Darkness, everywhere. Malicious golden eyes, peering from the void. And the butterflies, fuck, of course, the butterflies. Stupid, stupid dreams. Stupid choices, stupid people causing chaos and running off. The only solace in the pit was the presences of a bespectacled, bloodstained boy and the violet haired girl he was still holding on to.

I … I need to find a way out, he thought, I…

I? Something’s off.



“Would that let me out?” Should be simple enough.

“My name is-“

“You absolute jerk!”

Huh?

A young girl’s voice rang out.

“Why would you say that, _____-kun? Kana-chan’s going to be taken away from her dad because of what you told the teachers. You ruined everything!”

Confused frustration builds. A young boy speaks this time. It was him, years ago.

“Come on, everyone already knew. Kana-chan gets bruises on her arms all the time and none of you had the guts to point it out. If any of you actually took some time to investigate like I did, this whole mess would have been fixed ages ago.”

A girl crying. Jeers and scorn from classmates.

“You didn’t fix anything!” “Yeah, you wrecked her family, you creep!”

A door slammed open. Running, people yelling after him. The place near the bridge, a safe haven. A place to cry without anyone seeing.

A newfound conviction. No one deserved his help. That’s all he was trying to do, help, and look at what he received. No one cared about him and that was fine. There was no one else to worry about, no one to stab him in the back or drag him down. He pushed down the lingering desire to go back, to hang out with his friends like he used to, to apologise for his hasty actions. But if he showed any signs of weakness, it would only get worse.

Who am I? “I’m A-“

“FUCKING MONSTER, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HIM?”

A teenage boy is on the ground, clutching his hip area. A boy with a bloody mouth is screaming at a student wearing a green cardigan cowering behind a teacher. The teacher berates the screaming boy.

“Enough of this nonsense. I’ll not have you throwing baseless accusations at _____-kun like this. Get yourselves to the infirmary at once. I expect a full explanation afterwards, hopefully one that doesn’t denounce the person that was the first to bring assistance. You should be learning from his example, instead of getting into fights like this.”

The boy with the bloody face opens his mouth to deliver another tirade but the almost undetectable glint of the box cutter’s blade in the cardigan wearing boy’s hand stops the words from coming out.

Bloody-mouth helps his friend limp to the infirmary while the teacher huffs off back to the staff room. As the teacher turns the corner, the cardigan boy discards his fearful visage and murmurs to the injured teens. They glare as they shuffle past, so the cardiganed boy mutters something only they could hear.

“I warned you.”

They rush off after that. The box cutter will have to be disposed of, somewhere far, far from school. The victim of that blade had been stabbed just next to the pelvis, the weapon twisted roughly enough to leave the him unable to walk properly for a long time, effectively ruining any dreams of a middle school baseball career. The blood covered brick piece that's hidden in the nearby bushes will need to be binned too.

There was no joy gained from these heinous deeds. But there was no remorse either. Whatever it took to ensure his safety and happiness, the boy in green would do it with no hesitation. His compassion for the human race had been stunted for a long time now.

But what was his name? Who was he?

Another memory. Someone complimenting his sketch of a riverbank. A false smile and a false humble response in return. How long had it been since he had smiled for real? An ear-to-ear grin, with his nose scrunched up the way it used to always do. He couldn’t remember. There was no heart put into his work. It was just a matter of observation, putting whatever he saw onto paper, using techniques practiced for hours in the dark of the night. People liked artists and with his observant eyes, it was the obvious hobby for him.

Who was he?

“It’s easier than you think”

This voice addressed him directly now. It sounded familiar. It was his own.

“An identity is what you are, right? Not what people think you are, maybe not even what you think you are, but the essence of the soul itself,”

The voice chuckles.

“Ah, what a shame that yours is so murky.”

The shadows are moving in.

“You love nothing and no one. You closed off your heart long ago to keep it safe, yet you forgot to open it when everything was finally ok. You lost yourself,”

More shadows.

“You want to know who, no, what you are?”



A ball of play doh, letting others make of him whatever they wanted to see. A chalkboard, completely blank unless something needed to change to benefit others. A remorseless saboteur that struck from the shadows in the most cowardly way possible. An airheaded dreamer that had a knack for the arts. A kid that wanted to be loved, who did everything with the best of intentions for his friends.

Which one was it?

“Heh, who knows?” he smiled wistfully.

He closed his eyes as the shadows lunged.

Adrenaline controlled the next few moments. Kaede didn't even bother thinking. The word just slipped out naturally.
"Persona."
It felt right, like finding a long-lost friend. There was a bright, but not blinding glow and a figure appeared.
It was a winged man wearing a crown. A fairy king, to be more accurate.
"Oberon."
Everything felt so natural, so right, like this had always been a part of him. At least it wasn't Bottom...
His pondering was cut short by the sight of those creatures coming closer. It didn't take a genius to know that they were bad news. Again, instincts took over.
"Zio!" Kaede shouted, lighting appearing and striking one of the creatures. The brightness light up the area a bit, and Kaede saw he wasn't alone. But there were countless more of these enemies.
Again and again he shouted the spell, being somewhat successful. Kaede was so busy keeping them off of him, he couldn't help the others right away, a fact that bothered him greatly.

A void of inky black cut a sharp contrast to the blazing light you'd set out to investigate. That was the impression you were getting.

That and falling. Why were you falling? The ground's supposed to be there...

Wait, is it falling or floating?

You're not sure...

A general weightlessness. That was a fair compromise. Combined with this... expanse, perhaps, of black, you figured this was what it might be like in one of those isolation tanks you've heard about. Or some strange astral projection crap that you'd always been a bit too leery of trying.

Or.

You vaguely feel yourself frown, halfway robbed of even your own kinesthetic sense.

This could be death. If the soul and consciousness were left behind after the mind and body passed, this was very similar to what you were afraid death might have been like.

Drifting in inky silence, barely able to feel or think, alone.

Forever.

"Fuck tha— Huh?" you begin to say, in your usual eloquent manner, before your weight returns to you.

