12:48
The skies are overcast, but this deep into the city there are no stars anyway. This only serves to underscore the sheer black of the night. The lampposts light the way artificially, coldly. Each building is awash in the same artificial light, either from the lampposts or of its own creation. Above the diner is the slightest hint of a moon, its delicately unrelenting glow softening the clouds that cover it.
Phoenix Wright thinks this is all poetic and lovely and everything, but he's not really in the mood for it.
He and his new "friend" are taking their walk, seeing the sights of a city that is so devoid of life it should be on a respirator. The "friend" points all this out, and Phoenix merely shrugs and nods. His mind is in other places.
"Hey," Phoenix says. "Do you really think my life is going to change?"
His friend thinks for a moment. The silence hangs in the heavy air.
"I do," he says, "only because change is inevitable."
"Oh." Phoenix sighs. He is visibly disappointed in his answer, for reasons he is unsure of.
"But," his friend adds, "don't get me wrong here. I definitely feel that you are about to enter a new phase in your life."
The man pauses.
"Let me ask you something."
"Yeah?"
"As we're walking along this street, can you feel anything?"
Phoenix is perplexed by this question, his mouth twisting into a leery frown.
"Like what?" Phoenix asks.
The man stops walking, and Phoenix follows suit a few steps later.
Somewhere, a chime. It's one o'clock.
Phoenix turns his head slowly, scanning for the source. This is a chime Phoenix has never heard before, and will never hear again.
A chill runs up his back as he scans the area, his eyes leaping from building to building, light to light, until finally they settle upon the man. He is smirking, his hands shoved in his sweatshirt pocket. There is something decidedly different about him, but Phoenix can't quite place it. There's something different about the whole city, for that matter. Phoenix feels it, but he can't see it.
"Whoa."
He needs to sit down for a minute.
Phoenix plops himself on a bench and holds his head in his hands.
"It's the same but different," the man says. "A kind of implacable feeling that kind of sits in your gut and makes waves with your stomach juices." He sits by Phoenix. "That feeling that something is definitely wrong with this picture, when it's just the same as it ever was."
He says, "Did you feel it?"
"Yeah," Phoenix says with a shaking sigh.
"Does it scare you?"
"Kinda," he chokes. "It just...happened. It took me over and I couldn't do anything."
"Phoenix," the man says, "I think there will come a time for you when you'll feel this feeling again, but stronger. You'll feel helpless, like nothing you do will get this feeling out of you. When this time comes, are you going to be strong? Or are you going to be weak?"
Phoenix freezes.
"I don't know," he says.
"Then be strong."
Phoenix stands slowly, still uneasy. He turns to the man looking up at him.
"Who are you?"
The man is still smirking.
"I'm just a regular guy," he says.
A moving shadow in a lit window catches Phoenix's eye. He looks to see that the window belongs to the prosecutor's office. He counts the rows: twelve, exactly.
"Isn't that...?"
He steps toward the street, toward the building. He is unaware his feet are carrying his body forward. The shadow moves again, and Phoenix walks a hair faster. A pair of headlights flash by and Phoenix snaps to, just as he arrives at the sidewalk. He whips around and sees his enigmatic friend, smiling and waving on the other side of the street.
"Hey," Phoenix calls, "I think I'm going to go in here."
"Cool," the man answers. "If you need me, I'll be at the diner."
With a wave, the man turns and walks away, leaving Phoenix to wonder just what the hell is going on tonight.
After a beat, Phoenix realizes the building is probably locked, but he figures it doesn't hurt to try. He reaches for the handle, an action Phoenix finds oddly burdensome, and pulls.
With a straining squeak, the door opens.
...
I told you this wouldn't die. It might be slow-going, though. I just haven't found the time for writing lately. I'll try my best, though!
We'll get back to the prosecutor's office next time.