Fris once investigated a case that took place in South Korea. It involved a random killing spree carried out by a merciless serial killer. In the end, due to insufficient evidence, a local mob boss who had survived an attack by the killer took the stand as a witness and delivered decisive testimony. After that, the mob boss was also sent to prison.

So, Fris was aware of the concept of a “tainted witness” in court—witnesses who could reduce their sentences by providing information to the police and testifying against criminals. However… “Freeze?”

—Has this world gone mad?

“I know what Gotham is like,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve studied this city… yes, I know exactly what it’s like…”

The city’s criminals seemed endless, and with Batman’s arrival, they only grew more insane, more brutal, and more numerous. One after another, they took the stage. Sometimes people wondered if Batman’s presence had attracted these criminals. Some even hated Batman—why capture them but not kill them? This hatred extended to Gotham’s lack of the death penalty.

This city was a blooming flower of madness, nurtured by malice. People despised it, yet they never truly tried to leave. Some left as children but inevitably returned years later, as if bound by an indescribable curse.

Gotham’s residents’ attachment was matched by the criminals’ obsession—most fixated on Batman, with Joker being the prime example. And then there was Freeze. Fris knew about him: a genius turned criminal, his pain and loss had clouded his mind. His records, like his crimes, were publicly accessible online and indelible.

Fris never believed Gotham’s criminals would cooperate with the police. It was as absurd as a sly black cat helping a mouse it despised.

Fris froze for a moment. “No, I mean… Freeze was sent to Arkham. Why is his testimony admissible?”

“Because professional psychiatrists believe he’s been rehabilitated,” the annoying female lawyer said with a fake smile. “Of course, by psychiatrists, I don’t mean Harley Quinn.”

This was a disaster, Fris thought.

As he listened to Freeze’s testimony, his heart sank lower and lower.

“…I always knew hell was around me. I knew about the mines, but I didn’t care. At the time, I knew everything but never thought to stop it. I saw myself as the most miserable person, drowning in my own world. Until one day, the police came to me and showed me the soon-to-explode mines and the suffering people. That’s when I realized what was happening so close to me. My mindset changed. I decided to point out those devils…”

Hell! Why didn’t you think of testifying before?

Clearly, some deal had been struck with the police. But in Gotham, where there’s no death penalty, what kind of deal could they make? Whether this guy was locked up or not, what difference did it make?

Hell again! Fris had considered the possibility of his opponents being anyone from the justice system but never imagined it would be Gotham’s criminals. From Harley Quinn to Freeze, do you all even remember that you’re criminals?

He recalled his interactions with Dr. Hadley Quinzel, who was obviously Harley Quinn in disguise. At first, he thought he had found a reputable psychiatrist, and she quickly convinced him during their conversations… Was this a conspiracy from the beginning?

Fris quickly calculated how to resolve the situation—delay until the next trial and prepare stronger evidence?

—Ironically, he had no evidence. Instead, the opposing side’s evidence would only grow stronger over time. Fris knew better than anyone that his client, Hal Smith, was a heinous criminal.

Time ticked by as Fris struggled to find a solution.

At the courthouse’s back entrance, a man leaned against the wall. One hand held a motorcycle helmet, resting on his bike, while the other hand held a phone displaying the courtroom live feed.

This man, with black hair streaked with two locks of white and blue eyes tinged with green, was Jason Todd, alias Red Hood. Technically, he was also a witness but hadn’t taken the stand.

Jason didn’t believe Gotham’s justice system could uphold justice. He had always thought so during his time wandering outside the city. After gaining power and returning to Gotham, he resolved to use violence to cleanse everything, becoming the ultimate force to suppress other forms of violence.

If he hadn’t seen the changes in East End, he might have outright executed everyone in South Hinckley Town, including the defendant—no matter their age.

The thought of breathing the same foul air as these scumbags irritated him.

But… something had indeed changed in Gotham.

He couldn’t put his finger on it. Just as he couldn’t explain why, instead of watching the trial from a safe house far away, he found himself standing in the alley behind the courthouse. Did he truly want to testify in the helmet? Freeze’s testimony was enough.

But—

“If I walked up to the witness stand and took off my helmet, the old man would probably smash his water glass, wouldn’t he?”

The camera panned across Bruce Wayne in the gallery. Jason thought of the strange scene, scoffed, and his expression darkened.

He and Batman had fundamental ideological differences, and they were bound to meet again someday—but not today, and certainly not under these circumstances.

…Perhaps he wasn’t ready.

…And maybe the missing Joker wasn’t ready either.

Jason put on his helmet. Clearly, there was no place for him in that courtroom.

Fris was indeed losing ground—at least, on the surface.

But in reality, he was merely coming to terms with something he had always known: his boss wasn’t Hal Smith.

His boss was Mr. Dunlop, the head of New Haven’s largest crime syndicate. Fris’s role in Gotham’s court was to protect Mr. Dunlop’s interests. From the start, Fris knew there was little hope of securing an acquittal for Hal Smith. His true goal was to ensure that Hal Smith and his family could neither leave Gotham nor testify against Dunlop.

Initially, Fris believed the police lacked sufficient evidence. But after speaking with Hal, he realized that this old man, who had always been tight-lipped in the underworld, had spilled everything. Fris began to suspect either Hal had cracked under pressure or Blackgate Prison was a terrifying place. Still, there was hope in retracting Hal’s confession during the trial.

