Lotta Hart never asked for this. Not by a long shot.
She was barely scraping by as is, making her living as a reporter for the local newspaper--as if the outfit published bona fide news and not just Prosecutor’s Office propaganda at this point, but hey, she had to eat. Anyone in her position would have done the same thing, she told herself late at night, when thoughts of rebellion were strongest.
It had been six years since the government of Japanifornia had fallen, and five since the current establishment, made up of members of law enforcement and the prosecutor’s office, had taken over. The first few weeks had been horrible--rivers of fear and blood pouring out of the courthouse, most “traitors” executed on the spot via firing squad. It had eventually calmed down, but...the stories of people disappearing into the Prosecutor’s Offices and never coming back out again were still common enough to terrify the general populace.
And one man stood at the center of it all: Miles Edgeworth.
As a prosecutor before the fall, he had been terrifying enough, never having lost a case. After the fall...he’d become nothing short of monstrous, rising through the ranks and becoming Chief Prosecutor, ruling over Los Angeles with an iron fist.
It was this very man that Lotta had found lying in an alleyway on her way home. His face was unmistakable; Lotta had debated leaving him there; after all, he would have no way of knowing she’d left him there. Or would he? Informants could be anywhere. This could be another one of his famous little tests, seeing which of his citizens would abandon him in need.
And failing one of Edgeworth’s tests generally proved fatal.
So, Lotta had carried him home as best she could, put him on the couch in her trailer, sat in a nearby chair...and waited.
amandla
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