A/N: Another impromptu fill for the PW kink meme. The prompt asked for dark!Phoenix taking his anger and hatred of Kristoph out on Apollo and was pretty open-ended as to how he would do it, so here's... this. Chapters will probably be pretty short to reinforce the tension and horror themes in the piece. The rating is T for now but very well may end up as M, at which point I will change it, so please read responsibly!
Rated T for violence and nonexplicit sexual themes.
Spoilers for: Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney
There's a chain around his ankle that's too tight, and it's padlocked to the support post of Mr. Wright's bed. He's on the floor, on his knees, trying to pull his leg free from its shackle, tears in his eyes. If he had the means to, he thinks he would cut it off, no matter the pain.
It's dark in the bedroom, but he's long since adjusted. Mr. Wright's removed anything that might conceivably become a weapon in desperate hands; he knows because he's looked. There isn't so much as a hairpin of Trucy's to pick the lock, or a table lamp to use in defense. The window's blinds are down and the curtains, drawn, and they're too far outside his range of movement to reach anyway. That doesn't keep him from trying, though, and he stretches outward again, straining to slip his foot free from the shackle that's so tight it's already left marks.
His mouth is stuffed with cloth and taped shut. He's tried pulling it off, but it's wrapped around his head, trapping his hair, and won't be undone. His hands are taped, too, several times around the fingers to bind them to each other and then around the wrists, forcing them together. His hair has lost its spikes and now lies flat against his head, and this somehow makes him feel exposed. He's been stripped down to his boxers and undershirt, too, although he doesn't know why. Mr. Wright hasn't touched him there, not yet, at least, so he's sure this isn't about sex. There is a bright purple bruise on his cheek, though, and it's enough to let him know this isn't some harmless prank gone on too long.
He can't remember the last time he's eaten, or slept, and eventually, he collapses onto his side in exhaustion. He has no way of knowing the time, has no idea how long he's been here, and it frightens him. He curls into a ball on the carpeted floor, taking comfort in his own warmth. He doesn't want to sleep for fear that Mr. Wright will return while he's out. But both his body and mind have been weakened by his experience, and soon enough, he's drifting off.
It isn't the slamming of the door that wakes him; he's too tired to even acknowledge that. Rather, it's the sharp kick to the ribs that jolts him into awareness, and with a cry muffled by the cloth and tape, he springs up and scrambles back against the bed, trying not to tremble like a whipped dog. Mr. Wright is standing over him, head tipped down, mouth curved into his usual genial smile, although in the darkness of the room, there's something warped about it.
"Wake up, Apollo," he says in a low, light voice. "It's not time to sleep just yet."