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The Bonds that Shape the Universe Again (A Persona/Batman Adventure)
- Thread starter Magoose
- Start date
- Crossover
Part 11: The Detective
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
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."
---------------
When it was over, you were sent home.
You needed to sleep.
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.
[]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.
--------------------------------------------------
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."
---------------
When it was over, you were sent home.
You needed to sleep.
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.
Vote closed
Part 12: A Normal Life
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Part 12: A Normal Life
Winning Vote:
- [] Talk to John
- [] Icarus's Power
- [] Check Out the Gotham Orphanage Records
--------------------------------------------
[] 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.
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
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.
-----------------------------------
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.
Winning Vote:
- [] Talk to John
- [] Icarus's Power
- [] Check Out the Gotham Orphanage Records
--------------------------------------------
[] 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.
"I am thou, thou art I.
Through the chains of despair and the crucible of destruction, you shall rise stronger.
With the Chariot Arcana as your guide, you shall discover the keys to salvation and the clarity of purpose.
Let resolve drive you forward, and let your will carve a path through the darkness.
The journey is yours to command—unyielding, unstoppable, victorious."
Through the chains of despair and the crucible of destruction, you shall rise stronger.
With the Chariot Arcana as your guide, you shall discover the keys to salvation and the clarity of purpose.
Let resolve drive you forward, and let your will carve a path through the darkness.
The journey is yours to command—unyielding, unstoppable, victorious."
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.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
[]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.
------------------------------------------------------
[] 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.
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
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.
-----------------------------------
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.
Vote closed
Part 13: The Detective and the Child
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Part 13: The Detective and the Child:
[X]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.
-----------
Harvey Bullock sat in a dingy diner near the orphanage, the kind of place that smelled like stale coffee and frying grease. The cracked vinyl seats and flickering neon sign screamed "last resort," but for Bullock, it was just another Tuesday. He shoveled food into his mouth like it was the first real meal he'd had in days. For all the grime and grime-adjacent atmosphere, the diner felt safe—or as safe as a mostly corrupt cop could make it in Gotham City.
As you entered, the bell above the door jingled weakly, and you saw him at the far corner booth. He wasn't alone. Sitting across from him was a man who wasn't his partner and certainly wasn't a cop. The stranger had a sharp suit and sharper eyes, the kind that could cut through a room without trying. Not a common criminal, either—no, this was someone different.
"I told you, Bullock," the man said, his voice low and venomous. "You need to deal with that idiot partner of yours."
The sound of his voice made you pause mid-step. It wasn't fear that stopped you but something deeper, more visceral. In your mind, Icarus stirred, his laughter curling like smoke in your thoughts.
"That voice," Icarus said, almost purring. "Oh, brother, let's see what we're made of."
You frowned, your jaw tightening. "No," you muttered under your breath.
Bullock's reply, though not directed at you, came out just as curt. "I'm eating. Come back when I'm not surrounded by people watching me talk to you like an idiot. And yeah, I might not like Jim Gordon, but dammit, there are rules we have to follow."
"Rules," the man sneered, leaning back in his chair. "Your rules mean nothing. Gordon is a liability. He's caused more trouble than he's worth, and I don't care if he's just an inconvenience to you."
Bullock stabbed his fork into his plate with a sharp clang. "You better watch your back," the detective growled, not looking up.
The man stood, smoothing down his suit. "Don't worry about my back, Bulluck."
"It's Bullock, you moron," Harvey snapped, finally looking up from his plate. "Now, get lost, and let me eat in peace."
The man turned, his gaze sweeping the diner before landing on you. He paused, his lips curving into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't go looking for a cop to save you, kid," he said with a mockingly sweet tone.
You met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm sure a mobster would be much better."
The smile faltered for a split second, and his eyes narrowed. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the diner, leaving a trail of unease in his wake.
"Detective Bulluck," you said, stepping closer to his booth.
"It's Bullock, you—" He looked up, and his expression shifted to recognition. "Adam? What the hell are you doing here?"
The sharpness in his tone didn't mask the underlying concern. It was rare, in Gotham, to hear someone sound genuinely worried—and rarer still for it to come from Harvey Bullock.
"I need you to look at this." You slid the files across the sticky diner table, your hand trembling slightly as you pushed them toward him. Detective Bullock stared at the folder for a moment, then reluctantly opened it.
As he read, his expression darkened with each passing second. The lines on his face deepened, his jaw clenched, and he finally swore under his breath, "Jesus Christ." He slapped the folder shut and looked at you, his eyes a mix of anger and disbelief. "Where the hell did you get this?"
"Stole it from the Matron's office," you said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I was getting suspicious—figured there had to be a reason I wasn't getting any interviews for new parents." It wasn't the whole truth, but in Gotham, truth was subjective at best.
Bullock's frown deepened as he drummed his fingers on the folder. "Kid, this—this is written in blood and ink. If I show this to anyone, I'm dead. And you? You're dead, too."
You met his glare with a calm smile, one that masked the storm brewing inside you. Icarus was laughing, but saying nothing. "I don't believe that. I just need help."
"Help?" Bullock barked a humorless laugh. "You think I can help? You've just handed me my own death warrant." He leaned back in his seat, adjusting his hat nervously. "Maroni isn't someone you fight, kid. He's someone you hide from. You piss him off, and he'll kill anyone who's ever been in the same room as you. Doesn't matter if it's today, tomorrow, or ten years from now—he'll find you."
"Yeah, maybe," you said, shrugging. "But that's just because no one's really fought back before."
Bullock leaned forward, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Everyone who fights Maroni dies. Don't be stupid. You're just a kid. What the hell do you think you're gonna do? Walk up to him and ask him nicely to stop being a homicidal maniac?"
You didn't flinch. "Not this time," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the fire building in your chest.
Bullock stared at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of doubt. "How the hell are you planning to do that?" he asked, gesturing at the folder. "This—this piece of paper? It doesn't prove anything except that you're going to get adopted. Maybe by someone who's planning to use you as cannon fodder in a gang war, sure, but now that you've seen this? They might not even give you that chance. They could take you out tomorrow. So tell me, what's the big plan, huh?"
You leaned forward, matching his intensity. "This paper proves I'm a pawn in their game. And pawns don't win unless they make it to the other side of the board."
"Cute metaphor," Bullock said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But pawns don't usually live long enough to see the end of the game."
"Then I'll make it. I don't care what it takes," you said, your voice cold and resolute. "I know what they're planning, and that gives me a chance to stop it. Maybe I'm just a kid, but if I don't stand up to them now, then when? Someone has to try, and if no one else will, then it'll be me."
Bullock groaned, running a hand down his face. "You're gonna get yourself killed, kid."
"Maybe," you admitted. "But at least I'll go down trying."
Bullock was silent for a moment. "What's the plan kid?"
What will you be?:
[] The Phantom Thief: You'll steal from the corrupt, expose their secrets, and turn Gotham's shadows against them, all while leaving behind a mark that inspires rebellion.
[] The Detective: Through wit and observation, you'll uncover the city's darkest truths, piecing together the web of lies to bring justice to the forgotten and oppressed.
[] The Magician: With charm, cunning, and a touch of the impossible, you'll manipulate Gotham's chaos, creating miracles where others see only despair.
[] The Hero: You'll stand as a beacon of hope, leading by example, inspiring others to rise above their fears and reclaim Gotham from the darkness.
