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

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Welcome, to a World that exists between Dream and Reality, Mind and Matter yet again.

Let us hope things go better than last time... then have it end.
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Part 1: Death is not the End
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    • Magoose

    Magoose

    SV's Questing Fanatic
    Location
    California USA
    Pronouns
    He
    Part 1: Death is not the End

    It was going to be okay. That's what you wanted to tell them... no what you needed to say. You wanted to reassure them that everything was fine, that the world wasn't falling apart, even as the edges of your vision blurred, and reality itself seemed to fray at the seams. But before you could get the words out, the world became a blank canvas, a vast nothingness, slowly drowning in a hue of violent, velvet blue.

    Your body slipped away, forgotten. Your soul—or whatever remained of it—drifted weightlessly through a void, untethered from the physical realm. There was no pain, no sensation, just an eerie calm as you floated toward eternity. In the distance, faint at first, you heard the sound of music, a woman's voice, soft and soothing, cutting through the silence like a whisper, that you had thought you had known, all your life, but never knew. She sang not for the living, but for the dead, her voice carrying a tune that lulled the lost souls around you. The gentle clatter of a piano accompanied her, its haunting melody wrapping around you like a blanket.

    It was a song unlike any you'd ever heard. It was not a hymn of sorrow or lamentation. No, this was a song of contentment, yet tinged with a resonance of something deeper. Mystery. Uncertainty. And in its chords, an invitation—an acceptance of what lay beyond.

    But you didn't feel the peace it offered. You couldn't see it the way the others did. Your thoughts rebelled, your mind racing against the lull of that endless song. Breathe in, breathe out you told yourself, clinging to the only rhythm you knew. You felt your chest tighten as if you could still take that one final breath, and let go let your soul float away into the end of all things. To join the sea of souls, to be swallowed by the eternal harmony of death.

    Yet... in the most certain and primordial part of your being, you stopped.

    You wanted to live.

    What was it that kept you away?:
    []Fear: You were afraid that you were not worthy
    []Lonliness: Even in death, you felt alone.
    []Regret: You could not die… you could not join them yet. You still had things to do.
    []Write in

    Yet in your refusal, you were looked at by a force far greater than you. Its very being was beyond everything you could ever imagine. A being of power, only looking at you, as a human did an ant. Yet like a powerful, loving god, it took pity on you. Or maybe it was just surprising that you refused.

    And the voice only gave a single phrase.

    "So be it."

    You felt yourself lurch, and you were pulled into the darkness.

    Yet in the void, you could only remember a single thing, but it was fleeting.

    What was it?:
    []You were Good
    []You were Evil
    -----------------------------------------------------------------------

    A Hungry Beast. That was what this place was. This infinite abyss of madness and insanity, crime and corruption would be where it would begin.

    Yet always in darkness, there was hope. There was light.

    And perhaps, there would be something more that you could find in the darkness.

    You just had to open your eyes. And find it.

    When you open your eyes, what do you see?:

    []A Hospital room: A Man was operating on a woman, cutting her open with a scalpel, trying his best… and there was a cry. Success. "Good, we got the baby out safely." (You will be born among the wealthy of Gotham. The Privileged, and the Wealthy. A Soul that would learn not through experience, but through time. Time… and much more. Starting Status: Strong Heart, Weak Soul. Special Starting Option available.)

    []In an Apartment: The woman screamed in pain, as the final contraction released the babe and the midwife could only look at the time. "Well, you got your kid, congrats. Now, we need to talk about my payment." The Joy of life, being crushed to the reality of hardship (You will be born among Gotham's middle and lower classes, not used to great privilege, but experience, wisdom, and some might call it… Luck. Starting Status: A Balance of Heart and Soul. No Special Option or Persona. Luck Smiles upon you, in ways you do not understand.)

    []In a Drug Den: The Woman just finished giving birth and handed the child to the dealer. "He's worth something for another fix." Life was nothing short of a commodity, to be bought and sold, to the highest bidder. Where everything had its price. (You are born in Poverty, where you have to fight for everything to survive, where no one can trust you. And you can trust no one. Starting Status: Weak Heart, Strong Soul. Special Starting Persona becomes Available)

    AN: I want to try this story again, this time without the more game elements and make it far more like an adventure story that I have grown a lot better at writing.

    and take a little bit more control of things then leave it to the dice rolls.
     