Well, in a sense. It was more like you had a sense of it again. Something had caught you in the dark.

A whole bunch of bright blue somethings, as you realize you can see the difference of looking through and not looking through your beloved shades again.

In some manner that felt halfway between simply trying to and physically moving yourself, you turn to face the darkness below, noting with some confusion that it's a bunch of small butterflies that have somehow commiserated to support you.

And there was a whole bunch of nasty gold eyes down there.

A simple test; can you state your name?

"Uh..."

You were sure at this point that, no, this wasn't what death was like any more. Death never turns into a trip this weird, you were pretty certain. Voices in your head was a maybe, but...

"Who's asking?"

You.

...

You don't get it, do you?

You've never had to before. Really, being attached at the hip like that...

An pitch-colored hand, with its form only shown by the blue light of the butterflies, grasps towards you, and you feel ice run through your veins as its inexorable advance towards your aloha-shirted form sets every alarm bell on fire.

"I go by Aloha-kun, that work?"

You say it hesitantly. Like you had to give an answer for a test you half-studied for, and were fairly sure of it intellectually, but didn't really understand the subject material.

...You were pretty sure you got called that, right?

The hand seems unabated by this information. If anything, it speeds up.

Raw instinct takes over, and the closest thing you have on hand is swung to meet it even as you dodge, batting it away and feeling like you just hit something that was simply wrong.

What the hell?

"Not happenin', buster..." you growl. Last thing you needed in this weirdass scenario was to get grabbed and have your soul sucked out, or something like that.

>dying and leaving your bro alone in the world
>any year

In spite of it all, you manage a wry grin even as you scramble to your feet, but it doesn't reach your shade-obscured eyes.

You had a bro you cared about. You didn't want to leave him to his fate.

You knew that.

But... that wasn't the question. "Some guy with a friend" is no proper answer to that sort of thing.

You knew that.

...Aloha-kun. The best friend your friend could ever have.

That wasn't an answer either.

You knew that.

Always looking out for everyone else leaves no time to look in, you know.

The voice echoed around you... or within you? You couldn't say.

Maybe rephrasing it will work.

Your voice catches in your throat, even as the onyx arm resets its course towards you again.

Why didn't you know that?

---

"Ugh..." Hitoshi found himself wondering what he was supposed to do now that he had to babysit a couple of other students as a handful seemed intent on pressing forwards instead of retreating. So much for getting everyone out of there - now that he knew these were going to insist on getting in the way, he didn't really have much choice but to... well, he wasn't really certain, but it looked like a fight was in the not-too-distant future, albeit one somewhat different to what he was accustomed.

And it had been far too long since those days.

Stepping forward, he laced his fingers together, pushing his arms outward until a series of cracking sounds accompanied the familliar limber feeling in his arms. Running a hand through his hair, he felt it sweep back out of his face before twisting his neck each way with two additional dull clicks. Flexing his fingers, he felt his hands curl into fists.

Guess you never really forget.

Perhaps it was all some kind of stupid publicity stunt for a movie or something - he was going to look damn stupid in tomorrow's if that was the case. There was something off about the whole situation that told him that was unlikely to be the case though.

"Can you things hear me? Understand what I'm saying?" He shook his head. Talking to rolling junk and circuits - what kind of response had he expected? "How about you turn right around and get out of here before there's trouble?"

The words didn't sound as threatening as he would have liked: most likely his trying to change had worked somewhat over the years. They would have to do though. In an attempt to add to the effect, he stepped forward again - directly in front of the array of machines and between them and the stragglers who were still milling around like idiots. Hurry the fuck up and run he found himself thinking desperately.

"This is my part of town, you don't want to start any trouble here."

Truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing - or why for that matter. Did he think he could punch out a machine? Of course not - but it wasn't going to stop him from trying. Call it stupidity or bravery and you would be wrong either way - the boy simply didn't understand the concept of admitting defeat.

In the Dark

Most children have probably been afraid of the dark at one point or another.

I still am.

Even though I'm almost an adult, I can't sleep in the dark. There must always be a light, somewhere. I'm not afraid of monsters. No, I'm afraid of people. The desperate that lurk in the dark, those who have nothing left but a stubborn will and a starving belly. Those who do not see a child, just as stubborn and starving, but a mark. A victim. Those that don't see the child sleeping with one eye open and a stolen switchblade...

This dark reminds me of a time I can't forget. I wonder if anyone else can smell the long unwashed bodies, untreated illness, raw human desperation...

I feel, rather than see, things coming at me. Shapes in the dark. Hands, reaching for me. I know they're enemies. There's never any rescue coming in the middle of the night. I learned that first.

Can you state your name?

My hand searches, gropes, grasps for defense. I need a weapon. Give me something, there has to be- My hand closes around a sharp point. While I cuss, I point the business end of this, this... arrow outward. Not a knife, but good enough.

“Fuck off. You don't want my name. You want my money.” I don't know my own voice. In fact, I'm not exactly sure of the answer to the question. Who... am I? “You want my food. You want my life!” I may be small, but I've got a will bigger than my body. They all learned that pretty quick, not to pick on the small one. “You can't fucking have it. I've faced more scary shit than you when I was a little brat. If you're gonna come at me, have the balls to look me in the eyes.”

And it did. I saw the shadows take a face, eyes that were unreal and wrong and looking right through me. Then it had a mouth. Too human, too many teeth...

Can you state your name?

I lunged, screaming defiance and burrowing my arrow into an eye that had appeared.

He closed his eyes as the shadows lunged.

Like a cat Bast then made a huge leap landing in front of him, crushing the closest shadow near Aki and giving the shadow something to fear.

