Death is not a hunter unbeknownst to its prey; one is always aware that it lies in wait.

[mentis_reae]

Who: The Ghost of Christmas Grouching and YOU.
When: The nights of December 31st and January 1st, 2010 and 2011.
Where: All over the city.
Summary: Edgeworth, having been killed, has been mutated into a creature of the darkness and is now operating along the lines of his old instinct, seeking out evildoers and punishing them for their misdeeds.

Comments

January 1st, 2 AM, Edges of Sector 4

[cowboy_newsie]

[It's restlessness, more than anything, that keeps him out of bed and wandering the streets tonight. It's certainly not grief; Jack felt that or something similar to it when he heard of Edgeworth's death, but that's long since been compartmentalized and put away. It's not anger, either, because there's nothing to do; Grimmjow isn't easily tracked, and he's already tried all he can to help bring Edgeworth back, it's done.

So: restlessness, then, is fueling Jack, as he paces down the street quickly, his shoulders hunched as he stares at the ground. Restlessness and nothing more. And if he feels something else occasionally-- if his eyes burn sometimes, or he savagely kicks a trash can with a yell every so often-- well, those are just slip-ups, that's all. They'll be gone by morning, and he'll be fine with all of this. Perfectly fine.]

[mentis_reae]

[This is an easy one; the stench of blood and medicine all but clings to Jack Kelly. Mr. Kelly's crimes are indeed numerous, almost comical in their sheer number; theft, assault, defiance of labor laws. Breaking out of prison. But those all predated his passage to a new world - indeed, it was in the new place, this asylum, this Edelweiss, that Jack Kelly, orderly promoted to nurse, became the worthless blight on the face of humanity he now was.

What cowardice he'd shown. How he'd hidden. Obedient always to the word of his lords and masters, these criminals and rapists who'd victimized him and then turned their attention to his friends; he'd had to do nothing more than clean up their bodies. Kelly was the man who made their injustices easy. He was the one who enabled them.

And striving to enter medicine here, clearly to compound his sins. How altogether perfect.

The ghosts watches him walk, and then the ghost laughs.]

[cowboy_newsie]

[Jack, for all he is wrapped into himself, isn't stupid; he's not been altogether unwary. His head snaps up and his hand goes for his knife before he remembers he's left it at home. No matter, though; he can't be hurt, and he can fight, so he'll be all right. Besides, monsters don't laugh, which means this is a human, which means-- for all everyone has powers-- he's a good deal safer. Humans can be reasoned with, most times.

Tilting his head back, Jack turns, glaring around the street, trying to find the source of that laugh.]

All right, stop fuckin' around. Come on. You want money or what?

[mentis_reae]

[As ever, he thinks that others in the world are as low as he is. To a thief, every man is a thief. To a murderer, every man is a murderer. He is the one and is tantamount to the other.

This man was to be removed from the world. And he would be. But, as ever, the dilemma - how to do it?

The ghost walks out before the coward Jack Kelly, and smiles at the puzzle before it.]

[cowboy_newsie]

[He sucks in a breath, more surprised than shocked-- and then, as he narrows his eyes, more disgusted than angry. It's not Edgeworth, in his mind; it's just a monster who could take his shape. His hands clench, and Jack takes a deliberate step forward-- though he's not so close the ghost could touch him, if it decided to step forward.]

One hell of a way to respect the dead. I've killed a hundred of you bastards, you really think I'm gonna have trouble killin' one more?

[mentis_reae]

[The ghost does not think on its own - not truly. It operates on brutal killing instinct. But it can speak the practiced, remembered words of Miles Edgeworth. It can imitate him, including his witticisms and his dry humor. But these words, though they're words Miles Edgeworth might speak - aren't delivered with the same slight veneer of wry embarrassment with which he's sarcastic to his friends. They're instead flat and affectless, a catechism without comprehension of either call or response.]

You've killed a hundred lawyers?

[cowboy_newsie]

A hundred monsters. You're not him.

[But though Jack won't admit it, there's a slight note of fear in his voice. This is sick, hearing those words and that somewhat familiar voice, and it's all the sicker because of the way it's not quite right.]

[mentis_reae]

[The ghost laughs at that fear. Its smile is broad and vicious.]

I wonder what I can do with you, now that you can't die?

[cowboy_newsie]

Nothin', cuz I ain't stickin' round. I ain't in no mood to deal with a monster today.

[He takes a deliberate step backwards, then two, before he turns. He's horribly tense, aware that turning is stupid, aware that the monster will probably attack-- but he doesn't want to fight. Not when it looks like Edgeworth.]

[mentis_reae]

[Immediately, a broad wall, stretching from one end of the street to the other, blocks his path.]

[cowboy_newsie]

[He hisses a curse under his breath, turning to face the ghost once more, a little more fear in his expression.]

Let me go.

[mentis_reae]

[A smile, and then it bends down to touch the ground. Stone clings to his fingers when he straightens up, flowing outwards and sharpening and strengthening until it's balanced in the ghost's hand like an asphalt spear.]

Afraid of confinement.

[cowboy_newsie]

No. I ain't afraid of a damn thin', yourself included.

[He moves back a step, until his back is against the wall. His body is tensed to flee, for once.]

Just try it.

[mentis_reae]

[He inclines his chin, and then throws that spear with deadly speed and accuracy right into Jack's midriff.]

[cowboy_newsie]

[He's not stupid enough to simply take the hit; as soon as the monster moves to throw, he reacts, trying to dodge to the side-- but of course, his power is healing, not speed. The spear catches him neatly in his stomach, the tip piercing the left side, and he screams in pain.

It's not just that this hurts, though that's primarily the reason he's yelling. It's also that this is all so familiar-- being confined and taunted and tortured, by a man Jack knows he can't hope to reason with. It adds an extra layer of panic above the fear and anger, and it's why Jack lets the spear linger within him for a few extra seconds before he grasps the head and slowly pulls it out, shuddering and gasping in pain, his eyes unfocused as he stares at the ground.

His shirt and jeans are stained dark red, but the wound itself closes after another twenty seconds, the skin smooth and unbroken, the organs within functioning once more. Jack straightens up, face pale, and shifts until he holds the spear as a weapon, grasping it tightly in both hands.]

I'm

[mentis_reae]

No?

[Another gesture. Another spear of stone forms - this one jutting out from the center of the wall. It pierces Jack's middle from the other direction.]