Blah ><

[Seawhisker]

DECEMBER 28, 2001

"Hurry up, Miles. We're going home," the sound of a man in his late thirties called, stepping into an elevator. He wore a small, tired smile, despite what had just occurred in the courtroom he had left.
"Oh Dad, I was so sure that he was innocent!" a boy muttered, following the elder man into the elevator. He looked positively disappointed, looking down at his dress shoes with anger spiking his glare. "Don't worry yourself about it, Miles. At least I did win one thing," the man, Gregory Edgeworth, added in a more quiet tone. The small boy, looking around nine years old, opened his mouth to question his father but was interrupted by a, "Go on, press the first floor button."
Miles quietly dismissed his father's strange reaction, and went ahead to press the "1" button. He stared at it with delight, because as soon as he pressed his finger to the button, it lit up and made a small ding. But no sooner than the elevator began to reel, the machine stopped, it's wide doors sliding open. A man walked inside, looking flustered, as if a cloud of rage and impatience accompanied him. He slammed his whole hand against a button that Miles couldn't recognize, and walked on over to the corner opposite of him. Miles quietly shifted closer to the side of his father, watching the man with a rare sense of unease.

Another click and the elevator was back in motion had the boy feeling a bit better, and more secure. Maybe he jinxed himself - because the next moment, a shaking rumbled the whole building, including the elevator in which Miles, Gregory, and the strange man resided in. The violent quake threw Miles to the other side of the elevator, causing him to stifle a scream as he hit his head on the wall, slumping down into a sitting position. The lights flickered, the shaking still present as Miles began to feel panic rise up in his throat. When the shaking finally eased, leaving the men in complete darkness, the nine-year-old felt himself beginning to lose it.

"We're going to die!" he screeched, his eyes wide with fear and panic, his own trembling hidden by the darkness. "Shh, Miles," his father said. The boy sat up, feeling tears of extreme fear well up in his gray eyes. "Shut up! There's limited oxygen in here!" the man from before said. True to his words, the air in the Los Angeles elevator would soon thin and threaten the mental state of the three people trapped inside it.
"Calm yourself, Miles. We'll be okay."
Miles gave a small nod, knowing his father wouldn't see, as the darkness covered all.
His terror would last for the next five hours.

Somewhere during the fourth hour of their own personal hell, Miles eyes had partially adjusted to the lack of light, and the ringing in his ears was becoming a distant memory. And then he heard it.
"You're breathing my air!"
"No I'm not! You're breathing mine!"
"Shut up! Your using up all the oxygen!"
To little Miles' horror, the strange man leapt towards his father, agitated from the cramped space and lack of oxygen. The boy could only watch for a few moments before taking his eyes away and reaching around, picking up the first solid object he felt. "Stop it! Leave my father alone!" the boy screeched, throwing the object with tears in his eyes. Too late had he realized what this mysterious solid was.
A bang went off, the pistol's brief light barely illuminating Gregory's expression of surprise. Miles fell to the ground, the breaking of glass and a terrified scream reaching his ears. He closed his eyes, his cheek pressed up against the cold elevator floor, and everything faded into black.

The boy blinked open his eyes to find himself in a totally different situation. His emotionless gray eyes stared up at a ceiling, a hospital ceiling, and a thin sheet covered his small body. Wh-Where...?
"Oh, it's a miracle!" Miles didn't even bother to raise his head when he heard the voice. "Oh, dear boy, you're awake! The tests say you're fine, and..." Miles tried to block out the doctor's blabbering, feeling a wave of concern for his father. "Where is he?" he quietly spoke up. The doctor went on, ignoring little Miles' question. "In a few days, you can return home!" she ended, looking up from a clipboard containing Miles' personal information. "I..." The doctor's face darkened, and Miles felt a wave of dread. "Oh, sorry... I wasn't... paying attention..."
Mother - Deceased
Father - Deceased
No living relatives of Miles Edgeworth known.
Miles slid under the hospital covers, feeling numb with the shock of realization. "He's gone..." he quietly murmured to himself, squeezing his eyes. This is just a dream. Just a dream.
And suddenly he could feel another person's presence in the stuffy room - a nurse, perhaps?
"Oh, the poor boy. I should be so much more careful."
"Don't blame yourself, it's an easy mistake!"
"But, oh, the poor thing! Do you think he knows?"
"Obviously--Oh, did you do any tests yet?"
"Yeah, it doesn't seem like his brain is injured in any way."
"Oh, what a relief!"
"But there is something of concern..."
"?"
"There's a big chance he's been left with post-traumatic stress disorder."
"Oh the poor thing! You know, I've got a friend..."
Miles covered his ears and closed his eyes, not wishing to find out what 'post-traumatic stress disorder' was.

But fifteen years later, curled up in a ball, rocking back in forth with his eyes wide and glazed with terror, a detective crouching by his side and calling his name, there was no room for regrets.

I like describing events to get over WB don't judge me :c