The defense lawyer was drenched in sweat. He had no sense for politics.
This was a massive case—none of his peers dared take it, but he did.
It wasn't that he was incompetent—far from it. But Matt, the opposing lawyer, was just as skilled.
Their verbal duel had been intense, but all of the defense's attempts to provoke emotional outbursts from the witnesses failed—each one intercepted by Matt.
What's more, Matt responded to each argument with precise rebuttals, as if he had anticipated every move. If the defense lawyer had been from the East, he might've cried out, "Are you some kind of damn mind-reader!?"
But he couldn't afford to lose. With his dreams of fame and fortune on the line, he had to win this trial.
Defense Lawyer: "I heard the witness mention a soldier named Edward Drogon, but he wasn't at the scene."
Matt: "Mr. Drogon was shot and killed. In fact, my witness here intends to accuse a senior official from the NSA."
"NSA?" The defense lawyer scratched his head, frantically flipping through his documents—there was nothing on that!
"How the hell is the NSA involved in this?"
Lieberman raised his hand: "Because I used to work for the NSA, as an analyst. If you check the news, you'll find a report that I 'died' in a shooting last year."
"But…"
"No buts. This also explains the attack on my client."
The CIA had virtually no authority to conduct law enforcement within the country—it was always overshadowed by other intelligence agencies.
But if the NSA—the National Security Agency—was involved, then everything made sense.
Lieberman stunned the courtroom again with unexpected evidence: it showed he had received the video from Gunner over a year ago and had tried to report it to his superior.
But his boss told him to drop it. So Lieberman secretly leaked the footage to a newspaper.
The very next day, he was ambushed and shot in a public park in—execution-style.
The official reason? Leaking national secrets.
Fortunately, Lieberman had been wearing a bulletproof vest. Before the bullet could pierce it completely, he dove into a river and managed to escape. He'd been lying low ever since—waiting for the perfect moment.
A moment just like today.
His revelation made the case even more tangled—now the NSA was involved too!
The defense lawyer was stunned. But clearly, his client Rollins had known this all along—he even knew what was coming.
Over the past few days, Frank had conducted several missions in his exosuit—not only rescuing Lieberman and Gunner, but also several other individuals involved in the case who were still alive.
Reporters, editors from the newspaper all stepped forward. Each testified to the truth of the events.
Frank's unexpected witnesses completely threw the defense off-balance. Their strategy was falling apart.
The lawyer looked toward Rollins. They had only one card left to play. The setup was sloppy, the timing poor—but it was all they had.
"Wait… Sure, the facts of the case may be undeniable, but that doesn't prove that the mysterious commander was my client."
Leo raised an eyebrow—seriously? With all this evidence, you're still spewing nonsense?
Everyone had already accepted that the events occurred. And now you're saying: "Yes, the murder happened, and the process is all fine, but the murderer wasn't my client"?
Is that even a valid argument?
Bold.
The defense lawyer wiped his brow. "There was a witness at the scene who can testify that the description of the mysterious commander does not match Mr. Rollins."
On the plaintiff's side, Gunner looked at Frank, confused. Frank stared in disbelief at the defense table—
Of the Cerberus Squad, only he and Gunner were still alive. Except for one.
His best friend, practically a brother.
Frank understood why Billy refused to testify. Billy was now the successful owner of a private military company—he was the most well-off among them.
But how could Billy stand against him?
"I call to the stand: Billy Russo."
The defense lawyer read out the name Frank knew so well. Billy's familiar face flashed in Frank's mind—
But no one came out of the witness hallway.
The courtroom was dead silent. The defense lawyer and Rollins looked confused until the door opened—
A man in a sharp suit walked briskly toward the defense table.
Frank immediately noticed: this man looked nothing like Billy.
For a moment, he held out hope. Then anger.
Damn agents—they were trying to use a fake to impersonate his brother?
Then, in the next second, he saw the defense lawyer's face go pale. Rollins buckled at the knees, grabbing onto the rail to stay standing.
Leo had already hacked into nearby surveillance cameras—he knew what had happened.
There had been a mystery witness. But moments ago, he had vanished.
Bang, bang.
The judge tapped his gavel. "Where is the witness?"
"…Gone."
The real Billy was skilled—he'd knocked out the bailiffs, changed clothes, and slipped away without a trace.
"I request a recess—"
Bang!
