The door to Courtroom 366 closed behind Aldric Benedict with a sound too soft to match the dread curling in his chest.
It clicked—just a small, metallic click—but it felt like a lock sliding into place on his fate.
The gallery was packed. Real civilians from outside. Students. Observers. Officials. A few teachers. And—
Ms. Varo.
She sat in the second row, legs crossed elegantly, arms folded, not smiling, not frowning—just watching. Her presence didn't comfort him; it only reminded him that this was no simulation, no sterile academic trial.
This was a performance.
A test.
A trap.
A trial.
All in one.
Aldric exhaled through his nose. His palms were damp, but his voice—when he finally spoke—would have to be steady.
Rowan Hale sat beside him at the defense table, head lowered, fingers trembling so hard they tapped the wooden table rhythmically. He was 32, short brown curls, a scar on his lip, and wary eyes that had seen enough of the world's cruelty to assume guilt was something assigned, not proven.
Probative evidence was on his side.
A strong alibi.
A timestamped record.
A witness.
All aligning.
But Rowan also carried the weight of his past—two misdemeanors, one probation violation from his youth, plus a reputation that made people suspicious before he even breathed.
"Mr. Hale," Aldric whispered, "look at me."
Rowan slowly lifted his eyes.
"I'm not running," Aldric said gently. "I'm not folding. Whatever happens here, I will fight for you."
Rowan swallowed. "You don't even know me."
"No," Aldric said, "but I know the law. And I know fear when I see it."
Before Rowan could reply, the opposing counsel entered.
Jonathan Redd.
The man walked like a blade—straight-backed, sharpened, polished to a vicious shine. Mid-40s, salt-and-pepper hair, expensive suit, eyes like polished obsidian that reflected nothing, revealed nothing.
He approached the prosecution table without acknowledging Aldric.
But he acknowledged the gallery.
A small smirk.
A tilt of the chin.
A silent Watch me.
This was a man who thrived in corruption.
A man who had drowned truth and dragged confessions out of the weak.
A man far too comfortable in the darkness of Mercury's judicial machinery.
Aldric had read his profile—years of experience, a trail of victories, and whispers from former defendants about "methods" that courts ignored.
A strong opponent.
Perfect.
"Court is in session," the bailiff announced.
The judge entered—an older woman with storm-gray hair and a stern expression carved by decades of disillusionment.
"Judge Lysandra Keene presiding."
Everyone rose, then sat.
Judge Keene scanned the room. "Opening statements. Prosecution first."
Jonathan Redd rose.
And smiled.
"Your Honor," Redd began smoothly, "ladies and gentlemen of the gallery, today's case is not simply about whether Rowan Hale committed a crime."
His voice was a hypnotic, deliberate cadence.
"It is about who Rowan Hale truly is."
Aldric's jaw tightened.
Immediate character evidence. Illegal in half the world—except in Mercury's hybrid legal system, where the boundaries between civil, common, and procedural law blurred depending on who had power.
Redd continued like a serpent sliding across polished marble.
"The charges against Mr. Hale," he said, "involve obstruction, tampering with financial documents, and possible collusion with a known cybercriminal. He is not charged with counterfeiting itself, but with aiding those who did."
Lies threaded with truths.
Aldric recognized the tactic:
Shift the narrative.
Pollute the perception.
Poison the well early.
"He has a history," Redd added, pacing, "of dishonesty. A youth checkered with violations. A record that shows a tendency to disregard the law."
He paused beside Rowan's seat.
"People rarely change."
Aldric leaned slightly forward.
Redd looked at the judge. "We will show motive. Opportunity. And a pattern of behavior consistent with someone who either took part in or facilitated wrongdoing."
He delivered a final, piercing smile.
"At the end of this trial, Your Honor, you will see Rowan Hale not as the innocent man he claims to be—but as who he has always been."
He sat.
The gallery murmured.
Aldric felt his heart pounding.
This… this was beyond dirty.
This was crafted.
Measured.
A psychological attack.
And Rowan's shaking hands grew worse.
Judge Keene gestured. "Mr. Benedict."
Aldric stood. His legs felt heavy, but his spine straightened—not from confidence, but from necessity.
He buttoned his suit jacket.
"Your Honor," he began quietly, "thank you."
He turned to the courtroom—every eye on him.
"My client, Rowan Hale, is not a perfect man."
A few gasps.
Even Redd's brows lifted.
