Charxelle : About the OOC thing, I can't resist, Edgeworth's so stiff and formal in the game, i just can't resist making him a little more fun xD Oh, and he changed his name in Germany because when he ran off the first time (the whole, prosecutor is dead thing. ) he changed his name so that no one would connect him with 'Miles Edgeworth", so when he returned there after the Engarde thing, he just resumed his name. Uh. At least that's my excuse for my plot hole =X Also, I'll try to stick Trucy in Gumshoe's house, but I can't guarantee any thing, since I've already decided this will be the last chapter.

Note (In progress) : This is turning out more light-hearted than I thought it would be. Oh well. I'm all drama'd out.


Last lesson : At High Noon, there was red

DeKiller had had a long time to think over what he would do and what he won't, and his thoughts were all like tunnels in highways – they go round and round, up and down, they had signboards to tell you where to go and what to do there as well as what you had to expect, but never seemed to tell you the one thing that you want them to tell you. Where it leads to. Where it ends.

Life was tiring him – that much he understood. Rather, life did not tire him, he hadn't had much taste of it to be tired of it – it was life as a deKiller : Getting up, checking his mail, accepting requests, meeting clients, shooting people, covering up – it was like a recipe for cake. You do the same thing over and over again, rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. Maybe it was time to let the deKiller name die. It really hadn't done anyone good before, and it didn't look like it was going to start being charitable soon, if the way all his apprentices are running off is any indication. It was the way kids these days were brought up, he thought, and nodded in self-righteousness. Too much of all that Facebook and MySpace Thingamajig. In his days, if you wanted friends you sign up for a pen pal section and send your pen pals pictures of your prettier friends and tell them that's you. These days if you wanted friends, all you had to was sit in front of the computer – much less work than it used to be.

Maybe it was a sign that times were changing. That it was time to let go. The name had lasted generations, maybe this can be the last.

He felt lighter just thinking that.

But first, there is the matter of that Phoenix Wright. He had to do something about him, 'less he thought that he could cross Shelly deKiller and survived entirely unharmed. No no, that would be terrible for his reputation – and really, it wasn't like he could sit on his hands on this one. No, he was far too chummy with that prosecutor for his own good, and that prosecutor in return, is friends with that detective who had chased him down the streets all the way downtown shouting "Stop! This is an arrest, pal!" His intelligence begs questioning, but his badge does not.

He must find some way to punish them, and nodded in agreement with himself. Yes, he's decided. This will be his last job, he WILL retire, and he WILL let the deKiller line end. But not without some...fun first. His face cracked into his first smile in years.


Ding-dong!

"Someone, get the door please."

"Daddy, YOU get it."

"Um, hello, patient here. Why do I have to do it? I'm the one with a bullet hole in his chest."

"Of which is almost completely healed. Get the door, Phoenix."

"Yeah, do as Mr. Edgeworth says and get the door, pal!"

"Like a sunrise from the west, that is a doorbell. You must savour it while it last."

"Okay, okay, fine! I hope you guys grow a pot belly with the amount of exercise you're NOT doing." Phoenix got up from the couch in which he was sharing with Edgeworth and started towards the door.

"Don't worry, when we do I'm sure we will all gather around and admire your smooth flat stomach. Now go get the mail, Phoenix, and pass mine to me when you're done." Edgeworth quipped with a lazy smile, curled up on the couch with a copy of the Sunday newspaper crumpled and peeking out under an elbow.

Phoenix smiled at the sight. Things had started regaining a measure of normalcy around here after two whole weeks of inactivity on deKiller's side. Two whole weeks since he had checked out of the hospital and checked back into his office-turn-apartment, thinking that maybe he could finally go back to playing poker and not being able to pay the bills. After so much excitement in his life, running screaming away from creditors was as normal to him as peeling potatoes – he was fearless in the face of bankruptcy now.

Of course, being fearless of bankruptcy did not automatically immune him to being afraid when Miles showed up one day on his doorsteps announcing in his court voice that "As of today, I hereby lawfully declare Miles Edgeworth a resident of this...Den for the protection of Phoenix Wright." and promptly walked pass a dumbstruck Phoenix. He had somehow managed to sound sweet and obnoxious in the same sentence.

So alright, he thought, having Miles around wouldn't be so bad, if you discounted the fact that he'll probably run around the place with a vacuum cleaner – or worse, make Phoenix do it – and it'll be fine, since Miles hadn't exactly brought much with him. Or so he thought, until a moment later, the bell rang again and a red-faced Gumshoe greeted him from behind a mountain of luggage stacked up on what looked like one of those trolleys they used to carry customer's luggage in hotels. Of course, it turned out it WAS one of those, since Miles borrowed in from Gatewater, right across the street.

