Chapter Text
Panting.
Frantic, panicked panting.
A small girl, no older than 7 or 8, is running frantically. Her face is twisted in sheer terror as her breathing quickens with each step. She keeps glancing over her shoulder, trying to outrun whatever is gaining on her.
BANG!
The girl collapses on the floor, screaming “MOMMY!”
__
…and then Raven jolts up, her heart racing, on the school bench outside. That nightmare again. The same nightmare that has been plaguing her for years now.
Stop thinking about it, she tells herself. Not now.
She clenches the piece of paper in her hand. I have to do this. I promised I would.
She glances over at the police officers near the front of the school and swallows hard. Her fingers automatically start fiddling with the choker around her neck as she strengthens her resolve.
Deep breath. Make it quick.
With a sharp breath, she shouts, “I’m the one who blackmailed Ms. Taylor into rickrolling the class!”
It was quick: officers shouting, cold cuffs snapping around her wrists, the sharp smell of leather in the backseat, and the other students crowding at the front of the school with their phones raised.
After stating her rights, the officer read off her charge: rickrolling.
2:40 PM
Monday, March 1st
Detention Center
I sit up straight in the back of the cab, tapping my finger on the edge of my seat. The smell of cheap air freshener mixes with the sound of Trucy’s chatter next to me, but my mind is elsewhere. We’re heading to the Detention Center, a place I’ve visited more times than I care to count, to meet a new client Mr. Wright told us about. Despite my previous experiences with clients, I’m still a bit nervous because I never quite know what I’m walking into.
I watch as the cold, gloomy building comes into view. As the cab halts to a stop, I mentally prepare myself for whatever’s coming next.
I’m Apollo Justice, and I’m fine.
I’m Apollo Justice, and I’m fine.
I’m Apollo Justice, and I’m FINE!
“Apollo!” Trucy hisses sharply into my ear, her voice cutting through my self-affirmations, “Keep it down!”
I blink, confused, until I notice the officer at the front desk giving me a strange look and raising an eyebrow in my direction.
Whoops, I must have said the last part out loud. Wonderful.
I run a hand through my hair, brushing it back in an attempt to cover my embarrassment. Trucy’s grin is as wide as the sun, and she leans in, her voice barely a whisper, “Your face is as red as a tomato.”
Great vote of confidence.
“Thanks, Trucy,” I mutter, fighting to maintain a straight face as I feel more heat rush into my cheeks. Before Trucy can respond, another officer appears at the doorway, signaling that we can meet the prisoner.
“Finally,” I mutter with a sigh of relief. I stand up, feeling the cold air of the Detention Center seeping into my bones and let out a slight shiver. This place is always creepy and depressing, no matter how many times I’ve been here. The gray walls, the buzzing overhead lights – it never gets any less suffocating.
The officer leads us through the maze of sterile hallways, and I feel my nerves intensifying. I can’t help but wonder what type of case we have this time. Mr. Wright didn’t tell me much – just that the case is supposed to be ‘simple’. Trucy tugs at my sleeve, snapping me out of my thoughts as we approach the visitor’s room.
As I open the door, I hear a voice, desperate and pleading:
“Mr. Wright! I request you take my case! Please, I have done no wrong!”
I step into the room, immediately spotting the source of the voice. She matches the description Mr. Wright gave me – a young teenager with olive skin and long, straight black hair. She’s wearing a white dress that stands in stark contrast to this dreary place, along with a black choker that has a large red heart pendant hanging from it.
I’m not Mr. Wright, but it’s not like I came here for nothing. The Wright Anything Agency needs more cases to pay the bills, after all.
I pull up a chair and sit down, attempting to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, “Of course, Miss! My Chords of Steel and I will find the truth!”
Her eyes narrow slightly as she looks me up and down, clearly unimpressed. “Um…who are you? I thought you were Mr. Wright…I guess you have the spiky hair, but it doesn’t quite look right…”
I laugh nervously, running a hand through my hair, “Ah, well…I guess I can see how that would be confusing.”
Before I can respond, Trucy jumps in with a wide smile, “This is Polly! He’s a lawyer, just like my daddy!”
The girl’s eyes widen in shock. “Wait, you’re THE famous magician Trucy Wright?! I’ve always wanted to see you in person! Well, not like this but…” she trails off, raising an eyebrow at me in confusion, “Anyways, your name is…Polly?”
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, cursing my tendency to get flustered easily. “No! I mean, no. My name’s Apollo Justice, defense attorney. Certain…circumstances have led me to work for Mr. Wright. Trucy is here as my legal assistant,” I say, fumbling slightly. To prove my point, I take my attorney badge from my lapel and hold it up.
The girl slowly nods, still eyeing me skeptically but her expression shifts to one of understanding, if not entirely convinced.
“Is there a reason Mr. Wright couldn’t come?” the girl asks. Her question is sharp, her eyes scrutinizing me – not in a challenging way, but in a way that suggests she’s trying to piece things together.
This one asks all the hard questions…
“Well, Mr. Wright is…not taking any cases at the moment,” I say, trying my best to avoid the sensitive subject of his disbarment.
Raven’s face falls and, for a moment, she looks disappointed. “Better to have a novice, not-well-known defense attorney than no defense at all…” she mutters under her breath.
Sigh. Why do I always get the difficult clients?
I force a smile, brushing off her comment. “So Miss…,” I say, trying to shift the conversation.
“Raven,” she says before swiftly adding “Like the bird.”
“So Miss Raven, can you tell me what led to your arrest?” I ask.
Her cheeks turn a faint shade of pink, and she mumbles something I can’t quite catch.
