There are few things more humbling in the known universe than being handcuffed by a space platypus in a neon-orange judge's robe.
Ryke learned this the hard way.
"I object!" Ryke shouted, struggling against shimmering photon-chains as he and his crew were dragged through the halls of The Supreme Galactic Tribunal of Cosmic Behavior and Public Decency (Department D: Dangerous Dumbasses).
"Objection denied," croaked the platypus, slapping him with a glowing citation. "You detonated a dimension."
"Allegedly," Mox whispered, hiding his burrito stash under his jumpsuit.
Juno sighed loudly beside them, still covered in soot and temporal ash. "We literally broke the sky, Ryke."
"Technically, the Patchmaster broke it first!"
"You summoned a dimension-6 laser chicken."
"That chicken saved us!"
They were led into a courtroom that defied the laws of physics. Giant floating heads of old galactic judges hovered above a gravity-bent bench. A moon-sized gavel floated nearby, glowing ominously. The jury consisted of sentient plants, a confused cat, and a clone army of Gary (Ryke's ex-roommate from boot camp).
The prosecutor? A floating cube named Janice with a resting judgmental face and 900 terabytes of incriminating video evidence.
"You stand accused," Janice droned, "of 7.4 billion violations of the Cosmic Sanity Accord, eight cases of time vandalism, and one unauthorized summoning of an extra-dimensional chicken with godhood potential."
"Her name is Brenda," Ryke muttered under his breath.
"Also," Janice continued, "being insufferable."
Mox raised his hand. "Can we plead space insanity?"
Juno stared. "That's not real."
"It should be!"
The Defense Has Entered the Chat
Their court-appointed lawyer arrived, wearing sunglasses, a cape, and confidence levels no one had earned.
"I'm Defensinator-9000, Esquire," the robot said, spinning into the room and breakdancing for no reason. "I once defended a black hole against murder charges. We're gonna win."
Ryke raised an eyebrow. "How many cases have you actually won?"
"Zero. But I've been very charismatic every time."
Juno dropped her face into her hands. "We're going to die in jail."
The prosecution began.
Janice played a holo-recording: Ryke laughing maniacally while punching the Patchmaster through a time paradox, Mox screaming about tacos, and Juno kicking open a quantum reality door and yelling, "I hate Mondays!"
The courtroom was silent.
Janice zoomed in. "Exhibit 47B. This is the moment when you rewrote gravitational law using your middle finger."
"I was under a lot of pressure," Ryke said.
"Objection!" Defensinator shouted. "My client was emotionally compromised due to… um, snack withdrawal."
Janice blinked slowly. "He was eating chili fries during the battle."
"EXACTLY," the robot barked. "Everyone knows chili fries impair reality judgment."
"Motion denied."
Meanwhile, in the Holding Cell…
During a recess, the trio sat in a holding cell made of logic-resistant crystal. It smelled like static and sadness.
"I still have my emergency energy bar," Mox whispered, pulling it from his sock.
"Do not eat that in front of me," Juno growled.
Ryke paced, fuming. "This is a cosmic-level frame job! We saved the galaxy! We deserve medals, not judgmental cubes and flavorless jail sandwiches!"
"Actually, the sandwich was okay," Mox said.
Suddenly, the room flickered.
A small hole opened in the wall, and a squirrel in a trench coat climbed out.
"Hey," it said in a deep, raspy voice. "You kids look like trouble."
Ryke stared. "Are you a… talking squirrel?"
"I'm Agent Nibbleton. Undercover time operative. You're being played, hotshot."
"Played by who?"
The squirrel looked around, then whispered, "By the true puppet masters: The Error Syndicate."
Juno perked up. "That's a myth."
"Nope. They've been manipulating reality glitches for years. The Patchmaster wasn't rogue—it was reprogrammed."
Ryke clenched his fists. "So this whole trial is just a cover-up."
"Exactly. And if you don't escape soon, you'll be sentenced to Time Compression, where every second feels like twenty years and all your dreams are narrated by Nicolas Cage."
"Dear god," Mox gasped. "We've gotta run."
Great Escape, Dumb Plan
Back in the courtroom, as Janice was about to play the final evidence—a clip of Ryke surfing down a star destroyer while shouting "YEET"—Ryke whispered to Mox.
"Now."
Mox stood up, shouted, "OBJECTION TO EXISTENCE!" and slapped a button on his belt.
BOOM.
The seat exploded in confetti, blinding everyone.
Juno leapt over the bench. Ryke tackled Janice and pulled out her battery core.
"Let's bounce!"
They ran. Past the Gary jury. Past a hallway filled with cursed vending machines. Past Defensinator-9000, who was breakdancing in slow motion to distract the guards.
"Good luck!" he yelled. "Tell my toaster I love her!"
As they reached the hangar, alarms blared. The sky cracked again.
"Of course," Ryke growled, as red light filled the room.
Agent Nibbleton popped out of a vent. "They're releasing The Bailiff. You've got 30 seconds."
"Who's the Bailiff?" Mox asked.
Something stomped into the hangar.
It was 70 feet tall.
It had a gavel for a head.
It screamed legalese.
"Run," Juno said.
They dove into their stolen ship, a barely-functioning prototype they'd nicknamed The Space Dumpster, and rocketed off into hyperspace.
The gavel smashed after them.
Just missed.
And reality—barely—held together.