At this point I’d been following the trial for 7 months. I’d watched and reported on every witness testimony, bit of laboratory documentation, diary page, and sample of evidence that showed Doctor Lysen had been the man responsible for the development and release of the CalVen-34 virus that wiped out over a third of the global population. The man himself had yet to confess, but in the eyes of the public his quiet nature and slumped expression when the prosecution spoke was more than enough. Even to the court his admission had not proved necessary – the existing evidence had been more than damning.
I’d been reporting from the courtroom when the sentence had been announced. Doctor Lysen would hang for the strife he had caused. The tribunal planned to make the execution an event. Rather than the private gallows tucked into the corner of a high-security prison, the doctor would be hanged on the field of a major stadium. Millions would be watching from home, and I’d been given a front row seat.
I watched as the guards dragged Doctor Lysen out from the locker rooms where they had him change from his prison jumpsuit into the recognizable outfit he’d worn during each court session. They lead him up the stairs and placed the noose around his neck. The executioner read the charges and pressed him for a final statement. The doctor simply shrugged, determined to remain quiet and detached to the very end.
The executioner pulled the lever, and the doctor dropped. The momentary panic on his face as the air escaped him was the most expressive he’d been in his short career as a public figure. We watched in silence as he lost consciousness and went limp. Several minutes later his body was lowered and the physician confirmed his death. Retribution had been payed, and cheers began to fill the stadium.
I remained still, fixated on the man’s body. Throughout this entire endeavor, the only part I’d been denied access to was Doctor Lysen himself. I had never been permitted to interview the man. In his death I became no closer to understanding why he created the virus. Perhaps meeting with him wouldn’t have changed that, either.
Eventually the cheers subsided, and life continued. The mourning continued hours after the broadcast had ended, and the momentary catharsis of Doctor Lysen’s death became a small blip in the cultural memory of the outbreak. History textbooks now present the execution as a neat bow tying up this event, signaling to students that the unit is about to end. They’ll never understand how little it changed.