“What was that?” I ask, leaning forward slightly.
“I…” Her voice falters, her eyes darting down to the floor as if the words are too difficult to say aloud. “I got arrested for…” she trails off, barely audible.
“Go ahead,” I press gently, “What was it?”
“Rickrolling!” she bursts out suddenly, her face turning five times redder than it had before. “I got arrested for blackmailing one of my teachers into rickrolling the class.”
Wait, what’s rickrolling? Is this some new crime I’ve never heard of before?
“You can get arrested for rickrolling?” Trucy exclaims from my side, her voice laced with disbelief. “That’s a new one.”
“It’s honestly embarrassing,” Raven says, her voice barely above a whisper. She fiddles with the heart pendant on her choker, clearly not pleased with how things have turned out.
I glance between Trucy and Raven, still confused. “Um…what exactly does rickrolling mean?” I ask, hoping they’ll clarify.
Trucy looks at me with wide eyes, clearly shocked. “Gosh, Polly, you’re such an old man! Get with the times!” she teases, her grin impossibly wide. “I bet you don’t even know what a meme is! You probably say ‘ell o ell’ instead of ‘lol’,” she continues while trying to stifle her laughter.
I blink at her, caught off guard. “I’m sorry I was getting my law degree and not ‘with the times’! Besides, 23 is not that old!” I shoot back, laughing despite myself.
I can tell Trucy is relishing this little pop-culture knowledge moment, but I’m still the lawyer between the two of us.
Twenty-three isn’t that old, right? Does twenty-three seem old to a sixteen-year-old?
“Ahem,” Raven clears her throat quietly.
I am so wrapped up in my back-and-forth with Trucy that I forgot where we were. I turn back towards Raven, realizing I might have missed an important beat. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” I say, extending an apology.
“No worries,” she replies, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips. She doesn’t seem too bothered by the momentary lapse in professionalism. “Anyways, the trial has been scheduled for tomorrow, and I overheard one of the officers say they have proof I did it.”
Why does the trial always have to be scheduled for the very next day?
I take extra precautions to make sure my worry doesn’t show on my face. I’m already dreading how little time we have to prepare.
“Any idea what this ‘proof’ is?” Trucy asks, her voice suddenly serious. She’s all business when it comes down to it.
“I-I’m really sorry, but that’s all I know. They said it would be ‘decisive evidence’ that would ‘prove my guilt’,” Raven replies, her voice full of regret. “The police questioned me, but I wasn’t able to glean anything else from them.”
Trucy leans toward me, her whisper barely audible. “There goes your easy case, Polly.”
Sighing, I absentmindedly rub my arm. Why do I always get clients who have decisive proof against them from the start? It’s like Mr. Wright enjoys testing my limits… Wait a minute…
“Was there, by chance, a snackoo-eating detective investigating your case?” I ask, trying to bring some levity to the situation.
Raven’s eyes light up, a spark of recognition flashing across her face. “Yes! There was! She seemed pretty grumpy, though…” she adds, her voice a little more animated than before.
“I think that’s just her normal state,” I reply, half-relieved and half-bracing myself for what’s to come.
I silently hope that Ema isn’t too grumpy today — and that I only get one faceful of Snackoos.
Before I can continue, Raven’s voice shakes me from my thoughts. “I’m sorry I’m not much help...the accident and now this. My life’s a mess...” she admits absentmindedly, her words tinged with guilt and sorrow. She looks down at her lap, avoiding our gazes.
“You were… in an accident?” Trucy asks gently, sensing the vulnerability in Raven’s tone.
Raven’s face darkens instantly. “Ah, s-sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” she says, her words clipped. She seems to shrink inward, her eyes darting anywhere but at us.
This is new. It’s clear she’s hiding something, and her sudden defensiveness only adds to the weight of the moment.
“Can you please tell me more details about this accident?” I ask carefully, trying not to push too hard but knowing we need to understand everything.
Raven shrugs, her voice barely audible. “It’s not a big deal. It happened months ago anyhow,” she mutters, still not meeting our eyes.
I furrow my brows. Something doesn’t add up here.
“You know what they say,” Trucy interjects, her tone soft but insistent. “An accident is still an accident, no matter how small.”
I open my mouth to correct her on the saying, but before I can, Raven suddenly explodes, her voice trembling with emotion. “It’s not related to the case, alright!” she shouts, her outburst catching me off guard. “I-I don’t feel like talking about it, so can we please change the subject?”
The sudden shift in her mood sends a chill down my spine. She’s clearly hiding something — and I’m not sure if I should press her further or leave it alone for now.
“We don’t want to pressure you, Raven,” Trucy reassures her, her expression serious. “We won’t push you to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
Raven looks up at us, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words never come. Instead, she shakes her head and looks down again.
“Hey, Polly,” Trucy whispers to me, her voice low. “Let’s go see Ema. I want to show her my new magic trick, and it doesn’t seem like we’re getting any more information from Raven right now.”
“Alright, let’s go to the scene of the...crime,” I say with a slight pause.
As we leave the Visitor’s Room, I watch as the guard escorts Raven back to her cell. She doesn’t look at us as she walks away.
Another guard leads Trucy and me out to the main lobby, and I feel the weight of the conversation still hanging in the air.
“I’ll go call a cab,” Trucy says, her cape swishing dramatically as she dashes out the door. I’m left standing alone with my thoughts.
That accident must have been traumatic for her. But for now, we have to focus on the case. We’ll have to deal with whatever else comes later.
Trucy’s voice calls to me from outside. “Are you ready to go back to high school, Polly? Because that’s where we’re heading!”
I inwardly groan. High school. Oh, joy.