"All rise."

The courtroom stood as Judge Malcolm stepped into the chamber, his black robe billowing behind him like a storm cloud. He settled into his seat, gaveled once for silence, and scanned the room.

"I am aware," he said coolly, "that recent events in Gotham have put this city on edge. With Arkham breached and known criminals once again loose on our streets, tensions are understandably high. But I will not allow that chaos to infiltrate this courtroom. This trial will proceed as planned with order and professionalism. Any disruptions, and I will not hesitate to clear the gallery."

Silence held, heavy as stone.

"Prosecution," Malcom continued. "You may proceed."

Prosecutor Vane rose from her seat. "Your Honor, the State calls Detective Renee Montoya to the stand."

Montoya entered through the side door in plain clothes, her badge clipped to her belt, expression tight and weary. She took the stand and was sworn in, glancing once at Kieran who sat still, unreadable.

"Detective Montoya," Vane began, "can you tell the court when you first encountered the defendant?"

Montoya nodded. "Roughly nine months ago. We brought him in for questioning in connection to a homicide investigation. He was using the name Nolan at the time."

"And what was the context of that arrest?"

"We picked him up at the scene blood on his hands, the cops that arrived first saw him throw a weapon to the floor as he surrendered."

"And what was his demeanor?"

"Shaken," Montoya said. "Jumpy. Confused. He said he didn't remember much. Kept muttering to himself. My partner thought he was drugged or in shock. But I sat with him for about forty-five minutes. Asked him about how he ended up in that alley. He didn't give straight answers, just kept saying it was an accident.'"

Vane walked slowly toward the bench. "And during this questioning… what name did he give you?"

"Nolan," Montoya said again, firm. "No last name."

"And do you see that man in the courtroom today?"

Montoya looked straight ahead and raised a hand.

"Yes," she said. "He's sitting right there."

All eyes turned to Kieran. He didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.

Adrian Grey rose immediately. "Your Honor, I'd like to request the video and transcript of that interview for the defense."

Vane turned slightly, anticipating it.

Montoya shook her head. "There's no video."

"No video?" Grey echoed, taking a slow step forward.

"No," Montoya said. "The interview footage and digital file were deleted. It appears our system was compromised."

"Compromised?" Grey asked sharply. "So someone broke into your precinct's database… and just happened to delete the footage of a man using a false name? A man you now claim is my client? Again this is getting absurd your honor this is the second time they are claiming my client is someone else with no evidence but Hersey"

"We didn't realize it was missing until weeks later. By then, it was already wiped," Montoya said.

"You're telling this court," Grey said, voice rising, "that someone went through the trouble of hacking into GCPD's system just to erase one unremarkable interview with a man to shaken to answer any questions?"

"We believe," vane interjected, "that the erasure was intentional meant to cover up his identity before he emerged under a new alias."

Grey turned toward the judge. "So let me get this straight, Your Honor: the prosecution's entire claim hinges on linking a deleted, unverified interview to my client using nothing but a detective's memory and a vague resemblance to a name no one else has ever confirmed?"

Judge Reyes looked toward Vane, "Redirect?"

Vane approached again, careful, calm. "Detective Montoya, you're confident the man you questioned the man who called himself Nolan is the defendant here today?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "Same voice, same eyes. I never forgot him."

"No further questions."

The Judge leaned back. "The witness may step down."

Montoya exited the stand, her face hard as concrete.

The judge turned toward the State's table. "Is that your final witness, Ms. Vane?"

"Yes, Your Honor. The prosecution rests."

The judge nodded, then looked toward the defense.

Grey stood slowly. "The defense has no further witnesses. We rest as well."

***

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what is identity?"

She let the silence hang for a beat.

"Is it your name? Your signature on a lease? A smile you show the world? Or is it what you do when no one's watching? When you think you can disappear?"

She took a slow step forward.

"The man sitting before you Kieran Everleigh, or as you've heard time and again through this trial Nolan has made a career out of hiding in plain sight. A man who slithered into Gotham under an alias, bought a hotel through a shell company, and stashed stolen bank money in a storage locker that just happened to be under a different name."

She looked directly at the jurors.

"You've seen the trail. Witnesses. Surveillance. Forensics. Every step of this man's story is a carefully constructed lie, and beneath it all is one constant he is always in control. He plays the victim. He plays the philanthropist. But we've seen what happens when the carefully curated mask of his slips."

Her voice dropped slightly. "The detective who first brought him in? Gone. The records of his first questioning? Deleted. Coincidence? Hardly. These are not the mistakes of a man trying to do good. These are the patterns of a manipulator covering his tracks."

She stopped at the edge of the jury box.

"We're not asking you to punish a man for being clever. We're asking you to hold him accountable for what he's done. For what he's orchestrated. For who he really is."

She nodded, quiet but resolute.

"Kieran Everleigh is Nolan. Nolan is a liar, a thief, and a threat to this city. It's time he stopped hiding."

She stepped back to her table. "The prosecution rests."

There was a pause. Then Adrian Grey rose, buttoned his suit, and walked slowly to the front of the court, speaking as he moved.

"You know, there's something oddly convenient about a narrative where everything that doesn't make sense is just… evil."

He stopped, hands folded behind his back like a professor about to give a lecture.

"If a file goes missing, it's because the defendant must have deleted it. If the name on a storage unit doesn't match the man sitting here, it must still somehow be his. If people commit crimes near where he lives or works well, clearly he's the mastermind."

He glanced toward the prosecution table. "This is the danger of a neat story. And make no mistake, the prosecution has told you a very neat story. It's just not a true one."

He turned toward the jury.

"You've heard that my client was brought in once for questioning months ago under a different name, with no charges filed, no conviction, no criminal record. The only thing tying that man to this man is a memory and a hacked database. Ask yourself: would you accept that as proof if it were you on trial?"

Grey stepped forward, voice sharpening.

"This case is built on implication. Suggestion. Maybe. Maybe the money in that locker was his. Maybe he's the same man as in that deleted interview. Maybe he's behind all the crimes happening in Gotham. The prosecution wants you to fill in the blanks with suspicion."

He shook his head.

"But we don't convict people on maybes. We don't take away a man's life because someone thinks he used to be someone else. Especially not when every piece of real evidence has been tampered with, withheld, or compromised."

His tone cooled now, drawing them in.

"And look at him. You've seen him every day of this trial. Calm. Respectful. Cooperative. No outbursts. No evasions. Just a man being accused for existing under a name someone else decided is damning."

Grey's expression hardened slightly.

"If Gotham is on edge, if the streets are dangerous, that is tragic. But we cannot scapegoat a man just because his name isn't simple. Just because his life isn't easy to understand."

He stepped back toward the table.

"This isn't a story about a criminal mastermind hiding in plain sight. It's a story about fear. About the kind of fear that makes us see patterns where there are none, that makes us desperate to pin blame on someone just to feel in control."

He nodded to the jury.

"You want justice? Then see through the story. See the lack of evidence. And return a verdict not based on fear, but on truth."

Grey sat down, calm and composed as he patted Nolan on the shoulder in reassurance.

Judge Reyes looked out over the courtroom, her expression unreadable.

"The court will now recess. Jury deliberations will begin shortly."

—

A/N: wrote about 10 other closing arguments was going insane