123 Bloodbath

Well you know those times when you feel like
There’s a sign there on your back
That says I don’t mind if you kick me, seems like everybody has
Things go from bad to worse
You think it can’t get worse than that
And then they do

You step off the straight and narrow
And you don’t know where you are
Used the needle of your compass, to sew up your broken heart
Ask directions from a genie in a bottle of jim beam
And she lies to you
That’s when you learn the truth

If you’re goin’ through hell keep on going
Don’t slow down if you’re scared don’t show it
You might get out before the devil even knows you’re there

I’ve been deep down in that darkness
I’ve been down to my last match
Felt a hundred different demons breathin’ fire down my back
And I knew that if I stumbled I’d fall right into the trap
That they were layin’

But the good news is there’s angels everywhere out on the street
Holdin’ out a hand to pull you back up on your feet
The one’s that you’ve been draggin’ for so long
You’re on your knees might as well be prayin’
Guess what I’m sayin’

 Phoenix Wright and Zak Gramarye
The Hydeout
April 17, 2026, 2:01 AM

When he had first started working at The Borscht Bowl Club, the former Baron of Bluffing had been grateful for the warmth of his tracksuit, although by now he was accustomed to the Siberian atmosphere of the bar upstairs, where it was slightly colder than even the frigid temperature of the underground Hydeout. Regardless, it still took a few moments before the blissful numbness would kick in and the discomfort would be alleviated from his sandaled feet, which fortunately no longer turned blue from the cold.

That night, however, his body temperature was the last thing on his mind as he found himself reflecting on the additional material that he had extracted from the stern-faced challenger sitting across the table from him.

To the card shark’s great consternation, even after several hours of conversing, the wandering traveler had yet to divulge any groundbreaking information that Phoenix had not already ascertained for himself.

All the erstwhile magician has established is that he thinks he spotted Kristoph Gavin tonight, who may or may not have spotted him as well. He has also confirmed that Thalassa, my daughter’s mother, was allegedly killed in a stage rehearsal accident with a bullet gone wrong, from either his own or Valant’s pistols. As a result, Trucy and Apollo (whom Zak admitted was a by-product of his wife’s first marriage, which ended in her widowhood) both inherited their powers from the maternal side of the Gramarye family. Moreover, the irrefutable fact that they are indeed half-siblings has been officially confirmed. The man also insists that his wife is dead, but this is something that has yet to be concretely established since the body was never found.

The hobo eyed Zak dubiously.

Consequently, I cannot conclude if Thalassa’s perceived fate is the true reality or not. After all, if anybody wants me to rationalize my skepticism about how being “missing” doesn’t necessarily mean said person is dead, lo and behold, I give you … Exhibit A: my present poker opponent! Father of the Year, in very real, living flesh, seated not even a foot away!

Just like back in 2019, it all came down to an all-in, final hand. Also, just like seven years ago, Phoenix was winning, this time taking the game much more seriously than he had then! The odds were stacked in his favor presently, an undefeated streak notwithstanding. After all, he was now a much more viable contender, skilled at pitting not only his poker hand but his wits, this time around!

Present-day cynical pianist versus meandering traveler, as opposed to former naïve attorney versus crafty illusionist!

“Showdown time.”

Perfected poker faces intact, both players tossed down their hands onto the table at that precise, same second.

Ta-Da!

The existing smirk on Olga’s crimson lips abruptly dissolved as they parted into a startled gasp.

“Impossible!” She cried. “How can there be two full houses … But one hand has two aces and the other has three… ?!”

The poker champ shook his head in dismay. He wished he could have been more taken aback but he just wasn’t. If there was one thing he had learned in this racket, it was to expect the unexpected!

The defeated contender’s lips curled into a ferocious snarl of malcontent, identical to the countless ones Phoenix had seen with all of his losing opposition.

“You dirty cheat!” Zak raged, waving his arms dramatically.

The pianist bit back a smirk as the burly man shot up from his seat and stormed around the table toward him.

“Check his pockets now!” The sore loser commanded Olga, nostrils flaring and eyes wild.

It was like déjà vu with every other subjugated card player the DILF had ever encountered, so he knew the drill. He obligingly already had his arms up in the air as the dealer’s rapid-fire fingers roamed over him, searching every fold and pocket in his garments. At last, she halted in the process of fishing around in the nearly indiscernible side pockets of the card shark’s black track pants, and a bewildered expression came into her widened eyes. Alarmed now, she then agitatedly dug around in his hoodie right afterward, before looking up at Zak and shrugging helplessly.

Phoenix bit back a knowing grin as the white-suited man glared at her.

“What the hell are you doing, woman?” He snapped peevishly. “What’s going on here?”

“It-It’s gone!” Olga gulped, flushing guiltily as her round eyes swiveled back and forth between the two participants. “The card is gone!”

“What the fuck do you mean it’s gone?” Her partner in crime roared, roughly shoving her aside and committing his own body search on the game-winner, who didn’t move a muscle, remaining unstirring and miraculously straight-faced the entire time.

Zak’s ferocious eyes shot daggers at the now trembling blonde before turning to the deadpan poker champion, getting right up in his face, looking like a man possessed.

“What did you do!?”

Phoenix neither blinked nor flinched as he uttered the repeated standard line he had been reciting for seven years.

“You lose.”

Tearing his enraged mug away from the victor, Zak then unleashed his wrath on the petrified-looking blonde, who was quivering from head to toe.

“You!” He thundered; his visage twisted into a grotesque scowl of rage. “You stupid, worthless bitch! Some ‘Quick-Fingered’ con artist you turned out to be!”

The next chain of events occurred at such a break-neck pace, that the former lawyer wasn’t able to do anything to stop it in time, for absolutely nothing he had ever encountered in all his years of poker could have prepared him for what happened next.

In a mindless fit of rage, the ex-illusionist grabbed the glass grape juice bottle that had been next to Phoenix’s cards atop the table, sending the red deck flying. He menacingly advanced upon the frightened young woman, who had nowhere to run in that tiny, subversive room. She instinctively began retreating, only to find herself backed up against a wall as Zak ominously waved the heavy beverage container in his hand as he drew nearer. Olga let out a strangled scream as she tried to dash out of the room, only to slip on the glossy, scattered cards that had fallen to the ground, sending her sprawling to the floor.

