Silently, he trudged to death row. He was in chains with his head hanging low and dozens of clones surrounding him, all shuffling wordlessly. The only difference between him and them was his angularly shaped hair: and that had been genetically bestowed upon him by chance. Everyone had a problem, and his was blonde and conniving; there was also that bite on his shoulder, of course. He was certain it was infected, it stung so much. It was a blank corridor and he had been forced into such a small confinement by the hundreds of other criminals who were taller than him that he couldn't see where it ended, but he knew it stank of dried blood and sweat. The two conflicting scents mingled with the crowd, abusing every unfortunate nostril that passed by.

They eventually were forced into a sharp turn, big iron bars frowning above them as they reluctantly filtered through, shivering. Phoenix looked at the rotting metal from the inside, taking in the unpleasant green tinge it bore, before flicking to the several well-toned guards shutting the door as he was being jostled. Some people tried to escape through the gaps, as always, and were shot. The bang was deafening, it was all deafening - and sometimes silent, which was also deafening. Kristoph Gavin was probably somewhere eating fresh lobster on a golden platter, Miles Edgeworth stuck in a bed waiting on him whilst he was rotting away waiting for his final days to pass in a cramped, light-starved cell. He internally cursed the palace's lavatories for all eternity and placed emphasis upon not throwing up.
"This is Gavin's doing," He whispered to someone next to him after a while, his heart forcing adrenaline to advance in his cardiovascular system.
"Who?" They loudly replied.
"Kristoph Gavin. The new leader,"
"Nah, it's that Edgeworth bastard." He briefly regarded them, blinking.
"No, Edgeworth's not actually that bad-"
"I don't care. What does it matter anyway?" They leant back where they were with a smile:
"We're all doomed anyway. Fuck it." They turned to him.
"You better watch out, it could be your turn on the chopping board next." They seemed to perform a strange choking laugh. He cringed away immediately, retreating to somewhere - anywhere - else in the crowd and defeatedly closing his eyes in a form of desperate prayer, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Days, hours or years later, he opened his bloodshot eyes again to someone screaming and flailing their arms, knuckles paling as they gripped bars in an attempt to prevent their forced removal by a team of uniformed twats. Very few people seemed to care despite the terrible ruckus of clattering and banging and hoarse yelling. He looked around at his broken comrades for any sign of unity - of united approval - but, upon receiving nothing, eased himself into a standing agony regardless, stumbling forwards upon 2 unstable limbs towards the chaos.
"Stop," He croaked, placing a hand out in front of him with splayed fingers as he advanced. They ignored him.
"Stop," He thinly repeated. They ignored him.
"Stop," He was upon them now. They couldn't ignore him and therefore roughly shoved him aside; he toppled easily and collided with the bloody floor with a strained grunt. He eventually sat up again, the world grainy and spinning, to find that the situation had already been dealt with: they were confined by unconventionally spiked, sharp metal handcuffs - which ripped through the frail skin of wrists as though it were paper - and were being dragged along towards their mortality. It was murder in broad daylight which the repugnant stench openly testified to. He clung to the bars, hands stiffly slipping down the jagged metal as hot water fell from his eyes.
"You're all murderers!" He sobbed loudly as he leant fully against the bars, falling to his knees with a breaking voice.
"Shut up." A face opposed his own through the bars with stern eyes.

"Y-You can't shut us up. You'll never shut us up."
"Where's the 'us'? All I hear is you crying." They smirked;
"It's kind of annoying, actually. Need me to shut you up?"
"Please can we just be adults for a minute?" He looked to the side, another mute tear dribbling out of his left eye. They lowered their voice:
"Depends. What crime did you commit?"
"I'm not really sure," He mumbled;
"I guess I'm here for dating other men." Blue eyes hesitantly looked at theirs with a downcast sheen. They gave a curt nod.
"I think I can forgive that."
"You're rogue?"
"Well I'm not homophobic, so I guess so." Phoenix smiled in a small manner through tears.
"In that case, can you help me?"
"Maybe," The criminal whispered, furtively glancing about him, lingering on the strange hairstyle of one of the other guards, as he did so:
"Leader Edgeworth didn't attempt suicide. It's all a set up. I need to talk to someone who has influence," He uncertainly waited for a response. Maybe it had been stupid to trust a random guard - he could just be catalysing his death.

"I think I know someone."