A few minutes before the trial was to begin, prosecutor Blackquill had decided to run over the facts for detective Foolbright once more. It was an incredibly open and shut case— much like the previous one was, but it'd been overturned in the defense's favor somehow— and Blackquill was looking for a flawless first few words to absolutely crumble the defense's resolve.
It was fairly unlike other prosecutors and detectives to behave the way these two did, with Blackquill giving his 'babysitter' instructions on how to testify to the court. Foolbright was quick to be whipped into shape by Blackquill's 'twagic backstowy', though, which made him remotely more bearable to be around. Most other detectives were either too submissive and meek for his liking, or completely unreasonable, and Foolbright was a strange in between. He still got on Blackquill's nerves, but not as much as the other fools from the precinct.
Blackquill had crossed his arms, thoroughly displeased as he'd watched Foolbright eagerly munch down some lunch right in front of him. He'd been doing it the whole time Blackquill was talking; he acted like some soldier who had just been given a ration for the first time in two days. He ate without any sort of care for the flavor, or the savoring of the ingredients that made up his lunch. Which wouldn't've been strikingly odd to Blackquill if it'd only happened now— because Foolbright had felt pressure to get his lunch done in lieu of the quickly approaching call into the courtroom— but he always ate like that.
If Blackquill had dared to squander such meals like that in prison, he surely would've had his head cut off by the prison chef, but that's far from his main concern. Foolbright's eyes were clearly eagerly locked on him, and he genuinely wasn't paying attention to his food, but Blackquill grimaced at the idea of the detective's priorities being with his food rather than his testimony.
"Foolbright," Blackquill would've slammed on a desk if he had one nearby, "I will not have you muddying your statements because you refuse to pay attention."
Foolbright startled at being scolded, and stopped eating for a moment to slump his shoulders and tap his two index fingers together like he was a child. Those puppy eyes were simply just pathetic.
Blackquill 'tsk'd'. "It is none of my concern if you skipped lunch or not. That was your own folly."
Foolbright swallowed harshly and kept up his puppy-eyes. Blackquill was about to continue on explaining the exact things Foolbright should be bringing up when he first enters the courtroom— the awl with the victim's blood and defendants fingerprints being especially critical— but then he saw Foolbright's eyes widen with sudden despair.
Foolbright croaked and gasped, grasping his hands around his neck. Blackquill watched, shocked for the briefest of seconds, as Foolbright clawed at his own throat. He had staggered off of the couch he'd just seconds ago sat on, peaceful and eating without a care in the world. He'd hunched over, not quite sure to do, distress etched onto his face. Blackquill wasn't either, until he realized that the other officers in the room were probably expecting him to do something because he was the closest. But what was he supposed to do?
Oh, yes, right.
"Turn around, you blasted fool!" Blackquill ordered, and Foolbright obeyed.
He hadn't done the Heimlich in a while. In fact, last time he did was when he was years ago in the clink, saving another prisoner's life when a guard had turned an eager blind eye to their suffering.
He knew he was doing it right when he'd grasped and pushed on all the right places, almost practically hefting this idiot detective in his arms. However, the obstacle refused to budge. Nothing wetly splattered onto the floor, and the detective passed up the opportunity to stop choking to death. He gave a few more, before Foolbright gasped and sputtered, full of air.
Nothing had come out, but he was breathing again.
He'd put Foolbright down, who coughed and sniffled furiously, waddling back onto the couch to rest. He flumped back onto it and tried to compose himself, whilst Blackquill stared him down with a new, even more vicious glare.
"Foolbright." Blackquill had begun darkly. "You did not just fake.." Blackquill had trailed off, however, when he noticed that with no hands around the detective's neck, now there was something very abundantly clear.
There was a small, thin groove in the skin, like Foolbright had just been strangled with wire or thread by an unseen assassin. Yet, the skin had not reddened or bruised whatsoever. He steeled his expression.
"Nevermind." Blackquill scoffed.
Foolbright pulled a hand through his hair, apparently thinking of something. Then, something sparked in his eyes, and he bawled loudly and openly.
"I knew it!" Foolbright had cried out, jubilantly and relieved. "There is hope for your rehabilitation! You saved me!"
"It is only because without you, I would have to bother to get a new, equally foolish detective. No more eating before court, unless you are expecting to repeat this farce."
"Of course! Food will never impede justice again!" Foolbright saluted.
After Athena (amongst others) had unmasked the Phantom, certain questions still remained. Blackquill had attempted to civilly (and to the best of his ability) manipulate the Phantom psychologically to draw out information, but ended up getting nowhere because the Phantom had completely collapsed into hysteria over their identity. The most they could get were incoherent blubbers or screams and terror-filled cries of mental anguish. While fulfilling in a 'sadistic' way, was not exactly what Blackquill was hoping to draw out of them. Oh yes, he enjoyed the screaming and crying of his mentor's murderer very much, but after so long of getting nothing but that, he was starting to feel less cruelly happy and more numbly annoyed.