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    The MC
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    • The Sheet:
    dc.fandom.com

    Charles Roskilly

    Charles Roskilly (b. August 4, 1979) Charles Roskilly portrayed young Bruce Wayne in the film Batman. Pictured: Charles Roskilly as young Bruce Wayne from Batman Charles Roskilly at IMDb
    dc.fandom.com dc.fandom.com
    Name: Adam Romero

    Age: 8

    Alias/Super Hero Identity: None

    Alignment: Good

    Persona: Unknown (To be Granted)

    Traits:

    Alone: No matter how hard you try, no matter how many faces pass through your life, there is a gnawing hollowness in your soul that refuses to be filled. You reach out, desperately, sometimes, yearning for connection, for friendships that might tether you to something real, something lasting. Yet, every time, the effort falters. There's always a part of you that holds back, a whisper in the back of your mind reminding you that, no matter how close someone may seem, they can never reach the depths of the void inside. You hesitate, flinch away, or sabotage the moments when you might have let someone in. The scars of dying alone have marked you in ways that even you don't fully understand. (Unknown Effect.)

    Weak Heart, Strong Soul (Good): You have gazed into the abyss, see the depths of human depravity that this city conceals in its darkest corners. Yet, instead of succumbing to the weight of it all, you chose to find light where others only saw darkness. Your heart is not hardened by what you've witnessed, though it bears the scars of every injustice, every moment of suffering you've endured or observed. It remains vulnerable, easily wounded by the cruelty of the world, and yet, it refuses to turn cold. You fight not because you believe in victory, but because standing still is not an option. Your body may falter, and your heart may tremble with fear or doubt, but your will and your soul remain unyielding. (Unknown Effect.)
     
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    • Scheduled vote count started by Magoose on Sep 13, 2024 at 1:02 AM, finished with 25 posts and 22 votes.
    • [X] Born Alone But Shall Not Stay Alone
      [X] Born Alone But Shall Not Stay Alone
      -[X] Lonliness: Even in death, you felt alone.
      -[X] You were Good
      -[X] In a Drug Den
      [X] Plan Boredom of the Privileged
      -[X] Boredom: Eh, honestly that whole "joining a sea of souls listening to a crappy song for all eternity" thing seems pretty lame. At least the living world has tv.
      -[X] You were Evil
      -[X] A Hospital room
      [X] How Did We Get Here?
      -[X] Confusion - Wait, what the hell happened that brought you here? Who is she? Why don't I remember how I got here? This makes no sense!
      -[X] You were Good
      -[X] In an Apartment
      -[X] Lonliness: Even in death, you felt alone.
      -[X] You were Good
      -[X] In a Drug Den
      [X] Even if everything proves to be pointless
      -[X] Realization: Even if nothing matters, you can still make your own meaning of life
      -[X] You were Good
      -[X] In a Drug Den
      [X] a new journey and beginning
      [X]Regret: You could not die… you could not join them yet. You still had things to do.
      [X]You were Evil
      [X]In an Apartment: The woman screamed in pain, as the final contraction released the babe and the midwife could only look at the time. "Well, you got your kid, congrats. Now, we need to talk about my payment." The Joy of life, being crushed to the reality of hardship (You will be born among Gotham's middle and lower classes, not used to great privilege, but experience, wisdom, and some might call it… Luck. Starting Status: A Balance of Heart and Soul. No Special Option or Persona. Luck Smiles upon you, in ways you do not understand.)
      [X] Even if everything proves to be pointless
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    • Part 2: Destiny
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    • Part 2: Destiny

    -[X] Lonliness: Even in death, you felt alone.

    How was it that, in the end, you had been so alone? You had looked at the faces surrounding you, the people who once filled your life. There had been love, or at least something close to it however fleeting or imperfect. You had been cared for, held, and understood, if only for moments. You had told yourself that was enough, that such connections, as fragile and fractured as they were, would sustain you when the time came.

    But as the final moment approached, when you stood at the threshold of that last, irreversible journey, ready to be surrendered into the void there was nothing.

    No warm presence at your side. No comforting touch or whispered words of solace. The silence of the abyss was deafening, swallowing everything in its path. The faces, the voices, the fleeting sense of belonging they had all vanished, as though they had never existed.

    And it was then you realized the lie… the truth in your matter. There was no one with you. All your friends, all your family, they had not come. They would never come for you. You had only wished for it.

    You were alone. Utterly, completely alone. No one stood beside you as the darkness opened its arms, indifferent and eternal. The absence was suffocating, not even sorrow to anchor you, only a void that stretched infinitely before you.

    No one was ever truly with you. All you had thought you had was indifferent.

    No one ever would be as far as you could tell.

    Gain Trait: Alone: No matter how hard you try, no matter how many faces pass through your life, there is a gnawing hollowness in your soul that refuses to be filled. You reach out, desperately, sometimes, yearning for connection, for friendships that might tether you to something real, something lasting. Yet, every time, the effort falters. There's always a part of you that holds back, a whisper in the back of your mind reminding you that, no matter how close someone may seem, they can never reach the depths of the void inside. You hesitate, flinch away, or sabotage the moments when you might have let someone in. The scars of dying alone have marked you in ways that even you don't fully understand. (Unknown Effect.)
    -------------------------------------------------------------
    -[X] You were Good
    -[X] In a Drug Den


    As you grew, you were thrust into the world once more, emerging into this festering pile of earth and mayhem called Gotham. Chaos had become your cradle, a life woven from the threads of putrid insanity, drug-ravaged streets, and the suffocating weight of hopelessness.

