u/One-Midnight1016

The Rules:

• Citizens are assigned to permanent groups of 10.
• Punishment for any crime is divided evenly among all 10 members.
• Groups are legally forbidden from restraining or removing a member until a crime actually occurs.

A human life, as it turns out, is worth exactly $71.42.

"Not again..."

Nathan muttered under his breath. His eyes were fixed on the notification lighting up his phone screen.

[Collective Liability Alert]

Unit 12 Member: Sean M.

Assault in District 14. Fine: $800.

Your split: $80. Auto-deduction at midnight.

In this country, public order was maintained by a system of collective responsibility known as the "National ID Unit System." Citizens were forcibly assigned to random groups of ten. When one member committed a crime, the resulting fines or damages were split equally among the entire unit.

"One for all, all for one."

The slogan was beautiful, but in reality, it was just a system of mutual surveillance and snitching.

If a unit consisted of ten decent citizens, there was no issue—and most units were like that. Even if a unit was unlucky enough to have a true predator, they would usually commit a felony, pay a heavy initial price, and then be hauled off to prison and removed from the unit.

But Sean M., a member of Nathan’s Unit 12, was worse in a different way.

He specialized in petty crimes—vandalism, minor theft, brawling. He never committed a crime severe enough for prison, but he committed them constantly. As a result, the fines were perpetually drained from the bank accounts of Nathan and the other members. No matter how many times they warned him, he didn't care.

To Sean, this system wasn't a deterrent; it was a service that diluted his sins by 90%.

"Did you get the alert? The one Sean assaulted was Mr. Tanaka from our unit," a woman whispered in a dim, crowded bar. "He said he was just standing on the street when Sean shoved him for being in the way."

"He stole money from me the other day, too," another added. "But I was afraid to report it because I didn't want to cause more trouble for Nathan and the others..."

"Please, report it," Nathan sighed. "If you stay silent, the fines only grow later."

They were at a local dive bar in the city. It was a gathering of several members from Unit 12 and other surrounding units—a "gripe session" specifically about Sean.

"Can't anything be done about him? He's terrorizing the neighboring units, too," someone asked.

"He only commits petty crimes that end in fines. If he’d just go to prison, we could kick him out. But as long as he pays the fines—with our money—he’s technically a 'law-abiding citizen.'"

"We've warned him a thousand times. We’ve complained to the authorities. But they just tell us that unit matters must be settled within the unit."

Everyone let out a long, heavy sigh. The drinks were flowing, but not a single person felt the slightest bit of joy. Nathan, his eyes growing dull and cold as the alcohol took hold, suddenly whispered:

"...What if I just kill the bastard?"

The table went silent. Everyone gasped.

"Nathan, take it easy! You’ve had too much to drink!"

"Think about it... Sean always says it, doesn't he? 'My crimes are everyone's crimes. Thanks for covering for me, guys!' If that's the case, if I kill him, shouldn't that crime also be split ten ways? Or nine ways? Maybe it’s worth it."

As the people around him started to sense it was time to wrap up the night, a man named Nate, who was even more wasted, let out a hollow laugh.

"That's a great idea. But it’s not fair for Nathan's unit to bear the whole burden. Look around—we’ve got members from five different units here, all of whom have been harassed by Sean. If these five units conspire to kill him, the split becomes even smaller!"

"That... might actually be legally viable."

The voice belonged to Maddy, a woman in Nathan’s unit who held a law degree.

"There have been cases where a crime was committed across multiple units, and the penalty was distributed among them. Murder is a felony, yes. But if multiple units cooperate, we can testify to Sean’s history of violence and manufacture a specific situation. If we play it right, we could keep the verdict down to a fine."

Fueled by the alcohol, the plan became rapidly concrete. No one stepped in to stop it.

"Hypothetically," Maddy continued, "if we select one executioner from each of the five units, and the primary killer cannot be identified—if everyone claims they were merely trying to stop Sean's 'sudden rampage'—it could be treated as negligent homicide or excessive self-defense.

In that case, the maximum fine is $3,500. We divide that among the five units—totaling 50 people. Subtracting Sean, we split it 49 ways. That comes out to... $71.42 each."

A heavy silence fell over the group.

"That’s... about the price of two nights out at this bar," Nate muttered with a smirk. No one laughed, but everyone reached for their drinks.

One month passed.

Nathan and the others worked tirelessly to build a consensus within the units. Many resisted at first, but in the end, their shared hatred for Sean won out. Maddy assigned roles: who would be the 'witnesses,' who would testify to Sean's long-standing harassment.

Choosing the executioners was difficult, but eventually, five people who held the deepest grudges against Sean—including Nathan—were selected.

