line of duty before your birth?"
The word "father" hit something inside me.
"...Yes."
I didn't know his face.Not his voice.Only the name. Only the title: homicide detective.
Still, hearing about him stirred something I hadn't felt in years.A quiet sadness.And a flash of anger.
The judge to the right clicked his tongue.
"Tch, tragic."
Another judge continued.
"At age five, your mother remarried and took your father's entire pension.She left you in the care of your grandmother, correct?"
"Yes…"
Grandma… Are you doing okay?
Just hearing her name made my chest ache.
Somehow, they knew everything.Stuff I'd never told anyone.Private things. Shameful things.
They laid it all bare like a spreadsheet.
"At age fifteen, you assaulted three classmates—Jason Cole, Patrick Parks, and Jay Hunter—causing one to suffer a broken nose and lose three teeth. Is that true?"
"Yes, but I—"
"Yes or no only."
"...Yes."
That was my one mistake.One time I lost control.They bullied me for years—beat me, mocked my poverty.So I hit back.Just once.
After that, never again.I made a promise to my grandmother.
But there was no room for context here.No one to listen.Only cold silence behind blank faces.
"After military discharge, you ended your relationship with Jamie Lee, despite her waiting for you for two years. You claimed it was to focus on studying. Is that correct?"
"It wasn't just that, I had to—"
"Yes or no."
"...Yes."
Jamie Lee.
The only person besides my grandmother who ever loved me like I mattered.
I didn't leave her because I wanted to.I left because I thought she deserved better.Because my life—three hours of sleep, two jobs, a broken body—had no space for something as warm as love.
And when I told her goodbye, I cried.For nights.For weeks.
Thanks for reminding me. Bastards.
With each question, I felt like I was being punched in the chest.No defense.No mercy.
"You attempted the bar exam four times and failed each time, correct?"
"...Yes."
"You quit two jobs within six months due to conflict with superiors?"
"Yes…"
They didn't even ask why.Didn't care.
I stopped resisting.I just wanted it to end.
Finally, they huddled together, whispered briefly, then the middle judge read the verdict.
"Eric Lang.You were born into misfortune, abandoned by your mother, and raised in hardship.You caused physical harm to others at age fifteen, which qualifies under Infernal Code 21—'Those who inflict physical or psychological harm shall be punished accordingly.'However, due to mitigating circumstances and the greater harm inflicted upon you, it is not deemed a major violation.You showed remorse, committed no further violence, lived with a sense of justice, and worked tirelessly to support your grandmother.Your premature death, though tragic, was not by intent.Therefore…"
The tone shifted.
From clinical to... almost gentle.
For a moment, I felt seen.Not as a case file, but as a person.
And then:
"You are sentenced to one hundred years of labor in Hell.After that, you will be eligible for reincarnation.Bang. Bang. Bang."
Wait… what?
One hundred years?!
What happened to "not a major violation"? What happened to "tragic circumstances"?
You just said I tried my best!
So why the hell am I getting a hundred freaking years?!
I stared at them, fists clenched, trembling.
They looked back—expressionless.
Like I didn't even exist.
Like this was just paperwork.
"But… I tried to live right…I really tried…"
My voice cracked.I couldn't move.Couldn't breathe.
One hundred years.
That's three times my whole life.
Then, the female judge—far left—spoke softly.
"Eric. A hundred years is considered a light sentence in Hell.Time moves differently here.Roughly speaking, one hundred years here equals about one year in the world of the living.Others are sentenced to a thousand years. Ten thousand.Some, even a hundred thousand.Your effort was noted. That's why the sentence is so short.And if you work hard, you might be granted early release by the Authority."
My mind reeled.
One hundred years is short?One year on Earth?
But I still have to work that time…
Labor… in Hell?
Before I could fully process it, the judges began cleaning up for the next case.
"Escort Eric Lang to Sublevel B2—the Labor Sector.We'll take a short recess before the next trial."
The guide I'd seen countless times—cold, unreadable—gestured for me to follow.
We walked in silence.Until we reached a door marked B2F.
She turned to me and smiled.For the first time.
A real smile.
"Congratulations on your light sentence.Do your best down there. :)"
She motioned toward the door.
Still stunned, still confused,I stepped through.
And the door to my next hundred years closed behind me.