Bitter, Meet Sweet

It is fascinating, seeing how quickly one's perspective on the world can shift.

At first, the line upon the log is innocuous. It is just another entry to explain the movements and whereabouts of this android, ensuring that no sensitive information has accidentally been intercepted somewhere. This is just a routine check, a habit which has been engrained in him since he was but a child; checking the location history is something which most people would never even bother to do, and he knows it is naught but his paranoia and his upbringing which spurs him to connect his work phone to this machine's systems to read over these logs.

And yet, upon a second read, the line stands out more to him. He does not recognize this location. The only places which his office android assistant should be going is the Prosecutor's Office, the Criminal Affairs Department, and perhaps Miles' own home if he ever forgets work there over the weekend; these coordinates do not match any of those three places, however.

Unease begins to well up in his heart. "What is this location?" he breathes, finally looking at the machine seated before him.

The android does not respond, its eyes locked onto the same fixed point on the wall which it has been staring at this entire inspection.

He clears his throat. "Request: clarify location indicated by line 76 of the log."

The ring floating above its head flickers green at his request, inputting his command into its system. The light shimmers, reflecting off of dun-brown strands which hang loosely down its back and frame its face, the facsimile of a young woman's calm, imposing stare echoing into the wall. Its dark eyes finally light up with its response. "The location indicated is location here," it says in a robotic, even voice, its gaze never wavering from the wall.

Miles watches the android with displeased distrust looming in his heart, eyes lingering upon its seemingly-calm expression for a moment before turning to the holoscreen which is projected from her hand. A map of Los Angeles appears, the brightness irritating his eyes after a long day of sifting through scanned evidence. He squints, searching for the tracer marker which indicates the specified coordinates.

Wordlessly, he enhances the image, then shifts the map into a view of the street. It is naught but a closed alleyway, he realizes, his heart pounding painfully. There seems to be nothing there aside from a dumpster, a gas indicator, and a small side door to the northern building. What in the world could it have done here?

"Request: state purpose for coming to this location," he breathes.

The ring-like android indicator flickers green once again, a forest-like halo illuminating his office. "To buy you tea, Master," it replies.

Irritation causes his temple to pound, his eyebrow twitching upwards. "Ema, don't you give me that-"

"Do you still call that thing by a name, little brother?" a haughty voice calls from behind him.

Letting out a long, weary sigh, he immediately snaps his phone closed, shutting off the holoscreen projection. Then, he shifts in his seat, gesturing for Franziska to come inside. His adoptive sister barely needs the welcome, always content to work at her own pace; languidly, she struts inside, throwing herself comfortably upon his sofa. She crosses her leg over her knee and leans back, arms sprawled out to the sides, the green light of Ema's halo-like indicator casting a neon tinge to Franziska's pale, silvery hair. "You say that you are unattached to these things, and yet you use some startlingly, foolishly fond names to call to them," she says, her smile wicked, eyes invasive.

Miles sighs, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms. "Franziska von Karma, I'm assuming you won your trial for the day?"

She shrugs, her smug pride oozing off her form in waves. "Of course! Unlike my little brother-"

"I'm six years older than you," he mutters under his breath.

"-I have a perfect record."

He nods, more to calm her down than anything. "Yes, indeed, we all know you're very talented, Franziska," he says. There is no point in reminding her that he, too has a perfect win record in court, nor is there any reason to tell her just how much better his reputation is in comparison to hers in the Prosecutor's Office and around the courthouse. She will not listen, and her baseless boasting has never phased him before. It shall not begin to affect him now.

She offers a few more words of unsolicited advice here and there before she is back on her feet. "Take it from me, Miles Edgeworth," she says, her snub nose in the air, "you'd best stop referring to these things with a name. It's unbecoming of someone with our connections."

Miles gives her an empty smirk and a half-bow before gesturing to the door. "Be safe on your way home, Franziska."

"Hmph. You as well, little brother." And with that, she sweeps out of his office without a second glance, leaving him to continue staring at the logs which he had managed to hide from her.

The moment the door clicks shut, he opens up the device once again. His personal office assistant android, an EM 476-A model- or Ema, as he takes to calling it, although he will never admit it outside of the walls of his office- continues to stare blankly at the wall, holding its shirt up to expose the open-up panel in its stomach which is connected to his phone.

The log is still baffling to him. Why in the world would Ema be buying tea from there? He leans his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. It does nothing to stave off the stress-induced headache which is building up pressure like a tempest within his skull. There is no shop. I hope it isn't anything dangerous.

As quickly as that idea emerges, he shuts it down. He sets down the phone and wanders over to his set-up chessboard in the corner of the room, idly moving a piece on either side; the action is mindless, but the sight of the blue and red pieces battling for dominance has always been strangely soothing for him. This android cannot hurt you, he tells himself. Franziska mocks, but you know the rules: a robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm; a robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law; and a robot must protect its own existence, as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

It is easy to summon up these rules into his mind, the words flowing as easily as ink from a pen, for he has engrained these words into the fibers of his very being. Miles knows the Three Laws of Robotics better than most people, considering his cases tend to revolve around android-related criminal prosecution; turning back to look at Ema, he moves one final pawn upon the board before taking up his seat in his chair once again, retrieving his phone. There is no way this android would ever do anything to hurt him.

"But that leaves the question," he murmurs aloud, his brain buzzing through the haze of his impending migraine. "Why would you go there? What is in this alleyway?"

Absently, he clicks through Ema's stored files. There are not many saved images, for the vast majority of things he uses it for do not require the storing of information; to do so would be a security risk anyways, considering the sensitivity of the information he handled daily. Although its storage is encrypted to high hell and back, he still refuses to risk saving many things onto this android.

Yet, there is a new file on here, he realizes in dawning horror. It is a tiny movie file, but he does not recall recording it whatsoever. He never asks Ema to record anything.

His fingers tremble as he clicks the movie, flinching as the holoscreen lights up, projecting the movie file. It is barely audible. Quickly, he turns up the volume, leaning in to her shoulder where her speaker lays hidden underneath her smart dress shirt's sleeve.

At first, the visuals are blurry, focusing upon a wooden countertop. Ema's hands are clutched around a small mug, her reflection visible in the reflection of the dark liquid inside. Miles narrows his eyes as he hears a low, soothing tenor rumble out, "Enjoying your tea?" before Ema's eyes lift, her gaze settling upon a singular figure leaning over the countertop in front of her.

The video ends, freezing upon this image. Dark, wide, trusting eyes crease into a gentle smile, that knowing gaze boring through Ema's circuits into Miles' very soul as he looks at a handsome, clean-cut man in an apron projected upon this holoscreen. This man looks at Ema with all the familiarity in the world, his black hair pushed back out of his eyes, a crooked, welcoming grin upon thin lips that betrays nothing but kindness.

Miles does not know this man. So… how does Ema?

His perspective has indeed shifted this day. He wishes it hadn't; he does not enjoy the fear ringing in his heart thanks to it, causing every nerve ending to fire in uncertainty- all thanks to this smile he does not recognize.