"You claim Davis Brown was murdered. You've spent three days building a case for murder. But there's no body. No blood. No tissue. No physical evidence of death whatsoever. You've presented cameras, timelines, chemical analysis—but not one single piece of physical proof that anyone died."
He gestured toward the display screens.
"For all we know, Davis walked out of this facility under his own power. He could be anywhere. He could be watching this proceeding right now from somewhere in this facility. You've assumed death without proving it occurred."
Caesar tried to interrupt. "The circumstances suggest—"
"Circumstances suggest nothing without evidence," Lucius cut him off, his tone sharp. "Suggesting isn't proving. Davis disappeared. That's the only confirmed fact. Everything else is interpretation."
He walked closer to the officials' table.
"Let's talk about your bathroom timeline. You claim someone—possibly Davis—entered a bathroom at 4:55 PM. Your footage is too blurry for positive identification, but let's assume it was him. You then claim Davis never left that bathroom."
He paused, letting the implication build.
"Which means according to YOUR timeline, Davis Brown was in a bathroom for over FIVE HOURS. From 4:55 PM until the fire started at 10:03 PM. Five hours. In a bathroom."
The crowd murmured. Several people looked confused—they hadn't processed that timeline implication before.
"What was he doing in there for five hours?" Lucius asked, his voice carrying genuine curiosity. "And if he WAS there that long, hiding in a bathroom for five hours, doesn't that make HIM the prime suspect for starting the fire? If your arson theory is correct—which you haven't proven, just speculated—then the person most likely to have access to that ventilation point for five hours would be someone hiding in that bathroom."
He looked directly at Mike Ross.
"But that doesn't fit your narrative, does it? So you've glossed over that massive timeline gap and hoped nobody would notice."
Mike's smile twitched slightly—barely visible, but present.
"And speaking of Davis," Lucius continued, shifting his attention back to the officials, "Executive Ross has been deliberately vague about Davis's abilities this entire proceeding. Why is that?"
He turned to face Mike directly.
"You sponsored Davis Brown. You knew his capabilities intimately. You've presented his disappearance as mysterious, unexplainable. But what were Davis's actual abilities? I'm fairly certain he had capabilities that would explain how he could move through this facility undetected. Stealth abilities? Concealment? Forms of displacement that would let him vanish without cameras catching him?"
Mike's smile remained fixed. "My fighter's specific abilities are proprietary information."
"How convenient," Lucius said flatly. "You want to convict me for his disappearance but won't disclose information that might explain how he disappeared on his own. That's not investigation—that's manipulation."
He walked back toward the center platform.
"Let's talk about what you've actually proven. You've proven I used a bathroom in a medical corridor. You've proven I trained Odd after his first match when he asked for help. You've proven I participated in legal betting. You've proven I visited an injured opponent I'd fought the day before."
His tone was pointed now, each word deliberate.
"None of that is evidence of wrongdoing. Those are normal activities interpreted through a lens of assumed guilt. You've taken circumstantial timing and asked the jury to fill in blanks with assumptions."
Marcus tried to respond. "The pattern—"
"The pattern proves timing," Lucius interrupted. "Nothing more. There's no body. No murder weapon. No witness to any crime. No forensic evidence linking me to any wrongdoing whatsoever."
He gestured broadly at the arena.
"As far as I know, there's no way to completely destroy a human body without leaving some kind of trace. Blood evidence, tissue, bone fragments, something. But I don't see any of that in the evidence you've provided. Because it doesn't exist. Because you're prosecuting a murder you can't prove happened."
The crowd was absolutely silent now. Even those who'd been convinced by Mike's narrative were reconsidering.
Caesar tried to recover. "The defendant is deflecting—"
"I'm addressing your complete lack of evidence," Lucius said coldly. "You have a story. A well-constructed story with conveniently selected details and carefully omitted information. But story isn't evidence. Story isn't proof."
He looked at each official in turn, then at Mike Ross.
"You want to know what I find truly interesting about this proceeding? It feels less like an investigation and more like leverage. A missing fighter. Accusations without proof. Public tribunal designed to pressure defendants. What's the endgame? What happens if I'm found guilty based on speculation?"
Mike Ross's smile finally showed a crack—barely noticeable, just a slight tightening around his eyes.
"This entire structure has been designed to force compliance rather than determine truth," Lucius continued. "Find someone capable, build a case against them, pressure them into cooperation with the organization. That's an interesting pattern."
