Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is copyright © 2013 Turnabout Writer. All rights reserved.


That's how he feels when he wakes up in the hospital bed alone.

But he has no time to ponder over it, for the burning sensation the runs through his body feels almost unbearable. His head feels like someone has hammered a thick spike into his skull and his legs feel like someone has tried to slice them open with a dagger.

His eyes remain close the entire time, and he clenches them further shut and grits his teeth as he tries not to scream. When the piping hot feeling dulls, he opens his eyes.

His left eye widens in shock, and his hand shoots up to touch the bandage over his right eye. But he cringes in pain and realizes the tingling pain in his arms – they are swathed in bandages.

He tries to remember what happened, but he can't seem to draw at a point.

A nurse sees him and rushes to his bed, a clipboard and pen in her grasp. She smiles and asks for his name in a soft, low voice – he almost doesn't hear her.

Another blank.

Panic begins to fill him.

"My name is . . . I-I . . . I don't know," He's scared now, and he knows that the young nurse can see it in his eyes, because she's scared too. She grabs his hand and squeezes gently.

"Everything will be fine. Don't worry." Her sweet, high voice is now clearly heard.

He tries to take deep, slow breaths, but they come out shallow. "I-I'm fine," he tries to stammer, but it comes out as garbled words instead.

"Dr. Grey!" he hears the nurse call.

As a result of his uneasiness and his issue of unable to remember anything, a series of tests are made, from an MRI scan, to Dr. Grey flashing a penlight in his eyes.

"It's a severe case of retrograde amnesia, I'm afraid. I'm sorry," the doctor says with sympathetic eyes.

Dr. Grey looks like a young man, most likely in his early 20s. He bears a sleek, thin pair of silver glasses. His hair is a crisp dark brown and his jaded, but emerald-green eyes seem to hold a friendly smile of their own.

He sees Grey's fingers twitching, most likely in self-loathing.

(It must be hard being a doctor . . . )

"But there's not a thing to worry about, boy. We will do all in our power to help you, right, Nurse Fey?"

The nurse looks surprised, but she smiles nonetheless. "O-Of course!"

He takes a minute to notice her features. Her light, brown hair is let down, two braids are twisted in circles and are let loose in the back of her hair, hanging down. She doesn't seem older than 21 years of age.

"U-Um, if there's anything you need, you can just let Dr. Grey or I know, okay?" she stutters slightly.

So he does.

He asks Dr. Grey to find out as much as he can about him. His age, heritage . . . anything. The doctor nods and smiles ruefully, taking a sample of his blood and a lock of his hair.

In two days, the results are reported back to him.

He is a 23-year-old man of English and possibly Greek heritage.

The doctor apologizes, saying that in order to get more information, they would have to send the hair and blood samples to more hi-tech labs, with expensive procedures. This was the most information they could come up with, especially on such short notice.

But he is perfectly fine with that – he knows something, at least.

He's not completely lost.

"I . . . don't know what to call you."

He looks up at the soft, feminine voice.

It's that nurse again.

He realizes that she has brought up an important point – he needs some kind of identity at the moment, until he can recover some memories.

As of now, he's just anonymous to himself.

(Wait . . . that's it.)


A for anonymous.

The nurse looks up from her chart. "Pardon me?"

He looks into her eyes with a determined glint in his own. "Call me 'A'."

"Mr. A."

He shakes his head. "Don't make me feel old; the DNA testing proved I am 23 years old. Just 'A'."

She smiles at him. "Then, hello, A. My name is Pearl."

"It's nice to meet you, Nurse Pearl." He smiles sadly.

She grins cheekily. "I'm not really a nurse – I'm too young to be one; I'm only just turned 18. I was surprise when Dr. Grey said I would help you recover. I'm just a volunteer. I left my village for a while and came to the city to sign up when there were a shortage of nurses – I've known Dr. Grey since I was 8 years old. My cousin was falsely accused of murdering his father – but we became friends after she was acquitted, so I work in his ward." Her smile suddenly fades and she sighs, biting the nail of her thumb.

He knew that at her age, only in a time of crisis would one volunteer. "A volunteer nurse? W-Wha – What happened, Pearl?!"

Pearl sighs. "The . . . the courthouse was bombed, A. It was completely obliterated and they are currently trying to trace the group behind it." She looks at him with sad eyes. "A . . . they found you near the prosecutor's lobby and brought you here immediately. You were one of the lucky survivors near the bomb. You came out with burned hands, and your right eye is slightly burned as well – your eyelid is singed and it will hurt to open, so I dressed it. You were so close to being blind in one eye, A." Her tears are filled with eyes now. "I only wish the others were as lucky as you . . ."

He hears Pearl sniffle. "Your bracelet and coat managed to survive, though."

"My . . . bracelet and coat?"

She nods. "Your bracelet was still on your wrist, and the coat covered your face when they found you – I assume you were trying to protect yourself . . . . Hmm."

"What!?" he asks anxiously.

"I wonder . . . that maybe you used to be a prosecutor – you came in a tattered suit and tie and you were right by the prosecutor's office, too," Pearl points out.

