I was working late, later than most of the prosecutors that the city carried within its limits. The gleam of street-lamps leaked through my window and it was only noticeable because of the dim lighting I kept my office in. Two lamps; one in the corner and another on my desk. For some reason it felt easier to focus when my entire room wasn't lit up in an ultra-violet explosion. It tended to give me migraines when I was staring at text for long spans of time. Of course, I had the overhead lights in case of emergency but most of the time it was left to the sunlight coming through the windows or the personal lamps I had bought especially for my office. A few hours ago I turned the one on my desk on as my eyes strained unnecessarily to focus on the file's words. Later in the evening, as the sky outside grew darker, the one in the corner was flicked to life.

Now I simply sat there, hunched over a particular piece of evidence that had been haunting me for the past few weeks. No matter the case, no matter the crime there was always a file that made me pull some form of all-nighter. I couldn't remember the last time I had been stuck with a clean cut case; not since I gave up manipulating evidence to my benefit. The trip I had taken a year ago cured me of such dishonest thoughts, cured me of the illness that years with von Karma had pumped me full of. Of course, there wasn't a chance in God's green earth it would completely disappear from my life but...I had gotten better since my little break.

However, 'better' included all-nighters when I refused help and locked myself in my office with only towering shelves stuffed with books and a computer were my company. Even Pesu, my dog, had gotten used to me not coming home one night a week because I would fall asleep (or not fall asleep and simply lose track of time) at my desk. There was a reason I had bought a comfortable couch for my office and it wasn't for my witnesses.

Glancing up for a split moment I caught sight of the time; 12:42. Late, as expected. A few people had stopped by to check on me, offer help, but of course I turned them down. After all, they would be nothing more than distractions from my work anyway. I had long ago discovered that people 'helping' with cases simply meant hanging around in my office talking jibberish and spouting useless or improbable ideas. More often than not they would get annoyed at my lack of response and fall into silence or reply that they had to get home to someone and acted as though I should have been upset that they were leaving. But in truth - what should I have cared? They were the ones to offer anyway.

There was one exception though, for one man who proved on multiple occasions to be a very large asset to my cases. It was he that had caused such reform in me and now that he had experienced his own taste of the 'truth' he was very helpful with pulling my cases together. Sometimes we found things that worked against me and sometimes we found things that assisted my statement but in the end we always found what mattered. And that, quite simply, was the truth.

Phoenix Wright had been my rival for some time now and still was, but on cases where we weren't pitted against each other in a battle to prove and disprove evidence and testimonies we offered each other's assistance. Simply because it was Wright didn't mean that I always accepted the offer and had refused on numerous occasions. But at times...when something particular was bothering me...he could find things that I over-looked because of my own tedious hours pouring over evidence. It was then that I silently appreciated the help and we discussed how to use what we'd found in action the next day. Trials following the nights that Wright had assisted me tended to leave him in the courtroom and seemingly always in a place I could spot his black hair and blue suit. Whether he was there to support me in a silent way or there simply to study my revised techniques was never important.

My stomach tightened with a convulsing, squishing sort of sound and a dull ache spread through my abdomen. Frowning at the paper and dropping it to the stack already on my desk, my hand absent-mindedly moved to my stomach. That was another advantage to having people assisting me; they reminded me that I, despite being renowned Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, was human and needed food to sustain life. A fact I frequently forgot, or chose to ignore, when working the late hours on my own.

Staring at the file again I was aware of the option to simply push the hunger to the back of my mind and continue to work. In fact, that seemed like a very ideal answer at the moment, but as that same throb moved through my insides I decided against it. After all, knowing my work habits (only by way of the undesired reviews from people around me) I had pushed it off a few hours previously and this wasn't a 'warning' grumble this was an 'eat now or face my wrath of deterioration pain' grumble.

Standing up, I migrated around the large desk that over-took a decent part of my office while rubbing my eyes. Pulling open the door and stepping into the obnoxiously bright lights of the hallway cleared my head some and the sheer pain of the light pouring into my system temporarily deafened and numbed me to my stomach's groaning. I wasn't fortunate enough to have it stay away for long though and even if I had, going back into the office would have been pointless. I was already out here, may as well do something about the pain.

