The Bonds that Shape the Universe Again (A Persona/Batman Adventure)

Part 11: The Detective

[]Detective Harvey Bullock: He was a hard-nosed detective like in the movies, with a trench coat and his breath smelled of something rancid. He looked at his partner and almost wished he hadn't walked forward. "Fine, I'll do this, since you seem to have your head in the Wayne Mystery." He seemed to be elsewhere.
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Detective Harvey Bullock was the quintessential hard-nosed gumshoe, straight out of a noir flick. His rumpled trench coat reeked of stale cigars and coffee, and his breath carried the sour tang of whatever he'd scarfed down for breakfast—if you could call it food. He grunted as he approached, sparing his partner a glance of irritation. "Fine, I'll take this one since you seem to have your head buried in the Wayne Mystery." His partner, distracted, barely acknowledged him, lost in thought.

Bullock knelt down, his knees cracking slightly, bringing himself to your and John's level. His expression softened just enough to make him look less like a bulldog. "Alright, kid, name's Bullock," he said, his voice gravelly but not unkind. "I'm gonna ask you a few questions. When we're done, we'll get you back to your parents."

You flinched at that word, the implication stabbing deeper than you'd expected. Bullock didn't miss it. His brow furrowed, and his eyes, sharp despite his disheveled demeanor, searched yours. "Orphan…" he muttered, then let out a heavy sigh. "Dammit."

He pulled out a notepad, his hand hovering briefly over the page before scribbling something down. "Alright," he began, "let's start simple. When were you taken? And where?"

You opened your mouth but faltered; the memory felt distant, fragmented. John, however, found his voice. "3:55 PM," he said, his tone steadier than you'd expected. He wasn't trembling anymore, his voice low but deliberate. "There was… a figure. They met us at the entrance to the library. Then everything went dark."

Your frown deepened as fragmented memories pushed their way forward. "When I woke up, there were two of them. And then the chains broke and—"

"Do not speak of me," the voice of Icarus growled, low and menacing, the sound reverberating somewhere deep inside your mind. "This drunkard won't believe you."

You hesitated, swallowing hard. "We escaped, something hurt them," you said instead, your voice barely above a whisper. John nodded beside you, his eyes haunted but focused. "I still don't know how."

Bullock raised an eyebrow, his notepad hanging limply in his hand. He let out a long-suffering groan, muttering under his breath. "Great. Another weird one."

He rubbed his temples, his frustration palpable. "Alright, so let me get this straight. You were taken from a library, by one person—or maybe two. Then what? You just… escaped because someone just beat the crap out of them?"

John spoke up again. "It wasn't normal. There were these… chains, and—" He hesitated, his eyes flickering toward you. "And something broke them."

Bullock pinched the bridge of his nose. "Chains breaking themselves. Sure. Why not? Throw in a flying saucer while we're at it."

You felt a surge of anger at his tone. "We're telling the truth!" you snapped. "Something happened. Something real. You don't have to believe us, but don't act like we're making it up!"

Bullock regarded you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed again, his shoulders slumping. "Kid, I've seen my share of strange. Gotham's got enough crazy to fill a dozen psych wards. So maybe you're not lying. But I've gotta piece this together, and right now, it doesn't make a lick of sense."

He glanced at John, then back to you. "Alright. Let's keep it simple for now. Did you see anything else? Hear anything? Anything that stands out?"

You hesitated, but John shook his head. "No. Just… darkness. And chains."

Bullock noticed your hesitation, and you almost said something, before you gripped your head. "Do not speak of me."

Detective Bullock only sighed as he put his notepad away, and he adjusted his hat. "Fine. That'll do for now." He stood up with a grunt, slipping his notepad into his coat. "I'll get this sorted. You two stick close. No wandering off, no funny business."

As he walked away, his muttering was just loud enough to hear. "Wayne mystery's lookin' a helluva lot easier than this crap."

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When it was over, you were sent home.
You needed to sleep.

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Morning came, and school was canceled on Friday due to the break-in.

Time to do something, anything really?
(Choose three actions)

[] Talk to John: He still seems shaken; maybe you could help him make sense of it all.

[] Try to get Adopted: You are going to have to take action to move things forward. Maybe… just maybe… this time things will go your way.

[] Investigate the Library: The break-in happened there, and maybe you'll spot something everyone else missed.