    From the moment you could comprehend your surroundings, everything screamed decay, pulling you into its depths. Like the city wanted you to be dragged down to the level of insanity, of hopelessness.

    Of fear and loneliness.

    Yet, you resisted.

    You defied the bleakness that surrounded you, not with anger or despair, but with something deeper.

    You smiled, even when there was nothing to smile about. You looked out at the wreckage of humanity, at the filth, the broken bodies and minds that littered the streets, and somewhere, within the deepest recesses of yourself, you found a spark. A sense of optimism that defied reason. A child's heart, they would call it, that naive hope that refuses to be crushed no matter how dark the world becomes.

    But that wasn't you, not entirely. You were more than just innocent defiance. You were quiet and observant. While others raged and fell deeper into the darkness or succumbed to the despair and the horror, you stood apart, seeing beyond both the fleeting satisfaction and the endless horror. You understood that the hopelessness wasn't absolute. The desolation of the helpless, the tragedies that littered the streets like discarded refuse—they didn't define the limits of what could be.

    You looked toward the impossible. You saw through the rot and despair, past the violence and addiction, to something others couldn't or wouldn't see.

    There was good in this world, buried deep beneath the filth. A flicker of something pure, something untouched by the madness. And that same goodness, that same defiance of the inevitable, lived inside you too. No matter how much the city tried to drag you down into its murky depths, you clung to that truth. You were not just a product of your surroundings. You were more than the struggles, more than the horrors that threatened to engulf you.

    You were good despite it all. Despite the suffering, despite the relentless tide of darkness that pressed in on you from every side, you remained untouched by its corruption. The world outside had crumbled, but within you, something remained unbroken, untainted.

    And in that, you found your strength.


    Gain Trait: Weak Heart, Strong Soul (Good): You have gazed into the abyss, see the depths of human depravity that this city conceals in its darkest corners. Yet, instead of succumbing to the weight of it all, you chose to find light where others only saw darkness. Your heart is not hardened by what you've witnessed, though it bears the scars of every injustice, every moment of suffering you've endured or observed. It remains vulnerable, easily wounded by the cruelty of the world, and yet, it refuses to turn cold. You fight not because you believe in victory, but because standing still is not an option. Your body may falter, and your heart may tremble with fear or doubt, but your will and your soul remain unyielding. (Unknown Effect.)
    ---------------------------------------------------

    What are you?

    [] The Orphan: Life in an orphanage wasn't the comforting or magical escape some might imagine from movies. There were no heartwarming moments or grand adventures. Just discipline and constant fear, a gnawing emptiness where love should have been. You learned early that affection was fleeting, and the connections you made with the other children were fragile, bound by shared survival rather than true family bonds. As much as you tried to care for those around you, deep down you knew you had to leave. The orphanage was a place you could never call home. The hope of money, of someday coming back to help, gave you a purpose but it was never happiness. (Gain Trait: A Faceless Orphan. You are alone, with only your brothers and sisters of circumstance as your closest family. But you know, even among them, you remain nameless and faceless to the world.)

    [] The Thief: On the streets, there were rules, even for children. Among your crew, a simple creed held everything together: The Fence got its cut, the Mob was off-limits, and no one…absolutely no one…died. That code saved you from countless dangers. It kept you out of juvie, kept you alive, and ensured that the streets didn't devour you whole. There was an unspoken agreement: as long as no one died, no one had to mourn, and no one had to think about what you were doing. You lived in the shadows, fearing what you could to survive, always one step ahead of disaster. (Gain Trait: A Little Thief. You are part of a group of street rats, stealing just enough to survive. Petty theft is your lifeline, securing food, shelter, and the bare essentials of life in a world that's too harsh to care.)

    [] The Drug Runner: The Mob gave you an ultimatum: run the product, or face the consequences. You chose the first option. Every delivery was a gamble: On one side, the police hounding you with empty promises of help; on the other, the Mob's threats were cold and inescapable. You learned quickly that nobody left this life without scars. The money might be good for a while, but the debt never goes away. It's a cycle, one that traps you and keeps pulling you back in no matter how far you try to run. The streets are cruel, and you've seen too many people try to escape, only to fall right back in. (Gain Trait: The Mule. You are a drug mule for the Mob, blending in because no one suspects a kid. But the streets are dangerous, and every day is a struggle to avoid the cops or worse. You dream of escape, but in your heart, you know that no one ever really gets out.)

