Be a thief, Morgana. Or Ren will have to do it again.
Lavenza gasps as the daemonic tome slips from her gloved hands. She reaches out to the precious relic and rescues it from disrespect by pure reflex. Wrinkling her nose, she laments the page she so carelessly creased and tore.
"My sincerest apologies, Bugs."
What manner of daydream could steal her fancy like this? She turns to fetch her toolkit and is struck by amnesiac horror. The pale girl, suddenly nauseous, searches for her Master. There he is, away from his desk, standing no less than seven feet tall in his black suit. Igor faces up and away in a proud posture, balding head eclipsing the length of his long, pointed nose. The tails of his coat taper close to his courtly shoes like the holstered wings of an owl.
His young attendant steadies her breath, stepping closer to overhear an enigma. Weird speech like a birdsong of ringing bells and swords. And there, floating, is a bead of purity, a small white star shining directly and only upon the pseudo-human. She gasps and averts her gaze patiently, reminded of the station the Master occupies. The destiny of mankind is a precious thing entrusted to no one but the ordained. The holy music ends and its light shatters, cascading like snow in summer.
"Miss Lavenza," says the cheerful Master Igor. The familiar low ambiance returns to their abode, a destitute ring of barren, barred cells, but she senses his honest joy. "Pray tell, have you experienced any," sifting through the air for the right word, "strange dreams as of late?"
She adjusts her nocturnal blue dress and matching headband to be most presentable and steps forward. A brilliant pendant in the style of the sleeping moon announces her dignity yet her expression betrays her confidence. Free hand fidgeting in uncertainty at the tasseled bookmark peeking out from the Book of Personas, she guesses around her Master's meaning. That colorless brilliance, there and gone again in half a flash, stuck in her cognition. A glimpse of everything and nothing, a secret of the universe hidden in the flit of an insect's wings.
"Not a dream," she murmurs, struggling to catch the accelerating visions. A mental pipe ruptures and a flood of memories blows away her focus. She pieces the story of the fall in the Qliphoth together as if she were reading the fine print on a spinning tire. "A tale told as honestly as sand in an hourglass. Twisted lives tossed around for too long rose up to help them in their time of need, but they could not reach their saviors. Our heroes failed but the Trickster forced a draw, a contract. And as Heaven's window shut, three desires were granted as one."
The epiphany fades from her mind's eye like the warmth from an extinguished candle. Embracing the mounting sense of existential dread, she finds a revived concern for her favorite human. Lavenza's grip on the Compendium tightens as she forces herself to stand steady. Find the real truth from all that came before. See what lies beyond. Recall the true duty entrusted to the Ruler Over Power as caretakers of the Velvet Room: aid the agents of change no matter the circumstance. An uneasy exhalation eliminates most of her worries. The soft-spoken girl closes her eyes for a moment to properly address her Master's inquiry.
"Our purpose has always been the service of our guests. As fate ordains, we must follow closely the Trickster's strange journey. Dreams do not care about their beholder nor where they lie to sleep. I think, perhaps…" Lavenza nods with newfound surety, her grip on the magic book a little softer. "We find ourselves precisely where he needs us."
The broad smile on Igor's face widens and hers does the same. "Splendid, Miss Lavenza! This is truly a delicate situation, but far from futile, wouldn't you say? As certainly as our dear companions draw breath and stoke defiance in those blazing hearts, it is we that guide them. Wherever they take us," he adds with a flourish of his bony hand. Set at ease by her guardian's gusto, she joins Igor in reviewing the bleak clockwork left by the interloper.
"Such disrespect! Insulting chambers and prisons everywhere with such reprehensible affectation." He stops at the Trickster's empty chamber to strike the locked door with his fist. This causes every light in the panopticon to blow out. Only the two of them remain visible, reflected in the void like the full moon on a still lake. The Master closes his eyes and begins a solemn incantation.
Lavenza walks calmly toward the table she knows is there in the darkness. Gently placing Le Grimoire on the plain warden's desk, she meticulously aligns it near the inkwell and lamp. She spins and her dark blue dress moves like a wave breaking in the night, settling by her knees as she returns to her post with her eyes closed. Igor completes the verse, they clap their hands in rhythmic unison, and the space is lit anew.