Before the anterior attorney could react, the dealer let out one final, terrorized shriek as the madman brandished the bottle threateningly above her head, before slamming the makeshift weapon down onto Olga’s skull, creating a sickening, cracking sound, which echoed loudly in the silent room, rendering the young woman immediately unconscious.

Phoenix recoiled like a startled deer in the woods, almost toppling as he took a large step backward. He shouldn’t have been as poleaxed as he was at the impromptu burst of viciousness, seeing as how the large man had been relentlessly pummeling the admittedly annoying reporter earlier that night, but this outburst was something in an entirely different league altogether! This had been a senseless act of barbaric savagery towards a helpless woman, and had seemed more animalistic than actually human!

He stared in horrified incredulity at the now panting and sweating Zak Gramarye, whose rage seemed to have subsided by then and was now staring down in shock at the supine card dealer, as though he even couldn’t believe what he had done.

“What… Why did you do that!?” The pianist rasped as the now-heaving former magician leaned heavily against the table. Although Phoenix didn’t see any visible signs of bleeding, a quick, downward gander at Olga was unable to tell if she was even breathing, and he knew she was going to need medical attention right away. Unfortunately, they were in an underground cellar room, otherwise known as a frozen variation of hell, with absolutely zero cell phone reception!

The rage monkey couldn’t even reply, his unblinking orbs the size of saucers as his tanned face became thoroughly ashen.

Goddammit! Phoenix’s widened with panic. Is he going into shock?! What am I going to do?!

“Wait here!” He anxiously advised the dumbstruck Zak. “I’ll get help!”

The ex-magician simply nodded dazedly and flopped back down into his chair as the pianist scrambled up the stairs towards the restaurant, taking the steps two a time in his haste while his mind frenetically tried to come up with the best solution for this unanticipated, unmitigated catastrophe!

Zak was clearly more of a temperamental and unpredictable loose cannon than the hobo ever could have imagined, and he wasn’t sure if an ordinary pair of paramedics would be the right party to get involved with such an unstable creature. Moreover, he wasn’t confident that the ambulance attendants would be properly trained to handle any sudden moves the deranged lunatic might make while within the reachable vicinity of that dangerous juice bottle! That very same glass container also just happened to contain the card he and his co-conspirator had indubitably planted in Phoenix’s pocket, not expecting that he’d have found it in time.

Yeesh! it appears all the years of jabbing my hands into my pockets and clutching my magatama when being around Kristoph was what ultimately saved my skin in the end!

Quickly weighing his options, he decided that the police were probably his best bet. He spoke rapidly during the call, succinctly urging the cops to arrive as speedily as possible, fathoming he had no time to give additional particulars at that moment, but figuring he could provide them with the finer points of the occurrence when they arrived.

Like many other incidences in his life, this was a decision Phoenix would come to regret later.

However, at the time, it never occurred to shift his single focus on anything other than the grievously battered Olga and do whatever he could to rescue her from a potentially life-threatening injury.

After all, on that fateful night of April 17, 2026, how could the one-time King of the Turnabout have possibly foreseen the greatest looming threat of all looming within the confines of the dank, underground room?

Furthermore, how could Fortune’s Fool have ever prophesized that the biggest danger, which was yet to come, would ultimately not even wind up being at the hands of the troublesome Zak Gramarye himself?

Shadi Enigmar
The Hydeout
April 17, 2026, 2:08 AM

Nobody had been more thunderstruck by his own unhinged actions that night than Shadi Enigmar himself. The ex-illusionist had always been a man of rash actions; an act first, think later sort. Nonetheless, while he’d occasionally opted to use his fists, rather than his words, in the past, he had never before physically struck a woman in his entire life. In hindsight, however, what was hardly unfathomable was the fact that it’d been the devil’s temptation that had driven him to such madness, as poker had long since been his foremost passion in life, taking precedence above all else.

It would have been most problematic had any of his friends ever discovered the dark depths of his all-consuming obsession, except for the fact that his nomadic lifestyle imposed that he’d never stayed in one place long enough to make any. Still, all the people he’d played against could have easily confirmed his unwavering sense of pride about it. People did not know about his murky past, about where he’d come from, if he had any family, or even what his real name was – because surely it couldn’t be Shadi Smith. However, what they quickly learned was his passionate love of poker. Almost any back-alley club in the country that endorsed the game could have attested to that.

His poker addiction was such that he cared for absolutely nothing else in the world. Everything he’d once held dear fell by the wayside; his family, his friends, and his career. He would lie, cheat, and steal for it. He became someone else, someone that was now unrecognizable, even to himself.

Someone to be feared.

Even though Magnifi had been the one to introduce him to the game, Shadi’s yen for it had surpassed even his mentor’s. Thalassa had never understood it either, his gaming compulsion. One time she’d even asked him to explain the allure to her, to understand his compulsion. He’d beheld that beautiful face with his fierce gaze and said:

Imagine a scenario: a rabid vermin gnawing at your flesh. Now, picture holding a magic stick that, when used, floods you with intense contentment and warmth, elevating happiness to unprecedented levels. Reluctant to leave this personal utopia, you’re instructed not to use the stick, allowing the insatiable varmint to persist. This mirrors my addiction, casting doubt on the effectiveness of conventional therapies and support groups. It’s like an inexplicable cantrip; despite detoxification, the plague-ridden varmint returns, and I inevitably reach for my magic stick. Nothing will hinder me from doing so.

It was this very addiction that had consummately ingested the remains of the gambler’s soul, fully obliterating the loving husband and father he’d once been. That person was dead and gone and replaced by one that Shadi, on some unconscious level, semi-ruefully acknowledged was beyond redemption.

