It was springtime; though the cherry-blossoms floated, beautiful and delicate, through the air, the breeze that carried them was hot and stiff. The tiny village's dirt roads resembled the place itself in a number of ways, for they were rough and rutted, grimy and worn-out. However, the difference between the village and its roads was this: inside the village lay the body of a young child, and on its roads, the blood of the criminals who had killed him.
Only one of the wanted bandits remained. His whole body trembled as he clutched his sword; the very sword that had cut down countless innocents in its master's unquenchable thirst for power and violence. It could offer him no solace now. "Y- you... think you're some kind of vigilante, don't you?" he shouted. "Some kind of hero?!"
On the other side of the road stood a warrior, face concealed inside a mask of glinting steel. In his hands he held a great spear, tip lowered towards the bandit. "I am no hero," spoke the warrior in a deep, firm voice. "Nor am I a vigilante, for I serve the shogun. However..."
The warrior began to approach the bandit, slowly and deliberately. "I have pledged my sword to truth, and my spear to justice," he said. "These are my true masters, and it is in their interests that I have defended this powerless village. That is my duty as a warrior, and as a servant of all that is right and honorable." He leveled his spear at the bandit. "Now, die with honor, for you have lived without it."
The bandit shook. "No... G- get away from me! S- S- ….. STEEL SAMURAI!"
Phoenix blinked. "Wow... that was actually pretty intense. Go figure." He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. "Three chapters down, fourteen more to go..."
It was nine o'clock at night, and the Wright & Co. Law Offices were empty and dark (excepting, of course, Wright himself and his computer). He'd told Maya he had to stay overtime to finish some important paperwork; in reality, he'd decided to try and read 'Warrior of Great Justice.'
"What am I doing...?" he muttered. "I was hoping to get some idea of the author's location by reading this, but so far all I can tell is that they apparently think the Steel Samurai is Batman." He sighed. "I suppose I could try just messaging the guy... although he'll probably think I'm a stalker." He shrugged his shoulders. "Eh... I guess I won't find out if I don't try..."
Phoenix clicked on the author's profile and opened up a private message.
Dear Sir or Ma'am,
A good friend of mine is a very big fan of your work. Her birthday is coming up, and I was wondering if I could trouble you for an autographed copy of 'Warrior of Great Justice.' You can contact me at Wright & Co. Law Offices (867-5309 or reply to this email ) if you're interested.
"Hmm..." Phoenix quickly made sure everything was correct, then sent the message. "I guess that's all I can do for now," he muttered, and powered down his computer. As he pulled on his coat and started to lock up, he crossed his fingers. "I really hope this works."
The next morning, Phoenix opened up the office and immediately went to check his email. I have to see if that guy got back to me before Maya gets here... he thought as he powered on his PC. Sure enough, his inbox showed one new message from an address he didn't recognize. The subject line read "Warrior of Great Justice."
"Score!" Phoenix shouted excitedly. "Let's open that puppy up and..." He stared at the screen. "...What the...?!"
The message read:
HG-2, IY-8, RB-14, DL-6, WC-3, FC-72, GS-1, SL-9, WD-40, KG-8, XD-3, QO-6, FG-23, VB-7, YT-54, MO-9, GK-2.
Good luck.
"WHAAAAT?!" Phoenix slammed both hands on his desk. "What the heck is all that?! Some kind of code?!" He gritted his teeth. "Who does that?! I mean, who even does that?!"
"Nick, are you okay?" Maya stood in the doorway, smiling. "Did you get a bunch of junk-mail from that unemployment self-help place again?"
"Oh, h-hey Maya," Phoenix stammered. "Uh, no, I was just... reading an article."
"Oh, okay." Maya cocked her head. "What was it about?"
"Umm..." Just remain calm... he thought to himself. "It was... uh, an extremely opinionated editorial... on... uh... stepladders."
Maya stared. "You got that fired up over an article about ladders?!"
Phoenix coughed. "Stepladders."
Maya rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Nick, you need to get a life." Suddenly, she grinned and clasped her hands. "Anyway, I was thinking of ways to get more clients, and I have a really neat idea!"
Phoenix nodded. "Cool. Do whatever you want." Inwardly, he was panicking. Don't look over my shoulder... don't suspect a thing... please...
Maya grinned. "Wow, thanks! I'll be back later!" She practically skipped out the door, calling "Bye, Nick!" in a sing-song voice.
As soon as he heard the office door slam, signaling Maya's departure, Phoenix groaned. "Stepladders? Really? God, I am so smooth..." Looking back at the computer screen, he sighed. He really had no idea what any of those letters or numbers were supposed to mean. IY-8, RB-14, DL-6... wait... DL-6? Why would the name of that case be...
Suddenly, Phoenix gasped. "That's it!" he cried. "These are all case files!" He hadn't recognized it at first because that naming system was used mostly by the police department and prosecutor's offices. As a defense attorney, none of his cases were sorted using those letters and numbers. That, of course, meant that he'd have to visit either the police or the prosecutors to look up the case files.
Phoenix stroked his chin. Considering the over-the-top negative reaction his plan had gotten from Edgeworth, as well as the inherent danger of being whipped or coffee-burned to death that came with visiting Franziska von Karma or Godot, the prosecutor's offices were probably off the table. That was probably just as well, though. Phoenix had found it frighteningly easy to weasle information out of Detective Gumshoe in almost any situation; finding out about these cases was sure to be a piece of cake.
Phoenix reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad labeled 'Court Record.' He then flipped to a new page, and wrote down all of the case numbers he'd received in the e-mail. Snapping the notepad closed, he pulled on his coat and headed for the door. "Time to investigate," he muttered. "First stop: the precinct."