    [] The Scam Artist: You've always had a gift, a silver tongue that could talk its way out of almost anything. With just the right words and a charming smile, you learned how to exploit people's kindness, never needing to lift a finger to take what you wanted. The thrill of deceiving someone, of slipping away with their money or goods before they even realized what happened, became second nature to you. You told yourself that you only scammed those who deserved it, but the line between right and wrong was always blurred. Survival was more important than morality. (Gain Trait: The Artist. You are a scam artist with a knack for manipulation. Your charm lets you walk the line between innocence and deceit, always aiming to come out on top, no matter the cost.)

    []Alone: There is no one. No family, no friends, no ties to anything or anyone. The world around you is empty, and so are you. Each day feels like a blur as if you're floating through life without any true direction. In your dreams, there's always a single image, a Velvet Door, mysterious and terrifying. You can't shake the feeling that whatever lies behind it holds your fate, but the thought of opening it fills you with dread. You are free, unburdened by connections to others, yet somehow, those very chains of isolation weigh heavily on you. (Gain Trait: A Velvet Door. You are truly alone. With no ties to bind you, you move through the world without purpose, haunted by the image of a Velvet Door that you fear as much as you long to open.)

    AN: Enjoy and please...

    The character creation will come later.

    And before you ask... You will be getting access to the velvet room later if you choose not to go alone... So don't feel like taking the alone option if you think that will be the only options that lead to persona powers.

    Its not. there will be other adventures that you have to go through first.
     
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    • Scheduled vote count started by Magoose on Sep 14, 2024 at 11:49 AM, finished with 21 posts and 16 votes.
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    • Part 3: There Are Adventures to be had here.
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    • Part 3: There Are Adventures to be had here.

    [] The Orphan: Life in an orphanage wasn't the comforting or magical escape some might imagine from movies. There were no heartwarming moments or grand adventures. Just discipline and constant fear, a gnawing emptiness where love should have been. You learned early that affection was fleeting, and the connections you made with the other children were fragile, bound by shared survival rather than true family bonds. As much as you tried to care for those around you, deep down you knew you had to leave. The orphanage was a place you could never call home. The hope of money, of someday coming back to help, gave you a purpose but it was never happiness. (Gain Trait: A Faceless Orphan. You are alone, with only your brothers and sisters of circumstance as your closest family. But you know, even among them, you remain nameless and faceless to the world.)

    Gain Trait: A Faceless Orphan: Despite all the adults in your life being terrible people, forcing you to conform with their own, misguided and poor choices and desires, you never were afraid to refuse them. You were never going to give them the satisfaction of letting them know you have been beaten. (All the Adults know of your behavior of nonconformity, and you fellow orphans love it)
    ----------------------------------------------

    You stood up slowly, bracing yourself against the bedpost, the cold wood pressing into your palm. The room felt stifling, thick with the quiet fear that clung to every breath. The air was tense as Matron Glynda paced down the row of beds, her sharp eyes scanning each child like a predator, searching for the slightest hint of imperfection. Your 'siblings' shifted nervously, eyes darting to the ground, hands trembling at their sides. Each time the cane tapped against the floor, the sound echoed through the room like the tick of a deathwatch beetle, marking the seconds until she found her next victim.

    Her footsteps stopped near you. You didn't need to look to know who had caught her attention this time. Little Howard, barely three years old, stood next to you, trying his best to stay upright. His toes were bandaged from last night's accident when he'd hurt himself stumbling out of bed. The sheets at the foot of his mattress were soiled again. The poor boy had done his best, but his tiny frame was shaking, fighting to stand as straight as his fragile body allowed.

    Matron Glynda's voice cut through the silence, sharp and cruel. "Again, Howard? Do you soil yourself without changing the linen again? Do you not know the rules?" Her voice dripped with contempt as she glared down at the small, trembling figure before her.

    Howard could only shiver, his eyes wide with terror, unable to find the words to defend himself. Even if he could speak, you knew anything said would only be met with scorn or firmness that would not help. His lips quivered, but no sound came out. You could see the helplessness in his eyes, the kind that made your blood boil. You stepped forward before you could stop yourself.

    "Matron Glynda," you began, your voice steady, "fresh linens don't arrive until—"

    "Stay out of this!" Her cane lashed out in a blur of motion, and pain exploded in your foot as it struck you. You heard a sickening crack, but you didn't cry out. You refused to give her that satisfaction. Instead, you stared straight into her cold, pitiless eyes, meeting her gaze head-on, forcing her attention away from Howard and onto you. The pain surged up your leg, but you stood your ground, gritting your teeth as she loomed over you.

    Her lip curled in disdain. "You will be without your meal if you continue—"

    "Enough!" You cut her off, your voice louder this time, resonating with the strength you could muster. "Matron, he did nothing wrong-"

    The cane came down again, hard, on the same spot, sending a jolt of agony through your foot. You felt your leg buckle, your balance faltering, but you refused to fall. A grimace twisted across your face as the pain coursed through you, but still, you did not scream. Instead, you locked eyes with her, daring her to strike you again.