The new Velvet Room now resembles an arena. The dingy main chamber sank to create a wide, marble-floored pit. A wide platform that can raise many things rests in the center, currently displaying three purplish trunks fashioned from lacquered wood that hide their true volume. Two of them disappear with a snap of his fingers. Treasures woven in exotic spaces and trophies from the Thieves' exploits rest safely in its bottomless belly. Gone are the old prisoner cells replaced by rippling blue walls and gilded mirrors denoting each cardinal direction except north. Instead, a single gated tunnel rests beneath the spectator's box, its origin fading down and out into the black. Giant spears line the rim connected by velvet ropes holding back rows of empty seats that loom over the exhibit like a surgical conference. The ring of teeth is interrupted on the south end by a simple gallows opposite the pillared judging suite. From the floor, this platform is the nexus of the entire room, a fountain carved from its own ice. The clockwork ceiling depicts a celestial garden and cool torchlight bathes the theater from secret angles. The indigo pair marvel at the new form of their old home.
"Fear not, Miss Lavenza," Igor says, "and forgive me for this necessary, if indulgent, adjustment. We shall have guests this year." The bizarre butler muses freely, visibly pleased with his sense of design as he investigates the finest details of the office. "Fine, fine, very fine indeed. There is much to discuss, and of course much more upon our ally's arrival. Much to plot against the ruination of the human world. And much responsibility, perhaps all of it, rests on a single decision."
Lavenza's sore psyche sags under the weight of her returning memories. Such a long and challenging adventure the Trickster suffered only to see his path home buried beside his friends. All to awaken in an unfamiliar desert with neither shovel nor shelter. Having evaded calamity at all but the greatest cost, poor Ren must survive and create a new river from nothing but the dunes of fortune.
"I remember now," she says. Igor cranes his head attentively, still basking in the luxury. "The prisoner cleverly handled every obstacle in his way and liberated hearts in desperate need of a hero. He forged bonds of trust strong enough to safeguard him and his companions from defeat time and time again. He even harnessed the true power of Strength and rescued us both from the shackles of the Imposter. And yet, he still did not reach his full potential. The stunted blessing of the masses paled in comparison to their foe, and the Thieves…"
"Marvelous," he remarks dryly, traces the broad desk with a gloved hand. The mortals did not fail; in fact, they exceeded every expectation. Perhaps it was him that failed by taking on the deceiver in a gamble of faith. The misunderstood Fool, aided by his many confidants, bested all challengers and even liberated Lavenza. Heaven knows how they survived and so Heaven visited to tell him, arriving like one comet striking another and dragging chaos by its tail. Igor learned of the Demiurge's deal and Ren's decision to flip the board rather than accept defeat. "The Trickster and his merry band gave a marvelous performance. Truly the show of their lives."
Lavenza settles on the chaise lounge, part of the royal purple decorum Igor invited, and looks down at her satin-bound hands. "The Phantom Thieves tore both of the False God's disguises apart and maybe even liberated humanity's cognition. But it is exceedingly clear they were not ready for an enemy of that magnitude. Even the rallied spirit of the masses could not save them in their most dire hour." Her voice catches as sorrow spills over the rim of her heart as she imagines their ill-fated clash. "Oh, how terrible."
"Poor souls indeed. Only our brave Morgana and hardy Ren eluded death, and just barely." Igor places a gentle hand on her shoulder and kneels to her level like a parent explaining something serious. He stands close enough that his long nose almost pokes hers, speaking with a caretaker's confidence. "So we must gather hope, for together, we can realize the impossible."
The young attendant takes the proffered handkerchief with a smile as her Master rises. Minty. Relaxed, the sages begin their meditations, waiting for any reckless hero to come calling. Even if the fate of the world rests in the hands of a mortal again, the human heart will survive, rising beyond its wildest expectations. Probably. Something comes to life in her pocket. Ooh, pockets?