[] Visit Wayne Tower: You've heard whispers about Bruce Wayne's involvement in mysterious things around the tower, since his parents murder. Maybe someone there knows something.

[] Check Out the Gotham Orphanage Records: Rumors say the orphanage keeps secrets about its kids. Maybe your file holds answers about who or what you really are?

[] Follow Detective Bullock: He dismissed your story, but maybe you can tail him and see if he uncovers anything new.

[]Icarus's Power: The presence in your mind feels like it's hiding something. Maybe by meditating or testing your limits you can force it to reveal more, and use more.

[] Explore Gotham's Underground: The city's labyrinth of sewers and tunnels is home to strange rumors and strange people. Maybe someone there knows more about what happened.

[] Try to Make a Friend: It's not easy, but having someone besides John to confide in might help you feel less alone.

[] Explore Crime Alley: It's dangerous, but rumors say that everything strange in Gotham connects to its darkest corners.

[] Visit the Clocktower: It's said to be abandoned, but strange lights were seen there recently. Maybe it's worth checking out.

[] Do Nothing: Sometimes, the best action is inaction. Take the day to rest and process everything that's happened.

AN: Enjoy and vote in plan format.

Part 12: A Normal Life

Winning Vote:
- [] Talk to John
- [] Icarus's Power
- [] Check Out the Gotham Orphanage Records
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[] Talk to John: He still seems shaken; maybe you could help him make sense of it all.

John and you sat perched on the roof of the school, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over Gotham's skyline. The distant hum of the city buzzed beneath you—ships gliding in and out of the port, their silhouettes dark against the shimmering water. John's eyes were fixed on the horizon, but his hands betrayed him, trembling as he clasped them tightly together. You sat beside him, close enough to offer comfort but unsure how to bridge the silence. Words felt insufficient, and yet, silence felt like failure.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and distant, as if he were addressing the city more than you. "Do you believe in destiny?"

You blinked at the sudden question, turning your gaze from the harbor to him. "Not particularly," you replied cautiously, your brow furrowing.

He exhaled, his breath heavy with frustration. "Then what do you believe in?"

You tilted your head, considering his question. "I believe in people," you said softly. "That in the end, they'll choose to be their better angels, rather than the monsters we all carry inside."

John let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "That's a terrible thing to believe in. People aren't like that. They never are. And this—" he gestured out toward the sprawl of Gotham, its jagged skyline and ever-present haze—"this city? Why would anyone want to be good here? Gotham eats good people alive."

Your scowl deepened, not in anger but in determination. "Ye of little faith," you said, leaning forward slightly. "Why would someone who sees nothing but evil ever choose to see good? Think about it—say God flips a coin, and it lands scarred side up. He knows what that coin means, all the pain and suffering it brings. But He still decides to make the universe anyway. Not because of the evil that comes with it, but because of the good that might rise despite it. The heroes who will stand against the darkness, even when they know they can't win."

John's gaze snapped to you, his expression both incredulous and bitter. "That's a terrible God," he muttered. "Sounds like the same one who made Gotham. Some things are too important to leave to chance."

You smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach your eyes. "Then what if you rig the game?" you asked. Your voice was calm but carried a quiet intensity, as if daring him to imagine it. "What if Good is destined to fight and lose every time? Always outmatched, always overshadowed. But in those fleeting victories, those cracks in the darkness, Evil can never truly win."

John stared at you for a long moment, his hands finally still. His lips pressed into a thin line, as though he were weighing your words against the weight of his own despair. The city loomed around you, harsh and indifferent, but in that moment, it felt like the roof was its own tiny world—one where the battle between hope and cynicism was being fought in the space between two friends.

"Then tell me," he said, his voice trembling with a vulnerability he rarely showed. "Why would you stay with me… when I'm not strong enough?"

You looked at him, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his self-doubt, his eyes avoiding yours as though he feared the answer would confirm his worst fears. You let the silence hang for a moment, not to cause him pain but to gather the right words, ones that might pierce the darkness swirling in his mind.

"Because," you began softly, your tone steady and sure, "why would a friend abandon someone who's weak, especially when they have the potential to be strong?"

He flinched as if your words struck a chord he didn't want to admit. You leaned forward slightly, trying to meet his gaze, but he kept staring at the ground.

"Strength isn't something you're born with, John," you continued, your voice growing firmer. "It's not something you just have. It's built—through struggle, through pain, and yeah, sometimes through failure. And it's not just built alone. Sometimes, you need someone else to remind you of what you're capable of, to believe in you when you can't believe in yourself."