[] The Vigilante: Justice will be served on your terms, in the alleys and rooftops of Gotham, where fear and force are your tools against its villains.
[]Write in
AN: enjoy.
[X]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.
-----------
Harvey Bullock sat in a dingy diner near the orphanage, the kind of place that smelled like stale coffee and frying grease. The cracked vinyl seats and flickering neon sign screamed "last resort," but for Bullock, it was just another Tuesday. He shoveled food into his mouth like it was the first real meal he'd had in days. For all the grime and grime-adjacent atmosphere, the diner felt safe—or as safe as a mostly corrupt cop could make it in Gotham City.
As you entered, the bell above the door jingled weakly, and you saw him at the far corner booth. He wasn't alone. Sitting across from him was a man who wasn't his partner and certainly wasn't a cop. The stranger had a sharp suit and sharper eyes, the kind that could cut through a room without trying. Not a common criminal, either—no, this was someone different.
"I told you, Bullock," the man said, his voice low and venomous. "You need to deal with that idiot partner of yours."
The sound of his voice made you pause mid-step. It wasn't fear that stopped you but something deeper, more visceral. In your mind, Icarus stirred, his laughter curling like smoke in your thoughts.
"That voice," Icarus said, almost purring. "Oh, brother, let's see what we're made of."
You frowned, your jaw tightening. "No," you muttered under your breath.
Bullock's reply, though not directed at you, came out just as curt. "I'm eating. Come back when I'm not surrounded by people watching me talk to you like an idiot. And yeah, I might not like Jim Gordon, but dammit, there are rules we have to follow."
"Rules," the man sneered, leaning back in his chair. "Your rules mean nothing. Gordon is a liability. He's caused more trouble than he's worth, and I don't care if he's just an inconvenience to you."
Bullock stabbed his fork into his plate with a sharp clang. "You better watch your back," the detective growled, not looking up.
The man stood, smoothing down his suit. "Don't worry about my back, Bulluck."
"It's Bullock, you moron," Harvey snapped, finally looking up from his plate. "Now, get lost, and let me eat in peace."
The man turned, his gaze sweeping the diner before landing on you. He paused, his lips curving into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Don't go looking for a cop to save you, kid," he said with a mockingly sweet tone.
You met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm sure a mobster would be much better."
The smile faltered for a split second, and his eyes narrowed. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the diner, leaving a trail of unease in his wake.
"Detective Bulluck," you said, stepping closer to his booth.
"It's Bullock, you—" He looked up, and his expression shifted to recognition. "Adam? What the hell are you doing here?"
The sharpness in his tone didn't mask the underlying concern. It was rare, in Gotham, to hear someone sound genuinely worried—and rarer still for it to come from Harvey Bullock.
"I need you to look at this." You slid the files across the sticky diner table, your hand trembling slightly as you pushed them toward him. Detective Bullock stared at the folder for a moment, then reluctantly opened it.
As he read, his expression darkened with each passing second. The lines on his face deepened, his jaw clenched, and he finally swore under his breath, "Jesus Christ." He slapped the folder shut and looked at you, his eyes a mix of anger and disbelief. "Where the hell did you get this?"
"Stole it from the Matron's office," you said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I was getting suspicious—figured there had to be a reason I wasn't getting any interviews for new parents." It wasn't the whole truth, but in Gotham, truth was subjective at best.
Bullock's frown deepened as he drummed his fingers on the folder. "Kid, this—this is written in blood and ink. If I show this to anyone, I'm dead. And you? You're dead, too."
You met his glare with a calm smile, one that masked the storm brewing inside you. Icarus was laughing, but saying nothing. "I don't believe that. I just need help."
"Help?" Bullock barked a humorless laugh. "You think I can help? You've just handed me my own death warrant." He leaned back in his seat, adjusting his hat nervously. "Maroni isn't someone you fight, kid. He's someone you hide from. You piss him off, and he'll kill anyone who's ever been in the same room as you. Doesn't matter if it's today, tomorrow, or ten years from now—he'll find you."
"Yeah, maybe," you said, shrugging. "But that's just because no one's really fought back before."
Bullock leaned forward, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Everyone who fights Maroni dies. Don't be stupid. You're just a kid. What the hell do you think you're gonna do? Walk up to him and ask him nicely to stop being a homicidal maniac?"
You didn't flinch. "Not this time," you said firmly, your voice steady despite the fire building in your chest.
Bullock stared at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of doubt. "How the hell are you planning to do that?" he asked, gesturing at the folder. "This—this piece of paper? It doesn't prove anything except that you're going to get adopted. Maybe by someone who's planning to use you as cannon fodder in a gang war, sure, but now that you've seen this? They might not even give you that chance. They could take you out tomorrow. So tell me, what's the big plan, huh?"
You leaned forward, matching his intensity. "This paper proves I'm a pawn in their game. And pawns don't win unless they make it to the other side of the board."
"Cute metaphor," Bullock said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But pawns don't usually live long enough to see the end of the game."
"Then I'll make it. I don't care what it takes," you said, your voice cold and resolute. "I know what they're planning, and that gives me a chance to stop it. Maybe I'm just a kid, but if I don't stand up to them now, then when? Someone has to try, and if no one else will, then it'll be me."
Bullock groaned, running a hand down his face. "You're gonna get yourself killed, kid."
"Maybe," you admitted. "But at least I'll go down trying."
Bullock was silent for a moment. "What's the plan kid?"
What will you be?:
[] The Phantom Thief: You'll steal from the corrupt, expose their secrets, and turn Gotham's shadows against them, all while leaving behind a mark that inspires rebellion.
[] The Detective: Through wit and observation, you'll uncover the city's darkest truths, piecing together the web of lies to bring justice to the forgotten and oppressed.
[] The Magician: With charm, cunning, and a touch of the impossible, you'll manipulate Gotham's chaos, creating miracles where others see only despair.
[] The Hero: You'll stand as a beacon of hope, leading by example, inspiring others to rise above their fears and reclaim Gotham from the darkness.
[] The Vigilante: Justice will be served on your terms, in the alleys and rooftops of Gotham, where fear and force are your tools against its villains.
[]Write in
AN: enjoy.
Vote closed
Part 14 Begin Adventure (Arc 1: Save Yourself)
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Part 14 Begin Adventure (Arc 1: Save Yourself)
[] The Detective: Through wit and observation, you'll uncover the city's darkest truths, piecing together the web of lies to bring justice to the forgotten and oppressed.
-------------------------------------------------------
"I have evidence. I have the ability to make choices and deductions. I'll shine the light on the truth and win the world over," you said, your smile growing. "I want to be a great detective, like in the movies, where the good guy wins, the bad guy loses, and everything works out."
Harvey Bullock snorted, leaning back in his chair as he shook his head. "You really think those movies give you any insight into how the world works? You think it's that simple?"
"Why not?" you replied with a shrug, your grin unwavering. "Seems like the movies are better at training me for the world than anyone else has been so far."
Bullock sighed, rubbing his temple like he was fighting off a headache. "Kid, do you even know what being a detective really requires? It's not some glamorous, clean-cut role with a happy ending every time."
You crossed your arms, leaning forward. "Staking out people, following them, finding evidence, piecing together the truth, using that evidence to make a case or, in my situation, to save my life. That's what it takes, right? Maroni won't kill me yet, and I still have the ability to mess with his plans."
