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"Sir, is everything all right?" Gumshoe asked, rushing into the visitator’s room. He was panting; he had run as fast as he could after Phoenix told him that Edgeworth had overreacted to the earthquake. His thoughts had been dwelling on his superior since the strongest wave of an earthquake struck.
Miles offered no reply. He lay curled in a ball on the floor, his entire body trembling. Gumshoe couldn't even tell if his eyes were open; his head was shielded by his arms and hands. It looked like Edgeworth was bracing himself against the earthquake's shockwave and protecting his body from the imaginary debris raining down on him.
"He's been like this for a few minutes. He is unresponsive," reported the guard standing in the corner of the room.
Gumshoe huffed in frustration. He stomped his foot, causing the guard to flinch—Gumshoe was most likely the only person capable of eliciting any reaction at all from the guard in the visitator’s room.
"Hey, pal! You can't just stand there like that, pal!" Gumshoe shouted, annoyed by the guard's lack of reaction. His gaze then fell upon Edgeworth, and his expression softened. Instead of arguing with the guard, Gumshoe walked over to Miles on the floor and said, "Sir, you're at the detention center. The worst had passed."
Edgeworth said nothing. He slowly removed his hands from his face but kept his eyes closed. Gumshoe knelt beside him. His expression softened as he looked at Edgeworth’s face—his cheeks were streaked with tears, and heavy drops of sweat were rolling down his forehead and dripping into his closed eyelids.
"Mr. Edgeworth, sir?" Gumshoe said worriedly. The guard was right. He didn’t respond to what he was saying to him, but Gumshoe wasn't about to give up so easily. "Sir, do you see that pal in the corner?"
His eyelids slowly lifted, revealing widened eyes filled with tears. Edgeworth looked at the guard. The man hadn't moved an inch, though Edgeworth had felt as if he was trying to say something to him earlier. This wasn't a court bailiff. He wasn't in an elevator. It was just another panic attack. Edgeworth cautiously looked around, taking in the walls and the glass partition separating the area from the visitors.
Gumshoe grinned slightly, finally seeing some progress. "Now, smile for the camera," he said, encouraging him to keep focusing on things in the room.
Edgeworth looked up, wiping away his tears with his hand. A surveillance camera was mounted in the corner of the room. His senses returned. He really was in the detention center, and he acted like a child again. He hated being seen in a moment of vulnerability. The prosecutors didn't cry. It was a sign of weakness, and besides, he was a grown man. He should neither cry nor be afraid of earthquakes. Edgeworth shot a glare at Gumshoe, but before he said anything, he stood up from the floor. "Detective, what are you doing here? You should be at the precinct," Edgeworth scolded him, brushing the dust off his outfit and smoothing out any wrinkles.
"I was worried about you, sir!" Gumshoe replied, nervously scratching the back of his neck. He sighed and was bracing himself for the routine salary cut talk.
"Detective," Edgeworth began sternly, pausing for a moment in thought. He didn't understand why he and Wright cared about him so much. He was the reason Gumshoe had been forced to live on instant noodles and why Wright had nearly been convicted of his mentor's murder. Instead of hating or laughing at him, they helped him—especially Gumshoe, who was getting bad treatment from him. Edgeworth appreciated it, though he would never dare admit this.
"While your concern for me was justified, you cannot neglect your duties," Edgeworth continued.
No threat of a pay cut? That was new. Gumshoe let out a deep sigh of relief. It looked like he would be able to afford a few extra packs of instant noodles next month. Maybe he could even order some fast food.
Edgeworth pointed at the guard and issued a command: "Guard! Take me to my cell!"
However, before leaving the visitator’s room, Edgeworth turned to both Gumshoe and the guard. "You better watch what you say and remain discreet about what you’ve seen here. Your raise next month depends on it."
Both men nodded, though the words weren’t really a threat—and Edgeworth knew it perfectly well. He held no authority over them now, and he would never be a prosecutor again. Edgeworth was aware that these were his final days. Even if Wright somehow managed to get him a not guilty verdict, he wouldn't accept it.
He didn’t kill that defense lawyer at Gourdy Lake; he killed someone else fifteen years ago. The nightmare in which he killed his father was not a dream. It had actually happened and was burned into his memory. The entire scene played out before him again as the earthquake struck. Lying curled up on the ground, he heard his father arguing with a bailiff, a gunshot, and a scream that haunted him to this day, before everything became silent again. Edgeworth could no longer live with the guilt of the worst crime he committed—murdering his beloved father.