Chief Prosecutor's Office
September 7 10:25 a.m.
If only time would be so kindly to oblige him the opportunity to freeze itself and allow a hot serving of relaxing refined tea or perhaps a numbing of the world's fine class wine. Still prior to breaking the arrival of the noon, the day entered the realm of bizarre. The myriad of incoming phone calls caused the blear and clamor from his desk to recess his current line of questioning with his recent victim of kidnapping. All of them informing Edgeworth of either the recent crime scenes days prior or of any information regarding visitors or upcoming news of the prosecutor's office. The nuisance halted as his finger pressed directly to the line connecting him to the receptionist to hold off any guests inbound to leave the chief office undisturbed.
As the calamity ceased and his bearings inwardly accessed him to refresh his interrogation on Maggey, once more his gaze passed the gray curtains of his sundered fringed bangs on the foreign object in her hands. Small, black, and metallic - the weapon wrapped diligently in transparent plastic confines. In a flat equilateral square, the silencing attachable accessory laid bare side by side to the body of the gun near the dark ominous trigger. This foreign object barely allowed for the security staff to withhold upon their holsters without a safety switch, at the moment joshed the prosecutor to acquire all of his attention.
The weapon remained elevated as a meek offering towards a pharaoh, Maggey managed only to glance with woebegone eyes as the prosecutor finally removed himself from the boundary of his large mahogany desk. Steely grays fierce, though lacked the consistency of his own hand. The pellucid barrier molded with his palm along with cleaved cold black merciless metal. Maggey retreated her hand back to cascading her own arm, unwilling to exchange another despondent offer.
'Figure it out yourself…'
The grumbling metallic hissing echo manifested itself in the dormant section of his brain, crawling forth as a black widow to scratching his inner ear canal. He grimaced grotesquely to himself, shameful. The possibility of capturing this criminal with definitive painless difficulty, yet the quake rumbling violations into his feet and snaking convulsions to his spine from momentous demonic cackling, caused his entire being to submit and crimp on himself to where his chin easily cuddled to the magenta covered knees. Compacted darkness absorbed his vision along with dense air pinching his lungs to hyperventilation as cold sweat trickled his forehead and disrupted the fringe. Measuring at about several diminutive shakes as to not cause another earth shattering episode along with a tiny assuring pep talk from the detective, lure the suffocating shadows away. Subsequently, his lain slackened limbs rested against the gelid reinforced walls of the forensic outer labs. Retreating catatonic lackadaisical blur, though laborious in concentration, tolerated the shared care the detective extended towards the forensic investigator currently tumble wrapped in a white lab coat.
'It was one on TWO for Pete's sake!'
Gumshoe's excuse of allowing the perpetrator to run scotfree deemed plausible for the unknown whereabouts of his wife's welfare. On Edgeworth's defense, it effervesced into a appalling ignominy of a past phobia up to this contemporary time of his age that remained stained and harbored into his being. If it were not for the insentient forensic investigator, it would have been not two, but three witnesses to pay heed on the prosecutor's humilating exposure in a crumpled pill bug's defensive fetal position.
Managing to reconstruct his shattered bearings, the prosecutor recuperated within the hour. The discriminant coolant of fountain water gurgling straight into the styrofoam cup of the forensic lab front desk served as the solitary beverage and item of the night to remain cold excluding the death glare served behind metal and onyx glass. After breaching her own consciousness to the surface and the mental shattering reality struck her reverie to pulverized dust, the forensic investigator refused to abandon her post. Ensnared and cornered within her own working office, Ema Skye implicitly abided, scarcely vacating her once safe haven and sanctuary of science to consistent over shoulder cranes and triple double takes upon just using the lavatory. How she found nourishment within the time frame of the night to the morning was beyond him. The likelihood of stress eating on her precious snack may be a sort of unbalancing substitute.
His pursuit on Ema Skye's encounter with this 'inhuman' criminal was temporarily suspended until he deemed her temperament and voluntary accountability to be manageable. Miles Edgeworth did not fathom the hazard of her account to this kleptomaniac capable of morphing or shifting their physical being of how she depicted. The only logical explanation this person could have offered the burlesque of these grotesque features she portrayed, this stealthy swindler's mask perhaps perceived the shape of what the forensic investigator had encountered. There was not an ounce of doubt that this intruder had in fact threatened Ms. Skye with terminating her young life upon her own working bench; however, investigator Skye is well endowed by whatever sought itself to her as the macabre was authentic and lively as any other living creature. Sympathy was not the prosecutor's forte, but empathy could understably subsidize. The human mind could manage to project these horrific images during the thought or at the brink death. Fortunately for him, no homicide had taken refuge in the forensic labs, less there be a fatal casualty count of one or more staff members.