Bullock's brow furrowed, his usual gruff demeanor giving way to something that almost looked like concern. "It's not just about the work, kid. Being a detective eats at you. You don't sleep, you don't trust anyone, and you sure as hell don't think you're gonna come out of it a hero. You're saying you're ready for that?"
"I don't have much of a choice now do I, with what I know, and whats coming," you said firmly. "Gotham doesn't exactly hand out fairytale endings. I know what I'm walking into, but that doesn't mean I'll back down. I'll be better. I have to be."
Bullock studied you, his lips pressed into a thin line. After a moment, he leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Kid, listen to me. The world doesn't play fair, and neither does Gotham. People like Maroni? They don't stop just because you've got evidence. Hell, half the time, the cops are too scared—or too dirty—to do anything with it."
"Then I'll do it myself," you shot back, your tone unwavering. "If the cops don't fight for what's right, then I will. Someone has to."
Bullock stared at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then he sighed, muttering under his breath, "You're gonna get yourself killed." He tapped the table with his knuckles, his voice hardening. "Fine. Let's say you manage to get something real on Maroni, something that sticks. What then? You've painted a target on your back the size of Gotham's skyline. You prepared for that? And if you get out of Maroni killing you, what makes you think that he won't take some other kid and put in the same situation?"
You hesitated, but only for a moment. "If it means making a difference, then yeah. I'm prepared. Fear doesn't stop me. I've lived in it my whole life. I want to shine the light, even if it burns me. As for making sure Maroni doesn't win or hurt anyone else…" You paused. "I'll figure it out."
Bullock leaned back, folding his arms as he gave you a long, assessing look. Finally, he smirked, though it was tinged with bitterness. "You've got guts, kid. Stupid, reckless guts, but guts all the same. Just remember—this city eats guts for breakfast."
"I guess I'll just have to be tougher to chew," you said, a small, defiant smile tugging at your lips.
Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw it—a blue butterfly, delicate and ethereal, fluttering through the dimly lit diner. It moved with purpose, drifting from Bullock's weary figure toward you.
The air grew heavy, and a deep, resonant voice echoed in your mind:
The butterfly dissolved into light, and a warmth spread through your chest. You felt a deep, unshakable sense of purpose stir within you, a clarity that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of your being.
Bullock noticed your expression and frowned. "You good, kid? You look like you just saw a ghost?"
You met his gaze, your smile sharper now, more determined. "Better than good, Detective. I know exactly what I need to do."
Reward: Harvey Bullock has joined your quest to purge Gotham of its festering underbelly. Though gruff and world-weary, he recognizes a spark in you—a determination he hasn't seen in years, buried under layers of cynicism. He may grumble about the stupidity of your plan, but his actions speak louder than his words. Whether he admits it or not, Bullock sees the potential for you to become the kind of detective Gotham desperately needs—the kind who refuses to back down, no matter the odds. And perhaps, in his own way, he's already learned something from you. After all, even he has to admit: that you've got a better start on being a detective than most.
-----------------------------
You have 10 turns to save your own life and bring down Maroni's conspiracy.
You have 4 actions.
Special Actions:
[]The Velvet Room: Margaret has been waiting for you, trying to… get you to come back so that you and her, and the Captian can speak.
-----------------------------------------
[] Investigate the Orphanage Money: You want to see if you can trace how Maroni has so much influence over the orphanage's finances—and why the city hasn't noticed.
[] Talk to John: John seems different now—calmer, more centered. Maybe it's time to check in and see what's changed.
[] Investigate the Library: The recent break-in remains a mystery. With fresh eyes, maybe you'll uncover something everyone else missed.
[] Visit Wayne Tower: Rumors swirl about Bruce Wayne and his secretive dealings. Perhaps someone at the tower knows more about his parents' legacy—and its ties to Gotham's darkness.
[] Follow Detective Bullock: He has his doubts, but he's willing to listen. You just might have the spark of an idea to help him crack the case.
[] Explore Gotham's Underground: The city's tunnels and sewers are more than hiding places—they're a hub of rumors and forgotten truths. If you dare, you might find someone who knows more.
[] Try to Make a Friend: Having someone besides John to rely on could make all the difference. Gotham is a lonely place, but there's always hope for connection.
[] Explore Crime Alley: Dangerous as it is, whispers claim that the key to Gotham's deepest mysteries lies in its darkest streets.
[] Visit the Clocktower: Recently, lights have been seen in the supposedly abandoned tower. What could be happening there after dark?
[] Visit the Police Archives: The GCPD's old records might contain clues about Maroni, Falcone, or other major players in Gotham's underworld. But getting in won't be easy.
[] Scout the Docks: The port is bustling with shady activity—smuggling, bribery, and worse. Following the right lead might expose how Maroni operates.
[] Train with Bullock: The detective doesn't make it easy, but his no-nonsense lessons in tailing suspects and thinking like a cop could save your life.
[] Research Gotham's History: There's power in knowledge. By digging through the city's archives, you might uncover forgotten truths—or warnings.
[] Confront the Matron: She knows more than she lets on. Confronting her directly could be risky but might force her to reveal something valuable.
[] Do Nothing: The chaos can wait. Take a moment to breathe, process, and gather your strength. Sometimes the best action is rest.
AN: Enjoy and vote in plan format please.
[] The Detective: Through wit and observation, you'll uncover the city's darkest truths, piecing together the web of lies to bring justice to the forgotten and oppressed.
-------------------------------------------------------
"I have evidence. I have the ability to make choices and deductions. I'll shine the light on the truth and win the world over," you said, your smile growing. "I want to be a great detective, like in the movies, where the good guy wins, the bad guy loses, and everything works out."
Harvey Bullock snorted, leaning back in his chair as he shook his head. "You really think those movies give you any insight into how the world works? You think it's that simple?"
"Why not?" you replied with a shrug, your grin unwavering. "Seems like the movies are better at training me for the world than anyone else has been so far."
Bullock sighed, rubbing his temple like he was fighting off a headache. "Kid, do you even know what being a detective really requires? It's not some glamorous, clean-cut role with a happy ending every time."
You crossed your arms, leaning forward. "Staking out people, following them, finding evidence, piecing together the truth, using that evidence to make a case or, in my situation, to save my life. That's what it takes, right? Maroni won't kill me yet, and I still have the ability to mess with his plans."
Bullock's brow furrowed, his usual gruff demeanor giving way to something that almost looked like concern. "It's not just about the work, kid. Being a detective eats at you. You don't sleep, you don't trust anyone, and you sure as hell don't think you're gonna come out of it a hero. You're saying you're ready for that?"
"I don't have much of a choice now do I, with what I know, and whats coming," you said firmly. "Gotham doesn't exactly hand out fairytale endings. I know what I'm walking into, but that doesn't mean I'll back down. I'll be better. I have to be."
Bullock studied you, his lips pressed into a thin line. After a moment, he leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Kid, listen to me. The world doesn't play fair, and neither does Gotham. People like Maroni? They don't stop just because you've got evidence. Hell, half the time, the cops are too scared—or too dirty—to do anything with it."
"Then I'll do it myself," you shot back, your tone unwavering. "If the cops don't fight for what's right, then I will. Someone has to."
Bullock stared at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then he sighed, muttering under his breath, "You're gonna get yourself killed." He tapped the table with his knuckles, his voice hardening. "Fine. Let's say you manage to get something real on Maroni, something that sticks. What then? You've painted a target on your back the size of Gotham's skyline. You prepared for that? And if you get out of Maroni killing you, what makes you think that he won't take some other kid and put in the same situation?"