He finally looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and something that might have been hope.

"You think I'm just sticking around because it's easy?" you asked, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You think I don't see what you see? The flaws, the fear, the mess? I see all of it, John. And I still see the strength you don't. That's why I'm here. Not because you're perfect, but because you can be better. Because you're worth it."

John swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he struggled to find a response. The weight of your words seemed to settle over him, not as a burden but as a lifeline.

"So don't ask me why I stay," you added, your tone softer now. "Ask yourself why you think you don't deserve it. Because until you can answer that, I'll be right here—reminding you that you do."

And you saw a blue butterfly… slowly come out from you, and then land on his hand.




Reward: Jonathan Crane has formed a social link with you… and may soon, through his own tribulations, join you on your journey.

Your power Grows… though in what way, you do not understand.
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[]Icarus's Power: The presence in your mind feels like it's hiding something. Maybe by meditating or testing your limits you can force it to reveal more, and use more.

You sat down on the cold tile floor, staring into the cracked mirror in the dim bathroom. The fluorescent light flickered above, casting shadows that seemed alive. At first, all you saw was your own reflection, but as your eyes adjusted, the shimmering silhouette appeared—a presence just out of reach, hovering like an unspoken threat.

"I want to talk," you said, your voice steady despite the unease crawling under your skin.

"Then talk," the figure replied, his voice smooth and taunting. Icarus grinned, his silhouette rippling like heat waves. "Why don't you make things easy and just accept what's coming?"

"What's coming?" you asked, your jaw tightening.

"Change," Icarus said, his smile widening. "Destruction. Rebirth. Not just for Gotham—but for so much more." The air around you grew heavy, and you could feel the phantom heat of flames licking at your back, burning but not consuming. His voice carried a challenge. "What's the matter? Afraid?"

You met his gaze—or at least the impression of it—through the shimmering haze. "No," you said firmly, though your hands trembled slightly. "At least, not yet. Because I want to understand. I need to know what I'm doing. What… am I?"

Icarus laughed softly, a sound like smoldering embers cracking. "You are a Fool," he said, his tone dripping with amusement. "The Fool—the one who walks blindly into the unknown and changes everything. Though I must admit, it's ironic… given how different you are."

"Different how?" you pressed, leaning closer to the mirror, though the heat made it almost unbearable.

"You think I know? Even after everything?" he said, his grin sharpening into something darker.

"What do you mean?" you demanded, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Icarus chuckled again, the sound more ominous this time. "I'm not the one who cheated death and clawed his way here," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt louder than any shout.

The words hit you like a blow. "What does that—"

"You'll find out soon enough, my friend," Icarus interrupted, his smile returning, but it was no longer warm or mocking. It was cold and foreboding. "And when you do… you'll wish you hadn't."

The shimmering silhouette began to fade, leaving behind the faint scent of ash and a lingering sense of dread. The mirror reflected only your own face now, pale and wide-eyed, staring back at you as the words echoed in your mind.

Reward: You talked to Icarus… and you realize he dosen't know… but you think once you do know what you are… you might become more powerful than you could possibly imagine.

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[] Check Out the Gotham Orphanage Records: Rumors say the orphanage keeps secrets about its kids. Maybe your file holds answers about who or what you really are?

The Matron had done an exceptional job of making her office as unwelcoming as possible. The locked door, the constant patrols, and her hawk-like vigilance kept most people at bay. But you knew better. Her office wasn't just a fortress—it was also the repository of the files you needed.

The only problem? Getting there required a climb up the building's treacherous exterior, and climbing wasn't exactly your strong suit.

Thankfully, you had an ace up your sleeve.

"Really? You're calling on me now?" The voice of Icarus echoed in your mind, dripping with mockery.

"Better than falling to my death," you replied, your tone sharper than you intended.

"Well then," Icarus mused, a smirk audible in his words, "how do you want to do this?"

"Can't you just fly?" you asked, exasperated.

"Oh, I can fly," he replied with a theatrical flair, "to a certain point. But, as I'm sure you remember, I flew a bit too close to the sun once… and, well, here we are."

Wonderful. "Why are you so hostile?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he shot back. "To a stranger, no less."

You paused at that, clenching your fists. He had a point, as annoying as it was. "Then how about this," you said after a moment, "we do this together. You'll learn more about me in the process, and I'll learn more about you."