Fris planned to argue that Hal Smith suffered from mental illness, rendering his testimony invalid. However, if this trial ended without a verdict and Hal was interrogated again under Bettywen’s peculiar methods, something even worse could emerge. Both Hal and Fris wouldn’t make it out alive. Fris might as well buy a ticket to Africa and flee New Haven for good—maybe he’d survive that way.

Hal Smith, this elderly former mayor, had explicitly requested during his talks with Fris to be sent to the local mental hospital at all costs. From there, Hal planned to maneuver himself to Jackson, as neither city had the death penalty.

Why? Because Arkham Asylum was no place for a sane person.

As the cross-examination dragged on, the opposing lawyer stood again. Fris decided to sacrifice Hal Smith’s nephew, Robert, by shifting the blame onto him. Just as Fris prepared to act, the tearful defendant spoke up:

“There’s currently no evidence directly proving my guilt.” The frail, elderly man had a kind face—neither fat nor thin—looking like the type of grandfather who’d lull his grandchildren to sleep or take his son fishing. He exuded a neighborly charm, especially with his cloudy brown eyes. “Your Honor, I wish to defend myself and my innocent family.”

“South Hinckley is not a terrible town, but I was indeed a terrible mayor. When I discovered my family’s wrongdoings, I did not choose to stop them. Instead, I sought every means to help them escape. I was not a competent leader—just an ordinary father, grandfather, and great-grandfather…”

He turned to the prosecution’s lawyer. “Madam, you accuse me of burning the ledgers and replacing them with new ones from the nightclub. However, the new ledgers bear neither my signature nor my fingerprints. As for the witnesses and recordings, none of the audio includes my voice. All the accusations against me come from ‘my subordinates.’ But is that truly the case? Three years ago, I could still recall what happened during the Vietnam War. A year ago, I couldn’t even remember my wife’s middle name. But these young people can easily shift blame to their superiors. If the boss takes the greatest fall, the subordinates can face lighter consequences—for example, as tainted witnesses.”

He smiled at Freeze. “Sir, I still remember how you looked when you first arrived in our town. You were so ill you barely looked human. Now, you seem to be doing great—completely different from your online persona. I almost forgot we’d ever met.”

“Seems like your memory isn’t so bad,” Freeze replied coldly.

Hal shook his head with a smile and wiped his tears. His laughter grew louder, and then he said, “I’m already very old, almost senile. And even if I am convicted, what would be the outcome?”

The courtroom fell silent, save for the whirring of machines and the clicking of cameras by journalists.

He answered his own question: “Life imprisonment? Even if I were sent to Blackgate, at my age, I wouldn’t be able to do hard labor. I wouldn’t be able to contribute anything further to this city. I deeply regret the events that transpired in my town under my watch, of which I was ignorant. But I’m willing to take responsibility for the mistakes of the young and hope that South Hinckley will no longer be an isolated, autonomous town…”

He turned to the mayor in the gallery, then back to the prosecution’s lawyer. “But I refuse to acknowledge the police’s testimony. Over this period, my mental state has been unstable, and I’ve been on daily medication.”

Hal’s monologue was, in essence, flawless.

The U.S. legal system often allows room for maneuvering. Hal was trying to save himself.

Take, for instance, the case of a young, handsome murderer whose trial attracted thousands of petitions asking to spare his life because of his good looks. Even after being sentenced, his term was repeatedly reduced until his supposed “life sentence” lasted only a few years.

Hal’s emotional and tearful performance in court boiled down to a few key points: “Yes, there was drug and human trafficking,” but “I’m innocent and knew nothing about it,” followed by “I’m old, so even if I knew, I must have forgotten.” And finally, “I’m too old to lie just to buy myself a couple more years of life. Gotham has no death penalty anyway, so my refusal to admit guilt proves my innocence.”

In reality, what Hal was trying to do was overturn the testimony he had previously given to the police—testimony that linked him to Gotham mob boss Black Mask and New Haven’s crime lord, Mr. Dunlop.

He must have been out of his mind to have confessed in the first place. And so, Hal Smith genuinely believed that Bella Bettywen, the prosecutor, had serious issues. How could she not?

“I feel deeply sorry for the victims,” Hal sighed, “but even if they were standing right in front of me, I would still say… I know nothing about it.”

“You don’t seem like someone with memory issues,” the female lawyer replied coldly. “The law, not your self-proclaimed innocence, will decide your guilt.”

“Your Honor,” she said, “I’d like to call our witness, Jane Mellop, to the stand.”

She looked toward the witness stand and waited. Slowly, the murmurs in the courtroom grew louder. Her brow furrowed as she glanced at her phone and waited a few more minutes. Then, in frustration, she jogged up to the bench. After a moment, Judge Amy Hester banged her gavel.

“Recess,” she announced.

Bad news: public opinion online was starting to lean in Hal Smith’s favor.

Worse news: there was a problem with Jane. Even if she appeared in court, Hal had already cemented a sympathetic image for himself. Breaking that in one trial would be incredibly difficult.

In the waiting room, Jane was accompanied by Nora, Freeze’s wife. A court psychologist had advised her not to testify yet, deeming her emotional state too unstable. She was encouraged to take time to calm down before stepping onto the witness stand.

—Otherwise, she’d only ruin everything.