It's not hard, really, to block out the singular selfishness of his own intentions (it is not the guilt he inflicts that has the Doctor pacing around Edgeworth like a hunting hound, it's not the fear for those he might hurt - guilt is a terrible burden to bear, yes, but guilt inflicted isn't the same as guilt carried and he knows too well the difference, knows too intimately which one is worse and lasts longest) and wipe away any last trace of kindness with the simple act of stepping forward.

He moves quickly, pacing relentlessly, closing up space. His eyes flash over to Ashraf as he goes, a silent request for co-operation. There are two opportunities for outcome here, he surmises during the motion. Either Edgeworth will flinch back and the power balance will flip, or the Doctor will come to a halt with his hand hovering inches away from touching to the one holding out that phone and he will have control regardless, even if the prosecutor holds his nerve.

There's a third, of course. The third entails nothing going to plan at all and damage being done that he cannot hope to undo, but he hasn't got space for outlying possibilities. Taking what he knows of those here present, he does what he has to.

Is it strange to have a body count in the billions and still yearn desperately to save? Possibly. It hasn't stopped him before and it shan't stop him today.