Aldric continued:
"He has made mistakes, yes. He has a past, yes. But today—this courtroom—is not here to judge the child he once was. Nor the poor decisions he made in ignorance."
He stepped forward, voice strengthening.
"We are here to determine one thing:
Did he commit the crime he is accused of?"
He placed a hand gently on Rowan's shoulder.
"And the answer, Your Honor, is no."
He lifted the case file.
"The evidence will show that Mr. Hale was nowhere near the alleged site at the time of the crime. That he was documented—recorded—hours away, verifiably so. The evidence will show that the accusations rely on speculation rather than proof."
He tilted his head, studying Redd.
"And the prosecution's attempt to paint him as the villain solely based on character… reveals how weak their evidence truly is."
The gallery stirred again.
Redd's eyes narrowed.
Aldric finished:
"Rowan Hale has probative evidence supporting his innocence. Stronger than his past. Stronger than assumptions. Stronger than fear."
He met the judge's gaze.
"And by the end of this trial, Your Honor, you will see Rowan Hale for who he truly is—
A man falsely accused."
He sat.
Silence radiated.
Even Ms. Varo, stone-like in her posture, tilted her head ever so slightly.
The first witness:
Officer Fenrick Harron — the arresting investigator.
Redd approached him confidently.
"Officer Harron, describe the scene."
"We received a tip about the counterfeit funds. A stash found in an abandoned garage in Westmere District. Bundles of flagged currency."
"And how does Mr. Hale connect to this?" Redd asked.
"His phone was pinged in the district earlier that week."
Aldric wrote quickly.
Earlier that week—not the day of the alleged crime.
Redd continued: "Did he resist questioning?"
"Yes."
"And with his known record?"
"Objection," Aldric said quickly. "Prejudicial. Character evidence irrelevant to the incident."
Judge Keene considered.
Overruled.
"Answer."
Officer Harron answered. "Yes. His record made him suspicious."
Aldric immediately saw the issue:
This court wasn't about fairness.
It was about narrative control.
When it was his turn for cross-examination, Aldric stood.
"Officer Harron," he began, tone calm, "you said my client's phone pinged near Westmere earlier in the week."
"Yes."
"Do you have evidence placing him there on the day of the alleged crime?"
"No."
"And the stash found—did it have fingerprints? DNA? Fibers?"
"No. Completely clean."
"No evidence tying my client."
"Not directly, no."
"And the tip received—was it anonymous?"
"Yes."
Aldric paused.
The courtroom leaned forward.
"Officer… isn't it unusual for a criminal to leave zero trace… but conveniently have a record that makes him the perfect scapegoat?"
Redd rose. "Objection—"
"Withdrawn," Aldric said, smiling slightly.
But he had planted it.
And the judge noticed.
During a brief recess, Aldric flipped through Rowan's files.
Something wasn't right.
One page—barely noticeable—was printed on a different paper texture. The ink slightly darker. The formatting a little off.
Aldric frowned.
It listed Rowan's "probation violations"—three entries.
But two entries had timestamps that Rowan was in another city for. He recognized the dates.
Because Rowan's file included probation officer check-ins on those exact days—in a different region entirely.
Someone forged parts of this criminal record.
And the forging was sloppy.
Aldric's blood chilled.
Not because the false entries implicated Rowan—but because they were unnecessary.
Rowan's past was bad enough.
Why alter it?
Unless…
Unless someone wanted him guilty.
Needed him guilty.
This wasn't merely a trial.
It was orchestration.
Behind him, Ms. Varo watched. Still, silent, waiting.
Court resumed with Redd calling a surprise witness:
Lena Morrel, an old neighbor of Rowan.
"Oh no," Rowan whispered.
His hands shook again.
Lena took the stand.
"Ms. Morrel," Redd said, "describe Mr. Hale's behavior in the past."
"He… he hung with troublemakers. Caused problems. Argued with everyone."
Rowan closed his eyes.
"And would you say he was capable of involvement in crime?"
"Yes."
A clean dagger.
"Objection—speculation," Aldric said.
"Sustained," the judge ruled.
Redd smirked.
He already achieved his goal: plant seeds.
Aldric inhaled deeply.
Then stood for cross-examination.
"Ms. Morrel," he said gently, "how long has it been since you last interacted with Mr. Hale?"
"Seven years."
"And do you know where he works now?"
"No."
"Where he volunteers?"
