Phoenix frowned with a wince as he found himself in a surprisingly cosy room, perched upon a surprisingly comfy bed. The duvet handsomely covered the expanse in silky duck-feather, embellished only with the simplistic emblem of Japanifornia: a land under the idyllic pretence of liberty when, in reality, it knew it was a police state. But why? 'Why' tormented the criminal's brain, knocking on every squidgy surface with a swift violence. The room was not luxurious, not spacious and certainly not gracious, but it was comfortable; friendly. A polished, wooden bedside table provided savoured company, a yellow light emitted golden rays from an intricate miniature chandelier, and the entrance to an endearingly small bathroom lay, a crevice, on the left-hand wall, swathed in gold. It was as though he'd rented an suave apartment - not been sentenced to death. The steam emanating from a neatly arranged cluster of traditional, Japanifornian dumplings caused his naked wounds to tingle. He prodded them with uncertainty despite the tantalising scent, brows furrowing in surprise:
"Prawn." He happily remarked, staring at them for a moment longer, his stomach performing somersaults as it basked in its impatience, rather too persuaded that the edibles were not laced with poison. Phoenix and the dumplings eyed each other dubiously for a moment more before he made the first move. It was velvety - exquisite - and left him stunned as someone walked in on him.
"Finished?"
"No." Phoenix replied to the fatigued guard whom bore large purple bags beneath each eye. They turned to leave:
"Wait,"
"What?"
"The others. Can I see the others?" A laugh in return:
"You mean the other criminals you were disciplined in front of, right?" Phoenix glared at the offender in indignation, silently. They left.

An amount of time passed - an uncertain day - before anything more transpired; Phoenix lay on the bed stagnantly when he was addressed:
"Get up." No response was garnered until he was further provoked.
"Get up." His limp elbow was prodded. He unceremoniously forced himself to a sitting position, groaning and fighting back the aggressive tears forming behind his glassy eyes, biting his swollen bottom lip against against the agony. He blearily blinked.
"Leader Edgeworth wants to see you." Another blink.
"Are you even listening?" The criminal with the blurred vision grimaced as he smiled:
"What business does he want with me? I'm a homosexual." He spat. They hoisted him up anyway, their firm, digging grip upon his rips a wordless warning of what disobedience would lead to. Large, stupid wooden doors with golden embellishments gaped at him once again, leading him to the foot of that same dreadful chamber: the Hall where he'd been hit. Phoenix's vision had cleared by this point - he was oriented - and he could physically feel the trepidation rise within him as his heartbeat quickened. Where was Dictator Edgeworth?

Red clashed rather nicely with the cream tone of the room - vibrant, stark, classy - and Phoenix sickened as he realised that that was his own blood lathering the steps.
"Go in." He was shoved forwards, weakened knees wobbling as he stumbled and the doors shut behind him. Alone. He was alone.

Uncertain of the protocol, shivering, he tentatively stepped forwards, scanning the room as he did so, frowning.
"Hello?" Another step, and his eyes couldn't help but rest upon his bloody remains yet again: he trembled uncontrollably, his wounds seemingly stinging so much more than before as he took another small step forwards:
"Edgeworth?"
"Up." That single, booming command was enough to force his shaky limbs into action. He carefully inched his way up each laborious step, ensuring he did not step upon any drying droplets of the previous day. One foot in front of the other. Slowly. At the top lay no tourist attraction, he discovered between gags: only a man at a desk with his back to him. Nothing transpired for a while besides his own shallow breaths prodding the air. Then the Leader elegantly rose, turning, turning until he faced him. Until he loomed above him.
"I do not appreciate being referred to without my proper title."
"Do not appreciate? Or does your ego crave it?" Leader Edgeworth's silvery eyes narrowed:
"Do not get used to your liberal treatment so quickly. I can have you shot in an instant, if I wish." Phoenix audibly sighed;
"Why have you so graciously summoned me, oh brilliant and wealthy Leader of mine?" To which the taller of the pair let a miniature smirk play upon his lips as he gestured to Phoenix's dishevelled physique.
"Yesterday I said you could be something." It echoed in the grandeur of the hall, molecules trembling and falling, as Phoenix grimly smiled:
"Changed your mind?"
"No. You are here because you are going to become one of us." Leader Edgeworth then took a step back towards his desk, groping the expensive wood for a thin, wavering sheet which condemned the criminal's every move. It wobbled with a tremendous noise. Phoenix's mouth dried as he realised what it was.
"Your death warrant." The Leader waited for a response before curving his lips upwards:
"Cat got your tongue?"
"Depends." Came the shaky reply.
"Are you going to sign it?" Leader Edgeworth stretched the paper out before him, his eyes perusing and rediscovering each detail: Phoenix Wright, homosexual, 5"5, before idly glancing back up at his clandestinely quivering companion.
"Depends."