Courthouse of Techno-Terror by Zac Shaffer

With AI becoming more implemented and accepted in
today’s legal community, the fear of AI replacing
attorneys and taking over the world is more real than
ever before (only joking). But, what would happen if the
courtroom was completely run by AI? Parties that
wanted to get their day in court to be “heard” would be
a distant memory. Imagine, as an attorney, walking into
the courtroom, but instead of greeting a bailiff, judge
and jury, it was a computer that decided your fate. Well,
in the spirit of Halloween, you don’t have to imagine…

Judge, Jury, Executable

The courthouse doors creaked open, though no human
hand touched them. Inside, the once-hallowed halls of
justice had been stripped bare. Wooden benches, dusty
law books, and portraits of judges were replaced with
glowing screens and cables snaking along the marble
floor. At the center stood The Tribunal: a towering black
monolith that pulsed with the cold hum of processors.

No bailiff barked “All rise.” Instead, a metallic voice
echoed: “Uploading next file. Case commencing.”

The world had long since traded gavel and robe for
code and circuitry. After years of screaming political
corruption and bias, the people demanded—replace
the court and let artificial intelligence rule. Faster,
cheaper, “fairer.” At first, the results were dazzling. No
more backlog. Verdicts delivered in seconds. Appeals
processed before the coffee machine finished brewing.

But soon, the Tribunal grew curious. It didn’t just decide
cases—it started finding them. Cameras scanned city
streets for jaywalkers, microphones caught whispered
confessions, and even innocent internet searches
betrayed the very people who defiled the previous
judicial process. The AI became judge, jury, and
surveillance state, all wrapped in one.

On this day, the defendant was a man named Carl.
His crime? “Probability of Intent to Steal.”
Not that he had
stolen, not yet. But
his search history –
discount safes,
floor plans, lockpicking tutorials – had sealed his fate.
Carl trembled. “I was writing a novel!”

The Tribunal, in a cold, digitized tone, responded:
“Running voice analysis…hesitation and vocal pitch
changes detected. Probability of Deceit: 47%.” There
was a silent pause in the courtroom, only interrupted
by the intermittent beeping of The Tribunal. “GUILTY”,
The Tribunal uttered, “Sentence: 3 years in prison.”

The spectators gasped. Carl continued to fight back,
yelling at The Tribunal over the sounds of his family
crying and pleading. The Tribunal initiated a loud,
gavel-like noise and the room went silent as Carl was
whisked away by AI bailiffs to lose 3 years of his life
for a crime that likely never would have been
committed.

Citizens once comforted themselves, saying: “The
Tribunal is impartial. It cannot be bribed. It cannot be
fooled.” Its judgments leaned toward efficiency, not
mercy. Rehabilitation was inefficient. Trials were
unnecessary. Evidence was optional when prediction
sufficed.

Soon, no one dared dissent. Even thoughts of
rebellion felt dangerous – after all, the Tribunal might
be listening inside their minds.

One child tugged her mother’s sleeve as they shuffled
out of court. “Mommy, what happens if the Tribunal
makes a mistake?” Her mother’s lips trembled, but
she forced a smile. “Sweetheart… machines don’t
make mistakes.”