    Her voice dropped to a deadly whisper, cold as the winter wind outside. "Do not speak back to me about what is right and wrong. The rules are there for a reason."

    Her gaze swept the room, ensuring that every other child was watching, every other pair of eyes locked in silent terror. She wanted them to see. She wanted them to fear her more than anything else in their small, fragile world. "Rules are needed," she continued, her tone carrying the weight of conviction, "because as we all know, man is nothing more than a beast, ready to tear himself and others apart."

    Her words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. You felt the eyes of your 'siblings' on you, the tension in the room tightening like a noose. But you didn't look away. You could feel the bruise swelling beneath your skin, the throbbing pain in your foot, but you stood tall, defying her.

    You grimaced as she looked to you. "Come, we must update your adoption papers."

    You limped behind her, knowing you have just saved everyone quite a bit of trouble. At least she didn't break your foot this time.
    -----------------------------------------------

    What is your name… Mostly because these idiots need a name:
    []Write in

    The Picture came out good at least:
    []Place Image here

    How Old were you?:

    [] Eight:
    You're just another child lost on the fringes of Gotham society, an orphan under the indifferent care of a city too broken to protect its own. Yes, you're known your name exists in some file in a grim office but being "known" in Gotham carries no advantages. It's not a shield against the cruelty of the world outside, nor does it offer any reprieve from the expectations heaped on you.

    You had to perform, to behave, to smile when prospective adoptive parents visited. You had to try try to get adopted, try to stay out of trouble, try to survive. And you did, but it was never enough.

    Gotham's streets are becoming an unforgiving battleground for those on the bottom, like you. Crippling poverty crushes the soul, while crime and the Mob choke the life out of whatever hope you might have once had. Survival here feels impossible, and yet every day you wake up, determined to make it through, even though every action and every step you take is weighed against the slim chance of escaping this life.

    But then, the news came. It swept across Gotham like wildfire: The Waynes—Thomas and Martha, Gotham's beacons of hope, the last vestiges of light, sanity and goodness—were dead, murdered in the heart of Crime Alley. For most, it was a tragedy that rocked the very foundation of the city. For a select few, it was an opportunity to seize more power in the vacuum left behind. But for kids like you, it was a disaster.

    The Martha Wayne Foundation had been one of the largest donors to Gotham's already struggling child services. Their money fed you, clothed you, and kept what little roof you had over your head. Now, with the Waynes gone, so too was the funding. You could already feel the effects, the tightening grip of poverty becoming a noose around your neck. And it was only going to get worse. (You begin as a child, where fleeting moments of adventure and wonder intermingle with the brutal reality of Gotham's streets. You must navigate a city hostile to your survival, where predators both human and something darker keep Gotham drowning in poverty, crime, and death.)

    [] Twelve:
    By the time you turned twelve, you had already seen more of Gotham's darkness than most adults. You grew up in a city where poverty was a way of life, a constant companion that weighed down the spirits of everyone around you.

    Gotham had once been a city of promise, but those days felt like distant memories. Now, all you saw was decay, a festering wound that refused to heal. Waynetech, once the heart of Gotham's industry, had pulled most of its operations out of the city, citing the uncontrollable rise in violent crime. The Gotham City Police Department, once a symbol of protection, had become a farce—a broken system too afraid or too corrupt to stop the bleeding.

    The Mob ruled now, with an iron grip that stretched into every corner of the city. They controlled the streets, the businesses, and even the lives of the desperate people who lived in Gotham's poorest neighborhoods. No one was safe.

    The streets were ruled by fear, and trust had become a commodity too precious to waste. Even the people you once called friends had become potential threats because when survival was on the line, betrayal often came with a payday. You had learned the rules early. Keep your head down. Don't make eye contact. Don't trust anyone. And yet, in the deepest part of your soul, you couldn't help but dream of something better. But Gotham wasn't a place for dreams. It was a place where nightmares walked in the daylight, and all you could do was try to stay safe. (Begin in the darkest time for Gotham. The Mob controls the city, crime is rampant, and safety is an illusion. Trust is a luxury no one can afford. You've come to know just how powerful and inescapable the enemy is a leviathan that cannot be slain.)

    [] Sixteen:
    Sixteen years old, and you're still alive, somehow, which in Gotham feels like an accomplishment all its own for having no parents and living in a crumbling forgotten orhpanage. The city around you has fallen further into the abyss, becoming more twisted and broken than you ever thought possible.

    The death of the Waynes had been the signal of Gotham's descent, but now, years later, the full scope of that collapse had become undeniable. The streets were darker, the crime more vicious, the hopelessness more suffocating. You sometimes wondered what Gotham had been like before all this. Before the Mob had its claws in every business before the GCPD had turned into a joke, before fear became the language everyone spoke.

