Disclaimer: Ace Attorney and all characters are copyright by CAPCOM; World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, all incidences and characters were created by Max Brooks. I'm just a fan, imitating. The stories presented are influenced by the multiple games as well as the comic (Manga written by Kenji Kuroda), and the book World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War.

This story is set several months following Bridge to the Turnabout (Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney: Trials and Tribulations) and in the early months of the Zombie War.

Part 1

Chapter 03

Armagideon Time

May 8, 2052

Stand Up! SoCal

Southern California Greater Metropolis, California

[Franziska glares coldly at me for several long silent moments before, finally, answering the question.]

He was not mad.

[So why did he refuse the chance for escape?]

You say that as if you knew where those ships were going. But I'm telling you, those ships went nowhere. They were a safety net. A lie. No one that boarded any of those ships is alive today. I guarantee it. Not a one.

They were foolish to rely on so hopeless an escape. Ships of foolish fools…

I think he knew it would turn out like that. Lang likes to imply that Miles was mad or soft or weak, but he wasn't. I think Miles understood better than all of us just how bad things were.

[How long did it take you to find him?]

Too long.

We formed a group in those early months—those of us who worked with the police in that district. We hoped that staying together in a large number would make us safer. For the first several weeks we stayed in the county prison.

It seems like a joke now. We were jurists and law enforcement officers, living in those cells. Suddenly it was desirable to be behind bars. Lang organized us into teams. Each team would go out to look for food or medicine and other supplies while the rest of us guarded our base—yes, the prison.

I was on the "Away Team" that day, when we encountered the people from Ivy University. They had a much bigger operations base and much more people. So Lang decided that we should join with them to increase our chances of surviving.

We gathered all that we could carry, and set out across the city to go to the University. It took us more than a week to cross the city.

[Did you encounter any of the infected?]

What kind of stupid question is that?

[I catch myself cringing when she raises her whip, but she doesn't strike me. Instead she closes her eyes]

There were so many of them. For most of our journey, we followed the freeway. It was the most direct path toward the University. There were so many cars on the highway. Abandoned. Empty.

But not all of them were empty. Some of them had ghouls trapped inside. We stayed together and did our best to avoid any encounters.

But there were still monsters that had to be killed. I was not a killer. So I found it difficult at first. Then Lang reminded me that if Miles was alive, he was facing these monsters all by himself.

I told myself that every one I destroyed was one less that might attack my little brother.

Eventually, we made it to the University. Like I said, it took more than a week—almost two.

[What about Edgeworth?]

We stayed at the compound to recover for several weeks. Then a group of us decided to go out and look for him.

Shi Long Lang, Kay Faraday, and myself. There were a couple of others in the group—I don't remember who they were.

We had to carry all of our food and supplies. So we tried our best to pack light—to stay mobile. Lang was very good about preparations. He really was an asset to the group.

[For the first time, since I started interviewing her, Franziska smiles. It's subtle, but it's a smile]

Don't tell that fool I said so.

[She's suddenly serious.]

We left from the University and headed west toward the city. After three days we returned to the compound. Then we'd rest and for a day or two and try again. It was the fifth excursion out that we found him.

I don't know why I have to remind Lang not to underestimate my little brother.

October 24, 2019

University Hills

Los Angeles, California

"Stay together," Lang said, "If you see something, call it out."

They marched in a file, Lang at the head and Larry Butz in the rear. Franziska, Kay, Bobbie and Maggey were in the middle. Each of them carried a weapon—a sharpened stave, a shovel, or a crowbar. Lang and Kay both had guns.

The worst of the hordes had been cannibalized and rotted in the long months since the evacuation of Los Angeles. But there were still pockets of them buried in the rubble of the city, so they were forced to move slowly and secure each point on their way.

Franziska was surprised to note that they'd entered the area of the district courthouse. Kay shot her a meaningful look. Franziska shrugged it off, she was not going to let any frivolous emotions—like hope—cloud her judgment.

"Lang! Three o'clock," Kay said and pointed. The girl seemed to enjoy this too much. Franziska gripped her shovel and halted with the rest of the party.

The moaning was what chilled her blood. This she would never get used to.

"Stay with me," Lang said and continued forward, "It's headed in the other direction."

Franziska had to shove Kay with the handle of her shovel. The girl was transfixed on the ghouls prowling their vicinity.