You hesitated, but only for a moment. "If it means making a difference, then yeah. I'm prepared. Fear doesn't stop me. I've lived in it my whole life. I want to shine the light, even if it burns me. As for making sure Maroni doesn't win or hurt anyone else…" You paused. "I'll figure it out."
Bullock leaned back, folding his arms as he gave you a long, assessing look. Finally, he smirked, though it was tinged with bitterness. "You've got guts, kid. Stupid, reckless guts, but guts all the same. Just remember—this city eats guts for breakfast."
"I guess I'll just have to be tougher to chew," you said, a small, defiant smile tugging at your lips.
Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw it—a blue butterfly, delicate and ethereal, fluttering through the dimly lit diner. It moved with purpose, drifting from Bullock's weary figure toward you.
The air grew heavy, and a deep, resonant voice echoed in your mind:
"I am thou, thou art I.
Through the trials of doubt and the flames of adversity, you shall grow unshaken.
With the Hierophant Arcana as your beacon, you will uncover the wisdom to guide others and the strength to uphold your convictions.
Let your resolve shine as a lantern in the abyss, and may your clarity illuminate the path ahead.
The journey is yours to command—unyielding, unwavering, triumphant."
Through the trials of doubt and the flames of adversity, you shall grow unshaken.
With the Hierophant Arcana as your beacon, you will uncover the wisdom to guide others and the strength to uphold your convictions.
Let your resolve shine as a lantern in the abyss, and may your clarity illuminate the path ahead.
The journey is yours to command—unyielding, unwavering, triumphant."
The butterfly dissolved into light, and a warmth spread through your chest. You felt a deep, unshakable sense of purpose stir within you, a clarity that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of your being.
Bullock noticed your expression and frowned. "You good, kid? You look like you just saw a ghost?"
You met his gaze, your smile sharper now, more determined. "Better than good, Detective. I know exactly what I need to do."
Reward: Harvey Bullock has joined your quest to purge Gotham of its festering underbelly. Though gruff and world-weary, he recognizes a spark in you—a determination he hasn't seen in years, buried under layers of cynicism. He may grumble about the stupidity of your plan, but his actions speak louder than his words. Whether he admits it or not, Bullock sees the potential for you to become the kind of detective Gotham desperately needs—the kind who refuses to back down, no matter the odds. And perhaps, in his own way, he's already learned something from you. After all, even he has to admit: that you've got a better start on being a detective than most.
-----------------------------
You have 10 turns to save your own life and bring down Maroni's conspiracy.
You have 4 actions.
Special Actions:
[]The Velvet Room: Margaret has been waiting for you, trying to… get you to come back so that you and her, and the Captian can speak.
-----------------------------------------
[] Investigate the Orphanage Money: You want to see if you can trace how Maroni has so much influence over the orphanage's finances—and why the city hasn't noticed.
[] Talk to John: John seems different now—calmer, more centered. Maybe it's time to check in and see what's changed.
[] Investigate the Library: The recent break-in remains a mystery. With fresh eyes, maybe you'll uncover something everyone else missed.
[] Visit Wayne Tower: Rumors swirl about Bruce Wayne and his secretive dealings. Perhaps someone at the tower knows more about his parents' legacy—and its ties to Gotham's darkness.
[] Follow Detective Bullock: He has his doubts, but he's willing to listen. You just might have the spark of an idea to help him crack the case.
[] Explore Gotham's Underground: The city's tunnels and sewers are more than hiding places—they're a hub of rumors and forgotten truths. If you dare, you might find someone who knows more.
[] Try to Make a Friend: Having someone besides John to rely on could make all the difference. Gotham is a lonely place, but there's always hope for connection.
[] Explore Crime Alley: Dangerous as it is, whispers claim that the key to Gotham's deepest mysteries lies in its darkest streets.
[] Visit the Clocktower: Recently, lights have been seen in the supposedly abandoned tower. What could be happening there after dark?
[] Visit the Police Archives: The GCPD's old records might contain clues about Maroni, Falcone, or other major players in Gotham's underworld. But getting in won't be easy.
[] Scout the Docks: The port is bustling with shady activity—smuggling, bribery, and worse. Following the right lead might expose how Maroni operates.
[] Train with Bullock: The detective doesn't make it easy, but his no-nonsense lessons in tailing suspects and thinking like a cop could save your life.
[] Research Gotham's History: There's power in knowledge. By digging through the city's archives, you might uncover forgotten truths—or warnings.
[] Confront the Matron: She knows more than she lets on. Confronting her directly could be risky but might force her to reveal something valuable.
[] Do Nothing: The chaos can wait. Take a moment to breathe, process, and gather your strength. Sometimes the best action is rest.
AN: Enjoy and vote in plan format please.
Vote closed
Part 15 A Total Change (Arc 1: Save Yourself)
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
Part 15 A Total Change (Arc 1: Save Yourself)
-[X] The Velvet Room: Margaret has been waiting for you, trying to… get you to come back so that you and her, and the Captian can speak.
The Velvet Room's entrance near Crime Alley was fittingly enigmatic—tucked away in a place where darkness lingered, yet transformation thrived. The juxtaposition made sense to you. This strange place, hidden in Gotham's shadows, was where your power could grow. It was where you could change.
The door creaked open, and the soft strains of ethereal music spilled out, welcoming you like an old friend. Inside, the apartment-like space exuded a surreal calm. Margaret and Adam, the two enigmatic residents of the Velvet Room, were seated at a small round table, engrossed in a card game.
Margaret glanced up from her hand. "Do you really find this necessary?" she asked Adam, a faint trace of bemusement in her tone. She gestured for you to enter as she eyed the cards with a raised brow. "Is this just your way of staving off boredom?"
Adam shrugged, his tone casual but edged with weariness. "You try being connected to a wall for eternity and tell me you wouldn't want something to pass the time. This… makes me feel normal."
You stepped fully inside, allowing the door to close softly behind you. "I'm home," you said with a small smile.
Both Margaret and Adam turned their attention to you. Margaret, ever the composed figure, tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful but stern. "The Velvet Room is not your home, as much as I might wish it could be. The confines of your current reality are... less than ideal."
You couldn't help but let out a short laugh, though it carried a bitter edge. "Believe me, Margaret, I'd love to get adopted by someone kind, someone who cares. But instead, I'm dealing with people who want to turn me into a martyr—use my death to ignite a gang war. So yeah, 'atrocious' doesn't quite cover it." You turned to Adam, changing the subject. "How about you? How's the eternal card-playing treating you?"
Adam chuckled dryly. "Let's just say your situation makes mine look pleasant by comparison."
Margaret folded her hands on the table, her eyes meeting yours with an intensity that seemed to pierce through your soul. "How may we assist you, Adam?"
You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. "I have a question—something that's been gnawing at me. The shadows I've been seeing around Gotham... Are they real?"
Margaret's expression didn't falter, but there was a weight to her words when she finally replied. "Yes. In a manner of speaking."
"Explain?" you pressed, leaning forward slightly.
Margaret exchanged a glance with Adam before addressing you. "The shadows you've seen are manifestations of despair, malice, and corruption. They are born from the collective unconscious of Gotham's people—an amalgamation of the city's darkest thoughts and fears. Some call them demons, others might see them as reflections of humanity's flaws. Regardless, they are very real to those who perceive them."
