Chapter Text
Nights like this one seemed to drag on for an eternity.
Klavier sighed, slouching deeper against the brick wall, barely listening to his radio’s incessant, tinny chattering. It was nearly two in the morning, and Klavier’s consciousness was on its last legs—but he couldn’t sleep yet. He had to stay awake, at least for a little while longer.
Why?
Klavier was on a stakeout.
He was hot on the heels of a dangerous mobster and his clique of crooks, calling themselves the Bruise Crew. The mob had already claimed two victims that week, a pair of accountants who dared to point out the gang’s suspicious finances. Klavier wouldn’t allow them to take any more lives if he could help it. He was determined to have their leader arrested and their organization dissolved before breakfast time.
It helped Klavier to be close friends with both the Chief Prosecutor and the Chief of Police. Thanks to Edgeworth’s steady stream of tips, along with Gumshoe allowing Klavier to work uninterrupted in his district, Klavier managed to stay one step ahead of any developments in the criminal underworld. He was thankful for the opportunity to puncture criminal organizations at the source before they hurt the unsuspecting denizens of Los Angeles.
However, many people disapproved of Klavier’s methods of dealing with crime. They called it brutish and barbaric, and accused Klavier of being nothing more than a vigilante. That was why he was currently wearing a pitch-black suit, along with a mask that obscured everything but his mouth and eyes.
Anonymity was valuable when so many people hated your guts. Even Edgeworth and Gumshoe, his close allies, didn’t realize that Klavier was actually the masked vigilante on the evening news. It was safer that way, to keep Klavier Gavin’s name separate from his secret night job.
Klavier sat up straighter and rubbed his eyes, scanning the alleyway once again. According to Edgeworth’s most recent tip, the Bruise Crew’s leader was planning a meeting at this very location—a dingy alley situated behind a small restaurant. But it was getting late, and there was still no sign of the Bruise Crew. Did they call the meeting off? Perhaps they caught wind of Klavier’s interference? It was hard to say. But as the hours ticked by, Klavier grew more and more anxious. If they didn’t show up soon, they probably wouldn’t arrive at all.
But just as Klavier was contemplating abandoning the stakeout, a small blue car pulled over on the adjacent road. Three men stepped into view of the streetlight, wrangling a smaller, fourth man and dragging him along with them. One of the aggressors, a huge, burly man in a fedora and trenchcoat, perfectly fit the description Klavier was given by Gumshoe. This was undoubtedly the leader of the Bruise Crew.
Klavier immediately snapped back to his senses—he slipped further down the alley and began vaulting himself upwards, his prowess honed by years of athletic training. He landed on a metal balcony and watched with careful eyes as the three men guided their unwilling guest deeper into the alley, ignoring his muffled protests.
“This doesn’t have to be difficult, kid,” the leader said curtly. “You’re the one who wanted to do this the hard way.”
Their prisoner grunted and tried to pull himself away, but was met with a solid punch to his cheek. The young man sputtered, raising his eyes to glare up at the ringleader. “I told you, there’s nothing I can do!” he spat, his voice barely firm enough to keep from wavering. Considering he was surrounded by the Bruise Crew, he’d managed to stay surprisingly calm. But as one of his assailants grabbed his hair and yanked it downwards, the last remnants of his composure slipped away. “S—Stop that! Ow!!”
Klavier’s ears perked up at the sound of the man’s cracked, panicked voice. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but the gang’s prisoner was strikingly familiar, despite the blackness of the alleyway. His hair wilted limply over his massive forehead, and his suit was a garish, ugly shade of red.
…Apollo?
“L–Look, I’m just the DA, okay?” Apollo continued, giving up his struggle to focus his attention on the leader. “I can’t do anything for your little club, even if I wanted to.”
“…Is that so?”
A balled, hard-hitting fist shot forward again, slamming directly into Apollo’s exposed stomach. A wheezy groan escaped him, and he would’ve doubled over if it weren’t for the two strange men hoisting him by his arms.
Klavier took a closer look at the gang’s faces, and realization finally dawned on him. The group’s leader, the man who’d just socked Apollo, was a fellow named Bruno Boozehound. He stood in court just two days ago, testifying against Apollo’s most recent client, until the court’s eye of suspicion pointed in Bruno’s direction. Bruno must’ve decided that targeting Apollo would clear his name, despite Apollo trying his best to argue otherwise between Bruno’s punches and kicks.
“Proposing your little alternative theory in court was a bad move, sport,” Bruno said nonchalantly. “You couldn’t just let your client take the fall, could you? You just had to bring me into it.”
“But you killed—!”
Another punch, silencing Apollo’s retort. Klavier winced at the sight.
“Tell the judge to leave us be, and I’ll consider letting you live.”