The night of the act.

A vacant lot along the path Sean always took after drinking. The five executioners stood before him.

"What's this? Another lecture?" Sean sneered. "I told you it’s useless. The law says it’s my right to let you pay for—"

Before Sean could finish, Nathan gave the signal. The five of them lunged at once.

The police investigation went exactly according to Maddy’s script. Every testimony was identical, down to the last word.

"A drunken Sean suddenly pulled a knife and went on a rampage. The five of us tried to restrain him, but in the struggle, tragically..."

Multiple witnesses from the scene and those who knew Sean's reputation testified that he was a ticking time bomb. With such consistent evidence, the prosecution had no way to prove individual murderous intent.

The verdict was exactly as Maddy predicted: negligent homicide with a total fine of $3,500.

A week later, a push notification arrived on Nathan’s phone.

[Administrative Settlement]

Unit 12 Member: Nathan C.

Fine payment by court order.

Amount: $71.42. Auto-deduction at midnight.

Nathan stared at the notification with hollow eyes. It was the same screen he had seen a thousand times because of Sean. But this time, he had triggered it by his own will.

$71.42.

The cost of erasing a human life and buying back their peace. It felt far too cheap. The reality of it had yet to sink in.

A few days later.

"Cheers!"

They were back at the same bar. The same members.

"Man, what a relief. Things are finally quiet without Sean."

"We really owe it to Nathan and Maddy. They were the heart of this."

"Yeah, that consensus-building and the legal strategy were brilliant."

The atmosphere was warm and harmonious. The suffocating gloom of a few months ago seemed like a bad dream.

But the peace was shattered by Nate, one of the executioners.

"...Hey, you guys. You need to show me more gratitude."

Nate was more wasted than anyone had ever seen him.

"I’m the one who actually did it. If I hadn't finished him off, you’d all still be getting bled dry by that leech!" Nate’s voice roared through the bar.

"Maddy, your plan was great, sure. But without someone to do the dirty work, it’s just a piece of paper, right? Don't you think I'm the real hero here?"

Nate slid into the seat next to Maddy, throwing an arm around her and touching her skin with brazen familiarity. The warmth in the room evaporated instantly.

"Yes, Nate, we are grateful. So please, that’s enough..." Maddy tried to pull away.

"Shut up! I’m a hero! You people don't show enough respect!"

As Nate began to rage again, a chilling silence filled the bar.

Without a word, several people began checking the balance of their bank accounts on their phones.

Not a single person had less than $71.42.

"Not again..."

Nathan muttered. His eyes were fixed on the notification lighting up his phone screen.

[Collective Liability Alert]

Unit 12 Member: Sean Miller.

Assault in District 14. Fine: $800.

Your split: $80. Auto-deduction at midnight.

In this country, public order was maintained by a system of collective responsibility known as the "National ID Unit System." Citizens were forcibly assigned to random groups of ten. When one member committed a crime, the resulting fines or damages were split equally among the entire unit.

"One for all, all for one."

The slogan was beautiful, but in reality, it was a system of mutual surveillance and snitching.

If a unit consisted of ten decent citizens, there was no issue—and most units were like that. Even if a unit was unlucky enough to have a true predator, they would usually commit a felony, pay a heavy initial price, and then be hauled off to prison and removed from the unit.

But Sean Miller, a member of Nathan’s Unit 12, was worse in a different way.

He specialized in petty crimes—vandalism, minor theft, brawling. He never committed a crime severe enough for prison, but he committed them constantly. As a result, the fines were perpetually drained from the bank accounts of Nathan and the other members. No matter how many times they warned him, he didn't care.

To Sean, this system wasn't a deterrent; it was a service that diluted his sins by 90%.

"Did you get the alert? The one Sean assaulted was Mr. Tanaka from our unit," a woman whispered in a dim, crowded bar. "He said he was just standing on the street when Sean shoved him for being in the way."

"He stole money from me the other day, too," another added. "But I was afraid to report it because I didn't want to cause more trouble for Nathan and the others..."

"Please, report it," Nathan sighed. "If you stay silent, the fines only grow later."

They were at a local dive bar in the city. It was a gathering of several members from Unit 12 and other surrounding units—a "gripe session" specifically about Sean.

"Can't anything be done about him? He's terrorizing the neighboring units, too," someone asked.

"He only commits petty crimes that end in fines. If he’d just go to prison, we could kick him out. But as long as he pays the fines—with our money—he’s technically a 'law-abiding citizen.'"

"We've warned him a thousand times. We’ve complained to the authorities. But they just tell us that unit matters must be settled within the unit."