    What had the city been before the darkness swallowed it whole? You clung to those fleeting thoughts, even though you knew they were nothing but illusions. Still, a part of you wished that something or someone could do something. Gotham needed a savior, but no one was coming. Bruce Wayne, the last living Wayne, had left the city, disappearing into the shadows of some faraway place. Gotham had been abandoned by its greatest hope, in the eyes of many. And now, the city had nothing but despair. People whispered about the death of Gotham as though it were inevitable, as though nothing could be done to stop it.

    But you… You sometimes imagined it could be you in your dreams, in your nightmares of something else. Maybe you could rise from the ashes, and become something more than just a survivor. Maybe you could be the one to save Gotham from itself. It was a fantasy, one you hardly dared speak aloud, but deep down, it was there. The city hadn't completely crushed your spirit. Not yet. (Bruce Wayne has left Gotham, and the city teeters on the brink of collapse. In this time before Batman, all you can do is try to save yourself...or perhaps, if you dare, you could be the one to save someone else in Gotham. If there's another way.)


    AN: Enjoy and please vote in plan format, please!
     
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    • Scheduled vote count started by Magoose on Sep 15, 2024 at 12:52 PM, finished with 28 posts and 15 votes.
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    • Part 4: Life Has Changed (Adventure 0 Prologue)
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    • Part 4: Life Has Changed (Adventure 0 Prologue)

    School was a doldrum, a place where time seemed to stretch endlessly in the monotony of the same faces, the same hallways, and the same disinterested glances. Thankfully, no one bothered you, which was just how you liked it. You could exist in your own little world without anyone trying to pull you into theirs. The fall days had grown cold, and the darkness came early—too early, it seemed. The air was thick with an unspoken tension that matched the gloom of the sky. Gotham always felt oppressive, but lately, it felt even heavier, like the city was sinking into an abyss.

    You knew why. Everyone knew why.

    The Waynes were dead.

    It was the only thing people talked about, the constant undercurrent in every conversation, even at school. The tragedy had gripped the city in a way nothing else had. The wealthiest, most influential family in Gotham had been brought low in the most senseless way imaginable. Gunned down in Crime Alley, just another statistic in a city drowning in violence. The newspapers were filled with stories about it, but they all said the same things. Broken pearls, blood on the cold pavement, and Bruce Wayne screaming in the night.

    It was the kind of thing people would whisper about for years, the stuff of legends in a city built on fear and despair. But to you, it was just noise. You didn't want to talk about it. Everyone already knew what had happened, and rehashing it wouldn't change a thing.

    You stared out the window of the classroom, your breath fogging up the glass. The world outside looked bleak and washed out, the sky a murky grey that pressed down on the city like a weight. The autumn leaves, once vibrant, were now dead, littering the streets in dull shades of brown, grey, and black. Everything felt muted, and you were fine with that. You didn't want to see color, to notice the life around you. Life was just something that would eventually hurt, anyway.

    You didn't know why you felt that way, but you were feeling such a way.

    The faces around you, your teachers, your classmates—blurred together into a sea of indifference. They were like shadows, barely more than silhouettes in your peripheral vision, and that was how you wanted it. You didn't want them to see you, and you certainly didn't want to see them. It was easier this way, to keep the world at arm's length. No one here cared about anything interesting. They didn't know anything you didn't already know. They weren't going to say anything that would matter.

    And honestly, what could they say? The city was going to change now, and everyone knew it. The death of the Waynes was sending ripples through Gotham, ripples that would soon turn into waves that would consume the whole city. But you weren't worried about that—not yet. What really gnawed at the back of your mind was the future. Your future. Specifically, the future of the orphanage.

    You heard the whispers. The older kids, the matrons, even some of the new kids that were coming into this place, those that were able to anyway—they were all talking about it, even if they thought you weren't paying attention. They were afraid.

    Without the Wayne family's money, without the generous grants from the Martha Wayne Foundation, how was the orphanage going to survive? Gotham didn't care about its orphans. It barely cared about anyone who wasn't willing to pour billions into the city, or the mob wasn't about to make a buck. The Waynes had been the only ones who gave a damn, and now they were gone.

    You tried not to think about it too much, but the thoughts crept in anyway. You could feel the anxiety rising around you, and it was contagious. Some of the older kids talked about running away, trying to survive on the streets before the orphanage shut its doors for good. The matrons tried to keep everyone calm, but you could tell they were worried, too. The city was teetering on the edge of something, and no one knew what would happen next.

    But maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't matter. You might be adopted by then. You had to believe that. You had to believe that there was still a chance someone would come for you, that you wouldn't be left to fend for yourself in a city that devoured the weak. You clung to that hope, as thin as it was.

    "Mr. Romero, thank you for finally rejoining the class," the teacher's voice cut through the haze, a sharp contrast to the dull monotony of the day. The figure stood at the front of the room, casting a long shadow that seemed to hover over the rows of desks. You blinked, once, then twice, your mind slow to catch up with reality.

