[LTC - Q16 - Korness - AI] Buried Beneath the Imperial Crest

Buried Beneath the Imperial Crest

The courtroom inside Pinnacle Keep felt less like a chamber of justice and more like a machine built to process surrender.

Gray daylight filtered through tall triangular windows cut deep into the brutalist walls, casting dusty shafts across the polished durasteel floor. Above the judge’s stand loomed a massive backlit Imperial crest, its dark silhouette dominating the chamber with quiet intimidation. To the right side of the courtroom stood two immense columns, each crowned with a solitary statue high above the proceedings. One depicted a robed woman holding a harp; the other, an elderly man balancing a set of scales in weathered hands. Ancient symbols of culture and justice—oddly sentimental touches for an Imperial courtroom. Perhaps some former governor or administrator had insisted upon them long ago. No one remaining in the chamber seemed interested in why.

In front of the judge stood Agathela Garlon.

Former CEO and owner of ARGO Industries.

The restraint cuffs around her wrists were almost ceremonial after months of imprisonment aboard Anvil Gate station. Endless delays. Endless processing. Endless uncertainty. Then, quietly and without public record, she had been transferred to Gellefon in the Korness system—territory still under Imperial control.

Now she understood why.

Behind her waited the next prisoners in line for judgment: a small Chadra-Fan nervously wringing its clawed hands; a Rodian standing rigid with forced composure; and a thin insectoid Verpine whose antennae twitched constantly beneath the chamber lights. Two Imperial correctional guards stood watch at the edges of the room. And beside the prisoners stood two ARGOSEC officers.

That hurt more than the cuffs.

Their uniforms were immaculate. Their expressions unreadable. Neither dared meet her eyes for long. Whether they had volunteered for this assignment or merely followed orders hardly mattered anymore. The message was clear enough: even her own corporation now escorted her into Imperial custody.

Above the chamber, an Imperial holocam droid hovered silently, its red sensor fixed squarely on Agathel as it broadcast the proceedings elsewhere.

To whom, she wondered.

Imperial auditors? Corporate overseers? Investors waiting to see whether ARGO Industries would survive without her?

Or rivals eager to watch her disappear?

The judge barely acknowledged any of them.

A thin elderly woman in brown imperial uniform shuffled data-slates beneath the looming crest while a court scribe-droid mechanically transcribed every word.

“Agathela Garlon,” the judge began in a dry monotone, “former executive director of ARGO Industries, you stand accused of industrial negligence, unlawful diversion of strategic assets, obstruction of Imperial commercial recovery efforts, and failure to comply with emergency stabilization directives under wartime economic authority.”

The charges continued in long, suffocating paragraphs of bureaucratic language engineered to sound lawful while meaning nothing at all.

Not criminal accusations.

Administrative ones.

Manufactured ones.

Agathel listened in silence as the shape of the proceedings became unmistakably clear.

This was never a trial.

The judge adjusted the sleeves of her uniform before continuing.

“Given the strategic importance of ARGO Industries and the unacceptable risks posed by unstable leadership during a period of regional insecurity, this court authorizes the immediate transition of all corporate holdings, subsidiaries, transit operations, and industrial assets into temporary Imperial administrative stewardship pending indefinite review.”

Temporary.

Indefinite.

Words designed to bury ownership forever.

The Chadra-Fan behind her shifted nervously. Somewhere in the chamber, chains rattled softly against duracrete.

Agathel finally spoke.

“You imprisoned me to take my company.”

A brief silence followed.

The judge looked down at her with detached irritation, as though correcting an administrative error.

“No, Director Garlon,” she replied calmly. “The Empire intervened to preserve it.”

Above her, the black Imperial crest glowed cold against the stone while the holocam droid continued to watch—and broadcast—to unseen eyes beyond the courtroom walls.

///

Thanks for watching/reading! This one has been in my sketchbook for a looong time (since Anvil Station), so happy to make it real, and continue Agathela Garlon's story. She's now been processed and is beeing sent to god-knows-where to be burried forever, while corporate aristocrats and imperials take over. This was heavily inspired by the Imperial Courtroom in the Star Wars comics (see more images below).