The crowd murmured loudly now. Several executives in their section looked uncomfortable—some recognizing the tactic, others worried about being associated with it.
Malik's scowl deepened dramatically. "That's a serious accusation—"
"Is it an accusation or an observation?" Lucius asked calmly. "I'm noting what I see. You have no evidence of murder. No evidence of wrongdoing. You're prosecuting based on speculation and timing that proves nothing."
He paused, then looked at Marcus Webb directly.
Mike interjected "What about you"
"What about me?"
He looked directly at lucius with that smile still plastered on his face "You asked me to disclose my fighters abilities, yet I'm certain that you have yet to reveal all that you possess"
Lucius paused for a moment, eyes meeting Mike's
The crowd leaned forward.
"I suppose I should answer that properly," Lucius said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I do have another capability. Fear."
Several people in the crowd looked confused, uncertain if he was being serious.
"I can make people afraid," Lucius continued simply. "Not through supernatural means. Just through presence. Through making them understand what I'm capable of if pushed. That's an ability too. Just not one you can measure or test."
The crowd was completely silent. His tone hadn't been joking or theatrical. Just honest statement of fact.
Marcus looked uncertain how to respond. That wasn't the kind of ability disclosure they'd expected.
Lucius walked back to the defendant table but didn't sit.
"You've asked this jury to convict based on assumptions. Based on timing that proves nothing. Based on speculation about abilities and motivations without evidence. There's no body. No proof of death. No proof of wrongdoing."
His voice carried absolute certainty now.
"Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence—that's philosophically true. But in justice systems, it's called reasonable doubt. You can't convict someone because you can't prove they DIDN'T do something. That's not how any of this works."
He finally sat down.
"Reasonable doubt isn't just present here. It's overwhelming."
The arena was completely silent for several seconds.
Then the murmuring began—loud, divided, intense. The crowd processing everything they'd heard.
---
Malik Hayes let the discussion continue for a full minute before raising his hand for silence.
"We'll take a fifteen-minute recess before closing statements."
The recess was tense. Fighters discussed in hushed tones. Executives conferred. The energy had shifted dramatically—what had seemed like a strong case an hour ago now felt uncertain.
In the hidden observation room, Hannah replayed several moments from Lucius's defense.
"He dismantled it," she said quietly. "Not by providing alternative explanations. By pointing out what's missing. What they can't prove."
"Do you think he did it?" Charlotte asked.
Hannah was quiet for a long moment, watching Lucius's expression in the footage. "I think he's capable of it. But capable doesn't mean guilty. And he's right—they have no evidence."
"What does that tell you about him?"
"That he thinks several steps ahead. That he understands how to control narratives. That he's dangerous when cornered but controlled enough not to panic." Hannah's fingers resumed their nervous tapping. "Everything I needed to know."
---
The fifteen minutes passed quickly.
When Malik called the tribunal back to order, the crowd settled into expectant silence.
"Closing statements," Malik announced. "Executive Ross's representatives will speak first."
Leon Hauser stood, moving to the center platform. His expression was professional, composed, but the confidence from earlier had diminished slightly.
"The connections are clear," he began. "Davis Brown disappeared before fighting Odd. King trained Odd extensively after Odd's near-death experience in Round 1. King was near the location Davis was last seen. King had financial motivation through his betting arrangement. The pattern is too consistent to dismiss."
Caesar stepped forward. "We're not asking for absolute certainty when direct proof isn't available. The pattern here is too consistent to be coincidence. Davis disappeared at exactly the right time to benefit the defendant."
Mike Ross stood last, his smile back in place.
"The defendant asks where the body is. But absence of a body doesn't prove innocence—it proves thoroughness if guilt exists. Some abilities could destroy evidence completely. The lack of physical proof is notable, but not exculpatory."
He looked at the crowd.
"We believe the evidence, while circumstantial, establishes guilt beyond reasonable doubt. The jury must decide whether the pattern is coincidence or design."
Mike sat down, his smile never wavering.
Malik looked at Lucius. "Defendant, your closing statement."
Lucius stood slowly.
He walked to the center platform, and that same shift in demeanor was present—the casual fighter gone, replaced by cold analytical precision.
"They've asked you to convict based on assumptions," Lucius began. "Based on timing that proves nothing. Based on patterns that require you to interpret everything through assumed guilt."
