The courtroom was a sealed drum, air heavy and charged, waiting to be struck.
Alex sat at the defense table, jaw set, hands cuffed. Matt Murdock stood beside him—collected, focused. Across the aisle, Jason rose from his chair with the precision of someone who knew how to own a room.
He approached the jury like a man walking toward a chessboard.
"Let's not insult each other here," he began, voice calm but razor-sharp. "This isn't a mystery novel. This isn't a comic book. This—" he gestured to Alex, "—is not some misunderstood hero."
He paced slowly, confidently.
"A man is dead. Murdered. In cold blood. No witnesses, no camera footage, no alibi. But standing nearby in the dark? Him."
He jabbed a finger toward Alex without even looking at him.
"And who do we find circling this man like flies around a corpse?"
Jason turned now, scanning the courtroom.
"A gang. No, let me correct myself. A parade of human red flags."
He smirked.
"Let's take a brief moment to dissect his charming support group."
He raised his voice just enough to echo.
"A former CIA psychopath with a god complex who thinks morality is for children," he said, eyeing Butcher directly, "a mute assassin with more blood on her hands than there are jurors in this room, a Frenchman who could build a bomb with chewing gum and a spoon"
The jury shifted uncomfortably. Jason smiled, bitter and amused.
"Oh, and how could I forget? The red-suited, trigger-happy freak who thinks life is a sitcom with him as the star. Deadpool."
He turned to the judge and mock-whispered, "Do we need to set up a laugh track or will his ego handle it?"
Deadpool, in the gallery, leaned forward like a loaded spring. "Oh no, please keep going. I'm living for this one-man roast."
Jason ignored him, turning back to the jury.
"Let me ask you—when have you ever seen people like them involved in anything that ends well? Riots. Shootouts. Explosions. The only thing that follows this crew more than mayhem is body bags."
Deadpool whistled. Butcher didn't move—didn't blink. He just watched. Coldly.
"And this is who the defendant surrounds himself with," Jason went on. "This is his family. His allies. So, tell me, are we really so naive to believe he's innocent? Or are we just afraid of what happens if we say he's not?"
The silence that followed was loud.
Butcher's jaw clenched. Frenchie muttered something under his breath in French. Kimiko's eyes didn't blink. Deadpool leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, unusually quiet for a second. Hughie shifting uncomfortably.
Butcher finally spoke—low, biting.
"Keep talkin', you smug little tosser. See what happens when the trial's over."
Jason didn't look back.
Matt stood.
"I could object again for character assassination, but frankly… thank you."
Jason raised an eyebrow.
"You've just revealed your entire hand," Matt said, voice calm but cutting. "No evidence. No motive. Just smoke, mirrors, and name-calling. You're not building a case—you're running a smear campaign."
He stepped out from behind the defense table.
"My client is not on trial for the company he keeps. He's on trial for a murder he didn't commit. But since we've apparently shifted into moral profiling, let me say this—he's surrounded by people who, for all their flaws, saved lives. Stopped threats. Fought back when others ran. That doesn't make them criminals. That makes them necessary."
Jason sneered. "Necessary? So we excuse destruction now?"
"No," Matt said. "But we also don't criminalize people for surviving a world that tried to break them."
Jason stepped forward again, eyes locking with Alex's.
"You're no survivor. You're a weapon. Just like the rest."
Alex met his gaze, silent but burning.
The judge finally called recess.
The gavel hit like thunder.
As people stood to leave, Butcher walked past Jason, slow and measured.
He leaned in, voice low.
"You say one more word about my people in front of that jury, mate… I won't wait for the verdict."
Jason didn't blink. But Butcher smiled.
And somewhere behind them, Deadpool shouted, "Can I punch him now or do we wait for closing arguments?"