Artificial Atticus
Law
The air conditioning in the Pike County Courthouse had surrendered to the humidity three days ago, leaving the air thick enough to chew. A layer of condensation misted the windows, obscuring the view of the coal trucks rumbling down the two-lane highway outside. Inside, the atmosphere was a distinct blend of floor wax, old wood, and expensive cologne.
The cologne belonged to Harrison Sterling. He sat at the defense table, a man who cost six hundred dollars an hour, flanked by two junior associates who cost four hundred each. They were typing furiously on ultra-slim laptops, creating a wall of noise that sounded like confident rain.
Opposite them sat Bubba Ray Perkins.
Bubba wore a clean plaid button-down tucked into Wranglers that had seen better days. He didn’t have a legal team. He didn’t have a briefcase. He had a Samsung Galaxy with a spiderweb crack across the screen. He sat with the posture of a man waiting for a catfish to bite, relaxed and dangerously patient.
Judge Calloway rapped her gavel. She looked tired. The heat was making her robe unbearable, and the disparity between the two tables offended her sense of fairness. She adjusted her glasses and looked down at Bubba.
“Mr. Perkins,” she said. “Since you have chosen to represent yourself and refused a settlement, we are proceeding. Are you ready to present your opening statement?”
Bubba looked at his phone. A small green waveform pulsed on the screen. He nodded to it, then looked up at the judge.
“Yes, ma’am. I am.”
Sterling smirked. He leaned back, whispering a joke to the associate on his left. They were expecting a rambling diatribe about fairness and the working man. They were prepared to object to hearsay, relevance, inflammatory language.
Bubba stood up. He held the phone in his left hand, thumb hovering over the volume rocker. He cleared his throat.
“Your Honor,” Bubba began, his voice a slow, gravelly drawl that sounded like tires on gravel. “The defense is gonna tell you that Titan Coal & logistics is a job creator. They’re gonna say that the neurological damage I suffered was a ‘pre-existing condition’ or a result of ‘lifestyle choices.’ But that ain’t what the data says.”
Bubba glanced at the screen. The text scrolled rapidly.
“I intend to prove that Titan knowingly bypassed OSHA Regulation 1910.1000 regarding air contaminants,” Bubba continued, the citation rolling off his tongue with the casual ease of a man ordering breakfast. “Specifically, I will demonstrate a pattern of negligence under the doctrine of res ipsa loquitur. The facts will show that the chemical exposure I endured was not only foreseeable but calculated against the cost of proper ventilation upgrades.”
Silence blanketed the room. It was absolute. The typing at the defense table stopped. Harrison Sterling blinked, his smile frozen in a rictus of confusion.
Bubba tapped the screen. “Furthermore, Judge, I’m gonna show that the non-disclosure agreement they made me sign in 2024 is void ab initio due to unconscionability and duress, as defined in Williams v. Walker-Thomas Furniture Co. I ain’t asking for charity. I’m asking for tort damages calculated to the penny.”
Bubba sat down.
Judge Calloway stared at him for a long moment. She looked at the cracked phone, then at Sterling. The high-powered attorney looked as though he had been slapped with a wet fish.
“Mr. Sterling,” the Judge said, her voice dry. “Your opening?”
The trial moved with terrifying speed. Usually, complex liability cases dragged on for weeks, bogged down by procedural maneuvering and document review. But Bubba didn’t need to review documents. The AI agent running locally on his phone had already ingested forty years of Titan Coal’s public filings, the entire Kentucky Revised Statutes, and every relevant tort case in American history.
It was the cross-examination of the Titan safety director, Mr. Vance, where the bloodletting truly began.
Sterling had put Vance on the stand to prove that safety protocols were followed. Vance was calm, rehearsed, and smug. He answered Sterling’s softball questions with practiced ease.
Then it was Bubba’s turn.
He walked to the podium, phone in hand. The microphone on the device was active, the little green light blinking like a predatory eye.
“Mr. Vance,” Bubba said. “You said y’all check the air filters every month. That right?”
