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Manfred von Karma’s arm is steady, in spite of the burning pain that grips his shoulder. Cold sweat dots his face, no doubt pale with the loss of blood and the shock of what he’s done. The ocean roars in his head, ears stuffed with cotton, iron filling his lungs. There’s a gun in his hand, barrel still pointed at the insignificant man slumped against the back wall of the elevator. A red stain slowly spreads across the front of Gregory Edgeworth’s cheap, grey suit. And his arm is steady.
The elevator’s remaining two occupants haven’t so much as stirred, not even for the sound of the gunshot. Oxygen deprivation has long since rendered them unconscious. When they wake up they will find a gun that has been discharged and a man dead. And he will be long gone. His stomach churns, not with remorse. On the contrary, he is positively drunk with elation. Only later will he regret. Not the loss of a man’s life, but that he, even for a moment, allowed his actions to be driven by sudden, foolish impulse. For the moment all he can feel is satisfaction at the removal of a particularly troublesome obstacle.
His hated rival dead.
No witnesses.
Nothing to tie him to the scene.
His shoulder throbs, pain forcing its way through the adrenaline-fueled haze that’s overcome him. He needs to leave. Place the gun on the ground between the slumped figures and remove himself from the vicinity before someone comes by.
But it’s already too late. A stifled gasp alerts him to that fact.
von Karma turns to find himself face to face with a child, clutching some sort of red ninja toy to his chest as though for protection.
The boy is a small, gangly thing, with skinned knees and dirty, baggy clothes. He looks no older than the child collapsed on the floor of the elevator, eight or nine or so. His ebony hair is swept straight back in a manner reminiscent of a bird of prey and his eyes, interestingly, are two different colors. One the color of sun-warmed earth. The other the summer sky. Those eyes stare straight past von Karma, at the macabre scene in the courthouse elevator.
He can see the exact moment realization settles in. The moment those innocent eyes grow wide and begin to shine with tears.
“M- Miles…?”
von Karma raises the gun once more.
His arm is steady.