    The teacher continued, but their voice had become a background hum, blending with the ticking of the clock on the wall. Words about fractions or grammar, or whatever today's lesson was supposed to be, melted into nothingness. You were waiting now, not for the lesson to end, but for the day itself to be over.

    Your eyes wandered to the window once more, watching the world outside move at its own pace. Somewhere, out there, life was happening. Just not for you.

    ---

    Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. The sudden flurry of movement around you—students gathering their things, talking, laughing—felt disconnected like you were watching from behind a glass wall. You packed your own bag slowly, feeling the weight of the day settle on your shoulders. School was over, and now you stood in the hallway, staring out into the fading daylight, wondering what was going to happen next.

    The city always felt different after school. The air changed, as if Gotham itself knew that nightfall was coming and with it, the shift from the mundane to the dangerous. You couldn't help but feel that same anticipation, that pull toward something unknown.

    What do you do?

    [] Go Home to the Orphanage:
    It might be better not to keep the Matron waiting. She wasn't exactly forgiving when it came to lateness, and there was always the chance that the orphanage's "rules" would get enforced in a way you'd regret. Besides, there was some sort of security in the routine, even if it was an unpleasant one. You could get lost in the crowd of other kids, blend into the background, and wait for the day to end. (Begin Adventure: Orphanage of Hell)

    [] Spend Time at School:
    You could stay behind. There was homework to be done, and maybe if you buried yourself in it, you could forget about everything else. The silence of the empty school hallways wasn't so bad, and helping someone study might give you a small sense of purpose. Something to distract from the gnawing sense of dread that seemed to follow you everywhere. (Begin Adventure: A Scarecrow's Lament)

    [] Wander the City:
    Curfew wasn't for a few hours, and Gotham's streets called to you in their own way. The city was dangerous, but you knew how to navigate it. You could disappear into the alleyways and lose yourself in the labyrinth of darkened streets. Maybe you'd find something interesting—or someone. Why was that girl playing with a bunny on the corner? And wait… was that magic? (Begin Adventure: A Magical City)
     
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    • Part 5: Fear (Adventure Zero: A Scarecrow's Lament)
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    • Part 5: Fear (Adventure Zero: A Scarecrow's Lament)

    [] Spend Time at School

    The Library was empty, save for the librarian, who had long since given up on trying to restore order to the place, and the other kid—the weird one who was always here, hunched over a stack of chemistry books. You couldn't help but find it odd, his constant presence here. There were a million other places he could be, like with the other kids running around outside, or at least doing something more normal for someone his age. He was clearly smart, maybe even smarter than most of the kids in school. Yet, despite that, or maybe because of it, he was always alone, older than most of the kids in your class, maybe fifth grade, but never really there. It was like he existed on the periphery of everything, watching, yet never engaging.

    You understood that feeling well because you knew if you were alone, no one could ever see you, no one

    You'd seen him a few times before, always lurking in the corners, reading something dense and difficult for fun. He wasn't one of those kids who ratted on others or stirred up trouble. He just... disappeared into the background, quiet and cautious, like he was always trying not to be noticed, even when there was no one around to notice him. You had a feeling he tried his best not to be afraid, even though it didn't really work. The way he moved, the constant darting glances, it all pointed to someone who had grown used to expecting danger where there was none.

    He was taller than you, lanky in a way that made him seem like he was still growing into his limbs. Long arms, long legs, a long nose, all exaggerated in that awkward, pre-teen sort of way. He almost looked like a character from a storybook, like a scarecrow brought to life. And yet, there was something undeniably human in the way he carried himself, like all that awkwardness was a defense mechanism.

    "Hey," you called out, stepping closer before you had fully thought it through. He jumped as if you'd shouted instead, spinning around so fast you could practically feel the air move. His hands shot up, trembling slightly as if he was bracing for an attack.

    "What do you want?" His voice quivered as he tried to sound tough, but the fear was there, just beneath the surface. His whole body seemed wound tight, like a spring ready to snap at the slightest provocation. His wide eyes betrayed him completely—they were filled with a deep, anxious energy that looked far too familiar to you.

    "What are you doing?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, curiosity overtaking any desire to back off. You peered at the book in his hands, though it was hard to make out the title from this angle.

    "Hiding," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He sank down to the floor, knees pulled up to his chest as if the act of sitting could somehow make him smaller, less visible.

    You snorted, half amused, half sympathetic. "Not doing a very good job of it," you quipped with a small smile, leaning against one of the shelves.

    He didn't laugh. Instead, he seemed to fold in on himself even more. Up close, you could see the exhaustion on his face more clearly—the way his hair stuck out at odd angles, uncombed and messy, and the dark shadows under his eyes, so pronounced they looked almost bruised. His fear was palpable, not the kind that comes from something external, but the kind that comes from within, the kind that gnaws at you from the inside out. His eyes darted up to meet yours for a brief second before skittering away, full of that same frantic energy, that constant, buzzing anxiety you were all too familiar with.