Everyone let out a long, heavy sigh. The drinks were flowing, but not a single person felt the slightest bit of joy. Nathan, his eyes growing dull and cold as the alcohol took hold, suddenly whispered:

"...What if I just kill the bastard?"

The table went silent. Everyone gasped.

"Nathan, take it easy! You’ve had too much to drink!"

"Think about it... Sean always says it, doesn't he? 'My crimes are everyone's crimes. Thanks for covering for me, guys!' If that's the case, if I kill him, shouldn't that crime also be split ten ways? Or nine ways? Maybe it’s worth it."

As the people around him started to sense it was time to wrap up the night, a man named Nate, who was even more wasted, let out a hollow laugh.

"That's a great idea. But it’s not fair for Nathan's unit to bear the whole burden. Look around—we’ve got members from five different units here, all of whom have been harassed by Sean. If these five units conspire to kill him, the split becomes even smaller!"

"That... might actually be legally viable."

The voice belonged to Maddy, a woman in Nathan’s unit who held a law degree.

"There have been cases where a crime was committed across multiple units, and the penalty was distributed among them. Murder is a felony, yes. But if multiple units cooperate, we can testify to Sean’s history of violence and manufacture a specific situation. If we play it right, we could keep the verdict down to a fine."

Fueled by the alcohol, the plan became rapidly concrete. No one stepped in to stop it.

"Hypothetically," Maddy continued, "if we select one executioner from each of the five units, and the primary killer cannot be identified—if everyone claims they were merely trying to stop Sean's 'sudden rampage'—it could be treated as negligent homicide or excessive self-defense.

In that case, the maximum fine is $3,500. We divide that among the five units—totaling 50 people. Subtracting Sean, we split it 49 ways. That comes out to... $71.42 each."

A heavy silence fell over the group.

"That’s... about the price of two nights out at this bar," Nate muttered with a smirk. No one laughed, but everyone reached for their drinks.

One month passed.

Nathan and the others worked tirelessly to build a consensus within the units. Many resisted at first, but in the end, their shared hatred for Sean won out. Maddy assigned roles: who would be the 'witnesses,' who would testify to Sean's long-standing harassment.

Choosing the executioners was difficult, but eventually, five people who held the deepest grudges against Sean—including Nathan—were selected.

The night of the act.

A vacant lot along the path Sean always took after drinking. The five executioners stood before him.

"What's this? Another lecture?" Sean sneered. "I told you it’s useless. The law says it’s my right to let you pay for—"

Before Sean could finish, Nathan gave the signal. The five of them lunged at once.

The police investigation went exactly according to Maddy’s script. Every testimony was identical, down to the last word.

"A drunken Sean suddenly pulled a knife and went on a rampage. The five of us tried to restrain him, but in the struggle, tragically..."

Multiple witnesses from the scene and those who knew Sean's reputation testified that he was a ticking time bomb. With such consistent evidence, the prosecution had no way to prove individual murderous intent.

The verdict was exactly as Maddy predicted: negligent homicide with a total fine of $3,500.

A week later, a push notification arrived on Nathan’s phone.

[Administrative Settlement]

Unit 12 Member: Nathan Cole.

Fine payment by court order.

Amount: $71.42. Auto-deduction at midnight.

Nathan stared at the notification with hollow eyes. It was the same screen he had seen a thousand times because of Sean. But this time, he had triggered it by his own will.

$71.42.

The cost of erasing a human life and buying back their peace. It felt far too cheap. The reality of it had yet to sink in.

A few days later.

"Cheers!"

They were back at the same bar. The same members.

"Man, what a relief. Things are finally quiet without Sean."

"We really owe it to Nathan and Maddy. They were the heart of this."

"Yeah, that consensus-building and the legal strategy were brilliant."

The atmosphere was warm and harmonious. The suffocating gloom of a few months ago seemed like a bad dream.

But the peace was shattered by Nate, one of the executioners.

"...Hey, you guys. You need to show me more gratitude."

Nate was more wasted than anyone had ever seen him.

"I’m the one who actually did it. If I hadn't finished him off, you’d all still be getting bled dry by that leech!" Nate’s voice roared through the bar.

"Maddy, your plan was great, sure. But without someone to do the dirty work, it’s just a piece of paper, right? Don't you think I'm the real hero here?"

Nate slid into the seat next to Maddy, throwing an arm around her and touching her skin with brazen familiarity. The warmth in the room evaporated instantly.

"Yes, Nate, we are grateful. So please, that’s enough..."

"Shut up! I’m a hero! You people don't show enough respect!"

As Nate began to rage again, a chilling silence filled the bar.

Without a word, several people began checking the balance of their bank accounts on their phones.

Not a single person had less than $71.42.