Brains

Winston Payne, famous prosecutor known as the Rookie Killer, was making his way to his office on this fine morning. He was in a good mood—his trial yesterday had gone really well, and another rookie defense attorney has been 'killed.' He knew this line of thought was very corny and really lackluster, but he didn't care. As he rounded the corner before his office hall, he was halted by a voice calling out for him.

"Mr. Payne, wait up!" It was…what's-her-name…he forgot. She was a small time prosecutor who Payne didn't pay much attention to because she was so far out of his league. Right now, though, he wished he could remember her name. It'd be embarrassing if he had to call her by her name. "Yes, yes." He answered her, "What can I do for you?"

She stopped by him, and then looked around shiftily before giving him her full attention. "Mr. Payne, I have this for you." She raised her hand, which Payne noticed that she was holding a case file up in her hand; he shivered in anticipation. "Who's case is it?" He asked.

"It's the masked thief's case." She whispered, "Phoenix Wright is defending."

This made Payne practically giddy with excitement. If he were a five year old, he's be jumping up and down in place squealing or something to that effect. Alas, he wasn't a five year old and had to maintain his public image, so he settled for smiling. "I'll take it!" He whispered back. The lady nodded and handed him the file. "It's all yours," she told him, "Unless you want to give it to someone else."

"No no," He told her, "I wouldn't hand this case in to anyone even if I were dead."

The lady smiled at that and was about to comment when a voice intruded. "Did I hear correctly? You have a case for Trite, Payne?"

Payne and the lady screamed and looked at the newcomer. It was Godot. He stood there, taller than both of them, with an air of malignant curiosity as his visor glowed a soft red, and the steaming white coffee mug in his hand didn't lessen that. Payne and the lady shivered—he was scary. "Well, Payne?" Godot prompted, "Do you have a case of Phoenix Wright?"

Payne reluctantly nodded—best not to upset the man. Godot still frowned though, "I want it."

"Wh-what?" Payne asked, taken back.

"I want the Trite case." Godot stated. The lady looked fearfully between Payne and Godot. She knew that Payne wasn't going to hand over the case so easily. Payne cleared his throat and stood up to his full height (which was still a head shorter than Godot) before he spoke, "Now just wait a minute," He started, "This is my case and I'm not going to hand it over to you just because you want it. I earned it fair and square. I've been working here much more than you, rookie, and I can stand up well against Phoenix Wright, while you can't—"

At this point, Godot stopped listening and sighed heavily. He eyed (as well as he could from behind the visor) both prosecutors seriously and spoke in an ominous tone, "I guess you leave me no choice. I'll see you at dinner time."

After that, Godot turned and walked away, but before he could get far, Payne spoke up, "What do you mean?" He asked; a part of him already knew—the rumors. Godot turned sideways to him and smiled deviously, "You already know, Mr. Payne." He replied before he turned around and kept walking. Again, he didn't get far before Payne stopped him. "WAIT!" He had shouted, running up to Godot, "Here, the case." He handed it to the man, who accepted it rather superiorly, "Good luck, Mr. Godot, sir."

"Thank you." Godot smiled and walked away with the case. Payne and the lady looked at each other fearfully. After all, neither wanted their brains eaten…or semi-eaten. Neither wanted to go into a comatose state on their next case; and they certainly didn't want their reputation destroyed.

After all, those rumors couldn't all be false now…could they?