"Cleave!" Rena declared before Bast releases her claw from fingers and made a massive swipe at the shadows removing entire chucks at them, cause them to spill out blacks ooze on the side. Bast then acted as Aki barrier causing the Shadows to focus on Bast out of self-preservation(Remember theses same guys would run from your party if you had a way higher level than them.). Rena then put her hand on Aki shoulder. "What the hell do you think you're doing Aki?" She said with a frown before pulling him toward closer to the group to increase has odds of survival. Meanwhile, Bast started handling the shadows with her cat of nine tails, lashing it around left and right at smaller groups, when large groups came she would order her persona to use "cleave" which would rip through the shadows like a blade. "Come now, it way to early to give up. Find yourself, Listen to that voice, and you should have the power to pull through." She told him calmly with a warm smile. The fourth Cleave attack was then used causing the pasting of her breath to increased. It felt like she was getting a work out without actually working out.

@banjoanjo

"Jin!" Sakura called, running over to her friend. Inari, her persona, followed behind. As a shadow lunged for Sakura, Inari grabbed it with one hand in a sweeping motion and redirected it, forcing it to fall away. Sakura glared at it as she reached Jin to help them up, and gave Inari a command.

"Maragi."

Around them, several of the shadows burst into flames, adding some light to the area. It was chaos, a battlefield, and all Sakura could think of was protecting her friend. She stood up and pulled an arrow from her quiver, nocking it to her bowstring and taking aim. A second later, the feathery shaft sprouted from a shadow, and Sakura again gave Inari her command.

"Maragi!"

Again, flames sprouted from the shadows around her, and she drew another arrow. As long as she was around, nothing was going to get close enough to touch Jin.

School Side Plot

A flash of brilliant white. The odour of crackling ozone. Oberon's lightning lanced through the darkness, striking one of the formless shadows. An eerie shriek of pain as it dissipated. A most positive development, had it not illuminated their reality. More and more of the black, oozing phantoms moved to fill the gap. The mighty swing of Oichi's blade cut deeply into the muck. It seemed to disappear into nothing, but the glint of metal in the faint light ... and the agonising screams of the monsters ... were evidence of its presence. Inari's fire blazed away at its foes, but for every one charred into nothing, another emerged. Beside them, Bast's cat-of-nine-tails was equally as ineffective in stemming the tide; while it whipped apart the creatures with bloodless efficiency, they still came.

Unendingly.

Something rumbled through the shadows, a fleeting sound. A million eyes of gold blinked in unison. As if they had ... realised something.

The horde rushed forth. Tendrils of black. Ghostly arms. They sought to strike apart the assembled group of teenagers. An inhuman, incredible scream emerged from the dark mass. The blue butterflies rose up to meet them, forming a defensive barrier. Their protection was nothing before the shadows. They burst through, scattering powder and wings. And ... ignored the Persona users.

Completely.

Instead, a sea of black flooded over the defenseless Tomoda, engulfing him entirely in darkness. They oozed over his prone form, pulling him deeper and deeper into the mass, consuming his body inch by inch. A shudder ran through the shadows as the very last visible part of the boy some called Aloha-kun was ... consumed, a victim to the golden-eyed monsters that were swarming all over him, an unstoppable flood that had burst through the wall of butterflies to achieve its goal.

And then, as quickly as they had taken over the teenager, they pulled back.

Another shudder.

Tomoda's prone form seemed to float there in the void, unharmed. As if nothing had happened to him. As if the swarm had not consumed him.

The shadows shuddered again.

Something spasmed in the darkness.

They began to circle the assembled group, spasming. Twitching. Black tendrils lashing out and pulling back into the mass. Melting into one another. Guttural growls. Joining together ... fusing ... becoming one.

It was a sickening sight.

For a second, the world turned blindingly bright.

A sheer, endless void of white.

The butterflies seemed to cluster closer together, regrouping ... tensing almost in anticipation.

Tomoda stepped out of the light.

At least ... it looked like Tomoda.

It crackled like static.

Once.

Twice.

Its face shattered apart.



A blue butterfly ripped itself free of the thing's face, flapping past the shattered remnants of the Tomoda shadow's face and slamming back into the original's body. And something felt ... right again. As if a problem had been resolved as quickly as it had appeared.

But the monster that had once worn Tomoda's face ... it still stood there.

Faceless.

A black void where a grinning expression would usually be.

The other shadows ... they were gone. They had combined into this ... Tomoda. This ... thing. This monster.

"Tomoda-San!" Senhime called out as she rushed forward her newly formed guardian never leaving its vigil of her unguarded back even as she rushed forward. "Tomoda-San are you okay?" she called out in worry as she searched his body for any physical injuries seeing as he was unconscious. Suddenly a rush of knowledge entered her head she wanted to help him in anyway possible and as such the knowledge spelled out skills that she could apparently use to help. "I-I-I hope this works.... DIA!" She called out as a wave of healing energy flowed from her persona entering into Tomoda. Yet it seemed it didn't work. "W-w-why isn't it working? Please d-d-don't die on me please." Senhime called out her voice low and quiet as she kept on casting that one thing over and over again in a desperate attempt to awake him.

He groaned and fell to his knee. It was like there was a physical barrier between his current consciousness and what he needed to remember. He slapped his forehead in a further attempt to get it out. Arrgh, at this rate he’d just get taken down by those shadows without even putting up a fight. His body was still sluggish from the ordeal, the darkness sending shivers all over his body and seemingly weighing him down. He wouldn’t last long like this.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, an insignificant form of reassurance in this situation. A purple haired girl was shouting something at him over the din of inhuman shrieks and weird humanoid creatures that seemed to be controlled by some teens (classmates?) that were also present. He managed to catch the last bit of what she was saying.

“-yourself. Listen to that voice, and you should have the power to pull through." She spoke with a confident smile.

It seemed she meant well, but to him that smile was as comforting as a crocodile’s (ie. Not at all comforting). Warning bells were going off in his mind and he hastily shook off her hand. Upon first glance, this girl seemed kind enough, but his instincts and the remainder of his memories were screaming otherwise.

“Listen, …uh.” The name escaped him. Whatever, there was no time for tact right now. “I appreciate the pep talk but my memories are kinda not functioning right now and the remaining memory stuff that’s working is saying that I shouldn’t trust you. I was scared of you before, guess I still am.”

