Simon killed the Devil. It wasn’t an easy feat to kill something immortal, but Simon had been up to the task.
“I thought I was giving a gift to all humanity,” Simon said at his trial, his orange jumpsuit glowing like a sun under the neon lights. “I really did.”
But that wasn’t for him to say.
“I mean, who wouldn’t shoot Old Scratch, given the chance?”
“Mr. Lancaster, it is not for us mortals to judge whether another is fit for death,” the prosecuting attorney claimed, his balding pate sweating even though the air conditioner in the courtroom had to be sucking half the power in town. “Mortal judgment is God’s work, not man’s.”
“Objection, your honor,” Simon’s lawyer barked from his seat.
“On what grounds?” the judge asked.
“Penal code 167b. The death penalty. Human society has deemed it appropriate under certain circumstances to determine whether a life should be terminated on moral grounds.”
“Through due process.”
“Your honor,” Simon interrupted. “There would be no due process with Satan. This was humanity’s one chance to revenge itself of all the evil in the world. Literally, all the evil in the universe could be eradicated. I saw my opportunity. I took action.”
It hadn’t been easy. Getting the Devil in such a vulnerable position had taken years of research and planning. Simon hadn’t made any bones to anyone about it. He’d even obtained private funding from a wealthy businessman to sustain his operations and keep himself fed as he schemed. “I plan to kill the Devil,” he’d told
