Disclaimer: Toenail clippers are not allowed on airlines, but I've never seen a sign banning chainsaws from flights. What gives?

AN: I'm sure the question you're just burning to ask is "What happened to Phoenix?" Read on, I trust it won't be what you expect. (Or maybe it will be, no way to know.)

A New Life: Part 2

Somewhere in southern Europe there is a comfortable villa, magnificently decorated and furnished in old world elegance, belonging to one Mr. S. de Killer. (Thought that wasn't the name on the deed, of course.) This is where Phoenix Wright sat behind his desk, contemplating the stupidity of what he'd just done.

After fleeing the courtroom and his fateful last case, he scoured the city searching for Maya and de Killer. He found only the latter. It was that encounter that led him to his current life and current dilemma. During his time in Europe, regardless of whether he was training or relaxing, he was constantly reminded of the friends and life he had left behind in America. It was his guess that now, after so many years of absence, they had given up on him ever returning.

Maya would have gone on to become Master of the Kurain Channeling Technique, and Edgeworth was most likely still one of the finest prosecutors in the world. Hopefully one who pursued his cases fairly, making sure that justice was served. Both would have moved on, content to assume whatever they wanted about him, and led their own lives. That's why he was so disgusted with his latest lapse in judgment.

In an attempt to relieve some of the guilt he felt for leaving without the barest shred of explanation, he had written a letter. A very incriminating letter, explaining just where he had gone and what he had been doing for the last four years.

It was a very dumb thing to do, writing that letter. His mentor (were he still alive) would have heartily agreed with him because now, everyone was alerted to the fact that Phoenix Wright was not quite dead. Knowing that his foolish message was in the mail gave him a distinct feeling that he was stirring up a hornet's nest of unpleasant consequences. If he was ever captured, the confession in that letter would be enough to convict him.

But what was done was done and there was no stopping it now. The letter was en route and would arrive at the Fey Manor sometime quite soon. The least he could do was pray that he hadn't overlooked anything while writing it. Running a hand through his heavily spiked hair, he reflected on the contents of the message.

'Dear Maya,

I'm sorry for the suddenness of this message, but I had to let you know that I'm alive. I won't be returning to America any time soon, so I'm giving you the law office. It's yours if you want it. It would be best if you did take it, since I have no use for it myself. I'm no longer a lawyer.

That's right, I gave up being an attorney. It took the Engarde case to make me realize, but I now know just how ineffective the American legal system really is. Now I work to serve justice in my own way. I know you may never forgive me, but I am now working as an assassin.

As I said before, I'm sure you won't forgive me for accepting training from de Killer after what he put you through. I didn't expect you to. What I did is about the lowest thing anyone could ever do. Hate me if you must, I'd rather you didn't of course, but it's up to you. The only thing I ask is that I be allowed to explain myself.

Being an assassin isn't like being a cashier. Clients don't just walk up and demand services from you; you're able to pick and choose what jobs you wish to take and which to turn away. I, for one, conduct extensive research on my to-be victims before I even take a job; and I refuse all offers unless the victim is a criminal who has escaped from the law. Only slime like Matt Engarde needs to fear me. You'll also be glad to know that I don't offer any of the forms of 'after care' that my predecessor was so fond of.

Oh, and Shelly de Killer is dead, by the way. He passed away rather suddenly last spring. I never quite forgave him for that whole kidnapping incident...

Anyway, however you react to this is entirely up to you. My only request is that you show this letter to Edgeworth when you're done reading it. I think he would like to know about me as well.

Whether you believe it or not, we assassins aren't such a bad lot. All we want (well all I want) is justice.

-- Phoenix

P.S. Also, if you could, please tell the judge we have an appointment for next Thursday. Kidding! Just kidding.'

Yes, the letter had been exactly like that. Maybe not perfect, but it got his point across. At least now his friends would know the truth, and was that really so bad?

Phoenix smiled for the first time all day as he pulled on his trusty pair of black leather gloves. Now that the business with the letter was settled, it was time to get to work. His latest assignment wasn't a for-profit job, it was for his personal honor. And so it was with a chuckle that Phoenix began planning, aided by various blueprints and schedules, the easiest way to infiltrate the studio where Matt Engarde was filming the new Nickel Samurai movie.

AN: I feel so diabolical right about now...