"Keep moving," she said.

It was around midday when they reached the courthouse itself. Franziska could only stare for a while.

There was something tragic and final—more so than the fallen city lying in ruin and decay around them—in seeing the courthouse crumbled as it was. Here was a hall of justice. Here was a temple of truth. Nothing echoed more loudly the extent to which the world had ended than to see it like that.

Franziska startled at the sudden and mournful wail that echoed through the rubble around them. Only when Lang had grabbed her and clamped his big hand over her mouth, did she realize it was coming from her. A Von Karma wouldn't scream like that.

The world was ended. Many things were happening that shouldn't.

May 8, 2052

Stand Up! SoCal

Southern California Greater Metropolis, California

Apollo Justice is Phoenix Wright's… well… His right-hand man in the administration of Stand Up! SoCal. He has a friendly disposition and a powerful moustache. Several times. While we were speaking, he would pause and run a comb through that moustache. It was intriguing to say the least.

[Do you remember the Great Panic?]

Oh yeah. I was fifteen when everything started, and I was living in an orphanage. It was crazy. One or two of the staff stuck around, but most of them stopped showing up to work in the early days—I mean early, like that reporter hadn't come out and broadcast her exclusive. You know the story? The one that basically destroyed the world?

[So how did you survive?]

We holed up in the home. There were about twenty-six of us—boys with no families—plus the couple of staff that stayed behind. They kind of ran things like a school, I guess… Or a military barracks. I don't know. But we had food and supplies to last several weeks. So we just stayed put and barricaded all the windows and doors.

I think we went on like that for about two months. Maybe a little more. Things started to run short. That's when we came up with a plan to get food and supplies from out in town. It was usually the older guys that went. I was fifteen, and kind of small, so I never went. Well, anyway, that bought us a couple more weeks.

[Then what happened?]

One of the guys, Brad, he came home with a lot of commotion.

October 12, 2019

Central

Los Angeles, California

He'd been running for days now.

He couldn't stop moving. He'd had very little to eat or drink aside from what he was able to scavenge as he moved. But it just wasn't safe for him anymore. He'd been abandoned. He was stranded. Alone.

Apollo had been barricaded in the home with the other boys he'd lived with and the staff. They'd managed to ration food and other supplies kept on hand for almost three months, but they were running out. Going out into the city was a choice they didn't make on their own. It had been necessary.

No one noticed anything odd about Brad—aside from him favoring his right leg and not wanting to talk about how he's managed to return with a dozen cans of Vienna sausages and some Ritz crackers. No one even wanted to imply that something like that might have happened. So no one asked. Or checked.

And then it was too late.

Apollo was a small kid. At fifteen, he was still a head shorter than most of the guys his age. His mean stature, short and thin, was probably what allowed him to slip away unnoticed when Brad lost his shit and started biting the others.

All he could do was run. So he ran.

He couldn't even remember how long it had been, three days—maybe four. Maybe it's been a week. He had to keep moving, even though he had no idea where he was heading.

He didn't even recognize this part of the city. He'd never been so far from the home.

Still, he had to keep running.

They said that a zombie couldn't catch you when you ran. They just didn't shuffle that fast. But then, zombies never got tired. Apollo was exhausted. Running on fumes, so to speak.

When he saw the cave formed of a slab of concrete from where the sidewalk had been destroyed by an out of control National Guard tank, he thought it looked inviting. There was nothing or no one in the vicinity; he would be safe there. He might rest a little.

Apollo stopped running. He looked around and saw nothing he recognized, just an empty city street—foreign in its stillness. In the rubble he found a piece of something metal, twisted and blackened by fire. He didn't know what it was, but he picked it up and walked toward the mouth of the little 'cave' he'd found. He was just so tired.

Apollo poked his piece of scrap into the mouth of the hole in the sidewalk. Nothing happened. So he pushed in closer until the whole of the metal scrap was inserted into the cave. He moved it around. It scraped the back of the crevice—it was not very roomy in there. But it was empty, and Apollo was sure he could fit far enough inside to hide himself.

He threw the scrap aside and crawled inside. It was cool and dark but he had a clear view of the rubble-strewn street he'd just departed. Apollo sighed deeply. His fear kept him vigilant for longer than he'd hoped and he sat there long enough to watch the sun sink away in his periphery. Then he slept.