This creature, rather than see his only child one last time, the very one that he had shamelessly abandoned, had allowed himself to instead become irrevocably intoxicated by the alluring game of chance. He had given greater priority to the pursuit of the unequivocal adrenaline rush he’d get from this final opportunity to go against all odds, and finally, triumph over the sole living champion he’d been unable to conquer in the game of poker.

It was entirely inconsequential to him that doing so would entail ruining the undefeated champion’s poker standing by indicting him for cheating, annihilating both his reputation and unbeaten record. Shadi hadn’t even been fazed in the least when he had discovered that said man was his one-time defense attorney, whose life he had already unwittingly destroyed, yet had nevertheless been taking care of his daughter all these years.

The compulsive addict hadn’t given a second thought to the ramifications of his scheming, underhanded tactics. Nor had he given a damn knowing that by breaking his rival’s indomitable streak and thus causing the loss of his very livelihood, the man would lose not only the novelty of his undefeated poker champion reputation, but also his job, and consequently, both he and Trucy would then be plunged into financial crisis.

None of these concepts were paid any mind whatsoever because all he cared about was winning. It was inconsequential to him that Phoenix Wright and this undefeated, fabled poker champion were the same; couldn’t even claim that he hadn’t known who the man was when he had set eyes upon the ex-attorney seven years later.

Yes, the scruffy-looking hobo was barely recognizable at present, with his slouched-over posture and dark stubble, his trademark jagged peaks hidden now by that beanie. The blue suit was gone, and his hands were constantly buried in the pockets of a fuzzy sweatshirt of muted color, which looked like it desperately needed a good wash or perhaps had already seen too many washes. Nonetheless, Shadi had immediately recognized him at first sight.

The spiky-haired man was the very one whom Shadi had entrusted his daughter with, proving there was no such thing as an unbeatable poker champion was still first on his priorities list. However, poker was a passion that fueled his adrenaline rush, and fired his blood; it was like a thirst that could never be quenched. It might even end up killing him one of these days.

Alas, he had no way of knowing what the death of him would eventually be.

All Shadi did know was that he would expose Phoenix Wright as a cheating fraud if it was the last thing he did!

The foreboding gaze of a bespectacled man lurking within the shadows prophesized that indeed, it very well would be…

Kristoph Gavin
The Hydeout
April 17, 2026, 2:08 AM

Kristoph had followed his target to the underground room where iniquitous regulars of The Borscht Bowl Club came for criminal purposes. He knew he could not hope to enter the room from the main entrance without being seen, so he’d circled and hidden within the secret passageway that lay behind the bookshelf. There was a slight crevice in the mantelpiece which allowed him to observe Zak Gramarye and the events unfolding within The Hydeout without detection.

A petite flaxen-haired dame, whom the blond didn’t recognize, was the dealer. He silently observed the intense concentration on the faces of both the players, neither of them speaking, just intently staring at the cards in their hands. He noted Phoenix guzzling down his umpteenth grape juice, then set down the drained bottle, which had contained the pianist’s beloved beverage of choice, but now only bore his fingerprints. The German sneered to himself as he donned his gloves, ready to pounce when the time was right.

“Showdown time.”

Both men revealed their hands, and the dealer began squawking some sort of gibberish as first she, then Zak, began subjecting his opponent to a police-style, full-body pat-down, yet found nothing!

The next thing Kristoph knew, his betrayer flew into a rage, screeching first at the dealer, and then at his opponent, who remained as cool as a cucumber. Within the blink of an eye, the incensed fugitive then clubbed the young woman over the head with the juice bottle, knocking her out cold. A second later, the rattled Phoenix scooted up the stairs.

Concealed within the secret passageway, the German began breathing heavily. Slouched over in his chair now, the bewildered-looking Zak cast a quick squiz around him but saw nothing.

Showtime indeed. The final curtain call!

Pushing aside the bookshelf, Kristoph stepped out of the secret passageway.

“Hello, Zak,” he greeted pleasantly, the placid smile on his face competently belying his intentions.

The hulking drifter spun around in his chair, eyes bulging and jaw-dropping to the floor at the startling sight of the jilted Coolest Defense in the West.

“You!” He huffed, puffing out his chest in a gesture of bravado, even though his eyes darted about apprehensively. “What are you doing here?!”

“It’s been a long time, Zak.” Kristoph’s oily leer grew even wider. “But luckily, I never forget a face.”

“What the hell do you want, Gavin?”

“Such hostility! Would you prefer if I called you … Slim Shadi?”

“How the hell did you find me?” Zak demanded, his voice rising. “And I refuse to answer to the same moniker as some overhyped, foul-mouthed, white rapper bearing the same name as rainbow chocolate-covered candies!”

“Or would you rather I call you Mr. Smith?” Kristoph gave his best, smarmy smile. “That is the alias you’re going by these days, is it not?”

“I think you should leave immediately.” Zak glared at him menacingly. “I have neither any business nor anything, to say to the likes of you.”

“You don’t? That’s such a crying shame.” The periwinkle-clad legist affixed his most crestfallen expression. “Because there is so much that I wanted to give you, Mr. Gramarye. This is a small token of my appreciation for the events that took place seven years ago. Consider this my farewell gift.”

“Get lost! I don’t want anything –”

Before the thickset vagabond could even finish the sentence, Kristoph snatched Phoenix’s discarded empty grape juice bottle by the neck, wielded it like a club, and smashed it down, full force, atop that loathsome, gleaming, china bone pate.

“Son of argh…”

These were the last words that the ex-magician wheezed out, as the heavy blow from the glass was sharp enough to cut flesh as if it posed no resistance. Immediately, a fountain of crimson derived from the wound, the ebb and flow matching in time with the victim’s terrified, rapidly fading heartbeat, killing the man all the faster.

As if he hadn’t heard the final gurgle of agony, and without a flicker of remorse, Kristoph stood serenely, akin to an indifferent spectator at an inconsequential silent theater production.

All the while, the sanguine fluid continued its silent descent onto the frigid, unfeeling concrete floor.

Persistently, it dripped noiselessly, forming rivulets that flowed swiftly. The German observed impassively as the life ebbed away from the man he had loathed for years with a vengeance. Wet, it had the capacity to saturate; dry, it could stain. It bore life within its essence, and in its absence, only death lingered.

