[The communicator is lying on the floor, pointing directly at Manfred, who is not quite lucid enough to be looking at it in return. He's not wearing his jacket, and the right sleeve of his shirt has been torn up to to the forearm. He's leaning against the wall of his apartment, eyes skittering back and forth as if he is watching someone walk
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There is nothing to see here!
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The only thing he knew for certain was that he would not allow his sister to go this trial alone; and, Miles still saw Manfred as a second father, even if the older man had never thought of him as a son.
As they reach the door, he steps back, allowing Franziska to knock. It isn't out of fear--it's simply that she is Manfred's blood child.]
... It may be best if you greet him.
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Refusing to allow herself the chance to falter, she doesn't answer Miles, just reaches out and raps sharply on the door.)
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And he doesn't understand why. The elevator doors, the elevator doors, they'd opened, opened in that moment of destiny - shot him, Edgeworth had died, died like the useless mongrel mutt he was, and Manfred had waited fifteen years...Wait -- fifteen years? Had he been trapped in this suffocating darkness this entire time, waiting for his escape? He supposed he had, but it would never be real, he would never be free not with this damned, blasted bullet still in his shoulder ( ... )
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With only a single breath, his composure has returned, and he refuses to look at Franziska. This is something he has to face. It's selfish and, admittedly, rather foolish, considering that Manfred is out of his mind.
Nonetheless, he takes the door handle within his grasp and turns it slowly before opening the door.]
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