He looked at the crowd directly.
"Let's be clear about what they've proven. They've proven I participated in legal betting. They've proven I trained someone who needed help after nearly dying. They've proven I used a bathroom and visited an injured opponent. They've proven I was in public corridors that dozens of people use daily."
His tone sharpened.
"They have NOT proven anyone died. They have NOT proven any crime occurred. They have NOT connected me to any wrongdoing beyond speculation."
He walked toward Mike's table.
"Executive Ross says absence of a body doesn't prove innocence. But in justice systems, you can't convict someone for murder without proving murder occurred. You can't assume death and work backward. That's not justice—that's convenience."
He turned back to the crowd.
"Davis Brown could be alive somewhere. He had abilities they won't fully disclose—abilities that could explain his disappearance. But acknowledging that would undermine their narrative. So they've built speculation into certainty and hoped you wouldn't notice the gaps."
He walked back toward the defendant table.
"There's no body. No blood. No tissue. No murder weapon. No witness. No forensic evidence whatsoever. Just timing that means nothing without context and speculation dressed up as fact."
He looked at each official in turn.
"If you convict me based on this, you're not delivering justice. You're accepting speculation as fact because it's convenient."
Lucius sat down.
The arena was completely silent for several seconds.
Then the murmuring began—loud, divided, intense.
---
Malik Hayes let the discussion continue for a full minute before raising his hand for silence.
"The tribunal will now proceed to jury deliberation and verdict. The jury consists of all present—fighters, executives, staff. A simple majority is required for conviction."
He looked across the arena.
"You've heard three days of evidence and arguments. You must decide: Has the prosecution proven guilt beyond reasonable doubt? Or does reasonable doubt remain?"
He paused.
"You will vote now. Guilty or not guilty. Raise your hand for guilty verdict."
Throughout the arena, hands began rising.
In the executive section, several hands went up—those aligned with Mike Ross, those who saw conviction as serving their interests, those genuinely convinced by the case. Roughly half the executive section voted guilty.
In the fighter section, very few hands rose. William Walker kept his hand down. Most fighters recognized the lack of evidence. Maybe two or three voted guilty—those particularly suspicious or influenced by the betting revelation.
The guards stationed throughout counted carefully, Jennifer Chou recording numbers on her tablet with mechanical precision.
Several minutes passed as votes were tallied and verified.
Finally, Malik received the count from Jennifer. He reviewed it, his scowl deepening even further.
He stood.
"The vote has been tallied. For conviction: 68 votes. Against conviction: 82 votes."
The crowd reacted—some disappointed, others satisfied, many simply accepting the outcome.
"The majority has voted against conviction," Malik announced, his gravelly voice carrying across the arena. "The tribunal finds the defendants NOT GUILTY due to insufficient evidence and reasonable doubt."
The reaction was mixed. Satisfied murmurs from some fighters. Disappointed muttering from some executives. But the verdict was final.
Malik looked at Lucius and Odd. "You are cleared of all accusations. The tribunal is concluded."
Mike Ross remained seated, that smile never fading from his features. But his eyes showed something different now—not frustration, but increased interest. Like he'd just confirmed something valuable.
Lucius showed no reaction at all. Just sat there calmly, like he'd expected exactly this outcome.
Odd looked relieved but exhausted, the weight of three days finally lifting.
---
The crowd began filtering out, discussing intensely. The verdict would be debated for days, but it was decided.
Malik remained standing, waiting for the noise to settle slightly.
"There is one additional matter that requires official attention before we adjourn."
That caught everyone's attention. The fighters who'd started to leave stopped and returned to their seats.
"The tournament," Malik continued. "Due to Davis Brown's disappearance and the odd number of remaining competitors, the standard bracket structure is compromised."
He looked at the other officials. "We need to determine how to proceed. This requires deliberation."
Malik gestured to Jennifer, Marcus, and Robert. "Sidebar. Now."
The four officials stood and moved to a corner of the platform, conferring in low voices that the crowd couldn't hear. The discussion lasted several minutes—animated at times, with Marcus making points, Jennifer reviewing regulations on her tablet, Robert nervously interjecting concerns, and Malik overruling objections with gruff finality.
Finally, they returned to their positions.
