samuraiprosecutor | [RL 2: Worst Fear Virus; Edgeworth's struggle with the virus]

The scene played out innumerable times, a film on endless rewind and replay. Sometimes it was different. Sometimes they were mere voices, arguing heatedly until they were suddenly silenced. Sometimes they were there, unseen but felt, grappling then suddenly stilled. It went on, until he was dried out in every way possible, and he'd begun to wonder if this was what insanity felt like. Then everything changed.

No, not everything, just one thing that changed all the others. A dull, clanging sound, something heavy and metal hitting the carpet. He knew what it was, knew what it would do. Shrinking back against the wall did nothing to change the fact that it was there, lying cold and weighty at his feet. The voices were screaming now, desperation brought on by the thinning air, and he reached out, dizzy and confused, to wrap his small fingers around the thick, rough grip.

He didn't yell this time. The gun flew across the elevator, hit the ground with a thud, and exploded with sound. For a split second after, everything was silent, then the scream he'd been waiting for, ringing in his skull, echoing off the cold walls, terrible and recognizable.

There was no air; he was gasping desperately, like a fish out of its bowl, and his head was swimming. Then the darkness shifted, becoming even darker, and suddenly he had moved, was standing in the elevator's only other corner - though how he knew, and how he'd moved, were complete mysteries to him. He breathed normally, not bothered by the lack of air moving into his lungs.

The elevator door opened. A familiar silhouette filled the gray rectangle, and the bare light seeping in illuminated the three still figures crumpled in the elevator's other corners, two men and a young boy. Miles' heart clenched painfully as the shadow in the door bent over, but he found himself unable to move as the dull shine of the gun's metal disappeared into its grip.

The gunshot was deafening in the tiny space.

Pain, old and familiar, welled up in his chest, burned in his throat, pricked at the corners of his eyes. Wet warmth trailed down his cheeks as he stared fixedly at the shadow, which turned to face him. The shadow wasn't as tall as he'd expected; the gun's barrel was aimed at his chest, but he paid it no mind.

"You can do nothing to me that's worse than what you've already done." The words surprised Miles, and at first he didn't realize they'd come from his own mouth. Then the shadow smiled, a slice of white gleaming in the darkness, and against the fear tearing at his chest Miles knew the words were hollow, and truthful all the same.

Light, blinding and hurtful, burst before his eyes.

Miles hissed, slamming his eyelids shut until the burn faded. Tentatively, after about a minute, he opened his eyes.

There was a ceiling in his line of sight, white tiles with cold recessed fluorescent lights, and softness beneath his back. The contrast was jarring, and he blinked confusedly for a few moments before surveying the rest of the room.

Industrial bed. Beds, rather, in rows, some empty and some surrounded by white curtains. Each bed was flanked by a nightstand, and some by IV stands or trays. A wave of embarrassment washed over him and he clung to it, riding it desperately away from the terror that was still so fresh in his mind and into a new kind of fear.

He'd had an episode, that much was obvious, one that turned all of his prior experiences into pale memories, mere irritations in comparison. How long...

He tried to sit up - the last he remembered he'd been preparing for a trial, had they continued without him? - and was unable to move. Panic beat at his mind, hot and frantic, until he stretched to see the white straps stretched across his chest, hips, legs, ankles.

Oh God, can this get any better?

Clenching his fist revealed something that had been left under his palm, a box, smooth and flat, with what felt like a switch. A call button. Letting his head fall back onto the pillow (which seemed to be made almost entirely of air, and flattened under his weight until he could feel the bed underneath) he pressed the switch, and waited.

"Awake? Ain't that a surprise."

Miles jerked his head towards the voice, afraid for an irrational moment that he was going to see Wright's Texan friend, that Hart woman. It was a nurse, of course, a slightly plump woman with sun-dark skin and red-brown hair. She sauntered to the bed and began undoing the straps. "Okay hon, these can come off but you're gonna have to relax for the time being. You've been through a lot the past few days. D'you know where you are?"

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes and relaxed back into the pillow, sure that his dignity couldn't suffer any more than it already had. "Hospital, I'm assuming. How long?"

She regarded him with an unreadable expression, and he felt a twinge of ice creep down his spine. "D'you remember what day you came in?"

"Thursday?"

A smile lit her face, and he wanted to yell at her even as the ice dulled away. "Welp, it's Sunday. You lost a few days, but everything should be fine. Your friend said he took care of your job and all that. Your therapist has been by a few times, too, he's gonna want to see you now that you're back. If things look good you may get to go home tomorrow, but I doubt they're gonna recommend you go back to the grind for a week or two, and Dr. Ellison will probably want you in a lot more often, at least for a while." As she dumped the information on him she was bustling about the bed, raising it so he was in a sitting position, adjusting his pillow and blankets, bringing him a bottle of water.

The whole time he glared at her, but she seemed woefully immune to the effect, so he focused on mulling the information over. He wondered who this 'friend' had been...Gumshoe, perhaps. The thought of his subordinate seeing him in that state...would his dignity ever recover?

"Anyway, I'll leave you to get some rest. My name's Anna, I'm on duty for the next five hours so just press the switch if you need anything."

Before she could leave he said, "Actually, Anna, I wonder if I could trouble you for a phone. There are some calls I need to make." She seemed to think it over, and finally gave him another face-splitting smile that made his jaw ache.

"I suppose I can get that for ya', but only if you promise to not be long, and to get some rest when you're done."

Miles resisted (just barely) the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course." With that she was gone, leaving the hospital room blissfully quiet. Miles collapsed back into the pillow, already making a mental list of the people he needed to call, the things that would have to be done to correct this disaster - two days of work lost, technically four because he usually worked through the weekends when it was required, and the indignity of someone (or someones, an even worse thought) finding him in that state, the insurance paperwork for the hospital stay. Already his head was starting to ache. He rubbed gingerly at his temples, making a note to ask 'Anna' for some pain reliever.

A flash of pink caught his attention, from the corner of his eye. He turned to the nightstand and found a pink figure...an action figure...a Pink Princess action figure.

He was still staring confusedly at it when Anna brought the phone several minutes later.

[RL 2: Worst Fear Virus; Edgeworth's struggle with the virus]

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