Adam added with a smirk, "Think of them as Gotham's... dirty little secrets, given form. And they really don't like being exposed."
You frowned, letting their words sink in. "So, these shadows—they're dangerous?"
Margaret's voice softened, though her tone was no less firm. "Dangerous, yes, but also an opportunity. They represent the very darkness you must confront—both within Gotham and within yourself. To face them is to take a step toward understanding the truths you seek."
"So… how do I fight them?" you asked, your voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
Margaret's gaze was steady, her tone calm but firm. "Normally, we would recommend avoiding such battles unless you are fully prepared. However, considering your unique circumstances, you may not have that luxury. It is imperative that you ready yourself."
"How so? Are you saying I need more than just my fists?" you asked, clenching your hands reflexively.
"A weapon would certainly be useful," Margaret acknowledged, folding her hands neatly in front of her. "You are, after all, facing monsters—creatures born from malice and despair. But you also have Icarus."
Adam leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at his lips. "He's your other self, your Persona. That's where your real strength lies. You need to trust him, use him, and fight without holding back. Survival means no limits."
You tilted your head, intrigued. "Do I get anything from fighting them?"
Adam shrugged, his tone becoming slightly more playful. "For one, you'll gain experience—literally and figuratively. Fighting will teach you how to strategize, adapt, and sharpen your skills. Oh, and sometimes they drop money. But don't get your hopes up—it's usually not enough for more than a bus fare."
You couldn't help but grin. "What if I fight a lot of them?"
That earned a chuckle from Margaret, a rare break from her composed demeanor. "At least he's not a loot goblin-like some of the others we've dealt with."
You raised an eyebrow, confused. "What's a loot goblin?"
Margaret waved a hand dismissively, her smile softening. "Believe me, it's better if you don't know."
Adam snorted, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Let's just say, some people get very enthusiastic about shiny things and forget there's a fight going on. You? You're better off focusing on staying alive."
"So, get a weapon, trust Icarus, and keep my eyes on the goal," you summarized.
"Exactly," Margaret said, nodding approvingly. "The shadows are not mere obstacles—they are a test. Each victory will bring you closer to understanding the power you wield and the purpose you must fulfill."
Adam grinned. "And hey, if you happen to pick up some loose change along the way, I won't judge."
You laughed, the weight of the situation momentarily lightened by their banter. "Guess it's time to get started, then."
Margaret's expression turned serious once more. "Remember, Adam—each battle will require both strength and wisdom. The Velvet Room will always be here if you need guidance. Use it wisely."
Reward: Gain new actions: Fighting the Shadows Of Gotham.
Will now gain money that can be used during the time skip to upgrade… lodgings, equipment, and general wellbeing.
---------------------------------------------------------
-[X] Investigate the Orphanage Money: You want to see if you can trace how Maroni has so much influence over the orphanage's finances—and why the city hasn't noticed.
Sneaking into the accounting room of the orphanage was, admittedly, a daunting task.
For anyone else, it might have seemed impossible, but you were more determined than most. After all, this wasn't just curiosity driving you—it was survival. Your life depended on uncovering the truth, no matter how dark it might be.
The timing had to be perfect. You waited for the Matron to finish locking up the room and head out for her nightly cigarette break, watching her shuffle down the dimly lit hallway. Once the coast was clear, you slipped in, heart pounding, every creak of the floorboards making your breath hitch.
The door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, silence enveloped the small, cramped office. Stacks of papers, ledgers, and filing cabinets loomed around you like silent sentinels. The faint scent of stale tobacco lingered in the air—a reminder of the Matron's frequent presence.
You knew this was risky. Bullock had warned you not to overreach, to prepare before making any bold moves. But you were here now, and there was no turning back.
As you rifled through the drawers, your eyes scanned pages and pages of neatly kept records, their contents unraveling the horrifying truth.
Names of children.
Dates of adoptions.
And payments. Always payments.
Each "adoption" was tied to a crime family. These weren't new homes—they were sentences. The children were used as pawns: traffickers, drug mules, and worse. Most of them didn't last a year. Runaways and fatalities were marked in cold, clinical language, as they were returned to the morgue, or just disappeared entirely.
The orphanage was profiting off their misery, collecting payments for every child sold into Gotham's underbelly. The names of buyers and families were all there, laid out in black and white, the paper trail damning enough to bring down powerful people.
Your stomach churned as the weight of it all hit you. This wasn't just about you anymore. It was so much bigger—so much worse than you had imagined.
But then came the sinking realization: you couldn't take the files. Not yet. If anyone noticed they were gone, you'd tip your hand, and they'd bury the evidence faster than you could blink.
Your hands trembled as you carefully placed the papers back where you found them, committing as much as you could to memory. You'd have to return for them when the time was right—when you had a plan.
For now, all you could do was leave the evidence hidden and hope you'd survive long enough to use it.
Reward:
You uncovered evidence tying the Gotham Orphanage to human trafficking, along with the names of those responsible. But for now, it remains out of your reach, and you'll need more than just the truth to bring them down.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-[X] Visit the Police Archives: The GCPD's old records might contain clues about Maroni, Falcone, or other major players in Gotham's underworld. But getting in won't be easy.
You didn't think it could get any worse than uncovering the horrors of the Gotham Orphanage.
But you were wrong.
Sitting in the dimly lit archives of the GCPD, you stared at five case files spread out before you. The department's massive database held over ten million files, and you'd managed to claw through the chaos to find these specific ones.
The officers had scoffed at your presence, dismissing you as a snot-nosed kid with no business poking around their cases. They muttered under their breath, eyeing you with irritation and suspicion. To them, you were either wasting their time or trying to humiliate them by finding patterns they had missed—or worse, ignored.
Because this was the GCPD, and even in your short time investigating, you weren't naïve enough to think they were above negligence.
The names on the files stared back at you, each one accompanied by a grim photo and a tragic tale.
All had been adopted from the orphanage into the clutches of Gotham's criminal underbelly. And all five had wound up dead, their bodies dumped in the river like garbage and found half eaten when they washed ashore. The reports and newspapers painted them as delinquents, casualties of their own poor choices. Mental health struggles, drug abuse, failed attempts to get clean—the same tired narratives used to explain away their untimely ends.
But the deeper you dug, the more inconsistencies you found. Esspscially with their unsealed medical records being in the files, somehow not being returned to the hospital when they were done.
None of them had a history of drug use or mental illness before their adoptions. In fact, their records painted them as ordinary kids: bright, hopeful, even talented. But within months of entering their new homes, their lives unraveled in horrifyingly similar ways. Delinquency, drug use, hallucinations… anger… The reports never asked why.
The police never connected the dots.
To them, it was a tragic coincidence—unfortunate, but unremarkable. No one cared enough to look deeper.
But you did.
You saw the pattern emerging, the sinister thread tying them together. They weren't random victims. They were pawns in a much larger game, discarded when they were no longer useful.
You saw them mentioned at nightclubs where drugs were sold. At places where runners were used. Being at the scene of crimes, traumatized, with bruises and other wounds.
The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. The orphanage wasn't just failing these kids—it was feeding them to the wolves. And the GCPD either couldn't or wouldn't do a damn thing about it.