Poetic, indeed, upon contemplation.  

He never moved at all until his mark slumped into his chair, his head tilted to the side as the blood droplets slowly trickled into a collective, claret pool, and Kristoph knew then that Zak Gramarye was no more. Thereafter, he moved carefully but expeditiously, taking one of the cards in the poker hands and slipping in a fifth ace that had been lying on the table. The ace had been splattered with the dead man’s blood and he smirked at the ironic nature of the situation. With these minor alterations to the crime scene, the assailant had just safeguarded that the murder of the longtime pebble in his shoe would be impossible to trace back to him, ensuring that he could never be convicted of this offense, and would readily maintain his respectable, prestigious ranking in society, while history would repeat itself, and Phoenix Wright took the fall for his misdeed, yet again.

With deadly calm, he then made the precise turn back to the same passage from which he had come, carefully ensuring to close the bookshelf behind him, and marched on, never even a spot of blood on his high-polished shoes.

Everything had gone precisely as he’d conspired, and Kristoph Gavin had gotten his revenge at last.

Phoenix Wright
The Hydeout
April 17, 2026, 2:13 AM

People would lose their ever-loving minds and unleash their fury upon me all the time when I was a lawyer, even when I hadn’t even done anything! The frantic Phoenix reminded himself as he shoved his phone back into his pocket and sprinted back down the stairs. It’s not like I haven’t handled insanely temperamental people in the past – what with whips, birdseed, and scalding coffee flying at me! While I didn’t know how to diffuse their anger at the time, the point is I know I can deal with even the most hostile of situations! Therefore, I am certain that I’ll be able to think of some way to ensure Zak’s a tad less maniacal and remains calm until the police arrive…

Once at the bottom of the steps, he tentatively opened the door.

“I made the call,” he announced uneasily as he reentered the room. “The cops should be –”

The words died in his throat as his eyes encountered the horrendous scenario, resembling something out of a gory horror film, which awaited him.

His mind barely registered the spark of electrocution-style shock from the surreal murder scene, before the surge of adrenalin hit him. Phoenix was entirely on edge from this latest bizarre framing attempt, a covertly paranoid animal spurred into hypersensitivity. This, perhaps, was what then allowed him to observe the proceedings in meticulous detail. He was jolted by the dual realization that he was both in mortal peril and that this was exactly the kind of inconceivably cataclysmic event he’d been waiting for.

Peering downward, he saw that that fallen woman had remained perfectly static, appearing as lifeless as a rock since he’d been gone. He wasn’t too surprised, given the severe blunt force trauma she had suffered at the hands of that hefty, bottle-wielding nutcase!

No, it wasn’t the card dealer’s unconscious state that was now resulting in the rubatosis from earlier returning with a vengeance, as once again, the pianist could not only feel but hear the accelerated pounding of his heartbeat. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare even breathe. He remained completely frozen on the spot as his perturbed gaze finally took notice of the fact that Olga was no longer the only corpselike person in The Hydeout who appeared dead to the world!

The hobo’s mouth went dry as his gaze went to the other unmoving form in the room. He couldn’t even try to momentarily placate himself that perhaps Trucy’s biological sperm donor was merely insentient, like the unfortunate blonde lying on the ground. Fortunately, or unfortunately, in this instance, all his years as a defense lawyer had given Phoenix an all-too-familiar ability to recognize a dead body when he saw one.

And it was because he had once been an attorney that his poor confused and startled brain was dimly able to register the fact that given these circumstances, he had best be contacting one … right about now!

Luckily for me, my psychotic stalker, who was more than likely involved with getting me disbarred, yet insists on putting on a public front as my alleged chum, is also a narcissistic self-aggrandizer who prides himself on being The Coolest Defense in the West. Despite his attempt at flippant thoughts, the beanie-wearer’s breathing was rapid and shallow as he climbed up the stairs again and began dialing the egomaniac’s phone number. Off the top of my head, I can’t think of a better man to get the best possible job done! Perhaps I’ll be fortunate enough to be given the Gavin Friends & Family discount for the sake of maintaining our utter sham of a friendship!

Given the late hour, the pianist had assumed that his call would have awoken the lawyer from his slumber, but the recipient sounded wide awake and alert when he answered the phone on the very first ring.

“Hello?”

“Kristoph. I seem to be in a bit of trouble.” The pianist spoke quickly, without any preamble. “Right after you left, at the eleventh hour, I partook in a card game from a spontaneously, out-of-the-blue challenger.”

“What’s this?” The lawyer inquired mildly. “Game not going well?”

“Something like that.” The hobo could feel his pulse pounding in his temples.

“That gentleman who challenged you … He turned out to be good?”

“He turned out to be dead.” Phoenix gulped. “Someone hit him. Hard.”

“You mean someone cracked that flawless, bone china pate?” The German drawled. “It …wasn’t you, was it?”

“Me? Please,” the card shark mocked, even as his stomach further knotted. “The cops should be here any minute. I’m in your hands … Should it come to that.”

“A request like this demands a huge favor in return.”

“Tell me what is it you need and I’ll do it.”

“In due time. For now, the facts.”

Phoenix explained a condensed version of the situation downstairs as Kristoph listened intently. Finally, in a voice as smooth as silk, the attorney spoke.

“Alright, that’s all the relevant information I need, for now, Herr Wright. Here’s what you need to do…”

When he returned to the scene of the crime, the erstwhile legal legend now let his scrutinizing gaze linger on the chaotic tableau before him, instinctively discerning that his premier assessment of the unmoving stiff in the swivel chair had been accurate; that he was not simply blacked out. His horrorstruck vision again came to rest, as though in slow motion, upon Zak Gramarye. The victim was slumped in his chair, the abandoned bottle lying on the table beside him and his bald head shining from the other side of the room. And that was when Phoenix, at last, spotted the blood.