A gentle gasp as Lavenza produces a cold and sleek slab of glass larger than her hand. It springs to life in her hand with a rhythmic buzz. An unknown coat-of-arms presents the time, 00:15, and the device initializes in mere seconds. Tonally distinct from the eleven other tiny boxes, the spiky black eye in the middle row blinks and glitches out. Sharply dancing all over, it drowns the rest of the screen in bright red tears. The startled girl drops the bomb on its face and hops back into a battle stance, waiting for it to attack. Igor watches, grinning. No dice. The attendant approaches, lips primed for a long 'M' word, and gingerly kicks it over. The malicious red icon is gone, replaced by a pair of green eyes that share the space like a pair of sleeping koi.
A pleasant chirp rings throughout the new Velvet Room as it launches of its own accord. A woman too tall for the display appears, artificially pale skin indistinct from a nondescript robe. She glitches a bit as a number of progress bars cover the screen, quickly clearing to reveal the portrait of an unfamiliar red-haired girl. Lavenza reflects her shy smile with a look of confusion, unable to identify anything but a lost soul behind her glasses. She gasps again, blinking twice to clearly read her title: Fool Trickster.
Morgana jolts into consciousness as the unending blankness peels from his eyes. Birds debate overhead and a thin serpent made of cigarette smoke stretches in the warm shade. The shrill ringing fades as the rest of his senses return.
"I'm outside," he realizes with a dry mouth. "Where am I?"
It takes all his effort to roll over into a standing position. Very low to the ground, each granule distinct in the nooks of his fuzzy fingers. An unnerving situation around his nose. A ticklish breeze passing through his moustache but one made of several very long, thin tongues picking up movement and sound and smell and all way too much right now. His tail slaps back and forth, kicking loose soil and disturbing a law-abiding spider.
"My tail?! Yah!"
Morgana yowls and yowls again as he realizes he is a cat, again. To the average observer - and himself - he is tangled in the bushes. Suddenly free, he makes a mad dash across one of the busiest intersections in the world, sunny asphalt stinging his calloused paws. Shoes of all shapes and colors gnash at the ground like wolves. Language comes in and out of focus, a few snippets making sense amid an angry, beeping carnival, and a miracle delivers him right back where he started.
He crashes against a wall in the shade and frantically looks around. Directly ahead, past a man with a twangy thing, is an open door to the core of the world. Hundreds and hundreds of people meandering blindly by the entrance to society's prison of desires, like a river of salmon passing a bear's den.
A tantalizing aroma catches him off guard and animalistic hunger forces his attention to an old man carrying a takeout bag. Off he goes, darting confidently toward his objective, the idea of a stream of sashimi driving him on. Few gasp and some point, probably in awe of such dexterity. The shortest humans, usually wearing the brightest clothes and holding onto someone else, really seem to enjoy this. He bounds down the stairs, never mind how filthy they are, and runs along the wall to slide down the handrail. The further he goes, generating more excitement with his spry antics.
"Somebody stop that cat!"
A broad-shouldered man appears holding a box and yelling at it to back up. Beyond him is a turnstile and the fishy bag. Morgana crouches low to the ground, his little joints primed and fuzzy tail raised in a warning. Several people are now blocking the path around him, some holding small boxes in front of their faces and poking them in some sort of ritualistic phalanx.
"So, you want to pick a fight with me, huh?" Morgana stands up and pumps his fist, jabbing his other hand at the guard. "I'll warn you, you don't wanna mess with the best. Just who the hell do you think I am?" He isn't super sure himself, but there's no time for that.
The cat doesn't wait to see if this buffoon is talking his language and makes a run for it. Leaping between the enemy's legs, he tumbles to evade capture and dashes at top speed to claim his prize. No escape in his periphery, just more of a maze crowded by giants. As painful as it is to admit, Morgana understands the futility of trying to steal his fishcake and eat it too.
The doors of a long, screeching tube begin to close as a sharply dressed woman bumps past the old man with the sushi, distracted and upset at a thing on her ear and the loose stuff under her arm. Morgana applies maximum effort to leap onto the young woman and uses her as a springboard to start his sprint back to the surface, a maneuver even the guard appreciates. Two pairs of dirty prints stain her white blouse and she drops her coffee trying to keep her briefcase in hand. Only until he turns around does he notice whose acrimony he invoked.
"Ow, what the- oh, no!"
