The Eye Witness Economy

In the harsh fluorescent light of Courtroom 12B, Javier Martinez watched the holographic display flicker and die as Judge Reynolds dismissed yet another piece of what would have once been damning evidence.

"Prosecution, you know better than this," Judge Reynolds sighed, pushing her glasses up. "The Digital Evidence Nullification Act of 2029 is clear. No audio, video, or digital records are admissible without corroborating physical evidence or sworn testimony."

The prosecutor, a woman with dark circles under her eyes, nodded wearily. "Your Honor, we have three eyewitnesses to the bank robbery, but they're hesitant to testify after what happened to the Gunderson witnesses."

Everyone in the courtroom knew what she meant. The Gunderson case witnesses had their entire lives systematically destroyed after testifying—not through violence, but through perfectly crafted deepfakes showing them committing various crimes and indiscretions. Despite being proven as fakes months later, the damage was done.

From his seat at the defense table, Javier suppressed a smile. He hadn't robbed Continental Bank, but someone had—and the security footage that would have exonerated him was as inadmissible as the footage that might have condemned the real culprit. Without witnesses willing to risk their reputations, he'd walk free.

---

That evening, Javier sat in his apartment watching what passed for news these days. The anchor, with perfect hair and a gleaming smile, was enthusiastically describing a new restaurant opening downtown.

"Try SushiFusion's incredible new Pacific Rim menu! Our reporters sampled their signature dishes, and the flavor profiles are simply extraordinary!"

The segment transitioned seamlessly to a piece about a local tech company's stock performance, all glowing positives with vague references to "industry challenges" that never explicitly mentioned the company's products catching fire in users' homes.

Commercials were indistinguishable from news segments—they didn't need to be labeled differently anymore since everything had become advertising. Actual information about the apartment complex fire across town was nowhere to be found. Neither was any mention of Continental Bank's robbery, despite its prominence in court that morning.

His phone buzzed. It was Kira, his sister.

"You watching MarketNews? They're talking about Senator Holden's 'bold new initiative' without mentioning that it's basically a corporate giveaway," she said without preamble.

"Not surprising," Javier replied. "Remember that new libel precedent from last year? They'd need three independent witnesses willing to swear under oath that it's a corporate giveaway before they could say that on air."

"Witnesses," Kira scoffed. "Everything runs on witnesses now. You either pay people to say what you want or intimidate them into silence."

Javier's eyes drifted to his desk drawer, where he kept his growing collection of eyewitness vouchers—blank affidavits ready to be filled in and signed by people whose testimonies were for sale. Some cost a few hundred dollars, others thousands, depending on the risk and reputation of the witness.

---

Three days later, Javier sat across from Marcus, a former police officer turned professional witness, in a nondescript café.

"So you understand what we need?" Javier asked.

Marcus nodded. "You need me to testify I saw someone else at Continental that day. Someone matching the description you provided."

"And you're comfortable with this arrangement?"

"It's all perfectly legal," Marcus said, taking a sip of his coffee. "I'm just describing what I saw. Or what I would have seen, if I had been there." He winked.

The economy of eyewitnesses had become one of the fastest-growing sectors. Some witnessed crimes, others alibi's. Some witnessed product effectiveness for advertisements, others witnessed political opponents' misdeeds. The most valuable witnesses were those with credentials—former judges, police officers, doctors.

As Javier slid the payment card across the table, he felt a twinge of something—not quite guilt, but awareness of participation in the system that had replaced evidence with commerce.

---

That night, he flipped channels until he landed on the only program that still resembled journalism: "Testimony," a show that featured anonymous witnesses speaking through voice modulators and silhouettes.

"They're repackaging the highway rebuilding project as infrastructure investment," the distorted voice was saying, "but I've seen the contracts. Ninety percent of funds are going to companies owned by the mayor's brother-in-law."

The host, a stern-faced woman, nodded seriously. "Viewers, remember, this is alleged testimony and legally constitutes entertainment, not news."

The standard disclaimer. Without the witness revealing their identity and facing cross-examination, their words were legally no different than fiction.

Javier turned off the screen and walked to the window. In the street below, a woman was arguing with a man who had apparently hit her car. She was pointing at her vehicle's camera. The man laughed and walked away. Without witnesses, the footage was worthless in court.

In the distance, he could see the illuminated billboards of downtown, where "LiveWitness™" offices had sprung up like mushrooms, offering notarized human observation services for everything from business transactions to birth certificates.

Javier wondered idly how long before someone figured out how to hack humans as effectively as they'd hacked digital systems. Or perhaps they already had, and the eyewitness economy was just another illusion in a world where truth had become a luxury few could afford.