In order to compensate for the unlawful acts of thievery of this unknown assailant, for the kidnapping of Mrs. Gumshoe, and not to mention his predicament of instilling the same unambiguous grace as an apprehensive armadillo, Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth devised that every available lead be obtained and analyzed as soon as possible. From witness testimonies, to possible surveillance, and any form of evidence to identify this malfeasant pheasant.
The investigation for Wright's attacker, which he had taken the investigation underwing himself, unfortunately was hindered by crucial evidence now absent. Ema Skye's investigations trailed at the reluctant fearful pace of a sleep deprived sloth and a free roaming unsolved attacker of a similar circumstance caused hospitalization of two people. Within the week, Los Angeles in the prosecutor's office, forensic labs, and city streets are nearly in the red zone. Attaining the authority to withhold the curfew hours earlier in regards to the people's safety, he computed the fatalities be decreased until further inspection or notice. More likely an adverse procedure by the department of police and prosecutor's office to the public populace, it is better to be safe than sorry.
The palette on the list was occupying an extensive amount of space and the perpetual unresolved incidents displayed on his desk failed to cease cascading. Within the week, the first incident transpired when the unresolved attacker of a so called Michael Powell was rendered into coma. Whether medically induced or concomitant eventuality due to his prolonged deprivation, it failed to produce a feasible lead onto whom was responsible on the night of the confrontation. The solitary suspect of the time, Ms. Regina F. Spectre, was subsequently tried in court with prosecutor Gaspen Payne residing. On the subject matter, Edgeworth was proceeding on envisaging Human Resources on how this Payne managed to crawl his way back into the bowels of the court system of Los Angeles. Envisioning it now, narrowly one year ago he discharged prosecutor Gaspen Payne on the grounds of scheming manipulative strategies to favour the court with either forged evidence in order for the ends to justify his means. Acknowledging the same creton was within the very building working alongside the prosecutors once more was revolting. He noted that Payne be dismissed once more whether he was present in the prosecutor's office or not.
Venturing off his side note, Edgeworth ordered a rigorous search of the area in hopes of capturing this unleashed suspect. Serving on behalf of Ms. Spectre, Wright played role as his usual title enabled him, to defend. Relinquishing his client on her charges as he accomplished countless times before, Wright returned to his office that very same night. And in that particular evening, his childhood best friend fell victim to a similar assault in a nearly identical mishap. As soon as the news swerved its way to the prosecutor's attention that the Wright Anything Agency had suffered a sudden break in, it had indeed stirred the Chief Prosecutor into a agonizing fervor. However, the inclusive information that not only breaking and entering had transpired, but that Wright was a victim of an incursion, the mint condition rubber of his wine red sport car tires smirched the black tar terrain as the squealing escorted him to Hickfield Clinic.
The brief investigation abruptly swept by the chief's team along with the detective concluded nothing purloined amidst the wreckage of magician props that had belonged to the cofounder of the the Agency, numerous case files and law books that were strangely outdated by a decade. Edgeworth concluded that they may have be owned by the previous founder of the Law Office he had faced in court many years ago, Mia Fey, for sentimental value. Among the chaos, none of the inventory had been misplaced or looted in the heist. This had been devised as a deliberate attack, the reason - an enigma.
Disputable with reason, the person liable for these occurrences paid repercussion for Wright's defense for his client. Plausible, though without tangible evidence, this assumption in motive would be purely based on conjecture. His reluctant opposition to withdraw his investigative team from the building where the office was located repeated once more in his head. Perhaps refusing Wright's proposal, he might have discovered a missing link or a piece. Yet, if the lumpy detective and officers in the premises did not divulge any suspicious object, exclusive of the foreign substance that intermingled within Wright's slain posture, then there would be nothing left to salvage. Then again, well aware of the detective's reputation on somehow overlooking a suspicious nook and cranny, there was bound to be something missing.