“That is correct, Mr. Perkins. It’s company policy.”
Bubba looked at his phone. The AI highlighted a discrepancy in a timestamp from a subpoenaed server log.
“If it’s policy,” Bubba said, looking up, “can you explain why the digital maintenance logs for Sector 4 show no entry between February and August of last year? That’s a six-month gap, sir.”
Vance stiffened. “I... I’m sure that’s a clerical error.”
“A clerical error?” Bubba swiped left on his screen. “According to the metadata on the server backups, which y’all provided in discovery file B-12, the logs were manually accessed and edited on September 1st. Two days after I collapsed.”
“Objection!” Sterling shot to his feet, his face flushing a deep, unhealthy red. “He’s testifying! He’s introducing evidence without foundation!”
Bubba didn’t flinch. He glanced at the phone. “Your Honor, this falls under the Business Records exception to the hearsay rule, Federal Rule of Evidence 803(6). The metadata was provided by the defense themselves. I’m just reading it. If Mr. Sterling didn’t read his own discovery files, I don’t reckon that’s my problem.”
The Judge hid a smile behind her hand. “Overruled. The witness will answer the question.”
Vance stammered. He looked at Sterling for help, but Sterling was furiously whispering to his associates, who were frantically searching their own databases. They were too slow. They were human. They were looking for needles in haystacks while Bubba was holding a magnet.
“I... I don’t recall,” Vance whispered.
“You don’t recall editing the logs to cover up a safety violation?” Bubba asked.
“Objection! Argumentative!” Sterling roared.
Bubba looked at the phone. The screen flashed red: STOP. POINT MADE.
“Withdrawn,” Bubba said softly. “No further questions.”
By the closing arguments, the atmosphere in the courtroom had shifted from humidity to electricity. The gallery was full. Locals had heard that Bubba Perkins was dismantling the biggest company in the county using nothing but a chat-bot.
Harrison Sterling looked exhausted. His tie was loosened. The confident sheen of the morning was gone, replaced by the desperate sweat of a man realizing his entire profession was evaporating before his eyes. His closing argument was long, flowery, and full of emotional appeals to the economic stability of the region. It was a good speech. It was the kind of speech that used to win cases.
Bubba stood up for the last time. He didn’t walk to the podium. He stood at his table, holding the phone like a hymn book.
“Folks,” Bubba said, addressing the empty jury box—it was a bench trial, but the AI suggested the rhetorical device for the Judge’s benefit. “Mr. Sterling talks pretty. He talks about jobs. But the law ain’t about jobs. The law is a code. It’s a set of inputs and outputs.”
He tapped the screen. The device summarized the closing logic in three bullet points.
“Input one: Titan Coal broke the law to save money. Input two: I got hurt because of it. Input three: The law says they gotta pay.”
Bubba looked at Judge Calloway.
“My little friend here,” he raised the phone slightly, “says that based on the precedent of Maples v. Texaco, the burden of proof has been met by a preponderance of the evidence. I don’t know much about fancy words, Judge. But I know when a bill comes due. Titan ran up a tab on my health. It’s time to settle up.”
Bubba sat down. He turned off the screen to save battery.
Judge Calloway looked at the papers in front of her. She looked at Sterling, who was slumped in his chair, defeated by a piece of software and a man in flannel. She hated it. She hated that the art of persuasion had been reduced to algorithmic efficiency. She hated that a machine had argued the law better than a man with a Juris Doctorate.
But she was a judge. Her job was to apply the law to the facts. And the facts were undeniable.
She didn’t need a recess. She didn’t need to deliberate. The app had cited every relevant statute so clearly that to rule against it would be reversible error on its face.
“Stand,” Judge Calloway said.
Bubba stood. Sterling hauled himself up, leaning on the table.
“The Court finds,” Calloway said, her voice flat and resigned, “that the plaintiff has proven his case by a preponderance of the evidence. Judgment is entered in favor of Mr. Perkins in the amount of four point two million dollars.”
She slammed the gavel down. It sounded like a gunshot.
“Court is adjourned.”