If the interrogation continued like that, then investigation into the Phantom's previous victims and international heists would fall flat. Not to mention any details of the shadowy investigation the Phantom had worked for would also be lost to the electric chair they were eventually scheduled for. They would also lose all information the Phantom had about the imperative murder of Bobby Fulbright. Method, when, and where, all such things were critical to finally filling out and putting away his case file.
The Phantom simply couldn't talk.
But Phoenix Wright said that Fulbright Fulbright could.
Blackquill thought it was all hogwash, but the rest of the investigative force had completely been sold on the idea of bringing a Spirit Medium in to conjure up some spirit. Or, well, 'channel'. He'd gotten an earful from the small girl they'd brought in about the key vocabulary differences of spirit-related things. He'd simply stood there and smirked at the girl's audacity to lecture him.
'Pearl Fey', the girl was named, warned them that she might not immediately be able to channel the spirit of Bobby Fulbright, because she was not as good at spirit channeling as her 'big sister'. So, they sat in the interrogation room whilst Pearl conjured their spirit for them. Sorry. 'Channelled'.
Expecting no more than a parlor trick, Blackquill had stood, leaned up against the door whilst Pearl had taken a seat in one of the uncomfortable metal chairs. The ongoing wait just stirred Blackquill's apathy even more.
Blackquill thought at first that Pearl had just simply begun to stand up, which is why her figure grew larger. But instead, no, her figure grew broader and flattened out, her shoulders sharpened, and her face slowly shifted from dainty little teenage girl to a decently aged adult man. Blackquill kept himself from rubbing his eyes as he watched the slow, mystifying transformation in full. The clothes she wore had been baggy in anticipation for the channeling, and they just barely fit her now that she had practically transformed into a whole new person. Her hair blended and re-shaped itself, drifting from black to a dirty blonde that was short and pointed at the edges, and when she had opened her eyes again, they were an entirely different color.
Bobby Fulbright sat in that chair now. He looked around eagerly, then down at himself and at his hands, patting at his chest and stomach, like he were taking inventory on himself. Blackquill probably looked like some child at a magician's show, gawking at the display of impossibility before him.
"Bobby Fulbright at your service!" Fulbright saluted eagerly.
Blackquill was enraptured by the magic that he had absolutely nothing to say. He'd tried to compose himself faster, but Fulbright quickly dominated the situation seeing that there was no person to stop him from talking.
"It's been so long I almost forgot what being alive felt like!" Fulbright jumped up out of his chair and began to stretch. He laughed heartily. "Do you mind if I go get some air before we talk? I won't be long!"
"I don't- uh.." Blackquill mumbled. "Do as you please."
"Fantastic! I'll be right back!"
Fulbright had pushed past Blackquill, and through the door. As soon as it was closed, Blackquill heard the loud stamping of a man who was sprinting away. Though, it wasn't exactly the direction he'd expected.
Whatever. If he caused any trouble or fled, they could simply channel him again and handcuff him down. Let him do what he so pleased. Blackquill couldn't imagine forgetting what feeling alive was like, and dared to sympathize with the man's plight.
But then Fulbright took too long to come back, and that irritated Blackquill to the point of seeking him out. He headed the direction he'd heard the ghost go; to death row. He hoped to never see his old living quarters again, but if he had to get there to retrieve his second phantom, then so be it. He had no time for hide and seek.
Except, when he'd gotten there, all he saw instead was Bobby Fulbright wrestling with his impersonator. Hands clasped around the Phantom's neck and a feral desperation across Fulbright's face told Blackquill all he needed to know. Fulbright was not stronger than the Phantom— Blackquill had assumed— yet Fulbright's sheer murderous rage was enough to allow the dead detective to repeatedly smash the Phantom's head against the metal bed frame. The Phantom croaked pathetically, as Fulbright choked them out all the while.
"Foolbright, stop. Remove yourself from the Phantom. Contain your animosity until after we have gotten information out of them." Blackquill scolded half-heartedly.
The loud, continued clanging of skull on metal, and the roaring of two creatures in battle is what he was returned with. Well, he really did try. Can't say he didn't try, really. Blackquill stood there, a steely eye and level expression as he watched Fulbright lash with no remorse against his murderer.
Hearing the yelling and desperate screams of the Phantom (still using that detective's voice), guards came rushing in. They'd shoved Blackquill aside and dove into the cell to restrain the ex-detective.
"I'm delivering justice! Let go of me!" Fulbright had yowled, completely delusional sounding. He'd struggled against the guards, smearing the blood on his hands to their clothes.
"You could have done it more quietly." Blackquill rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.
Maybe if there hadn't been that accursed banging noise, this fool would've actually gotten away with it. He'd been too busy smashing the Phantom's skull to keep a steady hand over the other's throat.