If Wright had not recovered the next day, a manhunt of insurmountable proportions would cause the entire police force to depart from what they were currently working and out onto the streets to find this murderer. Assuaged on the news his lawyer friend convalesced and was even discharged the very same day he had been admitted into the clinic had decommissioned retribution to mere the search for justice. Dejectedly, the only corroboration retrieved was the unidentifiable foreign substance that caked next to Wright's inert small sanguine puddle. This very vial he had collaborated with Ema Skye along with her lab enclosed colleagues to manifest what this peculiar substance's identity. Reconvening with her, the analysis demonstrated that the material had been concocted biologically, but no traits of it being formed by a human being. Her team underwent several more tests to characterize what the viscous fluid could possibly be. Organically made could range from an amalgam of numerous sources. He was definitely no botanist or animal specialist, but venom from a certain animal or even a concoction of several poisonous fungi or plants could create a hazardous brew of a weapon. He has seen several cases of poisoning prior, but the lead cause to Wright's hospitalization was due to oxygen deprivation along with several lacerations upon the interior of the throat, not poisoning. The very presence of the substance being at the scene of the crime is arbitrary. Though with the unknown peculated from right under their noses including the analysis, the substance should have some sort of value or essential significance if this person would embrace the audacity and fortitude to enter and the forensic labs and snatch the treasure buried within highly secured walls.
This notion boggled the prosecutor. If someone were to enter the forensic labs, exclusive to detectives, doctors, prosecutors and investigators, forensic or non, how could this masked plague doctor enter so swiftly and easily undetected? Foul play has never been a stranger that strapped heftily onto his shoulders or the court systems in general. The shadow that lingered, the overbearing darkness that had loomed over the law for seven long years was thought to have been swept away as every dark night to a rising dawn. Rapid as the day, dusk appeared to be reconvening where it had once started with a vengeance. It never struck his mind swiftly, but to inform the Chief of Forensics and Pathology impeded a hail storm of hellfire meteors about to wallop the office when she uncovers the truth that someone had barged in unwantedly. That fragment of news deemed less precedent then the various crime sprees running rampant across Los Angeles. The Chief of Police and security may help examine into how this masked menace entered.
The earlier barrage of phone calls he ceased at the line were numerous oncoming details of the crime scene that preceded on the night of the fifth. Unable to examine himself at the instant, teams already took it upon themselves to investigate the night where the possibility of not one, not two, but three crimes had befallen. One of which, he was currently halted by the return of Maggey Byrde. This birdman was undoubtedly entangled in this streak, principally on the night of the fifth. Like a magician prepared to demonstrate a classic act, the curtain of black unveiled Mrs. Gumshoe, clasped in a manner of how a feather would be held to prevent indentations. The black bird warned the detective and prosecutor to not pursue him or what had occurred that night. That night two screams were audible in the dark valley of city buildings. Alongside with Maggey, there was one more victim. To whom the screamed belonged to, it was yet to be known by him.
Mrs. Gumshoe was not the solitary person who had vanished. From the incoming calls, there was yet other people who had been whisked to sudden non-existence. In accuracy, as well as the consideration of Maggey, there was a aggregate of four citizens that went AWOL. The first determined person being related to Ema Skye's case, estimating the date between the third and fourth of September. The chaotic quandary of a scene may regrettably be a mortality by what Ema summarized what had ensued in the case file description and court record. Next being his present guest dolefully basking her glance opposite to his direction. To the misfortune of the turmoil frothing in the city, their prosperity of descrying her alive and well, she is lucky to be breathing. Notorious for her name, the Goddess of Misfortune is very much vivacious though saddled disconsolate in the prosecutor's guest chair. As copious as a paparazzi, the calls also informed the Chief Prosecutor that there had two other missing people the night of the fifth. One of them being an employee who had never returned a registered vehicle under the company, which may have perhaps initiated the search instead of the well being of their staff member. The other was unknown to him at the time being.
Observing her now, Maggey was left deliberately alive. He may have not integrated himself into the phone calls yet, but what he could divine from the situation: she was merely a distraction. A diversion romped by capering Maggey as a trump card. The situation obligated the detective and prosecutor to pay heed on this stranger's words utilized perhaps the true culprit behind these formulated acts. There was one more personage gliding alongside in the backcloth. Edgeworth nearly felt the nerves bunch in his shoulder as if a looming subconscious joke reminding him of people who love to steal the truth. The idea of another trio landed on the category of undesired. However, one variable that does not incorporate to the congregate to these past scenes at all.
