Lawyerbox

Who: Edgeworth, Shelly de Killer
What: Running afoul of the mob can have bad repercussions, even if you're a prosecutor or one of the world's best assassins.
Where: Unknown
When: ??? :|a
Warnings: Violence/aftermath


Waking up was perhaps one of the most physically painful things he had ever experienced. Of course, that didn't mean as much when physical pain wasn't commonly a part of his life. Edgeworth had never been overly active or engaged in any violent sports, and almost all of the scars he carried were mental. But even beyond those standards he thought this pain was rather extreme. An ache suffused his entire body and came to a head right in the center, along his chest and abdomen. He could only imagine the alarming colors his skin must be turning by now.

A quiet moan escaped him as he slowly rolled over onto his side. At that point he discovered how difficult it was to move with one's hands tied behind one's back. He also discovered the pain he was experiencing could in fact get worse, and his moan became a quiet string of curses when fire began shooting up his arms, through his shoulders, and into his neck. For several moments he lay with his eyes squeezed shut, his breathing shallow as he waited for the worst of it to pass.

Things didn't change much when he opened his eyes, but eventually they adjusted enough that he started to make out vague features in the dark. There were boxes and lots of shelving along the walls. A small, thin window high above, near the ceiling, allowed moonlight to filter in. The room smelled of paint and the artificial citrus stench of an industrial strength cleaner. And several feet away, between Edgeworth and the closed door, was another person slumped on the floor. Their back was turned to him, making identification impossible in the darkness. Edgeworth awkwardly propped himself up on one elbow.

"Are you conscious?" he asked. His voice was oddly calm.