He had a feeling he didn’t usually talk this brazenly.

“But we’re in a life or death situation here, so we’ll have to make do. You keep killing stuff with your … cat … Stand … thing , and I’ll back you up and keep working on getting myself back. Deal?”

He pat himself down, looking for something he could use from his pockets. Pencils, phone, slips of paper with notes and little doodles, and … woah, those were definitely against school regulations. Concealed in an inner pocket of the weirdly coloured sweater he was wearing, undetectable from the outside, were a pair of brass knuckle dusters. How someone like him had managed to get a hold of these and why he was carrying them in the first place was a mystery, but those questions would get their answers later.

He placed them on his fingers and got into a fighting stance. In his condition, he wouldn’t be much assistance in the fight. His body still felt sickly, vision still hazy, and the chills only got worse by the second. The guy with the Hawaiian shirt just morphed into something. The only solid way he’d be able to help would be to look for weak spots against this new enemy, work out a strategy or find a way to escape. The sinister aura emanating from the monster reaffirmed one of his earlier thoughts. He wouldn’t last long like this.

His part of town?

His part of tow-

No, no, focus. Evil pizza delivery robots. And they were evil. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was that made him so sure, but Daisuke figured his gut instinct had to be worth something. They just felt wrong, in every way possible. And since his brain didn't have any better theories, gut instinct it was. But seriously. What was that dumbass doing? Gonna punch them? The big, four foot tall, yellow-eyed, demonic looking metal fuckers?

Christ, at least grab a fucking brick or something. Debris everywhere, and he wants to use his hands. Daisuke snorted to himself, swinging the pole down from his shoulders and into a readier position, swiping the air experimentally and advancing on the evil robot legion. The latter involved moving left, interposing himself vaguely between Kimiko and the enemies and making the left flank more accessible to him. He swung again, metal swishing through the air in answer to their growling threat.

Noooo, no, no, no.

This was his route to McDonalds.

Evil pizza robots had no place here.

"Alright, ya pieces of shit! Fucking bring it!"

Act (a) - They Fucking Brought It



The crowd, despite having retreated a fair distance from the assembled legion of machines, were still cautiously milling about, a dull murmur passing through them as they tried to make sense of the situation unfolding before them. The warning from both Katsu and Daisuke had instilled a greater wariness towards the robots, but in the wake of this tragic accident and the eerie, incomprehensible aftermath, it wasn't a surprise for them to stick around. They, like the teenagers who had taken charge in approaching the scene of the accident, were too seeking answers to the question of: "what the hell just happened?"



Golden optics blinked. All a hundred and twenty-eight of them. In complete unison. It was an eerie sight to behold for the assembled group, the preternatural atmosphere of their situation only growing as the lead unit, the one closest to the three teenagers, mechanically turned to follow Daisuke's movements. The swinging of the pole had done its job in catching its attention, the rapid shifts in the air successfully detected by whatever served as the delivery drone's sensors.

It wheeled forth. The rest of its compatriots followed.

Smoke continued to rise from the crashed delivery truck. It was dense, slowly moving, hissing black into the calm air.

Orange crackled along the wreck, the flames yet to subside.

The blood of the driver stained the cratered wall. It had long stopped trickling away, coagulating into a sickly, dark red puddle.



Something shook from behind the sixty-four machines. It was the truck. It shook once. It shook twice.

Discontented grumbling passed through the crowd. What was it that was happening?

The lead robot emitted a piercing whine, and the edges of its top began to glow a frighteningly blue. Somebody in the crowd gasped. The top rose upwards. Slowly. Surely. With a sense of purpose. Its golden optics flickered again. Its opening reached the maximum possible height.

A scent of melted cheese drifted through the air. Mozzarella cheese. Real mozzarella. The good stuff. Not that fior di latte shit.

...

...

...

Something blurred through the air, whizzing past Daisuke's face. A second later, the overpowering scent of dairy products was combined with that of blood. If the teenagers looked behind them, they would see that one of the members of the crowd, a salaryman in a nicely-pressed suit, was staring at his right arm. No. Not his right arm. The stump of his right arm. Blood and pepperoni was splattered all over him. It wasn't a nice suit anymore. Cheese dripped from torn flesh and muscle. Everything below the elbow was gone. It had flown further back into the crowd, slapping a housewife carrying groceries in the face. With a dead, lifeless hand.

A hand that smelled of pizza.

Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

<<I T 'S S O E X C I T I N G T O B E H E R E>> vocalised the lead robot in a mechanical, emotionless tone, its hatch still hissing after propelling the pepperoni pizza (5184kJ) at such incredible force into the assembled humans.

Somebody took an audible step back.

One.

Two.

The screaming began.

A shockwave of gold burst from the truck, engulfing the closest figures, the hapless teenagers, in its path.

And through the fog of energy, the robots began their advance.

Well. He had their fucking attention.

On the list of things that he thought he’d see today, a flying pizza slicing off a man’s arm wasn’t one of them. Bile rose in the back of his throat, sending cold chills shooting down his spine. The pizza bots, eerie already, had just climbed a notch on the threat scale. They were more than wrong, they were unnatural.

Anger comes from a lotta places. Righteousness. Retribution. Pain. Fear. People think fear makes you stand still, scared too shitless to move. Usually true. Fear usually makes you weak. Makes you too weak to act. But there’s a spot, a little different for everyone, where fear becomes a catalyst. When it pushes you too fucking far, and fear turns into pure, unadulterated, adrenaline-fueled action. It makes you angry instead of weak. And anger makes you act, whether it’s stupid or not. When fear becomes a matter of life or death, the strong get tougher. Some people’d call it stupid, when you’re facing down odds you can’t beat. Daisuke’s opinion on bravery and stupidity was pretty well known. But when you’re that scared, and your back’s to the fucking wall, what else are you gonna do?