Within his very grip, lied a weapon enhanced with the whistle blowing emitter of a silencer wrapped in sealed plastic. Admittedly, this firearm had been operated just by roving over. Lining desecrated heedlessly in a few scratches, notably on the black textured handle gripper. What sort of sick game was this man playing? Leaving a weapon like this? A ploy? Some sort of devilish reminder? A distraction?
Comically, the overbearing pile and ridiculous situation manifested the fantasy of a chess game, pawns aligning equidistant from one another in their favourable and accurate spacing. The rook has made its move. The true opponent, the one designating the positions of the pawns, he was facing is still hidden within the shadows. The obscured dark matter fingertips skated the pawns across the black and white checker patterned board tacitly. A broad grin of this opponent anticipated for the prosecutor to make a move, heavily awaiting to arbitrarily spare or devour his next piece. For someone as himself, an adept dextrous to this classical game of history which he grew quite fond of, chess is merely a representation of a tactician meticulously and strategically assigning their infantry in war. The game merely begun without him being aware of it much sooner, viciously clouting the rug from under his feet. This rook could have taken Maggey, but spared her life. Perhaps out of pity for the opponent or advantageous movement in the future abided to the unrevealed. This mastermind caught him in a blitzkrieg, rendering most of the pawns to be distracted by other casualties and losses. An experienced player is endowed that a rook is most powerful as an end game piece, effective when castling with a king. The heavy piece has made two moves so far that are discerned, but yet to eliminate any people from the board. The second heavy piece is still out there, awaiting for their move. The notion of this birdman however, may land his post as a minor piece as a simple bishop or knight. Concurring with the recent crime scenes, the major pieces may have yet to be alluded. With the prosecutor's office diminishing in opacity and most of the police force amorphously out, the intuition that this person is converging in proximity for a checkmate is beyond imminent. The moves previously sought by moonless pieces. Edgeworth willed himself to make a move pronto. In order to recuperate and compensate the losses, he obliged to utilize every available asset left. With the Goddess of Misfortune spared, this was the first intention of doing so. Sadly, with as much on the plate, he only had so many competent detectives and prosecutors. Ignobly timorous, the chief noted the necessity of assistance and soon.
The sealed weapon swathed compactly like peppermint candy to preserve its ingenuity remained rigid as ever. This article was now a relatively new piece of evidence. Whether it was a thrown bone or message, the riddle would be cracked regardless. It was not his occupation to examine it himself, but the forensics to check every detail and conspicuous use of this firearm. This time, the confrontation with forensic lab associates will be personal. The detective and hisself were going to accompany their new evidence in order for the consideration of another feeble attempt of disruption to be swiftly dismissed under his watchful eye. Maggey's interrogation may lead to some sort of convoluted path, as ever, there is no direct line to gathering information as his life occupation on delving to discovering the truth always had been. On the other hand, this otherworldly oddity on the treatment of Mrs. Gumshoe is baffling to the prosecutor. Why she continues to berate herself may be an alloy of several reasons. He may not be a counselor, but it could not have been a threatening remark the man stabbed into her heart, but something else. This consternation may travel onto the detective if all the spicy and colorful details unraveled. Surely the detective would be an immovable object against an unstoppable force with her own investigation. Though, according to policy and the law, the detective is incapable of usurping the case of Maggey's abduction due to marital and familial affairs. Shifting Detective Gumshoe's focus back to any other case on the list is a much for suitable substitute. Perhaps the night of the fifth may deem plausible with a more determined ferocity to search for evidence due to the perpetrator's involvement.
The magenta trousers basked by one another as the prosecutor made his way towards the door. His careful fingers barely edging to the rim of the door before the wood bent entirely. The gold metal door handle kissed the wall, creating an indented hickey against the prosecutor's finely designed walls.
"Sir! Yes, sir!" He saluted violently, erecting his bear paw up to his forehead.
The prosecutor's lips glided against themselves as the door agonizingly creaked backwards, revealing the brand new imprint against the Chief Prosecutor's office.
"Is Maggey okay, sir?! He didn't hurt her, did he?! I swear this guy will be brought to justice in handcuffs!" The lumpy detective continued to hammer the nail. "I'm going to head to down to the station to make this investigation is at the top of the list!"
'If only the wall could feel the same relief…'
"Detective…" The prosecutor unfolded the gun that could have nearly went off by the sheer force ricocheting from the wind speed and door the detective so kindly invited himself in.
The detective eyeballed the pitch gun before running his hand over his hair, "that's not my gun is it? I don't remember leaving that here."
"No. Should I be worried that you leave your gun outside of your holster?"