The files felt heavy in your hands, the weight of their stories pressing down on you. For a moment, you wondered if you were in over your head. This wasn't just about surviving anymore. It was about justice—justice for Sarah, Jose, Jasper, Henrietta, and Duke. And all the others who died… wo will die if you don't stop this.
But to get it, you'd need more than just these files. You'd need proof, allies, and a way to expose the rot festering at the heart of Gotham.
For now, you carefully closed the folders, your mind racing with possibilities. You weren't sure what your next move would be, but one thing was certain: you wouldn't let their stories be forgotten.
Reward: You have circumstantial evidence. But it's evidence of neglect, and abuse…
It might not be enough for a conviction… but it might be enough for some search warrants.
---------------------------------
-[X] Train with Bullock: The detective doesn't make it easy, but his no-nonsense lessons in tailing suspects and thinking like a cop could save your life.
Harvey smirked, glancing at you as he took another bite of his sandwich. The smell of mustard and cheap deli meat filled the air inside the parked car.
"A lot of this crap is just… sitting in a car and waiting?" you asked, staring out the window at the dimly lit street.
"Yep," he replied, crumbs falling onto his lap.
"This is boring."
"Yep."
You frowned. "Does the Comish know you're out here trying to teach me how to do this?"
"Yep," he said with a chuckle. "This ride-along is totally unsanctioned by the GCPD. I mean, I doubt the Comish would sign off on this even if I asked."
Great. You slouched in the seat. "So… what are we doing, anyway?"
"Watching who goes into that building," he replied casually, gesturing toward a crumbling brick structure across the street. The neon glow of a flickering sign above the door painted the sidewalk in garish reds and blues.
You squinted, focusing on the entrance. "Looks like a lot of adults, and, uh… a lot of women dressed like they're not planning to stay in for the night."
Harvey chuckled, his eyes still on the building. "Look again, kid. See the man by the door? Look at his hands."
Your gaze shifted. The man leaned against the wall, casually surveying the street. "He's armed. Probably has a baton or a pistol," you replied after a moment.
"Nope," Harvey said, shaking his head. "He's a cop. Look how his hand keeps drifting toward his side, like he's checking for his badge, even though it's not there. Old habits die hard."
You raised an eyebrow. "Okay, but how does that help me?"
Harvey turned to you, his expression more serious now. "You've gotta know who's who at a single glance, without second-guessing. That instinct can mean the difference between staying alive or blowing your cover. Or worse, losing a lead."
He gestured toward the building again. "Take another look. See that woman in the red dress, by the car? What do you notice?"
You observed her for a moment. "She's not as flashy as the others. Her heels are low, she keeps looking around. Probably security or someone important."
"Good catch," Harvey said, nodding. "That's Leona Callas. She's a runner for the Maronis. Low profile, big connections. If she's here, it means something's going down. Probably some drug trade, money laundering or gun running. She isn't there to look pretty, she's here for results."
The pieces started clicking into place. "So we're not just watching the building… we're watching the players."
"Bingo," Harvey said, polishing off his sandwich. "You learn to spot the tells, the routines, and the mistakes. That's how you stay ahead of this city's scumbags. And kid, if you wanna survive Gotham, you're gonna need every edge you can get."
You leaned back, your eyes returning to the building, a new determination settling in. "Got it. No more second-guessing."
Harvey grinned. "That's the spirit. Now keep your eyes peeled. The night's just getting started."
Reward: You begin learning how to be a detective.
And you might be a good one. Eventually.
----------------------------------------------------------------
You have 9 turns to save your own life and bring down Maroni's conspiracy.
You have 4 actions.
Special Actions:
[]Fighting the Shadows Of Gotham: You are going to wander the streets of Gotham, and fight the Shadows that prowl it.
[]Reveal the Truth: You have something to show the world, maybe it will be enough to save you. (Warning, you have enough evidence, but do not think for a second, it will stop Maroni… you may need more)
-----------------------------------------------------
[] Shadow the Matron: If confronting her is too risky, watching her from the shadows might reveal her alliances and hidden dealings.
[] Examine Crime Scenes: With Bullock's guidance—or on your own—revisit old cases to see what others missed. Fresh perspectives often uncover new leads.
[] Tail Maroni's Men: They're careful, but not perfect. Following them discreetly could reveal key locations and plans.
[] Break into Gotham PD Evidence Room: The police might be hiding crucial pieces of the puzzle. If you're stealthy, you might find something they've buried.
[] Find an Ally in the Media: A good journalist might expose truths you can't. Finding someone willing to listen and act could be the boost you need.
[] Talk to John: John seems different now—calmer, more centered. Maybe it's time to check in and see what's changed.
[] Investigate the Library: The recent break-in remains a mystery. With fresh eyes, maybe you'll uncover something everyone else missed.
[] Visit Wayne Tower: Rumors swirl about Bruce Wayne and his secretive dealings. Perhaps someone at the tower knows more about his parents' legacy—and its ties to Gotham's darkness.
[] Follow Detective Bullock: He has his doubts, but he's willing to listen. You just might have the spark of an idea to help him crack the case.
[] Explore Gotham's Underground: The city's tunnels and sewers are more than hiding places—they're a hub of rumors and forgotten truths. If you dare, you might find someone who knows more.
[] Try to Make a Friend: Having someone besides John to rely on could make all the difference. Gotham is a lonely place, but there's always hope for connection.
[] Explore Crime Alley: Dangerous as it is, whispers claim that the key to Gotham's deepest mysteries lies in its darkest streets.
[] Visit the Clocktower: Recently, lights have been seen in the supposedly abandoned tower. What could be happening there after dark?
[] Scout the Docks: The port is bustling with shady activity—smuggling, bribery, and worse. Following the right lead might expose how Maroni operates.
[] Train with Bullock: The detective doesn't make it easy, but his no-nonsense lessons in tailing suspects and thinking like a cop could save your life.
[] Research Gotham's History: There's power in knowledge. By digging through the city's archives, you might uncover forgotten truths—or warnings.
[] Confront the Matron: She knows more than she lets on. Confronting her directly could be risky but might force her to reveal something valuable.
[] Do Nothing: The chaos can wait. Take a moment to breathe, process, and gather your strength. Sometimes the best action is rest.
AN: Enjoy and please vote in plan format please.
-[X] The Velvet Room: Margaret has been waiting for you, trying to… get you to come back so that you and her, and the Captian can speak.
The Velvet Room's entrance near Crime Alley was fittingly enigmatic—tucked away in a place where darkness lingered, yet transformation thrived. The juxtaposition made sense to you. This strange place, hidden in Gotham's shadows, was where your power could grow. It was where you could change.
The door creaked open, and the soft strains of ethereal music spilled out, welcoming you like an old friend. Inside, the apartment-like space exuded a surreal calm. Margaret and Adam, the two enigmatic residents of the Velvet Room, were seated at a small round table, engrossed in a card game.
Margaret glanced up from her hand. "Do you really find this necessary?" she asked Adam, a faint trace of bemusement in her tone. She gestured for you to enter as she eyed the cards with a raised brow. "Is this just your way of staving off boredom?"
Adam shrugged, his tone casual but edged with weariness. "You try being connected to a wall for eternity and tell me you wouldn't want something to pass the time. This… makes me feel normal."
You stepped fully inside, allowing the door to close softly behind you. "I'm home," you said with a small smile.
Both Margaret and Adam turned their attention to you. Margaret, ever the composed figure, tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful but stern. "The Velvet Room is not your home, as much as I might wish it could be. The confines of your current reality are... less than ideal."
