The courtroom filled again after recess. But the air was different now—thicker, heavier, like the storm before the lightning.
Matt sat stiff at the defense table, jaw locked. Alex leaned forward, his eyes cold and unblinking. Butcher stood in the gallery with the others, arms crossed, barely concealing the tension coursing through him like an overloaded wire.
Jason rose once more, calm, smug, rehearsed.
"Now then," he began smoothly, "since we're apparently doing morality checks, let's do one more."
He turned—not to Alex this time—but to the gallery.
"Let's talk about Billy Butcher."
Butcher's shoulders tightened, his eyes already burning.
"A man who preaches justice while carrying enough hate in him to burn cities. A man who talks about protecting people… when he couldn't even protect his own wife."
The words dropped like lead in the room.
Butcher's knuckles turned white around his folded arms.
"Left her. Lost her. Let her die in the wake of his crusade."
Jason kept going, walking slowly now, turning the knife.
"He blames others, sure. Vought, Supes, the system. But tell me, Billy—how much blood on your hands is really yours?"
Matt stood quickly. "Objection—irrelevant and deliberately inflammatory!"
"Sustained," the judge snapped, but Jason wasn't done.
He turned toward Butcher now.
"You keep pretending you're some war-torn soldier fighting a noble fight. You're not. You're a man so addicted to vengeance you forgot what it was like to actually love someone."
Butcher stepped forward, barely restrained. MM grabbed his arm, tight.
Jason raised an eyebrow, mocking calm.
"Go ahead, Butcher. Prove me right."
But before Butcher could move, a new voice rang out.
"Shut the hell up."
Alex stood now, no longer silent.
He looked at Jason like he was made of ash.
"You think you're clever, digging up graves and calling it justice? That's not truth. That's desperation. You're not here to prove anything. You're here to hurt people. The only thing you're building is a case against your own damn humanity."
Jason laughed—a low, arrogant chuckle.
"Cute. Now the mute speaks."
Matt stepped forward fast, voice sharp. "You're done, Jason. One more personal attack and I'll file for contempt."
Jason leaned against the jury box, still smirking.
"Sure. But let's not leave out the real circus act, shall we?"
His gaze locked now on Deadpool.
"A walking tumor with guns. A clown who jokes his way through trauma like a discount therapist in a red onesie."
Deadpool tilted his head. "You forgot to mention my ass. It's spectacular."
Jason smiled. "You wanna talk about what's funny? Let's talk about your love life. What was her name again? Cinnamon? Cherry? Oh wait—was it Candy?"
Deadpool's smile disappeared.
Jason chuckled. "Ah yes. The stripper you couldn't save. Or maybe you just liked the view more than the relationship."
Silence.
A click echoed through the room as Deadpool—fast, smooth—drew his Desert Eagle and aimed it straight at Jason's face.
"You. Say. One. More. Word."
Jason blinked, but he didn't flinch.
Then he laughed.
A hollow, taunting sound that bounced off the walls.
"Go on, Merc. Pull the trigger. Remind everyone what a hero looks like when the jokes stop working."
The security guards didn't move. Neither did the judge. No one dared breathe.
Matt stepped between them, voice low. "Wade. Don't."
But it wasn't Matt that made Deadpool lower the gun.
It was Butcher.
He put a hand on Wade's shoulder. "Not here, mate. Not yet."
Deadpool's jaw clenched behind the mask. But he holstered the gun.
Jason straightened his tie, still smirking.
"See? You're all just one insult away from showing the world who you really are."
Butcher stared at him. "We don't need to show anyone, mate. You're doing a fine job showing them what scum looks like."
The judge banged the gavel.
"One more outburst from any party, and I will hold the entire gallery in contempt. This is a courtroom, not a bar fight!"
But it didn't matter. The fuse was lit. The temperature had changed. No one forgot that moment.
And Jason?
He was just getting started.