(a/n: AX IS THIS WEEK I'M LOWKEY PANICKING
JK IT'S HIGHKEY)
Cop and Robber
RANK 13, STAGE 4
Makoto ran blindly.
She tore out of the room, sprinting down warm-colored hallways with blurry portraits and paintings of abstracted flowers.
A quiet breeze was at her back, haunting, chuckling, warning her of imminent peril.
She found a window at the end of the hallway and tugged with all her strength. It refused to budge. She whipped out her belt and slammed the buckle against the glass. Not a single crack.
A little whisper carried on the wind. "It's not going to be that easy, my dear queen."
Makoto kept running. She slid down the banister, her mind automatically filtering out the sofas, the lighting fixtures, the plush chairs set around colorful tables. This wasn't the time to appreciate the interior design of Akira's Palace. She ran past a kitchen, a living room, a laundry room that led to a garage that paradoxically led back into the house, a home office, a shoe closet. Then she finally reached the tiled foyer.
There was a large shoe rack, but it was completely empty, and Makoto stopped for a split second to wonder why, if it was a home, there was no one inside except for Shadow Joker and Cognition Morgana.
And the moment she stopped—
"Megidolaon."
Orbs of light, catastrophic and beautiful, pulsing with pure, unrestrained power, encircled the air and merged. They plummeted to the ground and exploded at the door, right where she would've been if she'd kept running.
The force rocketed Makoto away from the entrance and crashed her into the whitewashed wall. Blinding agony faded into the cold, horrifying numbness of shock. Something very bad was broken. Something had paralyzed her.
"Garudyne."
She was extracted from the wall and flung to the ground.
She couldn't move. The shock was blurring her vision. White noise screamed in her ears.
The house was, by some miracle, untouched, as if nothing had even happened.
A foot stepped in front of her. A man eclipsed in dark smoke leaned down, looking at her face with unnatural yellow eyes behind a white mask.
"Joker," she rasped.
He tilted his head. "Interesting. You're conscious."
Was this how he saw himself? Not Kurusu Akira, not a king or an emperor or a tycoon—but a Phantom Thief? Somewhere along the way, had it become his identity? Had he ever wanted to give it up, only to realize that he didn't know what Kurusu Akira would be without Joker?
Shadow Joker reached out and pulled her chin. Her body scraped numbly along the ground. "I'll take conscious. I prefer it. There's something dissatisfying about killing something when it's not even awake to witness it. Perhaps like... a student falling asleep in the middle of one's lecture."
His tone was blasé, but she could feel the fury against her. Her dry tongue attempted to wet her bleeding lips. "You... hate... me. Why?"
Shadow Joker stared at her for a long while, then snapped his fingers.
There was another her.
She was wearing that elegant date-worthy dress, looking lovely and innocent and gentle. Her eyes were the same piercing yellow as Shadow Joker's.
And her hands were stained with blood.
One of them was holding a serrated knife, a horrible thing that screamed of prolonging agony as long as possible.
Cognition Makoto licked the blade with a giggle.
"Hm," she said daintily. "A beautiful thing, betrayal. As if anyone could bring themselves to really love such a failure."
Makoto retched.
Shadow Joker snapped his hand again, and Cognition Makoto vanished. "You do not understand," he said flatly, "the sort of mental torture that Kurusu Akira has been subject to in these past six hours."
That was how Akira saw her.
No, that was what she'd done to him.
"Save him," she rasped. She was still numb, paralyzed, but she was being crushed by guilt. "Please... just save him."
Shadow Joker laughed, caustic and bitter. "What is there to do? He is far gone. His past is a wound that never mended, wrenched open by the nails of the woman he loved. The only peace that he might find is in death."
"Save... him..."
Anger flickered over Shadow Joker's face and he wrenched her shoulder. A blinding pain sliced at her. She screamed.
"Save yourself, queen! Beg to save your own miserable life!" He leaned close, spittle flying from his lips. "Since when have you cared for the wellbeing of Kurusu Akira? You are the one who shot him four times! You are the one who terrifies him! You are his worst nightmare!"
She had nothing else in her mind. Just an endless mantra, the only words that could break through the throbbing agony. "Save... him... save..."
Shadow Joker kicked her violently in the ribs. Something cracked and she choked, her lungs failing. "This is futile. I am proceeding."
There was a deadly pause as he stepped away.
"Back in olden times, I believe they burned witches alive," he said softly.
He raised his hands.
Makoto stared at his shoes, unable to turn her head, choking to death.
Somewhere, she heard a distant whisper, buried deep in her heart: Have you decided to tread the path of strife?
Shadow Joker spoke.
"Agidyne."
Fire dwarfed his cloaked figure.
She felt the ambient heat touch her face, morph the air into shimmers.
The path of strife?
No... no.
