None of the events that transpired that day could have been predicted in full by anyone, not even the prosecutor. No one had bet on Phoenix Wright and Franziska von Karma arriving that day in a show of support for Apollo, and they did not know what role they would play next in the city's history.

Apollo stood in front of his stand and addressed his client. "Mr. Coachen, please repeat your testimony."

Coachen grumbled and cleared his throat. "I was at my motel room all day..."

"From start to finish, Mr. Coachen." Edgeworth's voice was sharp.

"Yes, sir." Coachen winced. He paused.

"I would first like to apologize to the court for my previous testimony. I did spend the day in my motel room. But the clown came through the air vent and surprised me. I hit the clown on the leg with the frying pan, but they took it away from me. They found the gun I had and took that, too. They said they had to take care of a certain somebody, and that I would have to be quiet. I complied. I did not know who the clown was. They wore a mask."

Apollo took a step forward. He had definitely felt something. His right hand reached for his left. The bracelet was tingling. The young defense lawyer's brow furrowed. Could Coachen have lied during his testimony? Possible, but he had already done that once, and it was unlikely he would risk facing Prosecutor Edgeworth's wrath again.

"Third sentence, again, Mr. Coachen."

"But the clown came through the air vent and surprised me."

"And what did you do then?"

"I hit the clown on the leg...with a frying pan."

Edgeworth chuckled and shook his head. "If you injured a person like that, it would be very unlikely for them to carry out a crime that you were, quote, 'framed for.'"

But the prosecutor's words did not reach Apollo. The younger man took a step forward. The bracelet was definitely telling him something.

"I hit the clown..."

Pause.

"...on the leg with a frying pan."

When Coachen said those last few words, his eyes definitely shifted off to the side. Apollo followed his gaze, and found nothing noteworthy. There was just the defendant's chair and the courtroom door. There was also Klaire, who had a disdainful look to match Edgeworth's. The defendant looked at her, turned his head, and then saw his defense attorney staring. They met eyes.

Then Apollo saw a change wash over Coachen. His frame looked more relaxed, as did his face. His tone turned candid, even.

"That is all I can say on the matter. If it's all the same to you, I'll take my seat."

Klaire nodded, then began to walk towards him. He faced her, hands behind his back.

But when she got within a few feet of him, he lunged forward, slamming an elbow into her stomach. She fell to her knees, gasping silently, and then on her back.

Apollo stepped forward, seeped in moral indignation. "Hey!"

Edgeworth and the Judge looked shocked, and the gallery thundered. But all went silent as Coachen pulled up the right jean leg of the stunned guard.

There were two pieces of wood around Klaire's leg, probably fashioned from chair legs. Several layers of clear tape were wrapped around them, binding the objects to her leg. It was a brace of some kind.

One that a person with an injured leg might not have been able to walk without.

"You want your criminal? Here she is!" Coachen shouted, practically foaming at the mouth.

Apollo stood, stunned. "Klaire...?"

Coachen took advantage of the distraction. He reached inside Klaire's pocket and yanked out a phone. And then he was barreling forward again, smashing open the doors with a kind of strength nobody would have expected from so wiry a man as him.

Apollo's instincts told him to move, and so he did. "Someone get help for her!" He shouted this behind his back and he raced to the courtroom door.

Once outside, his head snapped to the right, and then to the left. There was a blur of movement around that corner, so he raced forward.

"Stop!"

But of course, it was not that easy. As soon as he turned the corner, he sensed movement behind him a split-second too late.

"Shut up!"

And then Apollo felt an arm wrap around his throat and tighten, followed by another hand grabbing the back of his head. Apollo's eyes bulged, and then shut as he struggled to get free.

"You're not stopping me! I'm getting rid of everything on this phone no matter what!" That was Coachen's voice.

Apollo wanted to shout for help, but he could not do a thing about the chokehold. He tried to shift, but it was no use.

And then he suddenly free. He nearly fell over, and Coachen lurched back, gasping. The man saw another before him, dressed in an old blue suit with a fraying red tie.

Phoenix Wright.

The defense lawyer was scowling as he nursed his right hand in his left. Punching Coachen in the face had hurt his fingers more than he thought.

In a desperate flurry of movement, Coachen pulled out the phone. There was still the wall behind him...all he had to do was turn and smash the device across it, removing the contents from history forever.

But he never got a chance; the snapping length of leather assured that.

Coachen howled as he dropped the phone to the floor, and a second blow put him to the ground.

The leather raced again, this time backwards.

And Franziska von Karma took hold of both ends of her whip with a snarl.

-A multi-chapter story; Chapter 34; story idea by CRed1988 and writing by Jerviss.