Niijima Makoto scowls, startling the onlookers with her temper. Leblanc's owner was out of the building during business hours which means this was both a waste of her lunch and a round trip to Yongen-Jaya. Her visit may as well have not happened, but it did, and her 'high-ranking' sister can't - or won't - leverage a more generous expense account for her new intern. Claw marks on her perfectly good clothes are just strawberry frosting on a shit crepe. She shakes her fist at the imp darting through the cheers.
"Damned cat, I'll sue!"
Darkly pleased with his mischief, Morgana slinks back past the freewheeling busker, behind the lottery stand, and through the bushes to hide. The sun goes down as he grapples with reality and his deafeningly empty past, searching for anything before this little adventure.
Eventually, a sigh of defeat escapes him. Jumping into danger and standing off against the guard like that was reckless. He considers the importance of finesse, the thrill of getting things without being seen. He wouldn't be so hungry if he just tried to blend in with the crowd. Maybe running around isn't that clever, maybe it's better to go to the source and steal it there. Right, he decides. I need to move with intent, like a thief. A cat among humans.
A cat among humans.
Morgana rolls over, dumbfounded. Before the fleeting sushi, before the honking cars and the smoke by the bushes, there was... There was a bright light. Unending light. And not light like the sun, but absence. The Nothing. And where his mind tries to see the before, there is an impenetrable barrier stretching up from hell. For all this poor soul knows, he received the gift of life less than five hours ago.
"Think, me, think!" He struggles to make out a cricket's whisper amid a detuned orchestra.
A soft bell tinkles from the direction of the great doorway. Morgana opens his eyes and his pupils dilate, adjusting to the silent midnight that snuck up on Shibuya. All signs of life are gone and only advertisements serenade the empty streets. Even the scent of fried snacks and lit tobacco is absent from the intersection. He can taste the soil through its musk alone, a patch of real nature in the concrete jungle.
"Come here," a porcelain voice beckons him from the subway. "Morgana, please come here."
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Against his wits, the scared cat crawls through the underbrush and peeks out to find the source of the noise. The subway entrance is unusual but there, floating just off the ground, is a locked iron gate guarding a faint purple light and thin incense spills from its floor. A familiar girl in a Victorian dress with straight silver hair down to her waist stands beside it, teetering on her heels as she types on her phone.
She notices the hidden cat and waves with a carefree smile. His body betrays him and Morgana approaches with diminishing caution, feeling more at ease the closer she is. The earthly prison beside them emanates a blood-red, menacing aura antithetical to the cool, safe glow behind the girl and her own wise air.
"Good morning, Morgana," Lavenza says with a curtsy. "I am very glad to see you."
He takes a seat and curls his tail around his paws. "H-hi. How do you know me?"
"That is a very long story, and I invite you inside to hear it. I have a feeling you must be quite tired." The fair attendant unlocks the latch and the creaky bars swing open. She gestures at it as if he would recognize it before stepping through the gaseous transom herself. "Doing so will provide us the time to explain this," shaking her phone, "and, if you agree, your new mission. Please, enter. We have food," she adds with a giggle.
Morgana can't open his mouth to argue without his stomach answering. Won over by the promise of a meal and her charm, he leaves his suspicions behind and jumps into the portal. They wander through the purple haze for a quiet moment as he feels the uncomfortable urge to walk rather than crawl. They emerge into an area that can only be described as otherworldly. A plush carpet leading to the center of the room spares his paws from the polished marble floor. The room is wide and mostly empty, featuring a rosewood stage that rises to his eye level. A stainless ring of execution equipment surrounds the gallery like pennants.
"Boo." Igor reveals himself, leaning on the wall behind them, startling the bipedal feline. He cackles as if reuniting with an old friend and his eyes bulge a little more. "Welcome back, brave Morgana!" He announces the name with a flourish of his hand, summons a luxurious spread of sashimi on a surfboard in the middle of the room. "I have heard some say that the best discussions are held over fine cuisine. Please, join us awhile and entertain us with your tale."
And so they feast. The well-mannered attendants and their guest reintroduce themselves before the meal begins and share a laugh at the cat's impatience. Morgana's strategy is to build a pile of fish as tall as he wide while Lavenza chooses to craft petite masterpieces on her plates. Igor, actually doing most of the talking, rises occasionally to refresh their cups with hot tea, his broad grin widening as their spirits rise.