"No way! It's always on safety mode. Maggey is all about safety." He giggled to himself.
"It was given to me." Maggey muttered, her brown fringe peeking from the corner.
"By who?"
"Our masked assailant from a few nights ago," the prosecutor announced.
"Why didn't you give it to me?" The detective wobbled over like a child who scathed their knee.
'Maggey probably knows your knack of carelessly handling something like this… however, that is an interesting notion.'
"I wanted to make sure it landed in Edgeworth's hands. He said to hand it to the prosecutor in red before letting me go." Her acquiesced testimony tumbled forward.
"It's more onto a shade of red wine." Edgeworth irritatedly tapped his bicep. 'At least have the audacity to correctly point that out. Perhaps taking off those black goggles would have identified not only you, but the right color!'
"Regardless, we have been given this gun for reason that has yet to be determined."
"Why would that guy give us a gun? It makes no sense."
"I must agree that handing this gun is questionable. Whether if this is a farce or a sort of clue for a puzzle is yet to be found out."
"Kind of reminds you of something, doesn't it?" The lump detective chuckled.
"Yes…" Edgeworth receded.
"That's weird." The detective broke from his bubble, "this metal piece here is a silencer. It's good when you don't have to put on the ear muffs at the training range."
'At least we are aware that the detective knows how to properly use a gun instead of shooting himself in the foot… not that I've seen him actually use one.'
"Shouldn't the silencer be on the gun, sir? I don't remember hearing any shooting that night."
"Perhaps the silencer was on?" Edgeworth added with snide. "So far, I am unaware that this weapon has been used at all during this night."
"But it's off the gun now."
"Perhaps to package it more accordingly?"
"Should I crack open this cold case with the boys at the scene?"
"No detective."
"But sir, we have to catch this guy quick! He's dangerous and he already took Maggey!"
"That is exactly my point. You cannot get involved with the case regarding Maggey. I'll have you assigned to the other scenes of that night. There's bound to be a correlation between the two."
"Awww!" The detective shriveled in place.
"I'll be tackling the case, along with one that occurred at the Wright Anything Agency."
"I guess I don't have to worry. We've got the best on the job." The detective deterred, "I wonder how he's doing anyway?"
'I wonder on his condition myself.' Edgeworth noted, though a simple visit would be wasteful.
"...!"
Edgeworth endured the spectacle of the detective quiver within his trenchcoat. The tiny tremor creeping over his back and into his feet. The glossy white orbs entrapped within his own stupor.
"Detective, what is it?"
"I don't know…" Gumshoe quickly shook off the torpor, "I felt… a chill."
"...?"
"You're taking me out of that case, but I won't let you down on the other ones." Gumshoe exchanged to the side. "Though, it's going to be hard. We're kind of short staff for all these cases."
'Unfortunately, the detective is right…' Edgeworth grimaced. 'The cost of eliminating the corrupted has nearly placed the prosecutor's office 5 to 1.'
Save for several small time prosecutors, for example Gaspen Payne's questionably unpolluted brother as of yet, Winston Payne, who partakes in less prioritized cases, Simon Blackquill, Klavier Gavin and himself, the office space had numerous vacant spaces. Quite the conundrum that Prosecutor Blackquill has yet to return from his sudden dismissal these past several days. There were prosecutors outside of the country, but the urgency required them to be at the premises now or they were currently unavailable, overloaded with their own cases. The detectives were preoccupied as well in their our turmoils or trepidations, which were the base requirement to formulate the cases.
Formulation was indeed a requirement. With little to no evidence on the first coalescing case that commenced the uprise of this spree, Wright's case was yet to be completed. The legal documentation regarding the case remained in Wright's possession, yet to be completed. It is a start on targeting and pinpointing unlinked inconsistency of the circumstances. Better yet, the sole eye witness and thought to be suspect is one lead that may assist. Approaching this case along Wright may quicken the pace, then again, it cannot be done for Edgeworth's second case. Ergo Wright himself is the victim thus cannot investigate his own crime, but could accommodate the first case.
The name certainly imprinted an impression on the Chief Prosecutor. Reminiscing now, several nights ago, he received an invitation to a dinner party. Numerous high officials, city VIPs and politics were invited. The hostess being Ms. Spectre. The title of Chief does convey perks here and there with some city officials, though this one could not attend. His hands tied with several unsolved MIAs and possible homicides made the celebration impossible. Locating her in general, may be a hassle due to social status. Nevertheless, it will be done.