“You’re wasting your time,” Apollo huffed. If only his hand was free to wipe the sweat away pooling on his forehead. “I don’t control who the court goes after. The Prosecutor’s Office is going to have you arrested, whether I’m there or not.”
“I think he’s full of it, boss.” One of the two men restraining Apollo yanked him backwards and scowled. He was easily a whole foot taller than Apollo, maybe more, and his hands were big enough to envelop Apollo’s bicep completely. “Should we bump him off?”
Bruno chuckled darkly, adjusting his trenchcoat with a menacing smirk. His hand buried itself somewhere deep in his pocket. “If that’s what it takes, I suppose that’s our only option.”
Klavier’s eyes widened as Bruno’s hand emerged once again. His fingers were curled around the grip of a .375 Magnum revolver. Klavier fumbled for a pocket on his utility belt.
“You got one more chance, little man,” Bruno spat, spinning the cylinder with his spare palm and slipping his pointer finger over the trigger. “Take the heat off us. Otherwise, I’m taking you down with me. I’ve got nothing left to lose.”
Judging by the look on his face, Apollo wanted nothing more than to hiss a scathing remark, insulting Bruno’s moustache or ugly fedora. But instead, he was totally paralyzed in fear. Any semblance of a retort died on his tongue. His mouth hung open, and the trembling of his knees grew more and more insistent.
Klavier’s stomach dropped.
Apollo was about to die.
Bruno’s men cackled at the sorry sight. The barrel of Bruno’s .357 Magnum jabbed painfully against Apollo’s forehead.
“…Sayonara, sucker.”
There was no time to waste. Klavier made his move, flinging himself into action.
Apollo squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the pain.
How did he end up in such a mess? If he’d known that being a lawyer would be so dangerous, he’d have taken measures to protect himself on the street. Or maybe he’d have taken up a safer profession, like alligator wrestling or stunt piloting.
The barrel of Bruno’s gun jabbed roughly into his head. Apollo swallowed thickly, trying to control his panicked breathing. Who would feed his poor cat once he was gone? Who would carry Trucy’s magic supplies backstage? Who would clean the office toilet?
Apollo couldn’t die yet! He was still so young, so spry! What a cruel twist of fate!
But instead of a gunshot, a harsh, metallic clang rang out, and when Apollo opened his eyes, the gun was nowhere to be seen. Bruno was staring somewhere overhead, his face contorted with a mix of rage and terror.
Apollo craned his neck up as best he could. Outlined by the full moon, as if ripped from a surrealist painting, stood a shadowy figure clinging to the side of a building. Their cape fluttered in the evening winds, and their eyes glowed faintly, making them look far more intimidating. Bruno’s missing gun dangled limply from their left hand.
“It’s the bat!” Bruno hissed. “Let’s hit the bricks!”
The two men restraining Apollo suddenly dropped him and bolted towards the alleyway exit, with Bruno leading the charge. But before they could escape back into the nearby street, the shadowy figure suddenly descended from the sky, landing directly in Bruno’s path. They were like a ninja, silent and stoic, draped in a deep blue cloak.
Apollo read the newspapers, of course.
He’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.
Bruno’s demeanour had completely melted away. He spoke again, his voice quieter, with the slightest waver in his tone. “Listen,” he whispered. “It’s not—”
The figure moved quickly. Before Bruno could utter another word, they seized Bruno’s arm and hurled him to the ground, leaving him sprawling against the pavement. The mobster uttered a pained moan, and his two henchmen carefully backed away, holding their hands up in surrender.
“I suggest you give up now.” The figure took two steps forward. His (Apollo assumed they were a man, based on the voice) cape fluttered ominously behind him. “The police are already on their way. You won’t get far.”
The two henchmen nodded solemnly, clutching their hats and keeping their eyes pointed downward. The figure pulled a length of cord from his belt and began binding their hands together. Bruno moaned again, writhing like a worm on the ground, but made no further protest as his arms and legs were bound as well.
While watching this unfold, Apollo clutched his forehead and grimaced. The pain was coming to him all at once, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, and he collapsed to his knees to keep himself from fainting. The masked man rushed over to him, kneeling beside Apollo.
“Are you alright?” he asked, genuine concern lacing his words.
“Been better,” Apollo wheezed. “Thanks for the rescue.”
“What happened? How did you get into hot water with the Bruise Crew?”
Apollo rubbed his face tiredly. He was far too exhausted to even register the absurdity of having a run-in with the Batman, world-famous vigilante crime-fighter. Apollo never thought he’d come face-to-face with such a prolific figure, even in his line of work.
“I–I’m an attorney,” Apollo explained. “I made the mistake of accusing him of double homicide.”
The Batman nodded knowingly. “…The two accountants. I recall.”
