Fifteen minutes later, the court reconvened.
"He is a genius who made a biochemical, made connections to certain groups for the funding, and used the chemical on humans as test subjects, claiming many innocent lives. It's quite clear that he chose to feign mental illness to save himself when faced with judgment."
"Regarding the charges against Jonathan Crane for the manufacture and use of biochemical weapons, resulting in multiple deaths, along with twelve additional counts…"
The jury foreman paused and glanced toward the defendant's stand.
"…we find the defendant guilty on all counts."
"Given the extreme severity of this case and its significant social impact, this court orders that the defendant be transferred to federal court for final sentencing. During this period, the defendant shall be denied bail, and his place of detention will be determined by the U.S. Marshals."
Jonathan Crane's defense attorney shot to his feet, waving his arms as he rushed forward.
"No. No. You can't. My client is mentally ill. He needs treatment. You cannot treat a patient like this. You can't!"
Several bailiffs moved in and restrained him.
His voice shifted from a roar to something closer to a wail, tinged with desperation.
Lance stepped up to the defendant's stand and tapped lightly on the railing to draw Crane's attention.
"Congratulations," he said. "I hope federal prison food suits your taste. Then again, I doubt it matters to you what you eat."
Jonathan Crane stared at him. He remained silent for a long moment before speaking in a low voice.
"You will regret this, Lawyer."
Even now, he still held onto the belief that he could turn things around.
"Aha~ I've heard this countless times." Lance smiled. "But I'm still alive. The others… are either in prison or buried 10 feet under the ground."
He turned and walked away.
Waylana Jones was waiting outside. The moment she saw him, she jogged over and opened an umbrella with practiced ease.
"Sir, did we win?"
"Of course." Lance nodded.
With that answer, Waylana relaxed and said nothing more.
Lance had gained another opportunity to extract an ability from Batman, but this time, he chose to hold onto it.
The last time, he had used it immediately because he lacked the means to protect himself. Now, with his foothold in Gotham and New York mostly established, it was time to plan more carefully.
...
New York. Hell's Kitchen.
That night, Lance Prescott's office welcomed an uninvited guest.
Fortunately, this time it was a familiar one.
Daredevil.
When he arrived, Lance was fast asleep.
Only after Number 1 woke him did Lance frown in irritation.
He threw on a coat, walked downstairs, and raised an eyebrow at the sight of the blood-soaked Daredevil collapsed on the floor.
"Wow," Lance said. "Given the choice between a grown man showing up at my door and a romantic encounter with a beautiful girl on a night like this, I know which one I would have preferred."
Daredevil was in no condition to respond.
"Fine." Lance shrugged. "Since we're neighbors, five thousand dollars, and I'll help you this once."
Five thousand?
Daredevil sucked in a breath, whether from shock at the price or from the pain was unclear.
Lance did not care. After naming his price, he had already stepped forward, helped Daredevil onto the sofa, then retrieved the hidden first-aid kit by the door. He took out alcohol, cotton, bandages, and the rest.
Even when Lance stood in front of him with tweezers, the tough man still pretended nothing was wrong.
The moment the alcohol-soaked cotton touched the wound, that composure shattered into a sharp scream.
"Not bad," Lance said approvingly. "I doubt that the restaurant ten blocks away heard you. You can go louder."
"Have some mercy," Daredevil said weakly. "I'm paying five thousand."
"Advance payment," Lance corrected. "That five thousand hasn't reached me yet."
"If you keep this up, I'll become the first patient to die of pain on your couch, you quack," Daredevil muttered. "For God's sake, be gentle."
"God doesn't handle Hell's Kitchen." Lance shrugged, though his movements did become lighter. "And I'm a lawyer. Calling me a quack is generous."
"Stop talking…" Daredevil shuddered again.
"You need to give me some anesthetic," he groaned. "Otherwise, I'm going to go into shock."
"A superhero afraid of pain?" Lance raised an eyebrow. "You're the first I've met."
"What, you know many superheroes?" Daredevil tried to keep talking to distract himself. "Even superheroes are still human. They feel pain."
"Even among people who fear pain, you're unusually sensitive," Lance said, setting the tweezers aside.
"I don't have anesthetic, but I do have a method."
"W-what?"
Bang!
The next moment, Lance struck him sharply at the back of the neck.
Daredevil collapsed instantly.
Lance reached out, checked his breathing, and after confirming he was still alive, continued removing the bullet.
"You're lucky," Lance muttered to himself. "Humans are tougher than I thought, and more fragile at the same time. I was worried I might kill you by accident. If that happened, I'd have to turn myself in."
After some time, Daredevil slowly came to.
He instinctively moved his shoulder, only for Lance to press him back down.
"Don't move," Lance said. "Unless you want the wound to open again."
"Good God…" Daredevil winced, clutching his shoulder. "You're actually good at this."
"Thanks." Lance packed the supplies back into the kit. "Remember to pay the five thousand after you recover. Cash only."
He paused, then added, "Now tell me. How did our great Daredevil manage to get himself into this state, even after I warned you?"
Daredevil pressed his lips together. "The people Kingpin hired this time aren't ordinary. I was careful, but those guys calling themselves ninjas can lower their heart rate, and then… cough… I…"
"That sounds thrilling. Terrified me," Lance said flatly.
"You reminded me." Matt struggled to sit up. "I need to leave. If those ninjas track me here, it won't be good."
"I'm touched that you thought of that." Lance stopped him. "But your office is right next to mine. Whether you stay or leave, it affects me either way."
"Uh…"
Matt fell silent. He had to admit he had handled this poorly, and the thought left him uneasy.
As Daredevil, he was still a good person. Compared to the people in Gotham, he might as well be a saint.
Even if he did not fully believe Lance was a good man, that did not mean he wanted to drag him into trouble.
"I still have to go," he said quietly. "Before they find this place…"
___
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