She didn't want her legacy to be a path of strife. She wanted it to be a path of peace. True justice. An example for future generations to follow—not an insurgent or a rabble-rouser. Surely, somehow, some way, there could be good cops.
The voice inside abruptly disappeared, empty, and somehow, Makoto knew that it would never return.
Shadow Joker snapped his fingers. The flame curled into a whirlpool.
And bolted towards her like an arrow.
"GARUDYNE!"
A blitz of wind flung the fiery projectile forcibly to the side. It gyrated into the wall, dispersing harmlessly.
And a cat landed in front of her in a crouch.
It almost looked like a bobblehead. It stood on its two hindpaws, the head around twice the size of the body, big and bulbous with giant, adorable eyes.
Shadow Joker raised a brow. "Morgana. We had an agreement."
"That agreement," snapped Morgana, and his voice was high but firm, just like Cognition Morgana's, "does not encompass burning innocent people alive, Joker."
A talking cat.
The sentience and Morse code were now somewhat explainable.
"Diarahan," said Morgana.
The pain eased, the shock dissipated. Makoto's body mended to be completely whole.
It was too much too quickly.
She kept lying on the tile.
"Step aside," said Shadow Joker flatly. "She is not an innocent. I have a score to settle with her."
"Sorry to break up the party," said Morgana.
He cast something in the air.
"Vanish Ball!"
They disappeared.
.
.
.
The yard was, apparently, a Safe Zone.
Makoto seized the chance to rest her head against the broad oak tree in the lawn. She stared at the cat-shaped bobblehead that was pacing back and forth, rapidfire words spilling out of his mouth in time with his pawsteps.
"I told him this would happen. I told that numbskull over and over, don't mess with the human psyche, but did he listen? Noooo. He had to be Mister Soap Opera. Mister Protagonist. Let's pick the most convoluted solution possible. Let's save the girl and kick our own skin out to the curb. Dammit, Joker!"
They were all utterly incomprehensible to her shocked brain.
"Morgana?"
"What?"
"Can you... give me a minute to just take everything in?"
Morgana twitched, obviously annoyed, but nodded.
Makoto looked around.
The yard was massive. It was a sprawling verdant lawn that extended far beyond what was proportional for the house's square footage. Beautiful wildflowers grew in select clusters that dotted the greenery. Several large trees were rooted in both the front and back yard, each adorned with a different artifact. One had a rope swing. Another had a tree house. Another had a filled but unoccupied bird feed. They were vacant props—little fragments of childhood desires.
The yard was surrounded by a picture-perfect white picket fence, the kind that would show up in family magazines. The house itself was a bright pale yellow that shone in the sun with perfect shutters and beautiful white trim and textured wooden tiles. She could imagine a happy family living there, a family full of tag and singing and gingerbread cookies.
"But it's empty," she said.
Morgana glanced at her. "What?"
"The house is completely empty." She looked at him. "Except for you. The you in his cognition."
Morgana shrugged. "I haven't met me yet. But of course it's empty."
"Why?"
"Everyone left him."
Makoto's throat clogged.
"Sakura Sojiro died. Abandoned him. Mishima Yuuki spread malicious rumors before they even knew each other. Abandoned him. A woman who he tried to help testified against him. Abandoned him. Law enforcement carried out an unfair verdict. Abandoned him. His parents rejected him. Abandoned him. And you, Miss Cop, hot damn, don't even get me started."
Makoto wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes wet.
"It shows with the cognitions," said Morgana, waving at the house. "They never stick around. They come and go. Brief sojourns, visits, you know. Sometimes they arrive just to pester his mind as inside voices. Heck, I don't even know how often I'm in there."
Every time she thought his Palace couldn't get more miserable, a new fact bumped along.
"What do we even do?" she choked.
"Nothing," said Morgana. "It's hopeless. I told him. If his Palace gets out of control, I can't beat his shadow. That one shadow is literally the entire Palace security."
"You seemed to hold your own."
"One, I caught him by surprise. Two, I was deflecting an attack, not trying to hit him. Three, he has mastery of all the elements, and I'm only wind, so he just has to whip out lightning and he'll have a cat steak for dinner. Four, I used a vanish ball, because ain't no way in hell that I'm leaving room for any risks. Five—well, you get the picture. He's actually invincible."
It did seem like a conundrum. An invincible enemy that could kill any size of a force in the blink of an eye.
Everyone left him.
Maybe a normal person would have given up.
Makoto just felt more stubborn.
She sat back and brushed her hair behind her ear, thinking.
"Sniper rifle," she said. "Long scope."
"Can't see him behind walls, and he doesn't come outside," Morgana pointed out.
"Aimed using thermal vision."
"Okay, look, queenie. Whatever we do, we can't kill his shadow. Actually, rule of thumb, never kill anyone's shadow in their own Palace. Their mind will shut down, and they'll become psychotic and die a gruesome death. Very bad."