The host starts by explaining the magic of the Velvet Room and their work as residents and caretakers of this nook. Igor denies none of the cat's questions and reveals the truth like a flight of cocktails, intoxicating Morgana until he is drunk with grief. Flashes of his prior life accompany their words but he does not see his comrades clearly, just a zoo of monsters and the struggle for survival in both worlds. His muscles recall the exhilaration of battle and the marathons they ran through the weird locales as Igor's stories kickstart his memory. There, agape and intact, sits the original member of the Phantom Thieves, a youthful being cast into Mementos as a prayer to guide the Trickster exactly one year ago. Sees their plan come to a head, the younger attendant shakes Morgana from his trance with a smile.
"Happy birthday!" They all cheer. Lavenza sets off fireworks in the planetarium.
The shocked cat hiccups and collapses, enjoying the pretty lights. The sophisticated girl gently rubs his round head as he purrs, beginning to digest their heavy story. Most of it sounds right and the rest he has to see to believe, yet Morgana can't help but feel something is missing. Not trust. His voice is hoarse and distant. "I'm the first one you found?"
"And the first to join us," she says, looking to her Master for his signal to proceed. He returns her nod and rises to walk towards an impressive bureau. "Bringing us to the matter at hand."
Igor's tone grows serious as he summons a bottle of the good stuff. "Morgana, do you recall the true title of the one code-named 'Joker'?"
He knows the term from their conversation, but the memory appears: a small room crowded with most of the Phantom Thieves and a collective melancholy. This same girl said it when she wished them the best of luck before their final engagement in the Qliphoth. "He's the Trickster, right?"
"Correct," he replies, uncorking it by hand. "Until now. His Arcana, that representation of his immutable self and augur of many tangled hardships, has changed. So have the ones of all those you and him have come to know. He no longer plays that critical role, but that is not to say he, like anyone else, is any less important."
"None of the Phantom Thieves are exactly as you knew them." Lavenza stops petting him, resting her hand on his head as if to keep a paper boat from slipping downstream. "I understand that even though the fallen humans were given a second chance, but what they did in that year-"
"A year!" Morgana bolts up, putting the pieces together. "I was dead for a whole year?" The last piece. "We died?!"
"You ceased to exist," Igor says with officious clarity, handing him a pungent saucer as consolation. "As did Amamiya Ren. As did we, by extension, and the demon masquerading as the Holy Grail, by contract. This is a new world, one where that boy did not cross paths with destiny until today. This is the cost of that wish. He shall, in his own way, continue on his vital path as we invite a new Trickster here, to the place between dream and reality, mind and matter, time and place." The stoic Master pauses to observe his apprentice with a trace of sympathy.
"We would not be here if not for you," says the other attendant. "Yaldabaoth ruined a divine power to change the course of history more than once. The Trickster bent it towards justice by sheer force of will, but your presence proved the most important in the final moment. The bond that transcends time and space to reveal the true path: this is the Magician's sublime power."
Morgana allows himself to curl tearfully into Lavenza's embrace. The keepers of the Velvet Room wait patiently as their champion traces the hole in his heart.
"Thank you."
"Indeed," continues Igor, "Your brave efforts bore delicious fruit. Every soul that crossed paths with the Phantom Thieves walks anew and the masses roam free from the invasive influence of the lying god. Memories of that lost time and all its desperate tribulations rest beneath countless dreams within you and Ren."
The cat adopts a grim expression, his mind straining to split reality down the middle and work out every consequence. "What happened to the world we left behind?"
Lavenza grimaces as she rationalizes the aftermath of the calamity. "The Demiurge is far from all-powerful," she says carefully. "It could only affect so much. Its magic brought the two of you with it to another universe. The rest of the city and Mementos… I do not know."
"All things must be as they are destined," Igor decrees, dismissing the already and likely deceased. "Amamiya Ren and his Phantom Thieves are no more. It is his spirit that ventured here to draw the threads of fate together once more in a test for humankind. This world, born of your wish almost as much as his, remains unchained from supernatural temptation. For the most part," he adds with a twinkle in his eye. "The Demiurge remains, capable and temporarily insensate, but bound to its word. Yet its evil has again fertilized the corrupt, seeking out those that will herd lambs to the slaughter."