"Mr. Edgeworth… you have visitors."
The prosecutor sighed in vexation. His finger pressing onto the desk phone for the call, "I requested no one interrupt or enter my office."
He released unwilling to allow another syllable to reach his ears unless it is within the very confines of the Chief Prosecutor's office.
"Maggey…" His titanic voice managed to attain the same intensity as a mouse.
His presence huddled over like a shadow, greeting her somber face in fringed eyes. Meeting her forward, his knee beckoned forth, proposing to her conservation on the grand guest chair. The beige coat drenched the dark floor, cradling the ankles of the chair with its sandy edges as his knees inched from her planted feet. Armrests absent of hers, his hefty hands reimbursed the neglect, warming the cool sanguine cushion. No longer did she cradle her own arms, lying strengthless to her side. As much as he desired to reestablish the connection in her dark brown eyes, he could not muster the strength. The link somehow severed, her silent stare down at him could not touch his. It ached in his chest despite peering up at his wife, there was but gelid amputation. The dark pupils from the detective played snake and mouse with hers, but he knew she gazed at either his nose, forehead or cheeks, unwilling to attach to his desperate chasing ones. Married to her for years, aware of her inside and out intimately and she never displayed foreboding isolation besides to herself loathing on the circumstances she believes she somehow evinces.
Reconvening two nights ago, she cradled flesh and blood to her breast, comforting them as she conducted numerous times with care and loving. A bastion that rendered the nuisance of being a harbinger of Misfortune to cleanse her well being and sublime to a higher quality form of energy. The life sprouted to their face as one of the first faces to ever appear in their lives had once more returned to them safe and sound. The peace of mind that his wife was no longer in short term danger prompted the comfort of him heading back to work under the prosecutor to settle the score. When he returned the same evening, she featured nothing but silence, distilled of her vivacity. She did not confirm the idea of handing the weapon to him nor showed any indication she ever would.
'Maybe she's like this because she's still scared! She probably has that PSTD! No. I don't think that's spelled like that…DTSP?'
"Is there something wrong, Maggey? How come you didn't give it to me?"
"It's how it's meant to be. How everything should be played." She responded distantly with the sensitivity of foam. Her fingers stealthily extended to his jaw, trailing downward through the scruff and at his neck. Her touch inching downward, picking his bear dome closer to hers by the napes of his throat.
"I'm sorry, Dick." She muttered despondently.
"What are you talking about?"
She was doing so well before. Why today this suddenly coldness from his wife were the bulwark of warmth of love came from? Why hide from him?
"Whatever this guy did will pay! I promise. I'll make sure Mr. Edgeworth gets him real good!"
"I sure hope you do get the right person." She spoke, releasing him. "I believe Edgeworth will, too."
Edgeworth curiously eyed Maggey, then the unsheathed weapon in his grip. "First things first, we must bring this gun to be analyzed. I will be bring it personally to Investigator Skye." He crossed his arms, "hopefully she will have recovered from the vagabond."
The menacing weapon taunted once more, readily aware that this utensil was about to find some sort of route to solving either one of these scenes one way or the other..
'If that is how you want to play hardball, I'm game…'
"...!"
Once more, the frigid tremors erupted the detective's spine, causing both Edgeworth and Maggey to eye him suspiciously.
"Detective, is there something you want discuss?" Edgeworth observed the near visible goosebump raising and hair raising wobbling emanating even upon his clothing.
"I'm not coming down with a cold. At least, I don't think so." Gumshoe managed to catch his balance. "I feel… like something bad is going to happen."
"Unless the Oracle of Delphi is speaking with you directly, then humor me to speak with Pythia and conjure some prophecy…"
The door stirred a muffled cry, a laugh and partial scuffle. A deep voice and a higher voice throwing back and forth behind the wood. Edgeworth eyed the hidden commotion before the door cracked open. The detective and chief prosecutor both stilled as a snowy white emerged from the darkened silhouette adorning an eerie smile. The person's black gloved hand gripped the golden contrasting door handle before slamming the door hard on his face in pure annoyance. The person's stride full or class and overbearing confidence as she greeted her sibling and long lost lumpy detective properly and accordingly.
"Hello, little brother..."
Guess who's back!
-Purple Hooded Angel:
I hope you get better. Certain vaccinations hurt more than others, but the benefit is there. Schools do that now, especially for safety, but you'll be fine!