You couldn't help but let out a short laugh, though it carried a bitter edge. "Believe me, Margaret, I'd love to get adopted by someone kind, someone who cares. But instead, I'm dealing with people who want to turn me into a martyr—use my death to ignite a gang war. So yeah, 'atrocious' doesn't quite cover it." You turned to Adam, changing the subject. "How about you? How's the eternal card-playing treating you?"
Adam chuckled dryly. "Let's just say your situation makes mine look pleasant by comparison."
Margaret folded her hands on the table, her eyes meeting yours with an intensity that seemed to pierce through your soul. "How may we assist you, Adam?"
You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. "I have a question—something that's been gnawing at me. The shadows I've been seeing around Gotham... Are they real?"
Margaret's expression didn't falter, but there was a weight to her words when she finally replied. "Yes. In a manner of speaking."
"Explain?" you pressed, leaning forward slightly.
Margaret exchanged a glance with Adam before addressing you. "The shadows you've seen are manifestations of despair, malice, and corruption. They are born from the collective unconscious of Gotham's people—an amalgamation of the city's darkest thoughts and fears. Some call them demons, others might see them as reflections of humanity's flaws. Regardless, they are very real to those who perceive them."
Adam added with a smirk, "Think of them as Gotham's... dirty little secrets, given form. And they really don't like being exposed."
You frowned, letting their words sink in. "So, these shadows—they're dangerous?"
Margaret's voice softened, though her tone was no less firm. "Dangerous, yes, but also an opportunity. They represent the very darkness you must confront—both within Gotham and within yourself. To face them is to take a step toward understanding the truths you seek."
"So… how do I fight them?" you asked, your voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
Margaret's gaze was steady, her tone calm but firm. "Normally, we would recommend avoiding such battles unless you are fully prepared. However, considering your unique circumstances, you may not have that luxury. It is imperative that you ready yourself."
"How so? Are you saying I need more than just my fists?" you asked, clenching your hands reflexively.
"A weapon would certainly be useful," Margaret acknowledged, folding her hands neatly in front of her. "You are, after all, facing monsters—creatures born from malice and despair. But you also have Icarus."
Adam leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing at his lips. "He's your other self, your Persona. That's where your real strength lies. You need to trust him, use him, and fight without holding back. Survival means no limits."
You tilted your head, intrigued. "Do I get anything from fighting them?"
Adam shrugged, his tone becoming slightly more playful. "For one, you'll gain experience—literally and figuratively. Fighting will teach you how to strategize, adapt, and sharpen your skills. Oh, and sometimes they drop money. But don't get your hopes up—it's usually not enough for more than a bus fare."
You couldn't help but grin. "What if I fight a lot of them?"
That earned a chuckle from Margaret, a rare break from her composed demeanor. "At least he's not a loot goblin-like some of the others we've dealt with."
You raised an eyebrow, confused. "What's a loot goblin?"
Margaret waved a hand dismissively, her smile softening. "Believe me, it's better if you don't know."
Adam snorted, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Let's just say, some people get very enthusiastic about shiny things and forget there's a fight going on. You? You're better off focusing on staying alive."
"So, get a weapon, trust Icarus, and keep my eyes on the goal," you summarized.
"Exactly," Margaret said, nodding approvingly. "The shadows are not mere obstacles—they are a test. Each victory will bring you closer to understanding the power you wield and the purpose you must fulfill."
Adam grinned. "And hey, if you happen to pick up some loose change along the way, I won't judge."
You laughed, the weight of the situation momentarily lightened by their banter. "Guess it's time to get started, then."
Margaret's expression turned serious once more. "Remember, Adam—each battle will require both strength and wisdom. The Velvet Room will always be here if you need guidance. Use it wisely."
Reward: Gain new actions: Fighting the Shadows Of Gotham.
Will now gain money that can be used during the time skip to upgrade… lodgings, equipment, and general wellbeing.
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-[X] Investigate the Orphanage Money: You want to see if you can trace how Maroni has so much influence over the orphanage's finances—and why the city hasn't noticed.
Sneaking into the accounting room of the orphanage was, admittedly, a daunting task.
For anyone else, it might have seemed impossible, but you were more determined than most. After all, this wasn't just curiosity driving you—it was survival. Your life depended on uncovering the truth, no matter how dark it might be.
The timing had to be perfect. You waited for the Matron to finish locking up the room and head out for her nightly cigarette break, watching her shuffle down the dimly lit hallway. Once the coast was clear, you slipped in, heart pounding, every creak of the floorboards making your breath hitch.
The door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, silence enveloped the small, cramped office. Stacks of papers, ledgers, and filing cabinets loomed around you like silent sentinels. The faint scent of stale tobacco lingered in the air—a reminder of the Matron's frequent presence.
You knew this was risky. Bullock had warned you not to overreach, to prepare before making any bold moves. But you were here now, and there was no turning back.
As you rifled through the drawers, your eyes scanned pages and pages of neatly kept records, their contents unraveling the horrifying truth.
Names of children.
Dates of adoptions.
And payments. Always payments.
Each "adoption" was tied to a crime family. These weren't new homes—they were sentences. The children were used as pawns: traffickers, drug mules, and worse. Most of them didn't last a year. Runaways and fatalities were marked in cold, clinical language, as they were returned to the morgue, or just disappeared entirely.
The orphanage was profiting off their misery, collecting payments for every child sold into Gotham's underbelly. The names of buyers and families were all there, laid out in black and white, the paper trail damning enough to bring down powerful people.
Your stomach churned as the weight of it all hit you. This wasn't just about you anymore. It was so much bigger—so much worse than you had imagined.
But then came the sinking realization: you couldn't take the files. Not yet. If anyone noticed they were gone, you'd tip your hand, and they'd bury the evidence faster than you could blink.
Your hands trembled as you carefully placed the papers back where you found them, committing as much as you could to memory. You'd have to return for them when the time was right—when you had a plan.
For now, all you could do was leave the evidence hidden and hope you'd survive long enough to use it.
Reward:
You uncovered evidence tying the Gotham Orphanage to human trafficking, along with the names of those responsible. But for now, it remains out of your reach, and you'll need more than just the truth to bring them down.
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-[X] Visit the Police Archives: The GCPD's old records might contain clues about Maroni, Falcone, or other major players in Gotham's underworld. But getting in won't be easy.
You didn't think it could get any worse than uncovering the horrors of the Gotham Orphanage.
But you were wrong.
Sitting in the dimly lit archives of the GCPD, you stared at five case files spread out before you. The department's massive database held over ten million files, and you'd managed to claw through the chaos to find these specific ones.
The officers had scoffed at your presence, dismissing you as a snot-nosed kid with no business poking around their cases. They muttered under their breath, eyeing you with irritation and suspicion. To them, you were either wasting their time or trying to humiliate them by finding patterns they had missed—or worse, ignored.
Because this was the GCPD, and even in your short time investigating, you weren't naïve enough to think they were above negligence.
The names on the files stared back at you, each one accompanied by a grim photo and a tragic tale.
- Sarah Philips
- Jose Rodriguez
- Jasper Williker
- Henrietta Graves
- Duke Graves
All had been adopted from the orphanage into the clutches of Gotham's criminal underbelly. And all five had wound up dead, their bodies dumped in the river like garbage and found half eaten when they washed ashore. The reports and newspapers painted them as delinquents, casualties of their own poor choices. Mental health struggles, drug abuse, failed attempts to get clean—the same tired narratives used to explain away their untimely ends.