It was the moaning that startled him awake only a few hours later. The low, mindless call chilled him to the core and sent tremors of fear throughout his body. That sound meant death. Apollo gasped and shoved himself as far back into his shelter as he could. His heart was racing and his hands were starting to tingle and go numb.

In the weak light of the waning moon he saw the first staggering movement. A shadow broke out from amongst other shadows. It moved slowly, winding through the rubble. Apollo hugged himself against his shaking and the racking sobs that threatened to escape him. He had to stay quiet. He had to stay still.

Maybe it would move on past him.

He heard it sniff the air. Wind whistling through the rotted hole in its face. Apollo clamped his hands over his mouth. He was afraid to breathe.

Another shambling figure joined the first. This one let out a rattling moan. Like something dry was hanging in its throat. If it even had much of a throat left.

He'd heard that they didn't really communicate. They lacked the thought processes necessary for speech let alone socialization. So he couldn't understand why they always moved in groups. Eventually this group turned up seven individuals. They shuffled and sniffed in the vicinity of his hideout. He watched them, transfixed; and wondered if this would be the last thing he would see before he died.

Apollo started to calm down. There was nothing he could do. He'd cornered himself, and it was only a matter of time before they found him. He resigned himself to his fate, and somehow, that relaxed him even more. Apollo took his hands away from his face and stretched out as much as he could in that small space.

An eighth figure climbed up a particularly tall heap of rubble and stood still, framed in the moonlight. This one wasn't shambling like the others. Apollo's breath caught in his throat.

A strong breeze blew through the street, bringing with it the pungency of decay. The stranger was holding something that reflected the moonlight with a metallic glint.

"Hoi!" he shouted.

Apollo startled and banged his head on the low concrete ceiling of his shelter; that guy was insane!

The ghouls turned to face the newcomer. They began to moan in an eerie chorus. Apollo wanted to shut his eyes. He couldn't.

October 24, 2019

University Hills

Los Angeles, California

"Miles!" Franziska screamed at him and started to run in his direction.

Lang grabbed her arm and pulled her back so hard she nearly fell into the rubble. She fell into Lang instead.

"Don't," he whispered harshly, "That might not be him."

Franziska struggled against his hold, "That's him! I'd know him anywhere—"

"It might not be him," Lang repeated and she fought him for a moment longer before realizing what he meant.

"Not Miles…" she said.

Lang released her and waved at Kay to stay beside her. Both Maggey and Kay moved toward her. Lang grimaced at them and started walking toward the lone figure.

He was standing with his back to them a top the crest of the hill overlooking the courthouse. Lang recognized that jacket, stained and ragged though it was—only Miles Edgeworth would insist on a jacket like that.

"Edgeworth?" Lang said.

He turned his head and Lang recognized his profile amidst his dirty and tangled hair.

"Tell me you haven't been looking for me," Edgeworth said. His voice was low and rasping—as if it had gone rusty with torpor.

"I wasn't," Lang said and he couldn't help the wide grin that split his face, "But if I hadn't come along, who knows what kind of trouble Franziska might have gotten into."

Edgeworth put his head down and turned around slowly. Lang's eyes widened when he saw what Edgeworth had in his hands.

"Is that a sword, Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth slowly eased his stance and brought the blade down by his side. He nodded. Lang grinned again.

"I think it's a replica," Edgeworth said, "I cannot seem to keep a proper edge on it. It's starting to rust as well."

He seemed incongruously calm, like they were discussing the weather during a chance meeting in the street. His speech and tone rang in glaring contrast to his disheveled appearance. He looked harried and wild, with his battered suit hanging from his too thin frame and his hair overgrown and hanging in his face, his jaw marred by the sparse growth of his beard.

"Come," Lang said, "I don't like being out here."

"I can't go with you," Edgeworth said.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

I want to extend a special thank you to my "Guest" reviewer. I have no idea what your review says or means, but it's nice to finally get a review on this story. To GODLIKETURNABOUT, thanks for your support!

23 May 2016

Now that part 1 is complete, I've re-edited the whole thing to fix dates and errors-because I owe it to you! There is a part two and three (it lines up with the book World War Z) so yes there's more. But part one was difficult to get through and I'm so grateful for your attention.

I'd love to hear your feedback and I love reviews (but PMs are fine, if you'd rather not have something read by anyone besides me)! Thanks again!