The harrowing sight in that deafeningly silent room was so blatant, so grisly, that he staggered backward upon initial sight of the red liquid on the floor. The color swirled in his mind, making him feel lightheaded as, at the same time, his brain morphed into full mental acquisitiveness mode. His aghast stare followed the line, almost forcefully, as if it had a mind of its own. The red liquid was still flowing down to the floor. Every limb in his body screamed for him to run.

He did not oblige this inner command, however.

Instead, he remained with his feet planted firmly on the ground as he experienced the tiny shock tremors that shot through him for several moments before he was somehow able to command his legs to move across the room toward the indisputably departed man.

Feeling a sickening sense of déjà vu from when he had first stumbled upon his beloved mentor’s body a decade ago, Phoenix’s shaky fingertips brushed against the lifeless neck, in the futile hope of detecting a pulse, but finding none whatsoever.

Yup, he’s as dead as a doornail, just as I thought. His head began spinning as the full dreadfulness of the situation sunk in. The cops are on their way. They’re going to take one look at the state of disarray in this room, then at Olga’s unconscious form, and then, as the cherry on top of the shit sundae, set their eyes on Zak Gramarye, aka “Shadi Smith” and undoubtedly deduce that I’m the fiend who was behind all of this!

His wide-eyed gaze landed on the gleaming gold locket around the dead man’s throat as another awful realization struck him.

Earlier tonight, Zak opened it up to show me that there was a photo of Trucy inside of there! If the police put two and two together and realize who he truly was…

Phoenix’s mental processes churned frenetically, as the hyperarousal of imminent mortality triggered such necessary feats of intellect. He would be the prime suspect in the murder, that much was obvious. There’d even be a motive, as Zak had just tried to frame him and was partly responsible for his fall from grace as a lawyer. It would be best not to let the victim’s true identity get out, as it would establish an even greater motivation. Shuddering at the thought, the soon-to-be-accused acted swiftly, unlatching the dead man’s locket and then fastening it around his own neck.

Nobody can prove that this isn’t mine. That is, after all, my daughter’s photo in there!

Having taken care of that obstacle, his attention was then drawn back to the poker table. Except for the red deck of cards that had scattered to the floor and the abandoned bottle lying alongside it, there appeared to be nothing amiss from when he had left the room upon first sight. The chips were all in the same place, as was his full house, and also…

What fresh hell is this?!

His sharp gaze inspected the victim’s final card hand. By some inexplicable and mystifying means, in the mere jiffy that he’d been upstairs trying to call for help, the second ace of spades in his opponent’s hand – the basis of Zak’s apparent stratagem to once more destroy Phoenix’s reputation with assertions of cheating – had been replaced by a third king.

The DILF drew in a sharp breath, utterly flummoxed as to the mysterious reason somebody would have played Switcheroo with the cards. After all, everything would’ve gone according to plan for Zak and Olga if they had just left those five aces on the table to implicate Phoenix as the cheating poker champion that they were trying to assert he was!

The irony of the situation was almost comical. He actually would’ve laughed at the lunacy of it all, had he not been so inherently scared to death about what this all meant for him.

The judicious extrapolation here, of course, is identical to nearly every murder trial I ever defended in court. This anonymous card swapper was the unknown fourth, rather than third, party, who in all likelihood was Zak’s true murderer. They struck in that brief window period that I was out of the room and Olga was out like a light! But for what reason could the culprit have possibly had to swap those cards? Could it be because…?

The answer came to him in a flash.

That missing ace was crucial evidence at this crime scene! Zak bled like a stuck pig when he was killed, and hence must have hemorrhaged on that card upon the moment of impact! Hmmm … That means that he had his back to the table when he was murdered, and his killer must have been hiding in that little-known secret passage, lurking all this time, waiting for the right moment to strike. Back there, they undoubtedly would have been able to hear that we both had full houses. Hence, the elusive fifth ace was traded for a king. I better search for more clues before the cops come and cuff me!

Phoenix did another cursory inspection of the area. As his searching gaze roamed for telling clues he might have overlooked, for some reason that he wasn’t quite sure of, a seemingly offhand comment Kristoph had made during their short conversation returned and sharply rankled, although he couldn’t put his finger just yet as to why this was so. All the same, as he crept back over to the corpse, he found his hand moving on its own volition, as though somehow compelled to do so. Without a second thought, he scooped up Zak’s paradoxically named Deadman’s Top Hat from the floor and placed it carefully atop his blood-encrusted forehead, so that at initial sight, it appeared as though the man was only sleeping.

OK, so with further examination of this new card, this third king is from the blue deck?! But that deck is still neatly piled by the dealer’s chair! Why would the killer ruffle through the cards in that deck rather than the ones on the floor?! Did the perpetrator not think to look down there?! That has to be it! Upon the first peek, the poker table gives the impression that the match was played utilizing the cards in the blue deck! Obviously, they were in too much of a hurry to pay much attention to smaller details, what with being too busily committing homicide!

A soft, pained moan was heard from the corner of the room as Olga began to stir, and Phoenix rushed over to her side as she struggled to sit up, clutching her head as she did so.

“Olga!” His brows were knitted with concern as he crouched over her. “Are you alright?”

The double-agent card dealer stared at him with glazed orbs, blinking dazedly for a few seconds before her eyes shifted to the other side of the room, and her free hand clapped over her parted lips, terror-stricken at the gruesome sight of Zak Gramarye slumped in the corner.

“W- What the…? I – Is he…?” The shaken young woman could barely speak and looked near faint again.

“Don’t waste your strength talking,” the fake musician advised, feeling completely drained now. “I called the police, who are on their way, probably with an ambulance. You were hit pretty hard and probably still need medical attention.” He inclined his head in Zak’s direction then turned back at her with a grim expression. “Mr. Smith wasn’t as fortunate in surviving the blow to his head.”

“H – he’s dead?!” Olga’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull as the meaning of his words registered.
“B – But how? Who…?”

“Those are very good questions.” Phoenix dropped down to the floor and took a seat beside her, blearily leaning his head back against the wall as he closed his eyes. “I only wish I could give you equally good answers.”