The Phantom, bleeding profusely, scrambled further into their cell to obscure their face in darkness. Not that there was anything really to obscure, as Blackquill had allowed them the one mercy of keeping the black morphsuit mask they had underneath all of their other masks while in jail. A necessary 'mercy', because otherwise, they were even more hysterical.
The guards had to drag Fulbright back to the interrogation room kicking and screaming. In fact, he'd even broken out of police holds multiple times, sprinting back to go finish the job he'd started. Alas, here he now sat, handcuffed to the table for the sake of information. He pouted like he'd been told off for stealing a cookie from the cookie jar.
"Now that you've 'gotten some air'," Blackquill sat across from him, "I would like to ask you some questions about your murder."
"Of course!" He'd smiled suddenly, and saluted the best he could with his hands restrained. "But do you mind if I got some water? The afterlife is bone dry!"
"As much as I would like to release you so you could run off to act like an angry gorilla on our resident Phantom, I am afraid that for now you will have to stay here."
Fulbright scowled. It was as alien as it was expected to be. Blackquill caught that glint in his eyes, and it was one thing the Phantom had completely not thought to add to his own interpretation of the detective's scowl— absolute wild bloodlust.
"My first question will be about what you just did. How did you know where the Phantom was in the facility."
Fulbright's facade of stability instantly snapped. That wild rage in his eyes spread to his face, to wrinkle in disgust and anger.
"I was keeping my eye on them. I've kept an eye on them since they murdered me. I've had to watch as they sullied the name of justice using my face, my voice!" Fulbright grew louder. "They used me as their puppet, and all I could do was watch them! Using my identity to pretend to seek out justice! Talking about trusting justice, about upholding it!"
He'd had quickly gotten emotional. Veins popped on his hands and on his forehead as he'd fumed, face glowing.
"I managed, one time I managed to send a message, that- that thing in that mask wasn't me." Fulbright snarled ferociously.
Blackquill hadn't expected such animosity. After working for so long with his copy, and seeing him so bubbly and optimistic.. Was the Phantom's impersonation of Fulbright just that wrong, or was it the experience that had warped Fulbright into a mindset of pure, tunnel-visioned violence? Blackquill didn't blame him. He'd wanted to cut heads off for less, and what had happened to Fulbright was simply incomprehensibly angering. It was something no living man could ever properly understand.
"What was your message?" Blackquill tried to recall anything paranormal happening to the Phantom, but aside from that Yokai case, he drew a blank.
"You were there," Fulbright pointed at him, almost offended sounding, "don't you think it's strange how a man can choke on nothing?"
"He was not choking on food," Blackquill tried to recall the event, but it'd been so long now that he'd actually genuinely forgotten about it, "it was something else."
"There was a ring around his neck. I'd choked him and left a ring. So you'd see it wasn't actually skin. How did you-!?" Fulbright sputtered, exasperated. He tried to collect himself.
Blackquill figured it had slipped his mind after the trial's first day had ended. After all, the judge's verdict had been narrowly snatched away from him by Athena Cykes, even though the case was so straightforward. He'd been humbled and angered and with that he forgot to see if Foolbright's neck had bruised.
Fulbright cracked again. He was trying to calm himself down, clearly, but it had worked in the exact wrong way.
"I didn't mean to lash out against you." Fulbright tried to level out. "We both have been through a lot together, even though you weren't really with me ."
"Yes, we have." Blackquill nodded solemnly.
"Do you sympathize with justice, prosecutor Blackquill?" Fulbright's voice cracked.
"Yes."
"Then please," Fulbright leaned forward, hands curled like talons on the table as if he were invisibly gripping someone's neck, "let me-"
"And you would let your own emotions get in the way of justice?" Blackquill scoffed. "That is very unlike you. The police have yet to get any information out of them, and until they do, the Phantom is not permitted to die."
Fulbright whimpered, placed his face down on the table, and held his head in his hands. His shoulders bobbed up and down as he begun sniffling and gasping loudly. Blackquill sat there awkwardly as Fulbright broke into tears, sobbing because he wasn't allowed to murder someone. Okay, Blackquill's being facetious, it's definitely not because of that.
"Detective Fulbright, we will seek justice for your murder. The Phantom will not escape judgement, or the fiery pits that await them. For their crimes, they will, in all certainty, be treated to due punishment." Blackquill didn't know what else to say to calm this man. "Find peace in that."
"I'll find- I want to- to me-" Fulbright croaked out through his sobs.
Fulbright groaned, quietly, as he continued to make himself more emotional. Blackquill just sat there, offering nothing except a steady stare.
"Until then," Blackquill said, "I need you to answer my questions truthfully, and not run off to take matters into your own hands. For the sake of justice, detective."
Blackquill simply waited for the detective to answer. And waited more.
Then, instead of Bobby Fulbright sobbing, Pearl Fey was face down in a puddle of tears.