Nightshift 38: M41-M50 Hallway

[scalyfishman]

After dinner Depth Charge had drifted over to his bed and collapsed onto it, feeling disturbingly fragile, as if a strong breeze could shatter him and blow away the pieces like they were nothing but dust. Matsuda’d tried to help, but the human had no idea He’d never felt so helpless, so useless, so slagging vulnerable. What was he supposed to do

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[hotbitterproof]

[Starting in M50. Spoilers for the 3rd Phoenix Wright game.]

Once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains must be the truth.

It wasn't one of his rules, but Diego believed it. He had been a defense attorney in the old days, one of the finest, and that rule served as part of the foundation for his success. Now he went by a different name and played a different role, but the rules a man should live by, and what was true about the world...those things hadn't changed.

So when he woke up in a room that wasn't his own, wearing clothing that certainly didn't match the texture of what he'd gone to bed in, Godot didn't question if it was real. He of all people knew the difference between the waking world and the sleeping one, after all. So the question wasn't 'is this even possible?' That had already been answered by it happening at all. No, what Godot had to discover was where he was, who was responsible for this kidnapping, and how he could return home. Preferably, the process would also involve finding a cup of coffee or seventeen.

Yet the initial step to take was finding his sight. Godot opened his eyes to a world void of not only red, but light and color. It was an effective way to keep him confined, or so the theory might go. Yet Godot was nothing if not determined and strong-willed. Being blind only meant the visual setting matched his mental one--seeing nothing, stumbling in the darkness for answers. Someone had just rearranged the furniture. It might have been Trite, for the lacking quality of the mattress.

There was something curious on a hard surface nearby, however, an object easily defined through touch. He'd only put his hand down to feel out his first steps when he found the distinctive shape under his palm. Now why would someone leave glasses behind, of all things? Simple bitter mockery, perhaps. Taunting was standard for this type, the man who thought he was better than his chosen target. But unlike a certain lawyer whose hair and brain were both unfashionably jagged, Godot didn't flail helplessly while waiting for a beautiful woman to save him. If they were meant for him, then Godot would wear them with pride. Let this mysterious person come in and find the man boasting both the eyewear and a grin.

Besides, there was little chance that this new face mask could be any more of a monstrosity than the one he typically wore.

But it seemed someone was a more interesting person than Godot had first thought. When he slipped the frames on, he could discern the difference. Perhaps it was subtle to those who hadn't experienced it: the difference in the blackness when one had his eyes closed, then open in a dark room. For Godot, the sun might as well have risen when those shades were put in place. Activated by the pressure, perhaps. Regardless, now that his sight was as restored as it ever was--with the telltale glow coming from the lenses, no less!--Godot took time to explore his surroundings.

Whoever the criminal was, they had left him in a curiosity-provoking cage. No shackles and no bars, though the darkness was suitable for any his morning brews. The sort of maze rats were meant to run freely in, perhaps? Inspecting the hard lump beneath his pillow seemed to support the position. Why else would someone so kindly leave a flashlight there? A thoughtfully-provided touch of hope to illuminate the well of despair.

Godot would have rather it had been a thermos. Being stolen away in the night was bad enough; being left without even a single drop of coffee was inhumane.

[hotbitterproof]

Whoever the perpetrator was, Godot would see them punished to the fullest extent of the law, whether or not he was the one to lead the charge. State vs. Iris would be the end of things between himself and Trite, and possibly the end of his career as a prosecutor. If Trite--ha!--if he somehow managed to uncover the truth, to undeniably prove it in the arena of the law, then Godot would hear news of the trial from a more simplistic cage. The possibility of that was slim, however. Godot formed the words in his mind, and pushed away the spark that would cry objection to them. Trite didn't have what it took to expose the facts of State vs. Iris, and Godot would force him to drink down that bitter darkness until he tasted it on every breath. Trite would know the agony he should have when Mia had been killed; he would be crushed under it, no longer oblivious to his crimes, or his powerlessness.

But the first motion was escape. It wasn't likely that the judge would so kindly grant a delay. The foolish gramps who often forgot that Godot would be the one to pass the ultimate verdict, on a lawyer that had lived in utter unawareness for far too long. Taking the light, Godot tested the door handle, and was unsurprised to find it unlocked. A rat in a maze, indeed.

Very well, Mr. Kidnapper. Godot grinned to himself as he stepped into the hall. Let's see just how long it takes for the mouse to sniff out the cheese.

[hotbitterproof]

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