"Maybe," he agrees, though he's more hesitant about the idea.

A prosecutor?

It is a suggestion that seems plausible at least – the idea even appeals to him. He can see himself fighting for the truth.

It is in the few months that follow he begins to feel comfortable around Dr. Grey, or Ash, as his name is, and Pearl. Ash isn't that far apart in age from him or Pearl. He has just turned 20. His father had forced him from a young age to study in the field of medicine. Ash never liked his father, and in fact, resented him for abandoning his mother when she needed him the most. Though slightly sad, he was mainly relived when he learned of his father's death – Turner Grey was rather controlling of his son.

He starts to work for Ash at his clinic, and becomes his roommate, while Pearl commutes from the train every day. The three of them become close friends.

It turns out that Pearl is a powerful spirit medium and comes from a clan that study and use the Kurain Channeling Technique. He has visited Kurain but has never gotten a chance to meet the Master, Pearl's cousin – she is always in the city, visiting someone she knows. Pearl tells him that she is afraid to meet that person, because she fears as to how much he has changed.

All the meanwhile, he's studying law at Ivy University to become a prosecutor.

On the news, he would always follow the investigations on the courthouse bombing. He even watched a defense attorney by the man of Phoenix Wright defend a girl and catch one of the bombers.

And this lawyer's determination made him vow to one day fight him in court.

That day did come, six months after he had been discharged from the hospital, or three months since his promise. He passed the bar exam with flying colors and today was his first trial.

"Is the prosecution ready? Hey, have I seen you in the courtroom before?" the judge had said.

"The prosecution is always ready, Your Honor. Familiar faces pass by often, so I wouldn't be surprised if you have seen me before," he had added cryptically, purposely. " . . . Call me A."

And when he objected, it didn't feel right – like he was objecting for the wrong thing.

Though he lost the case, he was bewildered as to why Phoenix Wright was taken aback to see him in court.

And now he sits in Prosecutor's Lobby 1, right after the end of the trial, thinking about the defense attorney and his assistant. Pearl – who wasn't there to see the trial and waited in the courthouse foyer – and Ash walk into the lobby. Pearl wears her medium's outfit, as usual, and Ash wears his typical suit and coat, with a stethoscope slung around his neck.

"Hey, A, you did great out there!" Ash encourages.

He sighs longingly. "You should be disappointed in me. I . . . lost. Is this . . . is this even what I'm called to do? What the old me used to do?"

"A!" she whines as he sighs again. "Aren't I too young to be your mentor, or something along those lines?!" she jokes, before smoothening out all creases of humor on her face and smiling softly. "I didn't get to see you out there, but I'm sure you did amazing!"

"A, you have made us proud," Ash agrees. "You did your job and helped free the innocent."

"But – "

"Na-uh-uh!" Pearl interrupts, waggling her index finger at him. "As a prosecutor, your goal is to seek the truth. I – " She stops abruptly, her eyes widening and a grin forming on her face. "That's it! I know how we can get your career started as a truth-seeking prosecutor!" She quickly reaches inside her satchel as he and Ash look at her, bemused. She places her cell phone to her ear after dialing a number.

"Who is she calling?" he mouths to Ash, who just shrugs in response.

"Hello? Mr. Edgeworth?"

As the spirit medium begins to talk, Ash's phone begins to ring and said doctor signals him and Pearl that he's going outside to answer the call.

He can't pay attention to whatever Pearl talks about on the phone – his mind is at the trial.

Two other things – besides Phoenix Wright – caught his attention during the trial as well.

Firstly, that assistant's heart scope – what kind of invention was that!? Gauging the feelings of the witness? He has never heard of such a thing!

The fact that his bracelet seemed to tighten uncomfortably throughout the trial, mainly when someone was lying is something to muse over as well.

He briefly wonders if his bracelet has a similar function to Pearl's magatama.

When Pearl hangs up, she has a huge smile plastered upon her face. "You're good to go, A! Set your alarm for early tomorrow – we have to be there at Mr. Edgeworth's by 9 AM!"

"Who is Mr. Edgeworth, Pearl?" he asks in response.

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "An old prosecutor I know. He's agreed to take you on as an apprentice – he knows you don't have much of background information on the courts and knows about your situation."

He doesn't need to look in a mirror to see the gratitude and appreciation in his eyes. He wants to say "No thank you, I'm fine," but can't bring himself to do so.

"T-Thank you, Pearl. That's the nicest thing anyone has done for since I woke up from the bombing!" He suddenly grabs her in a bone-crushing hug, her feet being lifted slightly off the ground.

She laughs, surprised, embracing him back. "Hey, it's no big deal! You've gone through so much – this was just to lighten up a burden. If it makes you feel any better, it's a thank you for being a great friend!"

It's too bad neither he nor Pearl saw Phoenix Wright, staring in shock.

"A-Apollo, what – ?" The defense attorney stops mid-sentence, staring at his friend. "P-Pearls?"

How long was Phoenix standing there for? I would say the first thing he heard was, "T-Thank you, Pearl. That's the nicest thing anyone has done for since I woke up from the bombing!"

Anyways, I hope you guys like my take of what happens to Apollo.