Apollo stared up at the Batman’s masked face. His eye holes were covered in a faint white film, obscuring the eyes of its wearer. All that was visible of the Batman’s true face was his jaw, lined with the slightest hint of a five o’clock shadow.
Nobody was going to believe Apollo had an encounter with the Batman.
Actually, Trucy might, but she’d also make fun of Apollo for getting rescued by a guy in a bat costume. Mr. Wright would just be happy to have Apollo around to keep the bathroom clean. Prosecutor Gavin would probably write a song about the whole debacle.
“Whatever,” Apollo said, trying his best to shrug off the pain. He moved to stand, swiping away the Batman’s attempts to help him up. “This is good for my case. I bet Prosecutor Gavin will have a field day with Bruno after tonight.”
“Who cares about your case?” the Batman growled. “You almost got shot.”
Apollo gazed at him oddly. What a weird reaction.
“I’m going to have a word with the district judge and have you taken off your case.” Apollo opened his mouth to protest, but the Batman cut him off. “The Bruise Crew has connections to larger, more dangerous gangs. When word gets out that you took Bruno out of the picture, his associates are going to come after you. You’ll be in danger.”
“I don’t care,” Apollo argued. “My client needs me. Besides, I don’t take legal advice from vigilantes.”
Their argument was cut short by the faint sound of sirens ringing in the distance. The Batman rose to his feet just as cars bathed in red and blue light pulled up beside the alleyway. Apollo stared at the caravan of police cars, spotting Chief Gumshoe and Prosecutor Edgeworth among the ranks of officers.
“That was fast.”
“Gumshoe trusts me enough to dispatch me special units,” the Batman explained. He pointed at the lead car, and to Chief Gumshoe, who was stepping out of the driver’s seat with Prosecutor Edgeworth. “They’re going to take you to a hospital. Oh, and I’ll have some officers providing twenty-four-seven security for you. You’re welcome.”
“What?!” Apollo shot to a stand. The sudden movement aggravated his forming bruises and caused him to wince. “Isn’t that… I don’t know, a bit of an overreaction? It’s just a few bruises.”
The Batman quirked an eyebrow.
Apollo grit his teeth and looked down. “I can handle it,” he hissed.
“Right.” The Batman smirked ever-so-slightly, causing Apollo’s blood to boil beneath his skin.
But Apollo didn’t have the chance to say anything more, because when Chief Gumshoe bolted up to them, the Batman turned on his heel and ran off. Apollo watched him vanish into the shadows of the night. “Goodbye, I guess,” he said to nobody in particular.
“Jesus, pal,” Gumshoe tutted as he arrived at Apollo’s side, examining Apollo’s wounds with a sympathetic look on his face. “Bruno’s boys got you real good... We’re gonna take you to the clinic, make sure you didn’t break anything. Is that okay by you?”
Apollo stared at the Chief dumbly. Gumshoe apparently took his silence as an affirmative—he carefully grabbed Apollo’s hand and led him past the other officers, each one of them busy hoisting Bruno’s men into the backs of their cars. Apollo simply followed Gumshoe to his car and didn’t complain as he was placed in the back seat.
Just outside the car door, Gumshoe and Edgeworth were talking to each other in urgent tones, although Apollo couldn’t make out what they were saying. However, they kept glancing through the window, staring at Apollo for a split second, which gave him a pretty good idea of what they were discussing.
Apollo crossed his arms and seethed. How dare the Batman try to make him abandon the murder trial? Who did he think he was, a celebrity? Apollo had a duty to fulfill to his client, and he was determined to fight until the bitter end. A few ragtag gangs with pistols didn’t scare him one bit.
(…Fine. Maybe he was a little scared. Not that he would ever admit it.)
Still, Apollo wasn’t going to drop the case. He’d die before abandoning his client.
Apollo was so wrapped up in his thoughts that even his keen, hawk-like eyes didn’t spot the shadowy figure watching from afar.
From the rooftop of a nearby building, Klavier let out a sigh of relief. Once again, Gumshoe had arrived in time to clean up the criminal underworld’s mess. And with Edgeworth by his side, they would make quick work of Bruno’s gang.
But Bruno was the last of Klavier’s worries.
If Apollo wasn’t going to back down, then he was willingly painting a bright red target on his own back. The Bruise Crew was a small, inconsequential gang, but they were affiliated with groups that had more gangsters and bigger guns.
Apollo was willingly putting himself in danger for this case.
He was being stupid.
Very well, then. Klavier simply had no choice but to keep a close eye on Apollo. If Klavier was nearby during the next attack (and there would be a next attack, Klavier was certain of that), then he could prevent Apollo from getting hurt again.
With that in mind, Klavier lept away. He needed to get ready for work in the morning.