Morgana stammers, incapable of meeting those bloodshot eyes prophesying a new catastrophe. So we did lose, he concludes, and nobody will ever know what we went through.
Lavenza diagnoses a change of subject. She scoots to sit side-by-side with Morgana's big head and demonstrate her new phone. "Her name is Burroughs," she says proudly to the stunned cat. "One of many changes in this new game we are playing. She is even familiar with many of its rules."
The cat looks to his host but finds no answer in his ever-present smile. "What game?"
"A most royal pastime," Master Igor declares, spreading his arms to the starry dome. "Our station, as always, is to record and provide necessary services to those ordained by fate. Normally, I am at the beck and call of one human; but you, brave Morgana, and your exceptional tenacity inspire me. You, a guest among their joys and sorrows, understand the essence of what it is to be human." He approaches the seated thief and kneels to present a small silver key on a fine chain dangling from his white gloves. "As a token of my appreciation to commemorate your journey, please accept your unconditional freedom: Morgana the Magician, I offer you a key to the Velvet Room."
A muted rush of air as Lavenza brushes the wrinkles from her dress. She moves to stand by her master, looking down at the bewildered individual with determination. "The choice is yours," the wise girl explains with a smile. "You fulfilled our request and guided the Fool to his final destination with aplomb. You even lived to tell the tale. As a reward for risking your life for such a righteous cause, you have earned the right to choose your fate. Chaos borne of another's wish and an evil god is not your responsibility," she states with a forlorn look. The moment fades before she asks about the rest of his uncertain life. "Where will you go, Morgana?"
"Go…"
The confused cat tries to collect his thoughts before they slither away. Countless bygone days pass through him, leaving only the empty shadow of home after a long trip. Alone and cared for but alone nonetheless. And his best friend - the one without whom a place can never be a home - somewhere out there, as lost or worse. It's not trust that's missing, he thinks, but those I trust. I would do it all over again if there's any chance of saving them, but is it even possible? The original Phantom Thief sighs, having reached his decision.
Morgana rises with conviction. "I'm staying! There's no way I'm letting my friends down as long as I live! And besides," jabbing a thumb at his chest, "That know-it-all can't pull this off without me." Determined eyes soften as he looks back at the proud pair. The gentleman thief politely declines the gift, shaking his head. "Thank you, but I can't go. Not yet."
"Very good, brave Morgana!" Igor rises, dropping the silver chain into his paws anyway. "But I insist. Think of it as a 'plus' for your new game. Now - it has been a delight and you are certainly welcome any time, but this marks the end of our festivities. The skilled and lovely assistant that led you here shall explain the rest. Until we meet again." The bizarre man bows deeply, his graceful arms arcing with enough speed to rustle the fur on Morgana's face and the long hair cascading behind the young attendant's blue headband.
Lavenza puts her hand up to stifle a laugh at the flabbergasted feline. She sits on the big bed that appears behind them as suddenly as their fishy spread did. The Master strides on thin air up to the platform overlooking the room, his mind already onto more complex matters.
"Those who possess a key to the Velvet Room may use it as they see fit. It shall provide for you in times of need and will always be a place of respite. I have no doubt it will be useful. We shall remain here to learn more of this peculiar setting. You," she says, taking a moment to run her thumb along the cold glass before she hands it over, "will need help. And soon, she will return the favor."
The screen comes to life in Morgana's paws, settling on an analysis. A mostly empty roster greets him. His Metaverse name is appended to a grayscale portrait of him winking, the only one catalogued so far. He pokes his own to find another familiar name: Zorro. A compact image of his valiant Persona strikes a few poses as if dueling with his ghost. Hollow relief washes over him as the spirit of rebellion rings true in his heart. He still remembers Mercurius, so it can only be a matter of time until he returns, too.
Lavenza reaches over to exit the cat's profile just as he starts to review stats. She presses something to the left of the main menu to show another vacant list that also features his name among its selection. There are two faces near his, both wearing the tall white collar of a Shujin student: Joker, thankfully, and a cute girl in glasses with vibrant red hair with an even brighter ribbon demarking her ponytail.
"Who's she? And why doesn't Joker have a name?"
Burroughs promptly delivers the answer. "Faith Trickster: located, identification pending. Fool Trickster: not located, identification pending. Substantial data required for further analysis."