He was fucking scared. Sixty plus evil fucking pizza delivery bots, and he couldn’t seem to do a goddamn thing. Nothing seemed to put them down. The pole helped, but he could only do so much damage. And there were so fucking many. He didn’t doubt, now, that there was something wrong. They shoulda just been delivery bots. Even if they’d gotten turned on by accident they’d just have tried to deliver shit. But they were evil. Actively evil. And nothing seemed to fucking stop them.

So yeah, Daisuke Miyamoto was scared.

"But bro-"

"Relax. 'Sides," He grinned. "What kinda boogeyman could take me?"

Which meant he was fucking pissed.

Face of a demon. That’s what he was looking in, but that’s not all it was. It was what Daisuke was, too. It was what he had become. When he’d gotten too sick of being pushed around, of setting that kind of example, he pushed back. Pushed back so they wouldn’t push him again. So they wouldn’t push his sister again. So they wouldn’t fucking dare bother someone. He got enough split lips doing it. Older he got, the more damage a fight’d do. Bruises, split lips, scraped knuckles. And when you were the biggest guy around the rest’d try and put you down to prove their point. You get in a lot of trouble.

”Daisuke, why do you keep doing this? You can’t keep getting in trouble.”

“... I don’t like bullies, Dad.”

But Sachiko wasn’t scared anymore. She wasn’t scared to walk to school when he was around, and she wasn’t trying to hide the money for her lunch. She wasn’t scared, because her big brother was a badass. Because she believed nothing could stop him. Her big brother was looking out for her. Made it worth it. If having the face of a demon was what it took to preserve the smile of the angel, he’d take it happily.

Split lips and all.

And you know what? That’s what these metal bastards were. Bullies. Rolling up to scare the people who came to help. Their sickly yellow eyes, the way they revved their motors, it was all to scare. And whatever piece of shit ghost, or demon, or fucking Satan himself was having a good old laugh at Daisuke. At the other delinquent kid. At Kimiko. And that would not fucking stand.

“Shouldn’t put your thumbs in your fists.”

“What?”

“Thumbs. You’ll break ‘em if they’re in your fists.” He gestured with his free hand, while he finished punching in the order with his right. She was staring, now, and he knew how it probably looked. Scrapes on his knuckles. Split lip that was still stinging. He’d lied to the boss, said he had a mishap on his bike, but she knew better. Still let him work. Now he’d drawn attention to it. He forced a wider smile, biting his lip a little to numb the twinge. Maybe he’d look less like a delinquent.

“... Thanks.”

That was one customer alienated.

He swung hard, hitting one in the side hard enough to tip it over. It was pissed, whirring loudly at him, but it couldn’t get back up. Take his victories where he could get ‘em. Daisuke whirled and attempted to plunge the pole’s ragged point through the sensors of the one trying to flank him, grimacing when it barely broke the rather rugged surface. A whack across its front wasn’t nearly as successful at knocking it over, like he had its brother.

They were bullies. Smug little rolling fuckers, and they were supposed to be scared. When he thought about it, it was almost fucking funny. If they weren’t trying to kill them all, despite not having the means to do it. How awful would that be? Killed by rogue delivery bot. Because that’s what the headlines’d be, not demons. People don’t believe that stuff. Labeled a ‘tragic failing of AI’, get some media attention, and everyone’d move on. But he’d still be the guy that got killed by a pizza delivery machine. No, no, fuck that. What would people think? How the fuck would Aloha-kun play that off? What would Kimiko think? What would S a c h i k o think? No. No way he was going down that way. He had fucking work tomorrow, and he wasn’t missing a shift. His boss’d kill him. He wasn’t going without proving he could be more than a McDs worker, either.

No.

Yellow-Eyes had another fucking thing coming. Miyamoto Daisuke despised bullies, and he had a lot of practice fighting them. Practice had had tried to step away from, forge a more respectable existence for himself. Prove he could be better than what he fought. But it was still there. Years of practice, and years of stubborn refusal to buckle. Yellow-Eyes hadn’t realized, but he soon would. Daisuke had covered it up but he still had the face of a demon. And if he wanted to win… Well, he’d have to beat Daisuke at his game.

No one had yet.

He’d have to have the tenacity, the presence, the sheer force of will to put down the eldest Miyamoto son, the brawler, the fighter, the best fucking worker McDonalds had. And he didn’t have that. If he did he wouldn’t be pussyfooting around with his little toys. And it didn’t exist, because he would never let it. Because his sister thought he was invincible. And he wasn’t going to prove her wrong.

_Persona…

The bots, no, whatever was controlling them, could fucking bring it. All they wanted. The now-familiar whirring of one charging up its primary offensive weapon met his ear, and he jumped right to evade the flying disc of death. A second whir caught his attention, and a third. Different directions. He sidestepped the first preemptively, whirling to slap the other out of the air with the end of his pole. He couldn’t win this way. But he wouldn’t lose, either.

Which meant something had to give. And deep down, when he saw the card appear before him, he knew it had.

Persona…

Daisuke grabbed it without thinking, or considering why he did it. He just knew. He felt the rush of energy he usually associated with adrenaline, magnified onto another scale altogether. It filled every fiber of his being, driving him to feel as though he could conquer the world. Know that he could handle that which lay before him.

Persona.

He felt vindication in his belief, a reaffirmation of his conviction. He could fight this monster. His hand balled into a fist, crushing the card in his grasp in the process, and the feeling spiked. The card glowed intensely as though on fire, reflecting the inferno beginning to rage within his chest. His hand closed around it instinctively, as if trying to capture that intensity for himself. The space behind him flared a deep, dark blue that bathed the entire area, including the sickly yellow-glowing robots before him, with its azure hue. The yellow became islands in the sea, resisting the overwhelming presence leveled against them. Daisuke knew with the light intensifying, emanating, and crescendoing behind him, and the sheer feeling of strength contained within his limbs that it had arrived before he ever saw it. No, that he had arrived. It was alien, beyond question, but it was him. On ever level it was him, and he could feel that before he laid eyes on it. A large hand rested on his shoulders, and he looked back over his shoulder to the tall, proud and regal, its opposite hand resting on the haft of its naginata.