Malik gestured to the display screens, which showed the current remaining fighters:
REMAINING COMPETITORS:
- King
- Odd
- Plague
- William Walker
- Adam Mavrick
"Five competitors remaining," Malik announced. "Standard bracket structure requires even numbers. After deliberation, we've determined the following structure for semifinals."
The screen updated with new match arrangements:
SEMIFINAL MATCH 1: PLAGUE vs WILLIAM WALKER vs KING
(Triple Threat - All three fighters compete simultaneously, last one standing advances)
SEMIFINAL MATCH 2: ADAM MAVRICK vs ODD
(Standard one-on-one match)
The crowd erupted in excited discussion. A triple threat match was rare—significantly more dangerous and unpredictable than standard one-on-one competition.
"Semifinal matches will occur tomorrow," Malik continued. "Match 1 at 1 PM, Match 2 at 4 PM. Winners will face each other in the finals the following day."
He looked at the remaining fighters present. William Walker sat forward with interest. Lucius and Odd remained at the defendant table.
"All competitors report to staging areas one hour before scheduled match times. Standard rules apply with modifications for triple threat format—match continues until only one fighter remains conscious or able to continue. No outside interference. No weapons except those provided by tournament drops."
Malik sat back down. "This tribunal is officially concluded. Tournament schedule resumes tomorrow at 1 PM."
---
Guards approached the platform to escort Lucius and Odd back to their quarters.
As they stood, Odd glanced at Lucius briefly. Something passed between them—acknowledgment, maybe. Gratitude.
"Thank you," Odd said quietly.
Lucius looked at him for a moment, expression neutral but eyes showing understanding.
"I should be thanking you. They made you an offer, didn't they? Pardon in exchange for testimony. And you didn't take it."
Odd nodded slightly, not denying it.
"That took courage," Lucius said simply. "More than most people have in this place."
They were escorted off the platform through separate exits, heading back to fighter residential areas.
As Lucius walked through the corridors flanked by guards, his expression remained neutral. But internally, his mind was already working through the new complications.
'Triple threat. Plague and William Walker simultaneously. Plague is high tier 4, Walker is mid tier 4. Fighting them separately would be manageable with proper strategy. Together presents significant complications. Can't reveal hydrokinesis. Need to maintain cover while dealing with two competent opponents who'll likely target me first.'
'And Odd has to face Adam Mavrick. Strongest remaining fighter. Adam's not a monster—he has honor, shows mercy to those who forfeit or prove unworthy. But if Odd fights with determination, shows he won't quit, Adam will take him seriously. And when Adam takes someone seriously, he doesn't hold back.'
'This just became exponentially more complicated.'
---
In the hidden observation room, Hannah stood from her booth, Charlotte beside her.
"He won," Charlotte said simply.
"He survived," Hannah corrected. "Not the same thing. Executive Ross isn't finished with him."
"But he handled the pressure. Dismantled their case."
Hannah nodded slowly. "He did. And now he has to fight two opponents simultaneously tomorrow."
She looked at Charlotte directly. "Continue monitoring. After the tournament concludes—assuming he survives all the way through—we'll arrange a meeting."
"Understood, young miss."
They left the observation room, heading back through secure executive corridors toward Hannah's residential quarters.
---
In a private office in the executive district, Mike Ross sat at his desk, that wide smile still in place.
His two assistants stood nearby, waiting.
"Fascinating," Mike said, his pleasant voice carrying genuine enthusiasm despite the failed prosecution. "Absolutely fascinating."
Leon Hauser looked uncomfortable. "We presented substantial evidence—"
"You presented what we had," Mike interrupted, his tone still pleasant. "And he exploited every gap, every uncertainty, every piece of missing proof. That level of analytical thinking under pressure is exceptional."
He stood, moving to the window overlooking the executive district.
"I wanted to see how he'd handle being cornered. How he'd think when trapped. Whether he'd panic or calculate." Mike's smile widened. "He calculated. Systematically. Brilliantly. That's exactly the kind of capability I need."
He turned back to face his assistants, eyes carrying that predatory interest.
"King is intelligent. Highly analytical. Capable of dismantling complex arguments under pressure. Those are valuable traits." Mike's smile took on a slightly different quality—something calculating. "But he's also soft. Sentimental."
Caesar Dan Chen looked up from his tablet. "Sir?"