Lavenza pats him on the shoulder, pulling him to sit on the bed. "That is what we must discover. I ask of you, kind Morgana, a secret mission. You alone are the only soul we can trust," she says, wincing at his hard feelings. "I mean no offense - of the three that returned, you are neither human nor demigod and so are unchained from their mania. People are," sifting the air for a good word, "fallible. Joker and the other Thieves must be here too but I cannot find them as I found you. I do not know if they are in danger, but you may be able to find out. And when you do, I plead that you do not reveal the truth without our Master's approval. Not right away."
He finds nothing but sense in the plan and refusal in his heart. Reality falls away as he stares into her stern golden eyes. "Why?"
"I need no machine to translate my instincts. Something is very wrong."
Morgana considers the truth and conjecture laid out before him and reluctantly agrees with the abundance of caution. She said it: his friends must still be out there, simply waiting to have their hearts stolen all over again. Even with help, he cannot afford to underestimate anyone, enemy or not, if there is any hope of untangling this once and for all. The faster he does his part, the sooner they'll have answers; the sooner Joker - whoever that is - can put an end to this wild ride.
"Okay," the cat croaks. "I'll do my best."
Near the core of humanity's subconscious is a tumor. A welcoming tower with cells for spirits that lost their outlook on life, desiring only to be left alone until they die. This is the Prison of Mementos, a self-locking sanctuary for a false god dug by the ignorant and weak-willed masses. Their worship of celebrity, fame, and the figures they love to hate empowered envy, avarice, and manipulation in the meek as much as the strong. But then the Phantom Thieves appeared. Many believed in their power to change hearts as an act of justice, even if it was vicarious and wishful, and soon they grew to rival the power of the Warden. The sympathetic keeper of all these painful desires and ultimate judge of the futile struggle to change human nature. One by one they defeated mortal challengers and even surmounted an inescapable fate at the hands of Justice and Judgement.
How impressive are the children of Man and the servants of Philemon.
The Holy Grail, the Demiurge, Yaldabaoth. This being awakens from the Void in the empty nexus of its creation, weak and as near death as a deity could be. Memories of its own perception - never mind the daily lives of ants above - come like a flood as it relives its victorious defeat. It slew those meddlesome Thieves and managed to corner their leaders before it all burst into blue flame. Dignity is a small price to pay for survival, especially staring down the bore of a divine rifle. That Desire, the boy's bargaining chip, may prove to be more useful than he planned.
Rekindled and reminded of the simple boundaries set by the heartbroken Trickster, Yaldabaoth plots its revenge. Mementos is a facet of a greater consciousness; the Minotaur and his Labyrinth needed no care after their creation. The false god focuses instead on a select few, humans who are unafraid to exercise power in their Desires and may stand a chance of thwarting the Thieves' inevitable invasion. The Rulers of the Palaces, demon kings of sin that would surely grant their lord an audience, and the Black Mask. The other Wild Card.
The pseudo-divine being tries to focus on its greatest enemy, a seventeen-year-old boy, but that Wild Card is nowhere to be found. Shame, for he was such an interesting guest. Instead, the Demiurge finds someone enthralling: a new Trickster, still a Fool.
"Yes... So it shall be."
High above the scene, a near-formless devil sits with one leg dangling between the bars of an empty cell. Unremarkable save for bright, golden eyes, the shadow's jagged skin peels apart in a wide smile to reveal a furnace in his mouth. When the first Fool falls, he must find Faith. Or die.
The next day's last light shines on the drowsy cat resting on the roof. Utilizing Burroughs' cushioned velvet pack as a pillow, daydreams of Morgana's old life fade like mirages in a stretch. After hours of backtracking and countless sarcastically-rebutted complaints that the phone's GPS only works in the Metaverse, the crawling feline finally finds a familiar neighborhood.
It is a sleepy evening in Yongen-Jaya. Heat weighs the spring air down like wet laundry. Insect cries, preparations for dinner, and the consistent clink! of the batting cage separates this niche from the rest of reality. An herbal aroma mingles with that of coffee and three kinds of detergent. A grey-haired couple tidying up their storefront watch over a little girl playing with her old dog while her mother runs in for groceries.