Gumshoe had wheeled the things into the office, then throw down his own shabby amount of luggage wrapped up in of his old tattered clothes.

For the rest of the day, the office was a frenzy of voices – most notable of all his own voice shouting at the top of his lungs that no, he didn't want roommates, and yes, that is a fridge, not an icebox -SHUT UP- and will you please stop removing all my things, Gumshoe and putting Miles' there, and wait a second lemme get that door-- WHAT THE HELL? A PIANO, EDGEWORTH!???

Still, it had all been for his sake, as Miles had explained with an uncaring flick of his hand. Edgeworth was there to make sure that if deKiller confronted him, he would be there to lend a hand. And of course Gumshoe was there because he's the only police officer that was willing to work overtime all week long with no extra pay to protect Phoenix, as well as supply an additional absorbent surface for bullets if Shelly deKiller decided to stop by and stage a shootout.

The whole thing DID leave a phobia of doorbells on Phoenix's part though. Doorbells never seem to bring anything but bad news, he thought wryly as he pulled open the door.

"Hi, is this um, Mr. Wright?" The mailman was carrying a large package wrapped in course brown paper and tied with strings in a cross manner – like your typical, everyday package.

"Yeap, that's me."

"Okay, this package's been sent to you sir, if you'll please sign here..." He handed some forms to Phoenix, which he signed and returned, and the package was handed to him. He shut the door and carried it back to the makeshift living room everyone was nestled in.

"So, who got extra luggage sent in again?"

"If I had wanted to send luggage to this place, I most definitely would not have filled in your name." Edgeworth said. Gumshoe nodded in agreement. Diego nodded in approval.

"So what is it, daddy?" Trucy hopped down from the coffee table she was sitting on. "Open it up?"

"Uh-huh..." He placed it on the floor and sat beside it. It didn't have any sort of identification on it, and he said so. Miles immediately snapped up from where he was reclining.

"Do you think it's from Him?" he frowned. "Maybe we should get someone from the department to check it out first before you open it."

"I guess. But do you think he'd really send it this way if it was something really dangerous? I mean, I've worked with him and he just doesn't seem to use this kind of...methods. Kind of messy." Phoenix scratched his head. "Even if we wanted though, it's Sunday. Most, if not everyone from the precinct won't be there. We would have to wait for days for the result."

"Well, I rather wait for days than to have today as my last day." Miles got up to kneel beside the package, flipping it around to gauge it's weight and to see if it had any noticeable shape. "We're not entirely clear on the whole situation yet. He might not have acted, but that doesn't mean he can't start now."

"Bah! You worry too much! A man has to take risks now and then!" Diego chipped in, blowing the steam off his Godot blend #107.

"Yes, just like how you, manly man that you are, risks dying of caffeine overdose everyday of the week. Now tea, on the other hand..."

"Okay, okay, let's not get into that right now. " Phoenix interrupted, knowing that Diego and Miles can go hours at the whole Is-tea-better-for-you-or-coffee issue. "The point is, we can't have someone examined it. And we can't exactly throw it in the forensic lab to await their return. If it turned out to be something like a time bomb, it could explode and blow up the whole lab."

Gumshoe seems to ponder this for a minute, waggling his eyebrows up and down. "Uh...But I dunno, isn't that kind of better than having us blown up?"

"Maybe, but if it DOES blow up the lab, you can be sure ALL of us will be eating instant noodles for the rest of our life. As for you, detective, you'd probably be biting the dust. Literally. " he added, just to get it through his head.

It worked, the mention of salary always did. "Oh, uh, okay, pal! I got you!"

"Hmmmmmmmmmmm...." Beside him, Trucy was tilting her head and staring at the package with an expression equal parts diabolical and cunning. She looked at him and smiled.

"Daddy, I think I have an idea."


Gumshoe stood in the middle of Phoenix's makeshift living room with an extremely nervous expression on his face.

"Don't worry, detective, we'll mourn you."

"Go out with a bang! Like a man!"

"It's okay Mr. Gumshoe, if you disappear, I'll pull you out of my panties!"

Miles had himself an inner laugh as he watched the rest of them, along with him, inched towards the wall for safety, away from Gumshoe, who they had all unanimously appointed as the Person To Open The Package. And of course, Gumshoe couldn't refuse, because he never stood a chance against the barrage of reasons pouring from all of them clamoring that he would be the best candidate to open the package.

Of course, Miles was still worried about the package. Ideally, he would have pulled some strings to get the forensics team onto the job, but Phoenix's argument was not without reason, and even though it pains him to say it, he didn't want innocent people to be dragged into the mess and got blown into bits because he was a coward. Of course, Gumshoe opening it wasn't exactly a fool-proof way of dealing with it – on the contrary, it was actually very dangerous. But somehow, the pass week had relaxed him a little – he wasn't that pent up or stressed any more, and he found himself being more wistful. More optimistic.