Phoenix Wright
Detention Center
April 19, 2026, 6:00 PM

By this point, Phoenix had thought he was beyond being astounded. After all, since he was now facing his third homicide trial, he didn’t think there was anything on earth left that could possibly still floor him.

Surprise, surprise, he was wrong.

He couldn’t have predicted who the caller on the other end line at the detention center had been if his life had depended on it.

“H – Hello?”

“Wright, you bloody imbecile!” The unmistakably familiar voice on the phone barked. “What fine mess have you gotten yourself into now?!” 

“E – Edgeworth?” He croaked out in feeble response to the irate voice on the line.

Jeez, Louise, Edgy, have you never heard of commencing a phone conversation with a simple “Hello, is it me you’re looking for?” Phoenix gawped into the receiver as he channeled his indignant inner Lionel Richie. I’m starting to think he rather enjoys starting every phone call we’ve had in the last seven years with some sort of trademarked edginess!

“Of course, it’s me, you fool!” The prosecutor snapped. “Who else would be calling you in the hoosegow, where your imbecilic self has now thrice managed to end up? Rest assured, I already know that you’re facing yet another spurious murder charge. Somehow, despite becoming a reclusive mole of some sort these last seven years, you have managed to make international news, nonetheless!”

The prosecutor stopped to take a breath, and when he spoke again, the agitation in his tone had diminished somewhat.

“But that’s neither here nor there right now. We don’t have long, so give me the details that weren’t in the headlines. What is the time and date of your trial that I will be defending you at?”

Despite the dire straits he knew he was in, Phoenix couldn’t help but let out a semi-hysterical, humorless bark of laughter, partially stemmed from relief at hearing that venerated, ever-disapproving British accent after so long, and partially because he fully grasped, in that instant, even with the clipped tone and admonishing verbal spurs he’d just been succumbed to, that Miles Edgeworth was really and truly the best friend he’d ever have in his entire life.

“Hell’s teeth! Have you lost your bloody mind, Wright?” The barrister did not sound in the least amused. “Do you realize you are facing death row, yet again? What in the name of Beelzebub’s Y-fronts is so funny?”

“I’m sorry, my friend.” The accused wiped his eyes, which had been brimming with mirth. “It’s just that, amazingly enough, I have had zero shortage of defense attorneys of any kind! I just find this hilarious because you’d think no lawyer worth his salt would want to touch me or this case with a 100-foot pole! You are the third legal eagle who’s willing to defend me! And it’s for this reason, as much as I appreciate the offer, old friend, that I must graciously decline your services.”

“Are you sure that it was not you who was hit in the head with that grape juice bottle?” Edgeworth demanded. “Because I could have sworn that I just heard you reject the services of a veteran attorney; one who has successfully aided you with your defense in the past!”

“And I am forever in his debt for that,” Phoenix said kindly, affecting a more somber tone now. “But the fact is, I already have a defense attorney – and I’ve selected a very competent one for my trial tomorrow. He is currently the understudy of Kristoph Gavin and his name is Apollo Justice.”

“Apollo Justice?” The prosecutor echoed uncomprehendingly. “What kind of name is that? I’ve never heard of him.”

“It’s the entirely fitting name of a newly graduated young man, from my alma mater, who has the makings to be a great asset to the legal system! He also possesses admirable, if not downright enviable, morals and ethics,” the jailbird declared. “And I am very confident in his capabilities.”

“God’s elbow! What is wrong with you, Wright?!” The chess enthusiast sounded incredulous. “Are you honestly telling me that you chose a defense lawyer simply because he’s got a catchy name that just so happens to be suited to his profession, or because he graduated from the same university as you did!”

“It would be no less ridiculous than my last client choosing me to represent him because I beat him at poker!” Phoenix countered. “But for the record, neither of those are the reasons I chose Apollo to represent me, although they certainly were taken into consideration.”

“You are seriously putting your fate in the hands of a rookie attorney?!”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” the hobo replied quietly. “You put your neck on the line for me once already Edgeworth and were fortunate enough to dodge the consequences for assuming the role of a defense attorney. You’re a prosecutor, and a damn good one, and I will never have you risk jeopardizing that for my sake, ever again. We both know that I am innocent of this alleged crime…”

If I were capable of random acts of violence or murder, I would have clocked Zak at first sight and snuffed out Gavin the first time he threatened my Maya!

“… and Apollo will be able to prove it. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”

“I see you’ve only grown more stubborn over the years, you thick-skulled fool.” The cravat wearer heaved a resigned sigh as he realized this was one battle he wasn’t going to win. “You said your trial is tomorrow?”

“First thing in the morning,” Trucy’s father affirmed.

“Then I suppose the only other thing I can do, which I hope you will agree to, is suggest you get a decent sleep tonight,” Edgeworth said wearily. “You’ll need it to have your remaining wits about you, whatever is left of them, for court tomorrow.”

“The mats in the holding cells at the detention center aren’t exactly the most comfortable thing to get a good night’s shuteye on,” Phoenix deadpanned. “But I’ll do my best to follow those instructions of yours.”

“There’s no paper-thin mat, Wright. You’ll be sleeping in your own bed tonight.”

“W- What?” The pianist stammered. “What are you saying? How can I go home when my bail was set at $500,000?!”

“Because you foolish fool of a man…” The unruffled British tone was now showing the strain in his waning patience. He didn’t even care that he was mimicking Franziska’s idioms by this point. “Your bail has been posted, in full.”

It took a moment for the full weight of the words to sink in, but then it was only another split second before Phoenix felt the stinging sensation behind his eyes.

“Sweet Jesus, Edgeworth.” He swallowed hard against the lump beginning to form in his throat. “T-Thank you so much. I -I don’t know what else to say. How can I ever repay you for this?”

“You can start by not skipping the country, and thus leaving me half a million dollars in the lurch, in the unlikely event that you decide to bail out on your bail,” Edgeworth responded dryly. “I suppose you could then continue the goodwill gesture by somehow not getting yourself sentenced to the gallows tomorrow. It would surely ruin the rest of my week should that occur.”

Looks like I am not the only one who hasn’t changed in seven years! You’re always going to be a tsundere son of a gun aren’t you, Miles Edgeworth?!  