Icarus chuckled darkly. "Learn about you? I am you, remember? That's what being a Persona is. I'm your other self, your shadow made manifest. I already know everything about you."

"Then why," you hissed, gritting your teeth, "are you such a douche?"

His laughter erupted in your mind, mocking and relentless. "Because deep down, beneath that shining exterior of helpfulness and happiness, there's a bitter little boy who resents the world for every wrong done to him."

His words hit like a slap, but you refused to let them linger. "I may be bitter," you admitted, lifting your chin, "but I refuse to let it defeat me. I'm stronger than that."

The air around you shifted, and suddenly, the phantom wings on your back ignited, the heat searing but not unbearable.

"Good," Icarus growled, his voice a low rumble now, filled with challenge and approval. "Now, let me know how you feel!"

You gritted your teeth, your voice trembling with raw emotion. "I want to be better. Not to prove anything to the world, not to show I'm different… but because I am different. I don't want to be just another orphan who ends up a criminal, a scoundrel, or a dead kid in some alley. I want to be someone. Someone who matters."

"Just," Icarus began.

"Like," you continued.

"Me," the two of you finished in unison.

As the words echoed in your mind, the searing heat of Icarus' wings intensified, blazing behind you like twin suns. But you didn't flinch. You didn't falter. Instead, you smiled, feeling the flames surge with a newfound purpose as they lifted you off the floor.

The sensation was exhilarating, like you were a bird that had just remembered how to fly. The room blurred beneath you as you ascended, the fire and wax of Icarus' wings trailing behind, falling away in molten rivulets that cooled into flakes of ash before hitting the ground like snow.

"Now you understand," Icarus said, his voice quieter, more resolute. "The power you hold. And why I am… who I am. You're starting to see why I'm angry."

The flight was swift and surreal, a silent ride on currents of heat and light. The outside world passed by in a haze, the fire painting streaks of gold and red in the night air. Then, with a sharp dive, you landed softly on the windowsill of the Matron's office.

The wings flickered and faded, their embers dissolving into the darkness. You stood there for a moment, steadying your breathing, and pushed the window open. The office was quiet, eerily so, the faint smell of dust and old paper filling your lungs as you stepped inside.

It didn't take long to find the files—they were right there on the Matron's desk, carelessly left unlocked. Who would ever think someone could get in here?

Your hands trembled as you flipped through the papers, searching for your name. And then you found it. The words stared back at you, stark and unfeeling, the truth unraveling with every sentence you read.

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Adam Romero
Age: 8
Status: Soon to be sent to Maroni

There will be use for the boy. He is smart and loyal to a fault, with a habit of being a good Samaritan. He will be instrumental in creating sympathy for the Maroni family when Carmine Falcone strikes at him. It has already been agreed that others in the smuggling ring will be used, but he will be the one who faces the bullets. Maroni's own Wayne… a shield to protect his organization and gain sympathy from the press and the city.

Date Adopted: XX/XXXX

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The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. You staggered back a step, clutching the file as your vision blurred. It wasn't just a betrayal—it was a death sentence. They didn't see you as a person, as a child. You were a tool, a pawn in their game of crime and power.

"They were going to use me," you whispered, your voice shaking. "Like a puppet. Like… nothing."

"Now you see," Icarus said softly in your mind. His tone was no longer mocking, but grim. "Now you understand why I burn. Why I rage. This city eats the innocent and spits them out. And you—"

"I won't let them," you interrupted your voice firm despite the tears brimming in your eyes. "They don't get to decide who I am. I do."

For a moment, there was silence between you and Icarus, the weight of the truth settling over you both. Then, with a steadying breath, you folded the file and tucked it under your arm.

The battle wasn't over. It had only just begun. And for the first time, you felt the fire inside you wasn't just Icarus'—it was yours.

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You have 2 weeks to stop this plot and save your own life.

But how?

What do you do?:

[]Talk to John: Maybe John has an idea. He's smart.

[]Go to the Velvet Room: Maybe Margret will understand what you have seen and can help you.

[]Find Bolluck: Maybe you can talk to Detective Bullock, and make sure you can… maybe get saved by him, and the GCPD… as much of a long shot as that could be.

[]Disapear: Whats the point of fighting when all you would do was delay the inevitable… you just need to… not be here anymore. Maybe… you just need to disappear.

AN: enjoy.