Maybe being around Phoenix was therapeutic.

Gumshoe on the other hand, obviously disagreed with the notion. But perhaps he should receive a reward for that fool bravery of his.

"Look, detective, if you do it, and live, I'll put in a word for you to get your salary raised back, alright?"

This clinched it, and Gumshoe looked at him with a blazing sort of gaze, going "Alright, sir!"

He tackled the parcel, peeling the brown paper off it to reveal a box.

Then the box went away too, and all was left was a black, squarish metal casing with a green light in the middle.

He didn't recognize exactly what it was, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what it could be. A tremor ran down his spine. Beside him, Trucy gasped and grabbed onto Phoenix's shirt. Even Armando seemed to understand how serious the situation was – he put down his coffee cup.

"Ah, looks like we're really going out in a bang, huh?" he said. He righted his mask.

"Daddy, is that...what I think it is?"

Phoenix had gone dead silent, his face was expressionless. Everyone stood there in silence,even Miles, as though waiting for him to say something, to panic, or shout, or anything – like a gunshot to mark the beginning of a race, perhaps against time.

His tongue darted out a little to wet his lips, but his eyes were motionless, staring straight at the black casing.

"Everybody out."

That sent everyone straight into a frenzy – Armando immediately grabbed onto Trucy and pulled her towards the doorway, Trucy screaming a high pitched scream that she wanted to stay with her daddy, hitting out at Diego – Gumshoe went into panic mode, and started running around in circles. Phoenix remained standing there.

"Wright." He grabbed onto Phoenix's arm. "We have to get out of here, now."

"No, I can-I can try to defuse it. Or something. Maybe I can find somewhere to throw it into--"

"You're not thinking coherently, Phoenix, that thing could explode at any minute. We don't even know if it's timed or if it's gonna blow right now. We have to get out of here, NOW PHOENIX!" He added in a shout when all Phoenix would do is stand there and stare at the box.

"But I'm the reason it was sent here! I-if it hurt anyone I'm never going to forgive myself," he added in a whisper - his arm jerked under Miles' clutching hand, a spasmodic reaction of his body.

"And it won't hurt anyone if you just -DETECTIVE, CAN YOU PLEASE GET OUT OF THIS ROOM RIGHT NOW? - leave. Now." He started tugging at his arm. He HAD to get that fool out of here – that idiot seemed to have gotten some stupid idea in his head that he could somehow do something about the – the word sent another chill down his spine – bomb.

"But we don't know how powerful the bomb is – It could blow the whole damned building down!" Having made a decision, Phoenix made a mad rush at the bomb, and Miles had barely any time to restrain him, holding onto his shirt with all his nails biting into it.

"STOP, THAT PHOENIX WE HAVE TO--"

click.

"--get...get out."

Funny how you can be shouting, and something so silent can still be heard. The green colour had turned red and started flashing ominously, and even though it was afternoon and the room was well lit, it glowered over the room, turning it red as it flashed in a steady beat.

"...SHIT."

This time he didn't waste any time trying to talk sense into Phoenix, who was still rooted onto the spot. He had to move. Now.

He pulled Phoenix with him as he threw himself towards the door, one hand twisted into the fabric of his shirt and his other flailing at the door – then clutching both, he fell into the hallway outside – just in time for the door to slam shut and a resounding blast announced itself from the other side of the wall. The shockwave was so tremendous that it sent the both of them -wall in between or not – crashing into the hallway's wall.

The last thing he knew was a thud as he dropped onto the ground and Phoenix's stunned face beside him.


"Uncle Miles, are you okay?" Someone was shaking him. Someone small, maybe a kid.

He wanted to slap the person.

"Uncle Miles?" That someone was shaking him again.

"G-go away." he croaked. This someone was starting to annoy him. Can't she/he tell that he was having a headache from... From what? Had he been drinking?

Miles groggily tried to open his eyes. His head was pounding like a boom box turned on maximum volume. Was this how Phoenix had felt when he fell from the ceiling?

Wait, Phoenix?

Phoenix!

He struggled into a sitting position, nearly knocking Trucy over in the progress.

"He's okay!" She squealed down the hallway. "How's daddy, uncle Diego?"

Armando's head poked from around the corner. "He's fine! Just a tiny dent in an otherwise shiny forehead!"

Some scuffling was heard.

"OUCH! CUT THAT OUT, DIEGO, THAT HURTS!" Phoenix's voice hissed.