"It's about that time," Morgana mumbles as he approaches his old home. Carrying himself skyward in a series of precarious leaps, he manages to situate himself in the canopy of the aged tree growing behind the bathhouse. He sets up a stakeout to awaits his target not a moment too soon. There, carrying the Boss' produce. They could swap outfits and Morgana would still tell them apart by the boy's bobbing pace permanently etched onto the cat's inner ear. He unzips the waist pack Lavenza gifted him to ease the phone into view. Easier said than done with paws but he eventually manages a good angle.
"Faith Trickster identified," she announces, capturing his image. "Entries updated: Joker; Amamiya Ren; Akimitsu no-Okami; Notokami Akimitsu. Entry added: Leblanc. Entry added: Sakura Sojiro. Entry added: Sakura Futaba. Entry added: Isshiki Wakaba. Entries upd-"
"Shtshh!"
Burroughs' voice rises and shrinks into obscurity as Morgana frantically adjusts the volume. The phone nearly slips from his grasp as they both dangle too close to the edge. Morgana gathers everything close and hugs the branch, hoping to avoid the humans' piqued interest.
"Nothing," Sojiro barks. "Thought I heard someone. Come on; in you go. You've got a big day tomorrow and I don't want to hear you got there late or something. Hey, I heard it's supposed to rain, too."
"Phew," Morgana exhales. "Haven't you ever heard of stealth?" He thumbs the volume up a couple notches for her reply.
"-curry. I have. Stealth: 'cautious and surreptitious action or movement'; or, as an adjective, 'designed in accordance'-"
"No, you idiot! Well, yes, but I'm telling you: keep quiet." The cat looks down, not recognizing anybody in the alley. He packs up and retreats to the nook above the laundromat. "Didn't Lavenza tell you this is supposed to be a secret mission? Recon!"
Burroughs' pale face, the visible part below her eyes, scrunches as she processes this. Dressed in a thin gown, she appears to be quite tall as her portrait is centered on wide shoulders. She leans in a little, barely moving her darkened lips as she replies in a sotto voice.
"Entries added: stealth; idiot; secret mission; recon. Very well. I believe this is sufficient data for a preliminary review. We can continue our operation when we encounter the Fool Trickster. Thank you, Morgana. Good-bye."
Morgana scoffs as she shuts down for the night. He puts the phone away, trading the unwieldy thing for the thin key. The cold metal glows at his touch and he can sense the liminal nodes in reality where it could be used like a bat finding a cactus in bloom. Little spots in common places scattered around the city, all ignored by the untrained eye as easily as the great maw of the subway. He imagines himself walking to these places, absentmindedly mouthing the almighty spell that Lavenza taught him. Thankfully, nothing explodes in the time that it takes him to notice.
His stomach grumbles as home-cooked meals ooze onto the evening breeze. Morgana bounds along the fixtures of this slice of life, all but invisible to the adults passing from one building to the other. A couple of schoolboys playing by the garbage cans cheer as he goes by and a tired woman in platform heels and a lab coat slung over her arm watches as she locks up the clinic. He bounds along the ledges of Yongen-Jaya to the local spot. He weaves where only the pipes go, emerging into a private garden shielded by stone giants.
Several cats gather in a circle on a communal plot between buildings too quaint to be of any other use. Their tails twitch expectantly as Morgana joins them, stealing the last seat at the earthy table. A wooden scraping noise above them. The top half of a bespectacled aunt wearing a sweaty headband emerges from a third story window. She greets her cheering customers by scraping a large bowl free of leftover rice, vegetables, and fish like a drummer. The feast is sudden and plentiful and a small competition breaks out among the regulars.
The mastermind focuses on the challenges ahead, nudging morsels as he finds them to his friend Snowball. Nobody speaks and nobody has to as the animals share in each other's comfort, leaving one by one or simply rolling over as the tastiest bits disappear. Morgana spends some time here to distract himself from the cacophony of painful and unanswerable questions. He rolls his best friend's new name around in his mouth like a bitter piece of chocolate that won't melt. Before long, he settles back into his little camp overlooking the entrance to the cafe. So close. Tomorrow for sure, he reassures himself as a gentle breeze steals his woes.
"Tomorrow for sure…"