"No."
"Where he spends his free time?"
"No."
"So you're here," Aldric said softly, "to speak about a version of him that hasn't existed for nearly a decade."
"I—"
"You don't know the man sitting here today. You only know the child he was."
Redd attempted to object.
Denied.
Aldric stepped closer.
"And tell me, Ms. Morrel… did you know that someone has altered his probation file?"
Gasps shot across the courtroom.
The judge leaned forward.
Redd stiffened.
Ms. Varo's eyes sharpened.
"What?" Lena whispered.
Aldric held up the page.
"This page," he said clearly, "contains events that did not occur. Dates that contradict official records. Someone forged my client's file."
Redd sprang up. "Objection! He is accusing—"
"I'm presenting factual inconsistencies, Your Honor."
Judge Keene frowned.
"This is… troubling."
Aldric bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Your Honor."
Jonathan Redd's jaw tightened.
He had not expected Aldric to find that.
And now the room's weight shifted—slightly, but noticeably—away from prosecution.
Aldric returned to his seat. Rowan breathed shakily.
"You're doing great," Aldric whispered.
In the gallery, Ms. Varo tapped her finger on her knee twice.
A gesture.
A signal.
A warning.
Aldric wasn't sure what it meant—but it wasn't good.
He felt sweat trail down his spine.
Someone wanted Rowan guilty.
Someone forged evidence.
Someone manipulated the arrest.
Someone stronger than Jonathan Redd, stronger than the courtroom.
Someone connected to the caller.
He was being tested not only on his skill, but on how much truth he could survive.
Redd stood.
His voice now sharp.
"Your Honor, we move to enter new evidence into the record."
Aldric clenched his jaw.
New evidence?
Redd held up a sealed envelope.
"This anonymous message corroborates Mr. Hale's involvement."
Anonymous.
Just like the tip.
Aldric rose. "Objection. Unverified, uncorroborated, potentially fabricated."
The judge sniffed the envelope, metaphorically speaking.
"Prosecution, how did you obtain this?"
"Delivered this morning."
No chain of custody.
No source.
No authentication.
This was the bigger picture.
This was the machine working.
Judge Keene sighed. "I will allow it—but with caution."
Aldric felt something cold settle in his stomach.
Redd opened the envelope.
Pulled out a single sheet.
A screenshot.
A time-stamped chat log.
A message supposedly from Rowan.
"Drop the package behind the garage. Midnight. No prints."
Gasps rippled.
Rowan stared, horrified. "I—I never— I didn't—!"
Redd smiled like a wolf.
Aldric saw the trap immediately.
The font.
The spacing.
The metadata in the corner—barely visible.
Not a real screenshot.
A mock-up.
He needed to expose it—but he had to be precise.
"Your Honor," Aldric said calmly, "I would like to question the authenticity of this document."
Redd interjected, "The defense is grasping at straws."
"No," Aldric said, stepping forward. "I am pointing out a glaring flaw."
He turned the document toward the judge.
"This timestamp uses the formatting of systems from Luminous, not Castria."
Judge Keene stiffened.
The courtroom went silent.
"And Rowan Hale has never lived in or visited Luminous."
Aldric placed the paper down.
"And furthermore… the metadata line here—" he pointed "—is aligned incorrectly. It sits 2 pixels higher than legitimate chat captures. This is not a real screenshot."
The judge's eyes widened.
Redd froze.
Ms. Varo's lips parted in something almost like a smile.
Aldric stepped back.
"Your Honor, someone is trying to frame my client."
Judge Keene exhaled.
"This court will need to re-evaluate the integrity of the prosecution's evidence."
Redd opened his mouth—then closed it.
For the first time… rattled.
Aldric sat.
Rowan whispered, "How did you…?"
"I pay attention," Aldric murmured.
Not just attention.
He had a memory that refused to forget even the smallest detail.
As the judge called a recess to reassess evidentiary integrity, Aldric finally looked up at the gallery.
Ms. Varo was still watching him.
But not with approval.
With calculation.
He could read it in her eyes:
He had passed the opening rounds.
But now he had stepped into a territory he wasn't supposed to touch.
Forgery.
False evidence.
Manipulation.
He saw the machinery behind the court.
And someone—somewhere—did not like that.
The lights dimmed slightly as the courtroom settled.
Aldric inhaled slowly.
He was winning.
But that only meant—
He was in far deeper danger than before.