Miles breathed a sound of relief. If he could be shouting that loud, he obviously was okay. He looked around to survey the extent of the damage to the place.

From what he COULD see, the hallway itself wasn't damaged much, further down a little, where the door to the room was, he could see that the door had been blown completely off it's hinge and was now lying in two pieces. It was splattered all over with drops of red.

He gasped, turning at Trucy. "Why is there that red...colour? Did someone- Did someone not make it out in time?"

Phoenix and Diego was accounted for, so did that mean Gumshoe-- he crumpled a little at the thought. But he got out! He saw him! Was there another explosion?

"Don't worry uncle Miles, everyone's okay. Uncle Diego, daddy and the detective are all in the other office."

"I...I see." he breathed out shakily. "Then what are those stains?"

"I don't know, we haven't had time to check it out. Daddy only just woke up, and the detective is still out. Uncle Diego said it'd be better to check it out when you guys are up too."

Why hadn't Diego notice the red splotches anyway?

He nodded wheezily, the pulled himself up. "I think..I think I'll check it out."

"Will you be okay?" She frowned up at him.

"I'll be fine."

He shakily stumbled down the hallway with Trucy looking after him with a worried expression. His whole body hurt, but he wanted -no, needed to find out what had happened and what were those stains. He never liked surprises in the first place – and if these were the kind of surprises deKiller had, he wasn't sure he wanted any more.

He knelt down and put a finger into the red stains. It was sticky and wet. Paint?

He stared in wonder at the red paint – yes, it was definitely red paint – but why on Earth would there be red paint here. He turned around and looked into the room – it answered his question.

What formerly had been a cheerful, albeit crammed and uncomfortable room had been transformed into a sea of red – or red paint, to be precise. The walls, the furniture – even the television was covered in a coat of heavy, sticky paint. The only exception was the window paint that had partially slid off it and the the black casing sitting in the middle of the room– or at least, what remained of it anyway. Most of it's outer part was now embedded on the wall as shrapnel. The only thing left was a tiny card stuck in part of the bomb's core.

Miles didn't even have to look to know what it was – it was obviously deKiller's trademark card – but he walked towards it and bent over to pick it up anyway. He didn't know why he did it, but he felt propelled to.

Sure as sure can be, it was a pink shell printed on white card. Except on it, was written two words in slanting black writing : "Without Prejudice"

"What does that mean?" a voice beside him asked. He looked. It was Phoenix, standing beside him with a solemn expression.

He looked down at the card.

"I don't know."

They both stared out at the window, where most of the paint had slipped off, revealing a surprisingly clean glass and a clear day outside.

"But if I were to guess?" He looked up at Phoenix and smiled. "I think it means...We're forgiven."

Phoenix slipped his hand into Miles, and they stood there, holding the card between them and looking out at the ordinary, nothing-special sky.

Everything was okay.

That was all they needed to know.


Opposite the building, in a room that years ago had housed one Redd White and April May, Shelly deKiller snapped his telescope shut with a defining click. Well, that went well, he thought, and threw the remote he had been holding on the table.

It had been Shelly's idea of a pun of sorts, to blow a bomb filled with paint in Phoenix Wright's house. He had thought long and hard about it, and had decided that as long as he was a deKiller, he wouldn't taint it by being dishonourable and going back on his word. Yet he didn't want to kill Wright – he had a charm about him that made him easy to like, and he was not a bad person, even if he DID went back on his word – so he had decided that he WOULD punish him, just not in the conventional manner - and so he had sent him the bomb and made sure that they had enough time to get out of the way. Even if it had hit, it probably wouldn't have killed them anyway. They'll just be...very red.

Now that the bomb had exploded and left Wright's living room a mess though, he had something else to do : DeKiller had to die. Rather, the name had to die. He had come to that decision when he was done considering the whole mess. The name had never done any good for anyone, but it would now.

He looked at the "will" he had prepared, a document stating that all of the money in his official deKiller bank account would be surrendered to a charity association, and felt a stab of self-doubt.

This was what he had spent his whole life achieving. That, and the deKiller honour's preservation. Was it right, what he was doing?

No, that was not the question. Rather, would he regret it?

He put the paper down, then look back across the street at the two men standing side by side, looking up at the sky and he felt the urge too, to look up at the sky.

And that was when he decided – because of Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright, and the way their hands met and their face had a contented smile curled on it. In a sudden rush, he took the document and put pen to paper, signing his name there.

The killer would rest.


Note : Yes, this IS the last chapter. But I think I'll make an epilogue though, to clear things up a little. I could include everything in this chapter, but I've a fondness for this kind of endings, in case you hadn't notice. So yes, in a way, I lied. Again. (I need to start making my mind up properly before saying something.)