Having food delivered seemed stupid by this point; I would have to wait downstairs for it to arrive because no receptionist was in to have it sent up. The break room down the hall had several vending machines and, while the food wasn't the healthiest, it would suffice until I could get home (very likely around five in the morning) and eat something more suitable. As I neared the closed door of the break room, drawing my wallet to check the funds I had that the machine would actually accept, I felt a sudden quiver under my feet. Unaccompanied by the sound of something large in the building or one of the janitorial machines, my wallet slipped from my hands and I was very, very vaguely aware of some spare change clattering to the ground.

An earthquake. . .

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There was no feeling like being free from a case load; especially after having nothing but for the past several weeks. Or maybe it was just days - but the point was that it had felt like weeks. I was so excited to have a free weekend that I instantly invited Maya out to our usual burger joint for a celebratory meal. It was refreshing to flick off the lights and glance at my clock to see it was only around nine-forty rather than eleven or later. That was just one of the problems with being a dedicated lawyer - the late nights.

I had a car but the place was intentionally not-so-far from the office so Maya and I started our walk. She was going on about the newest samurai show that she was trying to get Pearls into and I was looking at her in an attempt to listen. Most of the time, when she got like this, it was easier just to watch her and take her cues of when to nod or say something. After a few blocks I was pretty safe to look around without her claiming that I wasn't listening anymore. In a little while she'd probably start commenting on whatever it was she thought I was looking at and we'd start another conversation - one I was actually semi-interested in.

We rounded the corner and my eyes immediately flew to the Prosecutor's Building. It was dark, as would be expected, except for one light still being on towards the upper part of the complex. My eyes fixed in on it like it was some kind of target and I knew, without even thinking about it, whose office that was. I recalled the information that Edgeworth was working on a case to the front of my mind. Gumshoe had mentioned it in the office earlier:

"Looks like Mr. Edgeworth's got a big case on his hands, pal," he'd said, looking around my office in a way that made me wonder if he suspected me of something. His eyes frequently went to Maya, who had been the convicted party of several crimes in the past, as though he was waiting for her to suddenly lose her mind and attack him. Of course, the good detective was also trying to act like that thought hadn't crossed his mind at all.

He wasn't really succeeding at it.

"Yeah, I heard about that," I replied, shuffling through some files on my desk that always seemed to be there. Actually, I didn't even know what was in those manila folders. I think Maya may have put them there so, when things like this happened, it could look like I was actually doing something.

"Yep!" Gumshoe said with such sudden fervor that it made me jump a little. But I quickly moved to disguise that as though I were standing anyway as he continued, "Looks like he'll be pulling another one of those all-nighters of his. A few people offered him some help but he turned them down flat, pal. Flat."

"Well, that's Edgeworth," I said tentatively - was he trying to tell me something? The idea seemed completely out there considering Gumshoe's normal attitude of just saying what was on his mind (sometimes at the expensive of his own hide).

As though to confirm my suspicions he sighed, raising a hand up to the back of his head in a nervous gesture, "Yeah, pal. I guess so. Never resting 'till he gets what needs to be done, done! Mr. Edgeworth sure is a dedicated guy, pal, always collected. You could take a page out of his book next time..."

'What!? Only a year ago Edgeworth was dedicated to…' I sighed mentally. It was stupid to bring up such a petty point against the prosecutor, even after his reformed ways, "I thought you weren't supposed to talk to me about cases, Detective." I pointed out in small hopes he might realize the truth in that and go away. It wasn't that I didn't like Gumshoe, actually he was a fairly decent guy, I just wanted to get out of my office.

"That's only if you're the attorney for the case, pal," he explained. I made a bit of a face when my back was turned to him. Go figure that the world really was out to make my job harder!

