"Kujo miss me with dat shit"

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Approaching the door, Apollo Justice opened it to a skinny brunette woman, positively distressed. She was shaking and crying, her mascara crumbling from her eyes with every sob. "Can I help you?"
"Y-You have to... Please...!" The woman's voice was timid but erratic, as though she was likely to pass out. "Th-The police..." In her hand were some papers, slightly smudged from her fingers gripping it so hard. Apollo invited her in, offering her a seat on the couch in the middle of the room.
"I apologise for the mess, would you like some water?" He honestly wondered why he had even asked, she was obviously struggling to speak. "Actually, don't answer that. I'll go and get you some." Rushing into the tiny, box like kitchen, he grabbed a glass and filled it just below the brim with cool water. Handing it to the woman, he sat opposite, allowing her a chance to drink so he could string together some words in his mind. The papers had been put on the coffee table, labelled 'POLICE FILE.' He gestured to it, a small nod granting permission to take it from the surface. Beginning to read, his concentration took a dip when the door unlocked. Inside the office came his subordinate, you.
"Hey, Apollo. Mr Wright's gone out so..." She caught your eye, provoking a natural response to approach her with concerned eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. Can I help you, Love?" Before she could answer, she fainted, falling face first off the couch with a loud bang. "Fucking Hell!!" Dropping to your knees, you scooped her up in your arms, supporting her neck as you checked her temperature with the back of your knuckles. "She doesn't have a temperature. She looks sick though." Turning your head to face the short lawyer, his face was the same painting yours was.
"I think we ought to call Mr Wright, Y/N."
"No. Call an ambulance first." He scanned the papers as he would normally, tapping in the emergency number and waiting for the receiver. You lay her gently on the sofa, lifting her legs to trigger blood flow back up to her brain. Instructed to put her in the recovery position through the handset, until help arrived, Apollo read the police file.
A blue handbag had its contents spilled out on the carpet, most likely when she passed out. You began picking up the woman's stuff, tidying it away so she at least had her belongings in one place. Apollo couldn't get through to your superior, so instead he started relaying the details to you.
"These files are all the way from Florida... She's come all the way from Florida." Something nipped you, enough to make you lightly groan in pain. Inspecting your finger, blood pooled into a tiny bubble on the wound site. It was like a pin prick. "Fourteen year old girl, accused of being involved in a robbery, fled from the cops." Spotting something gold, you assumed it was a pin of some sort and picked it up, examining it in the light. "Expensive jewellery... Shots were fired..." Widening your eyes in surprise, a look of absolute shock befell your features making you whisper something louder than you meant to, alerting Apollo. "What was that?" You fled before he could see you break down in tears.
Since the woman stirred, finally coming to, Apollo couldn't chase you. He was usually forthcoming with sympathy, but you were too trapped in the memories to stand his interacting this time.
This pin, it had a golden palm moulded on it, scuffed from wear and tear. Plummeting to the ground, a single sniffle jerked your entire body, the pained screams still ringing out in your mind. Ripped limbs cascading across limestone flooring, sand devouring your friend's soul. Suddenly, the delicate scent of sandalwood caressed your nose. It was probably just the bad memory, but something was beguiling about it, making you avert your eyes from the pin for a single moment.
Before you knelt a young Arab, his gentle smile enrapturing you, tender topaz eyes meeting your stunned gaze. His outfit looked a little strange, purple and white, but you initially thought nothing of it considering he used to wear curtains of flowing clothes. Gasping slightly as fingertips touched your chin, his cocoa coloured flesh feeling warm against your own, like the sun on your back during a hot summer's day as he tilted your face upwards to look at him.
"...Y/N..." His head suddenly hung low, eventually collapsing into your chest. Hesitantly bringing your hand up, expecting to feel his bantu knots, they found soft, fair hair in a bizarre, gravity defying twist instead. 

Pearl Fey. It was Pearl. You comforted her on the floor of the corridor, wrapping your arms around her agitated body.
"...Oh, Y/N! What happened? Why am I down here?"
"It's alright. It seems somebody needed you just now."

For whatever reason, Pearl must have felt Mohammed Abdul, one of your fellow Crusaders who was savagely killed in Egypt, calling to her. She will have seen his face on the old picture pinned to your corkboard in the office, snapped of all of you in Cairo. It was the only thing you had left that bonded you all together – You were all given a picture. Even Iggy. This had to be connected somehow. It had to be. Swiping the badge back from the floor, you hid it in your jacket pocket for later. Whilst the experience had been harrowing, his face still brightened your darkest days, even in death.

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