The judge frowned and banged the gavel again. He had no intention of giving Rollins—this pathetic schemer—any more screen time.
The facts were crystal clear. He now leaned fully toward the plaintiff's side of the story.
As for the missing witness?
The judge ruled that it had no real bearing on the truth.
Because the truth was already out.
"This court, in the course of this trial, has carefully reviewed all evidence, heard statements from both attorneys, and considered the testimony of witnesses.
Based on the evidence, the actions of the defendant, William Rollins, not only violate the law but also betray the public trust and the responsibilities of his position.
These actions have caused profound and irreversible harm to society.
The final verdict is—guilty."
Bang.
The gavel struck like a hammer breaking bones. Rollins—an intelligence officer who had done everything, no matter how vile, for career advancement—collapsed to his knees.
But no one felt any sympathy for him:
What he lost was merely his political life—while many others, because of him, had lost their actual lives.
The victory inspired everyone watching the trial via livestream. The nature of the event was finally and definitively concluded.
The Supreme Court had judged a Deputy Director of the CIA, further expanding the interpretive power of the judiciary, and prompting the public to reassess a war that had dragged on for years.
Maybe at the beginning, it had all been about fighting terrorists—but now?
Once reflection begins, it doesn't stop. People even began to reflect on the time before the war began, to ponder the root causes of terrorism.
But no matter what, on the most fundamental level, the spirit of the Constitution had once again been affirmed—the rule of law hadn't become a joke just yet.
Of course, most people couldn't grasp all the subtleties involved. But hey, if someone could bring down the powerful and untouchable? That was always a win.
If it's the law, then it's a good law. If it's a person, then they must be a good person.
Leo watched this unfold. No matter what kind of outlaw he was inside, he had to admit one thing:
Humanity only managed to create a stable society—and become a miracle in the universe—because it created rules.
This wasn't Night City. Violence was never the end goal.
[Handled?]
[Hydra: Handled.]
The final image of the trial showed on a screen—a young man lying lazily on a couch, holding up a wine glass.
He watched the people cheering and celebrating the verdict, the images flashing across the screen until it settled on Leo's face.
"Interesting. Sigh, I told you all along—relying on brute force is useless. A bunch of brainless idiots."
In front of him was a tablet computer. But in truth, it was a secure communication device linked by satellite.
More text appeared on the screen:
[Hydra: Who's next?]
[Moneybags: Next one's some moron at the Federal Trade Commission. Info's sent—he's flying in tomorrow.]
[Hydra: With all due respect, that's another small fry. The Trampler isn't here to do grunt work.]
[Moneybags: Don't give me that crap. I pay you, you do the job. Got it?]
[Moneybags: Haven't you eaten enough losses? Aside from Dr. Zola, are the rest of you completely brain-dead? Do you not understand human language?]
The raw power of money in those words made Hydra's people fall in line immediately.
The man's mood shifted quickly. After cursing out Hydra, he returned to his usual calm.
Watching Leo speak on screen, broadcasting all sorts of rhetoric to the media, the man muttered:
"This world is full of individualist fools. But this one seems... different."
[Nuclear Energy Commission Notice: Dear Mr. Dario Agger, today we received a nuclear research filing from International Genome Corporation.]
[Reject it. Make up whatever excuse you want.]
[Nuclear Energy Commission: Understood. Wishing you a pleasant day.]
"Nuclear energy?" The man—Dario—raised an eyebrow. "Running multiple plays, huh? Fine. I'll keep you busy."
To deal with an enemy like this, you needed an overwhelming amount of resources—and to crush every one of his hopes, step by step, like clockwork.
[Tony, the drone armor you sent last time was interesting. I'd like to discuss further.]
After sending the message, Dario walked out onto the balcony—
In the center of the courtyard stood a lifelike statue of a creature from Greek mythology: the Minotaur.
From a distance, the statue looked so real it could be mistaken for a living monster.
He looked up. The setting sun shone down on his bare body, and in every direction stretched a flawless landscape of greenery.
Soft lawns. Dense trees. Every tree had been handpicked and cost tens of thousands of dollars.
They stood proudly on an endless green expanse, bathed in the golden light of dusk—a rare beauty in the world.
This breathtaking view? It was his backyard.
Every inch of this beauty? His personal property.
"Victory for the rule of law?" He sneered.
"The Constitution can be changed."