“Benkei.” It took its hand off his shoulder, bringing its naginata down into a ready position, one mirroring the way Daisuke held his own improvised spear. A sign, one he could understand, that it understood. That they were on the same page. “... Yeah.”

“Let’s take ‘em down together.”

Hoshizora Aiko steps out of the subway, an overnight bag under her arm. It is her first time in Shikatsu. She looks at the nearby bus stop nervously.

Don't you dare.

Hoshizora Aiko decides to walk. Buses are dangerous things.

She walks twenty-eight blocks to Uchima, then one more after that. She unzips a pocket of her overnight bag. After some rustling around, she retrieves a small newspaper clipping, stored in a sandwich bag.




Hoshizora Aiko peers in through the glass-paneled door. She presses the buzzer sheepishly, half-hoping that the agency has forgotten her interview appointment. As she waits for someone to answer, Aiko examines the layout of the room through smeared, filthy glass. Files and photos and scraps of paper litter the desk and the floor. A huge, barely-functional coffee machine dominates the corner table- it must be at least twenty years old. Older than Aiko, at least. There's a small stairwell leading to the upper and lower floors that looks like it hasn't been vaccumed since the building was constructed. Unidenifiable dark stains litter the walls and floors, and the trashcan in the corner is overflowing with styrofoam cups and empty plastic trays.

Hoshizora Aiko is starting to understand why this detective needs a maid. She hopes there isn't a uniform. Still, she can't argue with a free room, especially under her current circumstances.

@Crimmy

Kimiko Saitou is a burger girl.

She has ordered a grand total of five burgers (eight patties) from Eastern Shikatsu's third most profitable McDonald's. Rarely has she, with her finicky stomach with cravings as rare as blue moons, been caught eating a burger. This does not mean she scavenges for them in dumpsters or off tables like Nosferatu. She usually just doesn't want a burger.

She wants fries. And a soda.

She has a burger boy. If you ever saw him outside of a uniform, you might want him too. _(persona)

Pizza is for people who like waiting long enough for their food to eat three burgers.

Pizza is for those masochists who crave the feeling of food they once loved slowly turning to mortar in their mouths, turning labors of love into chores to eat. Hardening mozzarella. Drying sauce. Dough so chewy you could utilize it for a field amputation.

Fuck pizza, and its robot heralds.

So sayeth Kimiko. So sayeth Daisuke.

_Persona

Even now, pizza brings its seductive brand of harm to the masses. Buzzsaws with two dozen meaty areolae slice through bone like a poet's wit. The crowd disperses at the advance of a heady cloud that assaults her senses - ravaged them, sauce and blood and screams ringing around her head. She stays. So does Daisuke. In the smoke, with a hundred synthetic surly eyes like floodlights cast upon him, he was bathed in gold. He was an angel come to the city block. An archangel. God's own cleanup crew.

He stands like one.

You know him well. You know he'll fight until God calls him back and gives him a slap on the wrist, kicks him out again; until the sting of the rebuke leaves him and he fightssome more. Fights for all eternity, constant like a season. Spring, summer, miyamoto, fall, winter, Persona warm, hot, hottest, cool, cold, coldest

That's been known to make you want him a little too.

Persona

He's fighting them. Kimiko makes no illusions about her combat prowess. Robots had no balls to bust. She can't really take on sixty four oh wait, three, with her limited fight training. All she knew how to do was...

Keep your thumbs outta your fists.

An old psalm, given to her by a Samaritan with bloody knuckles and a smile he had to bite down on to force. Kimiko's heart flutters at the thought.

Persona.

Daisuke knew what to do, clearly.

Kimiko can follow his lead, at least.

Or...can she do more than follow?

It is Kimiko who makes the decisions. Says where to go. Steers Daisuke to his slice of heaven, even on his off days. Whenever she's not in a school uniform, Kimiko Saitou is a burger girl who wears pants.

Just like her mothers taught her.

A card shimmers to life. She hasn't played with them since childhood, but she remembers the basics.

Dragons beat Machine-types. Death to Bandit Keith.

It glows blue, a hot blue that comforts her rather than scalds. Blue like neon lights over a slice of heaven. There's something crystalline about it - like there's something crystalline about Kimiko.

But the majority of crystal never breaks, and as much as her burger boy is good for (student discount 10% off when you wear your uniform come back and see me for your soda tonight kimiko) Daisuke had never taught her how not to break.

Nor have her mothers - the pride of Boston and the queen of Kobe had been good for so much, for each other and for her, but those dyke queens have failed to impress on her how to stand strong on her own.

Somehow, she knows what the card is for. What it says about her. And it says,

I know.

You were fine the whole time.

Don't sweat it.

Don't forget we have breakfast all day now if you ever get tired of just fries. Can you get breakfast all day at Burger King?

She knows what she wants now. I want all day fries here please. Daisuke already heard her swear it down.

She wants to prove herself. Assert herself. Be as constant as he is. She wants to prove that you can pick up fighting the good fight whenever you damn well please and still fight it better than a pizza robot. She wants to start smashing cogs in their organized dinner-delivery machine until they break before her like the Legion at Algiers.

I will show you fear in a handful of fist!

"Per-"

Daisuke turns.

"-son-"

She swears she sees a hint of blue when she crushes the card.

"-aaaa!"

She swears she sees the moon in the sky, hours early.

She feels beautiful. The way her mothers are beautiful, like Daisuke's golden glow, she feels like such an idol.

"K-Kaguya-hime..."

The alien princess.

Queen of the misfits.

Empress of all.

"Just like me, Kaguya-hime..."

Her gaze focuses on the pizzabot she had her eyes on. The legionnaire at the front of formation. The one she swore up and down about.

I will make you mine.

The way she makes all else hers. Is Daisuke watching?

"Marin Karin!"

It seemed she meant well, but to him that smile was as comforting as a crocodile’s (ie. Not at all comforting). Warning bells were going off in his mind and he hastily shook off her hand. Upon first glance, this girl seemed kind enough, but his instincts and the remainder of his memories were screaming otherwise.