“Well, we can’t have that happen, can we?” Phoenix was grinning like an idiot now and glanced over at Gumshoe, who was feigning interest in ruffling through some police reports and attempting to appear as though he wasn’t eavesdropping, although the big ear-to-ear grin on his broad face was a dead giveaway as he listened to the familiar bantering exchange of his two old friends. “Fret not, good man! I can hardly be a flight risk when I can’t even afford to take a taxi home from this place, never mind a plane ticket out of here!”

“Thank you for your delightful reassurance!” The prosecutor’s voice turned uncharacteristically soft then. “Don’t worry about a cab, Wright. You can tell the station to add it to my tab so that if you decide to flee the country, you will then owe me half a million – plus fifty – dollars!”

The big galoot didn’t even try to pretend he hadn’t overheard that one! Clapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his barely stifled laughter, the big man cocked an amused eyebrow at the temporary prisoner.

“Tell him to leave that amount at just the half-million, pal,” he assured the spiky-haired man. “I can arrange a police escort to get you home to that sweet daughter of yours as soon as possible. Children are so precious, and you should savor every moment you get with them.”

“I heard him. I’m glad to hear that matter has been resolved.” Not knowing what else to say, as the conversation had drawn to a close, the logic lover awkwardly cleared his throat. “Anyhow, it was good speaking to you again, Wright. Best of luck to you tomorrow. Please tell the Chief that I wish to speak to him once he arranges your transportation home.”

“Thanks a heap, Edgeworth.” It was then Phoenix’s turn to be at a loss for words for the man he owed the world to, yet hadn’t laid eyes upon in so long. “Um, I guess I’ll be seeing you around then? Er, I dunno when that will be, but er, keep in touch, I guess?”

“Naturally.” The prosecutor coughed. “I will hold for the Chief now.”

“Hey, Meekins!” Gumshoe bellowed, directing his booming call down the hall. “Get in here!”

“Yes, Sir!” A moment later, the clumsy, overzealous, awkward young man appeared, attempting to salute the police chief, but only ended up jabbing himself in the eye instead. “Owwwww!”

Painfully scrunching up the abused eyeball, he somehow managed to smile benignly at his superior.

“How can I help you, sir?”

Gumshoe sighed with barely disguised impatience and jerked up his thumb towards Phoenix, who was trying to determine if a hitchhike home was a safer and more viable option than getting into any vehicle with this overly excitable, bone-headed, clod!

“Get the squad car and take my pal home once your eyeball recovers, Meekins,” the Chief commanded. “You may then resume your Meter Maid duties.”

“Yes, sir!” The bumbling officer turned to Phoenix, and in the absence of his usual megaphone, somehow still managed to sound as equally loud and annoying as ever. “Come with me, Mr. Wright, sir!”

Phoenix shot his friend a pained look as Meekins marched to the exit door, which clearly said, what the hell?!

“We demoted him to court bailiff seven years ago, but were so short-staffed with the LAPD, we let him come back to the force because we needed some lackey willing to do the thankless, bottom-rung duty of parking enforcement officer.” The Chief shrugged. “He’s not so bad once you get that megaphone away from him, which was a key stipulation in letting him back on the force.”

“Right. Well, thanks, pal. See you.” Phoenix flashed a strained but thankful smile as he waved goodbye to his friend and reluctantly followed Meekins, who’d somehow managed to trip over his own feet twice en route to the exit door. “If I don’t text you that I’m home within half an hour, please send back up, because it probably means that Meekins crashed the squad car and I require medical attention.”

Or that I’ve finally snapped and killed him! Surely it would only count as a minor misdemeanor though?

Gumshoe cracked up at the quip, and as soon as the two had left, picked up the phone line, and found Edgeworth was still patiently waiting.

“Long time, no speak! How are you doing, sir?”

“It is most kind of you to ask, but, unfortunately, now is not the time for exchanging pleasantries. We will have to save our catching up for another time.” As always, Edgeworth cut right to the chase. “Chief, we need to discuss Wright’s situation.”

“What can I say?” Gumshoe scratched his head. “Bad luck follows that guy around like a nasty fart! Must be that chip in his shoulder that he’s had since he got disbarred.”

The tea-drinker refrained from breaking his best friend’s confidence and telling the police chief that when he and Phoenix had last spoken about their shared suspicions regarding Kristoph Gavin, the disbarred attorney had confessed that his prime goal had been to find a worthwhile defense attorney to retry the Gramarye case, not defend him against criminal charges in a court of law!

“This is the most foolhardy thing he’s ever done!” Edgeworth fumed. “I cannot believe he vetoed my services and plans to have this supposedly wondrous boy-child defend him instead!”

“Well, you can’t really blame the guy for opting to have an actual defense lawyer defend him,” Gumshoe responded carefully. “Yes, you are an excellent attorney, but you do come to the courtroom from a different perspective. Please, don’t be too angry at Phoenix for this. I’ve heard of this Justice kid. He’s absolutely brilliant, a prodigy of sorts, just like you were.”

“Talent does not equal experience!” Edgeworth sounded exasperated. “This young man doesn’t necessarily know all the tricks of the trade, and yet Wright is entrusting his life to him!”

“Phoenix defended Maya when he was only just a young rookie,” Gumshoe reminded him. “And successfully, too!”

“That girl was an innocent teenager! Since losing his badge, Wright has garnered a reputation as an unsavory character, with a cocky attitude that borders on being anti-social, and the prosecution undoubtedly will bring that up! A former attorney disbarred for forging evidence and now making his living by illegally gambling is not an ideal person to defend.”

Evidently, the newspapers had dug up all the dirt on the hobo pianist’s activities at The Borscht Bowl Club.

“I know how much you care about him,” Gumshoe stated gently, noting the palpable worry under the veneer of agitation in the prosecutor’s normally smooth baritone. “I do, too. But sometimes there is only so much you can do before you realize it’s out of your hands. Why do you think I didn’t post the bail money for him? Because as chief of police, I wasn’t allowed to! It would have constituted a conflict of interest.”