"He helped Odd extensively. Trained someone who could become an opponent, invested significant time for no apparent strategic benefit. He visited Iron Clad Wang after their match—checking on an injured fighter's wellbeing." Mike's tone suggested he found this almost amusing. "He shows concern for people. That's exploitable weakness in a place like this."
Leon nodded slowly, understanding. "Leverage through compassion."
"Exactly." Mike returned to his desk, sitting down. "Intelligence makes him valuable. Compassion makes him controllable. Find what he cares about protecting, and you can direct his considerable capabilities toward our purposes."
He paused, expression shifting slightly—something darker entering his features.
"Which brings us to the Davis situation."
Both assistants straightened, attention focusing completely.
"I sent Davis to observe King," Mike said quietly. "Make contact. Gather information on his patterns, capabilities, potential vulnerabilities. Davis reported back once—confirmed the betting arrangement with Seung, noted some unusual behaviors. Nothing substantial. Then silence."
Caesar consulted his notes. "Davis's last confirmed location was the medical corridor. After that, nothing."
"He made contact," Mike said with certainty. "I'm sure of it. The question is what happened after."
Leon shifted uncomfortably. "Is it possible Davis... ran? Left the facility somehow?"
Mike's smile didn't waver but his eyes showed something cold. "Davis? Run from me?"
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled thoughtfully.
"We have comprehensive leverage on Davis. His criminal record, his connections, his activities—all documented and controlled. He knows what happens if he tries to escape that control." Mike's tone was pleasant but carried absolute conviction. "And even if he somehow managed to leave the Underground, the memory wipe protocols would activate. He'd forget everything that happened here. Every contact. Every sponsor. Every piece of leverage I hold. He'd walk out with a blank slate and no protection from the authorities who want him for multiple murders."
"Then where is he?" Caesar asked.
"Davis was a serial killer. A psychopath. Deeply disturbed." Mike's smile widened slightly. "But not stupid. He understood the system. Understood that running from my influence would be suicide—either literal or practical. So no, he didn't run."
He stood again, walking toward the window.
"The most likely explanation is that Davis made contact with King, and King eliminated him. Saw through the observation, recognized the threat, and dealt with it permanently." Mike's tone carried something like admiration mixed with frustration. "That would explain the complete disappearance. No body, no trace, no evidence. Thorough work."
Leon looked uncertain. "But we couldn't prove—"
"Of course we couldn't prove it," Mike interrupted. "That's what makes King interesting. He's capable of removing threats completely while maintaining perfect deniability. That level of execution requires planning, control, and capability well beyond normal fighters."
He turned back to his assistants.
"The alternative is that Davis is being held somewhere. Hidden. Contained. Which would require equal capability and potentially more audacity—keeping a tier 4 fighter imprisoned without anyone noticing."
Caesar made notes. "Either scenario suggests King is significantly more dangerous than he appears."
"Exactly," Mike said, his smile returning to full width. "Which is why he's worth pursuing. Intelligence, analytical capability, the ability to eliminate threats without trace, and exploitable compassion. That combination is rare. Valuable."
He walked back to his desk.
"Tomorrow's triple threat match will be illuminating. Plague and William Walker will push him. Force him to reveal more of his actual capabilities. Every fight gives us more data."
"And if he continues to resist recruitment afterward?" Leon asked carefully.
Mike's eyes showed that predatory calculation again.
"Everyone has pressure points. King cares about Odd—that's already established. He showed concern for Wang. He operates with ethical boundaries that limit his actions. Those aren't weaknesses in conventional terms, but they are leverage points."
He sat down, looking directly at both assistants.
"We find what he values. What he protects. And then we apply pressure there. Not crude threats—something more subtle. Something that makes cooperation seem like the intelligent choice rather than the forced option."
His smile never wavered.
"Davis's disappearance is unfortunate—he might have gathered more useful intelligence if he'd survived his contact with King. But his absence confirms King's capability. And capability is what I'm interested in acquiring."
Mike leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed despite discussing potential murder and recruitment strategies.
"This isn't over. It's barely begun. King has just proven himself worth pursuing seriously. The tribunal was assessment. The tournament provides more data. And after that..." He made a casual gesture. "...we'll see how he responds to the right kind of offer."
His assistants exchanged glances but said nothing. They'd worked for Mike Ross long enough to understand what "the right kind of offer" meant.
It was never really an offer at all.
---
TO BE CONTINUED