“Listen, …uh.” The name escaped him. Whatever, there was no time for tact right now. “I appreciate the pep talk but my memories are kinda not functioning right now and the remaining memory stuff that’s working is saying that I shouldn’t trust you. I was scared of you before, guess I still am.”

Rena then lightly frown at him as she wondered when he told him that before turning to face the newly form monster that looked like Tomoda then back at him. "Very well,try not to die me...okay?" She told him calmly before walked toward the faceless Tomoda...Without turning back she then said. "Other-wise you'll make me feel bad." She warned him.
@banjoanjo

As she got ready to confront the faceless being she began cracking her knuckles. "So...I don't know who you are but you are definitely not Tomoda-san..." She told causally. At least that was her guess since that thing's face got shattered. With that theory in mind, she then made a mad sprint toward the thing getting closer and closer to the fake until she felt she was close enough. With the thing in kicking distance she then stopped in place, lift her leg, and then kick the thing square in it stomach area hard enough to knock a normal person on off their feet as well as incapacitated them.

@Zobozun

Sasori and Co. Investigations

"You're Hoshizora Aiko, right?"

The words, despite expectations, did not come from anywhere within the detective agency itself. In fact, the decidedly-feminine voice had originated from the aforementioned teenaged girl's right. If she were to rapidly turn around to address the source, she would be exposed to a rather casual-seeming young woman of indeterminate age, one who was wearing a crimson button-up shirt and a jet black necktie, the shade of which was shared by her trousers and dress shoes. Given her semi-formal attire, she appeared to be likely related to the agency in some manner, especially given the timing of her appearance and her almost professional-seeming aura.

Almost.

The mane of shockingly neon pink hair, barely tied back into a giant ponytail by a bright, sunny-shaded ribbon, was not something that was common to most people in suburban areas, particularly suburban areas in a nation-state where 98.5% of the population shared highly similar phenotypes. It was the first irregularity to any image of professionalism this woman could have wished to convey. The second, on the other hand ...

She was carrying a box. A box that clearly displayed the image of a new coffeemaker. The fully-automatic 'DeLonghi MAGNIFICA S ECAM 22.110.SB' with aroma saving cover, to be more precise. A pricey machine, albeit one that provided enough bang for its buck, as long as oily beans were not used.

"Apologies for the mess," she continued, hefting the box under the shoulder of her left arm as she turned and held her right hand out for a handshake. "Some mysterious force caused the original coffeemaker to malfunction."

Hence the sordid state of Sasori and Co. Investigations, and the woman's blood-red eyes seemed to dare Aiko to accuse her of being the one responsible.

"Nice to meet you."

---

@Krayzikk @Plank Sinatra @Conflagration

Act (a) - Super Robot Wars

A trail of pink jetted across the expanse between Kimiko and the lead legionnaire of the sixty-four-strong group of machines. Time seemed to almost slow as it took note of the projectile, golden optics flickering as it attempted to turn away and avoid the attack. However, given its general lack of mobility, the shot struck true, locking the machine in its motion and bringing it to a shuddering halt, even as the rest of its compatriots continued to advance through the golden fog, intent on combating Daisuke, Kimiko and Katsu. It no longer seemed to glow. The sickly yellow was gone from its eyes. It was off.

Then it rebooted, glow returning ... only now tinged with green and pink love hearts.

Blue blared from the machine, and it started moving again. Yet instead of rejoining the formation, it instead turned to face one of its compatriots ... and set it aflame. The receptacle in which it stored its warm pizzas had opened up, and a gout of white-hot fire, blinding to the eyes, burst out, engulfing the its brother bot. Screaming whirs echoed through the fog, but three seconds later, a charred, blackened delivery machine had been shut down.

Kimiko's Marin Karin had successfully taken control of one of the robots.

Elsewhere, the unit that Daisuke had been trying and failing to break apart prior to his summoning began to drive forth at a frighteningly rapid speed, seeking to 'tackle' and crush the boy's legs beneath its wheels. Two more of its compatriots were of directive, as they moved to flank him, shooting off their own balls of fire towards him.

They had tagged him as the main threat.

The crowd had fled or were in the process of fleeing.

Only Daisuke, Kimiko and Katsu seemed to stand firm in the face of the danger.

Hoshizora Aiko steps out of the way so that she is no longer blocking the door. She looks the woman up and down. Two-piece. Belt. What kind of loser wears a red shirt with a black suit. What must be color contacts. A black tie.

Nice hair, bitch. You dye it just for me? Oh, and that undone tie looks real fucking professional.

"Yes, I'm Hoshizora. Nice to meet you, too.", Hoshizora Aiko replies with a stiff bow. She reaches out and grasps the woman's hand in a weak handshake befitting a timid schoolgirl. The woman explains before letting go of Aiko's hand, drawing her eyes to the box.

Did you seriously go out and buy a brand new coffee machine as soon as your old one broke? You probably didn't even research it first, did you?

"O-oh, it did? I can come back tomorrow if this is a bad time."

Is this the previous assistant? Is this woman's manner of dress some kind of bizarre challenge to Aiko? A confirmation that she's been found out? Maybe she simply chooses to dress like a C-grade thriller extra. Aiko clutches her bag tightly and holds the door open for the woman, the aroma of burnt coffee grounds washing over her.

"I guess Mr. Sasori isn't in... You wouldn't happen to, uh, be related somehow, would you?"

@Zobozun

Sasori and Co. Investigations

"He's currently pursuing a lead on one of his cases," explained the woman casually, nodding gratefully to Aiko before stepping through the open door and into the agency itself. "I'll be handling your interview in his stead, if you're willing to consent to such trouble."

She placed the coffeemaker box down next the door, out of the way enough to allow people to enter and exit, but still close enough that it was clearly visible. With that course of action fulfilled, she immediately returned Aiko's bow of greeting, albeit with greater grace and less stiffness. It was quite clear that she was far more used to bowing in any number of situations.