But the deeper you dug, the more inconsistencies you found. Esspscially with their unsealed medical records being in the files, somehow not being returned to the hospital when they were done.
None of them had a history of drug use or mental illness before their adoptions. In fact, their records painted them as ordinary kids: bright, hopeful, even talented. But within months of entering their new homes, their lives unraveled in horrifyingly similar ways. Delinquency, drug use, hallucinations… anger… The reports never asked why.
The police never connected the dots.
To them, it was a tragic coincidence—unfortunate, but unremarkable. No one cared enough to look deeper.
But you did.
You saw the pattern emerging, the sinister thread tying them together. They weren't random victims. They were pawns in a much larger game, discarded when they were no longer useful.
You saw them mentioned at nightclubs where drugs were sold. At places where runners were used. Being at the scene of crimes, traumatized, with bruises and other wounds.
The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. The orphanage wasn't just failing these kids—it was feeding them to the wolves. And the GCPD either couldn't or wouldn't do a damn thing about it.
The files felt heavy in your hands, the weight of their stories pressing down on you. For a moment, you wondered if you were in over your head. This wasn't just about surviving anymore. It was about justice—justice for Sarah, Jose, Jasper, Henrietta, and Duke. And all the others who died… wo will die if you don't stop this.
But to get it, you'd need more than just these files. You'd need proof, allies, and a way to expose the rot festering at the heart of Gotham.
For now, you carefully closed the folders, your mind racing with possibilities. You weren't sure what your next move would be, but one thing was certain: you wouldn't let their stories be forgotten.
Reward: You have circumstantial evidence. But it's evidence of neglect, and abuse…
It might not be enough for a conviction… but it might be enough for some search warrants.
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-[X] Train with Bullock: The detective doesn't make it easy, but his no-nonsense lessons in tailing suspects and thinking like a cop could save your life.
Harvey smirked, glancing at you as he took another bite of his sandwich. The smell of mustard and cheap deli meat filled the air inside the parked car.
"A lot of this crap is just… sitting in a car and waiting?" you asked, staring out the window at the dimly lit street.
"Yep," he replied, crumbs falling onto his lap.
"This is boring."
"Yep."
You frowned. "Does the Comish know you're out here trying to teach me how to do this?"
"Yep," he said with a chuckle. "This ride-along is totally unsanctioned by the GCPD. I mean, I doubt the Comish would sign off on this even if I asked."
Great. You slouched in the seat. "So… what are we doing, anyway?"
"Watching who goes into that building," he replied casually, gesturing toward a crumbling brick structure across the street. The neon glow of a flickering sign above the door painted the sidewalk in garish reds and blues.
You squinted, focusing on the entrance. "Looks like a lot of adults, and, uh… a lot of women dressed like they're not planning to stay in for the night."
Harvey chuckled, his eyes still on the building. "Look again, kid. See the man by the door? Look at his hands."
Your gaze shifted. The man leaned against the wall, casually surveying the street. "He's armed. Probably has a baton or a pistol," you replied after a moment.
"Nope," Harvey said, shaking his head. "He's a cop. Look how his hand keeps drifting toward his side, like he's checking for his badge, even though it's not there. Old habits die hard."
You raised an eyebrow. "Okay, but how does that help me?"
Harvey turned to you, his expression more serious now. "You've gotta know who's who at a single glance, without second-guessing. That instinct can mean the difference between staying alive or blowing your cover. Or worse, losing a lead."
He gestured toward the building again. "Take another look. See that woman in the red dress, by the car? What do you notice?"
You observed her for a moment. "She's not as flashy as the others. Her heels are low, she keeps looking around. Probably security or someone important."
"Good catch," Harvey said, nodding. "That's Leona Callas. She's a runner for the Maronis. Low profile, big connections. If she's here, it means something's going down. Probably some drug trade, money laundering or gun running. She isn't there to look pretty, she's here for results."
The pieces started clicking into place. "So we're not just watching the building… we're watching the players."
"Bingo," Harvey said, polishing off his sandwich. "You learn to spot the tells, the routines, and the mistakes. That's how you stay ahead of this city's scumbags. And kid, if you wanna survive Gotham, you're gonna need every edge you can get."
You leaned back, your eyes returning to the building, a new determination settling in. "Got it. No more second-guessing."
Harvey grinned. "That's the spirit. Now keep your eyes peeled. The night's just getting started."
Reward: You begin learning how to be a detective.
And you might be a good one. Eventually.
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You have 9 turns to save your own life and bring down Maroni's conspiracy.
You have 4 actions.
Special Actions:
[]Fighting the Shadows Of Gotham: You are going to wander the streets of Gotham, and fight the Shadows that prowl it.
[]Reveal the Truth: You have something to show the world, maybe it will be enough to save you. (Warning, you have enough evidence, but do not think for a second, it will stop Maroni… you may need more)
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[] Shadow the Matron: If confronting her is too risky, watching her from the shadows might reveal her alliances and hidden dealings.
[] Examine Crime Scenes: With Bullock's guidance—or on your own—revisit old cases to see what others missed. Fresh perspectives often uncover new leads.
[] Tail Maroni's Men: They're careful, but not perfect. Following them discreetly could reveal key locations and plans.
[] Break into Gotham PD Evidence Room: The police might be hiding crucial pieces of the puzzle. If you're stealthy, you might find something they've buried.
[] Find an Ally in the Media: A good journalist might expose truths you can't. Finding someone willing to listen and act could be the boost you need.
[] Talk to John: John seems different now—calmer, more centered. Maybe it's time to check in and see what's changed.
[] Investigate the Library: The recent break-in remains a mystery. With fresh eyes, maybe you'll uncover something everyone else missed.
[] Visit Wayne Tower: Rumors swirl about Bruce Wayne and his secretive dealings. Perhaps someone at the tower knows more about his parents' legacy—and its ties to Gotham's darkness.
[] Follow Detective Bullock: He has his doubts, but he's willing to listen. You just might have the spark of an idea to help him crack the case.
[] Explore Gotham's Underground: The city's tunnels and sewers are more than hiding places—they're a hub of rumors and forgotten truths. If you dare, you might find someone who knows more.
[] Try to Make a Friend: Having someone besides John to rely on could make all the difference. Gotham is a lonely place, but there's always hope for connection.
[] Explore Crime Alley: Dangerous as it is, whispers claim that the key to Gotham's deepest mysteries lies in its darkest streets.
[] Visit the Clocktower: Recently, lights have been seen in the supposedly abandoned tower. What could be happening there after dark?
[] Scout the Docks: The port is bustling with shady activity—smuggling, bribery, and worse. Following the right lead might expose how Maroni operates.
[] Train with Bullock: The detective doesn't make it easy, but his no-nonsense lessons in tailing suspects and thinking like a cop could save your life.
[] Research Gotham's History: There's power in knowledge. By digging through the city's archives, you might uncover forgotten truths—or warnings.
[] Confront the Matron: She knows more than she lets on. Confronting her directly could be risky but might force her to reveal something valuable.
[] Do Nothing: The chaos can wait. Take a moment to breathe, process, and gather your strength. Sometimes the best action is rest.
AN: Enjoy and please vote in plan format please.
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