After that point it got pretty silly and Gumshoe left imprinting some thoughts in my head. Having worked with Edgeworth on late night cases before, I knew exactly what he was like. I wasn't really sure if the thought of that should have comforted me or made me kind of nervous for myself but I didn't have much time to think about it as we arrived at the burger joint.

Maya and I spent a longer time than I expected chatting about the past few cases that had come to the Wright & Co. Law Offices. Or rather, fallen into my 'unprepared' lap. Most of it was laughing and some of it was in a sad seriousness, but the fact it was nice to be able to do it at all was burned into my brain at the moment. So burned, in fact, it was impossible for me to get too upset right now. The burger tasted particularly great just for the fact I didn't have a hopeless scenario staring me in the face for the next day.

We wrapped up the meal (with me paying, of course) and I parted ways with Maya outside. Waving good-night and promising to be safe, I waited until she was out of my sight before moving down along the rows of restaurants leading back to my office. Most of them were closed but some places, mostly the ones that took care of deliveries, were still open. Their neon signs burned into my brain a long time ago and eventually I had migrated far enough that I found the one we usually ordered from. Or rather - Edgeworth usually ordered from.

Checking my watch and estimating around the time the clock-work Prosecutor usually ate, I was pretty sure that he would have forgotten about his stomach yet again. I stopped inside and picked up Edgeworth's usual (maybe I really did work late with him too often) before turning to head back towards the building. I thought about turning back to get my car but that would just make the trip longer and the Prosecutor's Office wasn't that far away. I'd built up quite a tolerance for running around these days anyway.

I already knew the bright halls of the building by heart despite the architect's best efforts to make the building confusing. As I was stepping out of the elevator and onto the floor that held Edgeworth's office I felt the ground shake a little. It wasn't much, so I didn't think anything of it. Boy was that stupid. Suddenly that 'little' shake had become a considerably larger one, like the building had a chest cold and was trying to cough up something stuck in its throat (maybe it could sense a defense attorney in its midst?).

Ducking to the ground near the wall and covering my head, I waited for the shaking to cease before even thinking of getting back up. I heard a few crashes around the floor but no where near me and, thankfully, the stretch of hallway I was in was pretty bare save for some chairs that were knocked out of their usually perfect alignment. I pushed myself up slowly, shaking a little, and looking around for any signs that something was suddenly going to crack or I was going to hear the scream of some other poor person. Sure, the building hadn't fallen where I was, but that didn't mean that it hadn't fallen in other places.

My eyes found their way back to where I had been kneeling for cover and landed on the bag of food. Somehow I had managed to set it down before damaging it to badly or crushing any of the contents. For a moment my mind was completely empty of thoughts except for 'close one' as I picked up the bag of Edgeworth's food. Then it hit me like a semi-truck; Edgeworth's food. I had set it down because of the earthquake. I had set Edgeworth's food down because of an earthquake!

Immediately I ran down the hall towards the Prosecutor's office and ended up backtracking as I passed the break room. The door was open but it was completely dark inside save for the very faint glow emerging from under where a vending machine had fallen. Dread immediately flooded my mind. Had Edgeworth been under that vending machine? Was he dead now? Did one of the few things I had found to actually scare him manage to kill him? Could the fearsome Miles Edgeworth been crushed like a bug under the weight of a thousand snacks (and, well, the machine itself of course)!?

"Edgeworth!" I shouted, moving into the room and turning on the light. Sure enough, the vending machine was lying on its front and seemed mostly undamaged aside from some glass shards lying around. Frantically my eyes scoured the room in earnest for the red-violet suit I had seen opposite me in court so many times. Silently I prayed that my last trial wasn't the last time I would see it.

A soft sound that wasn't a whimper but may have been related to one came from my left and I turned quickly. My thudding heartbeat calmed slightly as I saw the terrified Prosecutor curled in the corner. His position wasn't one of the fetal, prone kind, rather he was curled forward covering his head and I could faintly tell that he was shaking. I set the bag down on the toppled over vending machine and crossed the room to the prosecutor. "Edgeworth?"