---

@demonspade64 @HereComesTheSnow @Suku @Zenphilvian @banjoanjo @Mistress Dizzy @chukklehed

School Side

Rena Tatsuya's kick connected perfectly with the faceless, faux-Tomoda's stomach, and had it been any other situation, would have quite easily bowled the thing over. It was a beautiful kick, after all, but unfortunately for the Yakuza heiress, the target of her attack was completely unaffected. The energy of the blow seemed to almost dissipate into the air, the figure moving not a single inch. It stood there, shattered face almost staring back at its attacker.

It was not Aloha-kun.

It was not human.

Beneath the group of assembled the teenagers, the butterflies seemed to grow in agitation, moving closer towards them in a protective manner.

[[A͏̢̥̲̙̰̩̙̰̳̭͙͌͛̏̑͌᷁̍͐͌ͬ͠G̷̣͚᷊̰̖͖͋͌ͯ͆͌ͥ͜ͅḬ̵̢̞̣̣͔᷅᷉͌̀᷉͌̄͂̈́̿᷅͌̆͟͡ͅ]]

An eerie mockery of the human voice emerged from the thing. It was audibly Tomoda's, but the words seemed to emerge from a false mimicry of the human voice-box. It lifted its arm up stiffly towards Rena ... and fired, a ball of flame intent on incinerating her into little more than cinders.

Something ephemeral seemed to manifest behind it. Something ghostly, shapeless and barely visible, but it appeared to be the head of pumpkin. A colourless, wildly grinning pumpkin that floated wispily next to the thing's shattered head. Comical in any other situation, but if the golden glow that flashed within its malformed 'eyes' was any indication, it was here to fight them.

Who... am I?

Can you state your name?

I am-!

I am...

I...

I don't know.

What I do know is that I'm fighting. My knuckles hurt and I think I've split open my lip. I don't know how long I've been fighting. It's like my sense of time was gone with the light. How long have I been in the dark? How long have I been fighting? ...was there ever a time that I haven't been fighting? Who... am I?

I'm a fighter! That's who I am! My name is... is...

Damn! I was close that time, I know it! The answer slipped through my bloodied hands... No one is born fighting, right? There had to be a time before, that I was not a fighter. So that's not right. What's my name? Who am I?

In the dark, flashes of light illuminate a face. Wait, no. Not light. Fire. Burning away that inky darkness, a commanding voice is calling flames. Over and over. It – no, it is a she, and she is beautiful – she's calling. For who, I don't know. I see her mouth move, but the shadows swallow the words before they reach my ears. She looks right at me, and I know she knows me. The real me. ...Whoever that is. She's calling me.

...Why?

Something tugs at me, a rope of shadow around my throat, and I scream hoarse defiance and claw at it. Another burst of fire illuminates a monster I'd rather not see... and blood like red ink on my fingertips. Suddenly, I remember.

Blood.

“Okaa-san? Daddy? P-please wake up!!” There's red on my hands, but a lot more of it, and my hands are so much smaller. The stranger is gone and he took my parents with them. I know this, in the back of my child-mind, that they'll never wake up. I'm crying, begging, shaking them and getting my hands wet. It smells like metal and smoke, and it feels like nothing will ever be right ever again. A noise captures my attention. The stranger must be coming back! He's coming back to take me too... A tiny, tiny voice asks if that wouldn't be best. Apparently my body has other ideas. Before I understand it, I'm scrambling and shoving a window open, squeezing my small self through. It's snowing outside, but I'm running, running... It's cold, and I smell blood.

It's warm, and I smell blood. My face is wet with tears, which burns like hell, because I'm pretty sure one of the upper-class bitches clawed my cheek open. There are buttons torn off my shirt. My binder has something nasty written on it, in what smells like permanent ink. One of my knuckles is split open, and I'm pretty sure the skin under my nails isn't mine. I gave, but not as good as I got. Unfortunately, five on one isn't a fair fight. They want to call me a "gaijin freak-girl" but they can't even fight me up front. Pathetic. Pathetic and wrong. I'm not a gaijin, I'm not a freak, I'm not a girl...

I am crying, though, and now that the adrenaline is wearing off I realized that they must have left me outside where they attacked me. I realize I'm not alone in one swift moment, and I jerk my head up to see... her.

Can you state your name?

I stand up straight against the dark. “I am the valid product of two separate equations. I'm not a girl, I'm not a boy. My father may be American, but my mother is Japanese. I'm not from here- but I belong here! My names are Jinayah Ifriti and Jin Takahashi.” I'm smiling. “And don't you forget 'em.”

Something bursts free within me. Something real and completely right, and my lips are forming a word I didn't know I knew until now.

“Persona.” I reach out for the card that waits for me, and I call for her.

“CLOTHO!”

Persona!

The white-garbed smallest sister of Fate came to Jin's beckoning. It stood before them and the shadows, awaiting command. Jin was bloodied, but smiling with a dogged ferociousness born out of years of survival. The first thing they did was turn, and look at the girl – beautiful girl – who had called them out of the dark.

“Sakura. Thank you. I can take it from here.”

Jin turned their eyes to the enemy, and found their mouth forming the words. “Pulinpa!”

Their existence seemed to be an exercise in contradiction to so many. Two names, two homes, two selves... but all Jin. Why not confuse the shadows too? It seemed to work. For several moments they seemed to stop; trying to find the kids that were there, just a second ago.

“SINGLE SHOT!”

A hole the size of a dime pierced the dark, and a Shadow dropped. Jin was pleased, and started to charge the enemy.

“And you have my aim, too? Me and you are gonna get along just fine. Listen here, demons or darkness, or whatever you are! I'm the master of my own Fate, you hear me? You're gonna remember me!”

Jin realized two things as they started to fight back. For one, both of their selves, past and present, made up all of who they were now. Everything mattered, everything was valid, and that was perfect.

For another, they might be in love with Sakura Maeda. That notion was far scarier than the shadows...