Makoto closed her eyes. "Oh."
Then her eyes flew open.
"That was why, Munakawa's Palace, he stepped forward to take the gunshot—!"
Morgana glared at her. "You tried to shoot Munakawa's shadow?"
"I, I won't do it again."
"Good. Because I'll kill you. By the way, I'm pretty sure that Shadow Joker is immune to lighting. And fire. And ice. And wind. Unlike the normal Joker, he doesn't need to switch Personas to gain their immunities. It's a nightmare."
"Switch Personas?"
"Never mind. Too complicated for a young 'un like you."
"What is he vulnerable to?"
"Almighty skills. That's probably it."
She had no clue what that meant, but she'd roll with it. "If this were a video game, we'd have to reflect his own move back at him."
"That's impossible because there's no ointment for Almighty skills," said Morgana crossly, which also made absolutely no sense. "And no killing the owner's shadow, remember?"
"What, no resurrection spells?"
"Samarecarm wakens people from unconsciousness and applies an automatic Diarahan. It does not reverse cardiac arrest or brain death, so don't get any funny ideas. It only rouses consciousness. I don't think it even works on shadows."
She tried to think.
Clearly, fighting Shadow Joker was impossible.
Avoiding him was impossible.
And talking Akira out of his psychosis was impossible. The last time she'd tried that, it hadn't turned out well.
So how could they heal him?
Natural causes seemed out of the question. At this point, he was too far gone.
Stealing the Treasure was out of the question. They'd never be able to get past Shadow Joker.
What else was there?
"Look, Niijima Makoto," said Morgana with a sigh. "You're a pretty okay gal, but just let this one lie. It's an impossible problem. I've tried to think of a solution for weeks because I knew this might happen, and I didn't get anything. We're screwed."
"You are a self-aware bipedal cat. You shouldn't be saying that anything is impossible."
"I'm an honest-to-god human!"
"Are you gonna give up on him?" Makoto said sharply.
Morgana paused.
Makoto kept glaring.
Morgana sighed. "I have been his loyal companion for seven years. You've known him for what, seven weeks?"
Had it been that short? She blushed at the thought of being so impulsive.
"Kids," Morgana muttered, "acting like husband and wife when they barely know each other."
"I'm standing in his psyche."
"Shaddap." Morgana pocketed his slingshot. Makoto didn't know how, but one moment it was in his hand, and the next moment, he turned and it disappeared. "Whirlwind romances make me sick."
Had it really been seven weeks or less?
She felt like they'd known each other for much longer.
"Come on," said Morgana. "We're technically safe out here, but it's not good to linger."
Something caught the edge of Makoto's periphery. "Wait," she said.
The door fluttered.
A figure came stumbling out of the house in an uneven gait, nearly face-planting on the porch. Fringes of brown hair, pulled out of his ordinarily neat ponytail, stuck to his sweat-coated temples and blindfold.
"Akechi. Oh my god, Akechi," Makoto cried.
She ran to the porch as Akechi Gorou continued to push forward. His clothing was ruffled, but he looked otherwise unharmed.
"Akechi!" Makoto said urgently—of course Akechi was here, Joker had taken him, and Akira was Joker, so of course, why hadn't she thought of it earlier—"Akechi, it's me, it's Officer Niijima!"
Akechi ground to a halt at the voice, gasping for breath.
"Impossible," he finally said.
Morgana shot Makoto an incredulous look, paws whipping in sign language.
Of course. Sign language.
What the hell are you doing Miss Cop you'd better explain yourself before I lop off his head with a vacuum cutter SERIOUSLY WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS BEING CRAZY.
She signed back in a flurry. Won't reveal. Still blindfolded. Take to Shinjuku. Throw lead off of Leblanc.
Morgana glared, then reluctantly nodded.
"How could you be here, Officer Niijima?" hissed Akechi Gorou. "Is this another one of your tricks, Joker? One of your games? You seem to be a sore loser."
Makoto froze, but regained control. "This is a rescue, sir. I need to get you back to headquarters, stat. Come on."
Gorou opened his mouth, but she gripped his arm and slung it over her shoulders, bracing his weight. He was still drenched with sweat, his limbs shaky as leaves.
Morgana, know any shortcuts? Makoto mouthed, and Morgana looked at her with the slightest hint of disdain before he moved.
And the cat turned into a bus.
Yes, it meant exactly how it sounded.
The cat.
Turned into a bus.
There was a pop, there was a cloud of smoke, there was a vague pulling in of appendages and some unusual hazy transformation taking place, and suddenly, the self-aware bipedal cat had turned into a fully functioning motor vehicle.
Makoto stared.
She was starting to feel rather faint.
The catbus honked, as if to say, We haven't got all year, Miss Cop, so get on it!
She did.