His name was Apollo Justice, and was supposed to feel fine.
As he made his way through the window, Apollo was felt with a nostalgic air as he stepped into the Wright Anything Agency. Lying like a sloth on the couch was the notorious attorney (and his target)—Phoenix Wright. As he observed his surroundings to find possible escape routes if necessary, he couldn't but feel a bittersweet smile creep up on his face as he saw all the ridiculous clutter of various magician objects. He carefully navigated through both fake and real guns, hats with secret compartments, and a colorful magic coffin.
"Any last words, Mr. Wright?" Apollo's voice came out uncanny and cold, and he showed no emotion. He had to remain a professional, after all.
Phoenix seemed too frozen in shock to speak; it was a reaction common to any other soon-to-be victim. People always seemed to act like what they knew what their death would look like. They were too simplistic and never are cautious on their actions. Pretending that a quick death will never happen to them, people never stop to feel what others believe. Apollo waited for what seemed like a whole minute for an answer, but there was no sound.
"Goodbye," Apollo said, inching the knife closer to Mr. Wright's neck, but he hesitated.
His job was supposed to be easy. He would sneak in at night, kill some lawyer named "Phoenix Wright" and leave. It was simple task just like another other client's request. With a knife in his hand, reached for Phoenix's throat, and paused.
He had no connection the famous lawyer, so then why...
...Why was it so damn hard to do?
It wasn't like the respected lawyer was too tough of a target. His movements were incredibly sluggish, and he didn't seem like the sharpest man around. If he didn't seem to comply, it was said he apparently had a daughter which could be easily used as a threat. And even that wasn't needed; he just had to take a knife and stab him.
His hand was shaking. Fuck, his hand was shaking. There was just something that was too familiar with that lawyer. Whatever it was he felt, it had to be shaken off. He was a professional, and he couldn't afford to let it go because of some deja vu. Just take the knife, and...
"Apollo…!"
Instinctively, Apollo put his hand over Phoenix's mouth. Any witnesses could be fatal. He had no time. Now was the moment. He had to thrust the knife into his throat, or chest, or anywhere really. Then the blood would come pouring out, and his client would be satisfied. It was just supposed to be another kill, another victim.
But how did he know my name?
Despite all of his attempts to block any emotion whatsoever, the thought troubled him. Whoever Mr. Wright was, he seemed to know much more than Apollo even knew about himself and had to be silence. Then again, Apollo didn't really know anything about himself anymore. His earliest memory was from only 2 months ago.
That day, on the April 20th, he stood on a high balcony at the Gatewater Hotel. His suit was incredibly soaked, and his ahoges had been so wet that it was pointed downwards. The next thing he knew, there was a violent pain near his shoulder, he felt a violent shove over the railing, and he his vision became blurry.
His memory couldn't tell why he was there, but he knew one thing. On that fateful day, that sick, cursed day…
... the one who pushed him wore an attorney's badge.
Apollo thrust the knife forward, but Phoenix dodged just quick enough in retaliation that the knife only hit his shoulder. The lawyer screamed in pain. Shit, it wasn't enough to kill him! Before taking the weapon back out, his attention instinctively turned to the door. A familiar sight was before him. Trucy Wright, Phoenix's adopted daughter, held a gun in her trembling hand. Apollo knew the gun was definitely real and loaded.
"P-Polly, what are you doing?!" Trucy's voice was quivering. "L-Leave daddy alone!"
Apollo froze.
A/N: Thanks for reading! As always, leave a review on your way out.