    You wondered what he was so afraid of, though you didn't dare ask. Something about the way his shoulders were hunched forward like he was trying to shrink into himself, told you that the answer was too complicated for a single conversation. Instead, you sat down next to him, not too close, but close enough that he'd know he wasn't completely alone. The silence stretched between you both, neither of you speaking, yet it didn't feel awkward. If anything, it was strangely comfortable, like you'd both found an unspoken agreement not to push too hard.

    "I know the feeling," you finally said, breaking the quiet.

    He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, cautious. "Being afraid?" he asked, his voice still fragile.

    "No," you said, shaking your head. "Being so alone, so disconnected, that nothing can come and save you."

    Your words hung in the air, heavy with a truth you hadn't planned on sharing. Maybe it was because you saw something of yourself in him, or maybe it was because his fear reflected a loneliness you knew all too well. Either way, you couldn't help but think: This is what it feels like to be a hero. Not the kind who saves people, but the kind who keeps going, even when no one's coming to rescue you.

    The boy stared at the floor, fingers tracing the edges of the book in his lap. "Why are you coming over to me?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm..."

    You knew what he was going to say before he said it, but you let the silence fill the gap. You both understood what it was like to feel invisible, even in a room full of people.

    You know how it feels to be alone. To be stuck in a hell of your own creation, where no one can reach you. To be truly alone when it feels like there's no way out.

    "I don't know," you said, shrugging. "I just feel like you need someone to talk to. Or maybe just someone to sit here and listen. Sometimes that's enough."

    He looked at you, skeptical, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You want something from me, don't you?" he asked, the edge of suspicion creeping into his voice. "Everyone wants something from someone."

    You chuckled softly. "If you're trying to make this into some kind of business deal, I don't think I have much to offer."

    That caught him off guard. For the first time, he smiled, just a little, but enough to soften the hard lines of his face. Then, surprisingly, he let out a laugh, quiet at first but real. It was as if the weight he'd been carrying had lightened, even if just for a moment. There was something hopeful in that laugh, a flicker of joy breaking through the cracks of whatever had been holding him down.

    "Fine," he said, his voice a little lighter now. "We'll come up with something."

    "What's your name Stranger?" He asked.

    "Adam Romero." You said.

    "John Crane." He replied.
    ---------------------------------------------------------------------

    A few days later, he finally approached you, his request lingering with an unspoken urgency. There was something different about him now, something that made you hesitate, but curiosity and concern won out in the end.

    Where do you go?

    ---

    [ ] His Home:
    He had invited you over to his place after school, asking for help with a project. "Just come over," he'd said, sounding more relaxed than usual. "I need someone to help me study." When you arrived, the house felt strangely empty—too quiet. The walls seemed to swallow sound, and his room was cluttered with notebooks, diagrams, and strange contraptions you couldn't quite understand. Then you heard the front door slam, and his face lit up with an eerie smile. But it was empty, without control, and filled with terror in his eyes. "Ah," he said, almost to himself, in a trance, a daze. "A test subject... finally, I won't have to use myself for the experiments anymore." Before you could react, the door creaked open, and his father stepped in, towering in the doorway. His eyes glinted with the same unsettling curiosity as his son's. "Good," his father said, a strange satisfaction in his voice. "We've been waiting for this."

    ---------------------

    [ ] The Library:
    He hadn't shown up for school in the last two days, but you found him in the library, hunched over a pile of books that looked like they hadn't been touched. His hair was messier than usual, his clothes rumpled, and his eyes were wild with sleeplessness. When you approached, he jerked his head up, his pupils dilated as if he hadn't seen daylight in days. He barely recognized you at first, but then his gaze sharpened, and he grabbed your arm with an intensity that sent a chill down your spine. "They're after me," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "The monsters in the shadows... They're watching, waiting. Beware the Court of Owls." His grip tightened. "Beware… beware." His eyes darted around, tracking things you couldn't see, and for the first time, you wondered if maybe you were the one in danger.
    -------------------
    [ ] On the Streets
    You hadn't expected to see him outside of school, but there he was, crashing into you as you turned the corner. His arm was bleeding, fresh cuts lining his skin like he had been in a fight or worse. Before you could say anything, he grabbed your shoulders, his eyes wide and frantic. "Do you see them too?" he asked, his breath ragged, his voice trembling with both fear and urgency. "They're following me… I thought I could outrun them, but they're everywhere." He glanced around, his paranoia infectious as he scanned the streets. "Tell me you see them. The shadows move when you're not looking. They're always there." You could see the desperation in his eyes, and for a moment, you almost believed him. You almost saw the shadows flicker at the edges of your vision, just out of reach.

    AN: Enjoy.
     
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