“Well it’s a good thing I came along then, isn’t it?” The emotionally constipated legist muttered.

“Phoenix asked you to trust him. Are you really not going able to do that?”

“Yes, I will trust him – but only because I have no other choice!” Edgeworth heaved a long-suffering sigh. “That man was once a brilliant attorney, and I need to believe he knows what he’s doing. But we are in the Dark Age of Law, Gumshoe, and what I don’t trust is the court system! There’s no way I can just stand idly by and play the game of chance when it comes to Phoenix Wright facing the death penalty, for a crime I know he did not commit. There must be something I can do!”

“Well, the case doesn’t have a prosecutor yet…”

“Eureka!” The customarily composed tone sounded positively jubilant upon hearing this news. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?” Gumshoe asked doubtfully. “Don’t tell me you’re going to fly back from Europe or wherever it is you’ve been, just to prosecute this case?”

“Of course not, don’t be a fool!” Edgeworth scoffed. “I know he’s not the killer, but I certainly don’t want to have a capable District Attorney, least of all that punk, Klavier Gavin, getting Wright a guilty verdict. I’m going to shamelessly use my clout with the Prosecutor’s Office in this instance. Chief Gumshoe, could I kindly appeal that you carry through this request on my behalf and assign a particular prosecutor to the trial tomorrow to square off against the greenhorn, Mr. Justice?”

“Sure, I’ll do whatever it takes to help our pal out!” The Chief agreed enthusiastically. “Which prosecutor did you have in mind, sir?”

Upon hearing the name, the kindhearted man laughed for a good minute straight.

The legal newbie Apollo Justice will have no problem whatsoever with getting Phoenix a not-guilty verdict tomorrow! Gumshoe chuckled to himself. You can bet your bottom dollar on it!

Phoenix Wright
April 19, 2026, 6:45 PM

Brooding in the back seat of the unmarked squad car, as Meekins carefully drove through the congested Los Angeles traffic, Phoenix silently mulled over his predicament. He was experiencing the ultimate nodus tollens: the realization that the plot of his life didn’t make sense to him anymore.

Like hail on a glass pane, the drumming of his nervous fingers was as relentless as it was loud. Each click of his nails against the glass window mimicked the tumultuous thudding of his heartbeat. His face, rigid with tension, belied his youthfulness. A glimpse at his reflection in the window confirmed that he seemed to have aged a decade in the past few hours.

For the umpteenth time, he mentally ran over every single instance from that fatal night, his memory sharpened to a nearly eidetic state as he could vividly see each and every crime scene detail, forever etched into his memory, allowing him to instinctively deduce logical conclusions as clearly as though he were still present at The Hydeout. All the puzzle pieces he’d gathered still fell into the correct place… Except for one.

For some reason, as though on auto replay, that niggling, seemingly innocuous comment Kristoph had made still would not escape his mind

“You mean someone cracked that flawless bone china pate? It…wasn’t you, was it?”

In his mind’s eye, he could once again see the corpse of Zak Gramarye, his hat on the floor, and his bleeding, bald head visible for the world to see. The only one to have seen Zak’s chrome dome that night was Phoenix himself … and the victim’s killer. He hadn’t worked out what bugged him about the question until that precise instant, when it felt as though a light bulb had gone off over his head, right there in that police car.

Pate = the crown or top of the head. Shiny bald head = flawless bone china… Sweet Pulsating Spider Christ! Fuck me sideways with a sword! Kristoph was the one who killed Zak!

The hobo cursed his occhiolism regarding something that should have been glaringly obvious. It was beyond disconcerting, made even more so by the knowledge that as the criminally accused, his testimony about Kristoph’s involvement in the events would be arduous to prove, and even more difficult to make the courts believe, especially coming from Phoenix Wright, of forging attorney acclaim.

His nails were bitten down to the quick. He nibbled at their frayed, formed edges like a famished mouse, with butterflies in his stomach and his head buzzing with apprehension as he grasped that, given his past record, what with the forgery incident and the two previous murder charges, the court certainly wouldn’t take his checkered history into light account, and undeniably want to make an “example” out of him.

Thrice now I’ve been accused – and twice acquitted – of murder. I just hope the third time’s the charm.

Phoenix had never been more terrified in his life. There was the very real and horrific possibility that the death penalty was quite probable.

The last seven years of trailing Kristoph in the futile irresolution of that case haven’t been any sort of life worth living, anyway. It’s been entrapment in some kind of psychological purgatory, thwarting any hope of closure or life progression.

Having made the conscious decision that risking his life, such as it was, was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, he relaxed into a hypnagogic state. A muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of his right eye and his mouth formed a determined grimace. With arms folded tightly across his broad chest, he tapped his foot furiously on the floorboard and stared out of the car window.

This final evening before the day of reckoning would either see the dawn of his new life or shatter his dreams in two. Instinct rendered feelings of petrification and entrapment but was coupled with the conflicting revelation that this was the final and sole opportunity of escape from the seemingly relentless bounds of fraud and non-closure that had hijacked his life – ensuring Kristoph Gavin got rightfully convicted for the murder.

In the distant past, my physical form succumbed to frailty, my mental faculties fragmented, and, eventually, the entirety of my being succumbed to the relentless onslaught. In the aftermath, hatred emerged as the sole emotional undercurrent, the solitary pulse that courses through my existence. Deprived of it, I would be an emotionless void, a mere specter in the vast expanse of nothingness. Contemplating the significance of basic necessities like eating, sleeping, and even breathing, I’ve questioned their relevance. Yet, as my sole companion in this desolate landscape of existence, hatred stands as my unwavering companion. It is the dynamic force that propels my heart to beat and my mind to engage. Amidst this void is the shining light in the form of the impending arrival of my vengeance, a harbinger of retribution. Now, all I can do is sit in patient but eager anticipation.  Revenge is coming. It’s coming real soon.

Rodney Atkins – If You’re Going Through Hell

Bloodbath: word type: poker slang.
Meaning:  A disastrous day, or session, in poker. 😉