Chapter Text
His life fucking sucked.
Akira means it - life fucking sucked, and not in a good way, not in a 'temporary-bad-time' way, not in a hopeful way, and not even in a sexy way.
He's laying down on his sofa, blanket half kicked off, staring at his spotty ceiling like a dumbass. A bottle of wine rolls around the floor and he reaches for it, taking a swig, before letting it roll further away.
Glass on wood.
He's twenty-six.
He's tired, drunk, pathetic, alone, and contemplating death.
Life fucking sucks - and Akira had nothing left to give, for a long time now. Empty and dry.
His low-paying part-time jobs (because his criminal record didn't magically disappear), unfinished college degree (barely any schools wanted him), dirty sink (yeah) and incoming hangover (yeah...) all scream at him, yet all he hears is a two-note silence. Numb, depressing, and dull.
It's been almost ten years since ... back then.
Ten years since he's been a teenager, running around the Metaverse. Ten years since he last felt that his life had meaning. Ten years since he was doing something worthwhile, something that made a difference.
- Once, he was changing hearts left and right for the good of society, for justice, to protect the weak from corrupt adults, hope filling his naive heart.
Now, he's old enough to know better.
Humanity didn't deserve salvation. Never did.
People didn't deserve to be saved, not then, not now. There was no redemption here, no catch, no grand reform. Just a never-ending, terrible, shit show.
Society is fucking pathetic.
Humans are not worth saving, and reforming them was a fool's errand.
Every other year, another few 'Shidos' run for office. The Justice system is filled to the brim with money-obsessed, victory-focused ignorant 'Saes'.
A dozen 'Okumuras' and 'Kaneshiros' run big corpo across the globe, ruining the planet and everyone's lives while they're at it.
People like that pop up all the time - like carbon copies of those same, evil originals, cut from the same cloth and different mold.
The new 'Madarames' took a on different form nowadays - as Internet influencers, lying for views, gossiping and spreading misinformation, stealing other's work and passing it as their truth. Disfiguring it beyond belief. Jumping down each other's throats for drama. Shaping the minds of the next generation into mush.
Every other day, news reports chime in with another wave of 'Kamoshidas' raping someone else. The amount of criminals never lessening.
Like a hydra, you cut off one head - and five new grow to replace it.
...If the Metaverse still existed, Joker knows he would run tirelessly to stop these people. There were so many - but he used to havr the means to change it at least, and he would try.
Hell, even if he had to clean them up permanently, he would...
... No. It was pointless to think that.
It didn't change the fact that, the root cause, this rotten humanity, population growing - won't disappear.
Even if he tried his best, in this reality, he will never be able to destroy the source, this human nature...
Akira sees it as clear as day. He has less power now than he did back then, and yet, his eyes are wide open, seeing more than ever.
He's painfully aware of how utterly shit this world is.
Always going in circles. Spiraling towards the end.
How pointless...
With a bone-deep sigh, Akira closes his eyes.
...Akira blinks. Blinks again, cursing. A sea of blue greets him, irritating, intense, and cold ultramarine.
"Trickster?" Ah. Funny.
"--Trickster, please wake up." It was so fucking funny that the Velvet Room only reached out when they needed something from him. "We have a request..."
"Oh?" Just as he expected.
Five jobs and I still hate every new power figure I come across.
Akira hauls himself off his prison bunk bed (not much has changed within his heart, after all these years?) and walks up to the small girl in the middle of the room, looking up at him.
She hasn't aged a day, that Lavenza. Clad in her blue dress, tiny, regal, and forever young. It must be so nice to not be plagued by the fear of mortality.
It must be nice, to be...
"My request is..."
"-- Let me guess, another god to slay? Please," Akira sneers, no holds barred. He defeated three gods for these velvet freaks, for 'the good of humanity' or whatever bullshit, and he still has scars to prove it. Scoffing, he spits, "Humanity won't get any better no matter how many gods I kill."
Her gaze flattens.
"...We will soon welcome another guest."
And Akira... Akira freezes. He doesn't move, doesn't breathe.
He doesn't know how to feel about that information.
Another guest..? Another fool..?
"We will put our hopes onto another champion of humanity, as another disaster nears. We will guide him, as we did you."
Joker still doesn't have a response. Just staring at Lavenza is becoming too hard. The walls are closing in.
She continues, unperturbed.
"As you are our previous guest, my request to you is this," She summons her clipboard, "How can we make his experience better than yours? What led you down such a dark, hopeless path? You were so promising, but your bonds have rusted terribly, so please... Tell me, what can we do, to give him better assistance?"
And Akira, just, - snaps.
He laughs, and guffaws, and chokes on another bout of giggles and manic chortles. It's not a pretty laugh. It's raw and unhinged, uncontrolled and harsh.
It's rough, loud, and leaves him breathless - before he laughs again, he's suffocating on it.
Gasping.
"Trickster?"
- As he, slowly, catches his breath, he realizes at some point he's keeled over. His hands scrape the rough brick below, collapsed on the floor, and Lavenza is eye-to-eye with him now, and...
Her eyes are full of pity.
Fuck this.
"You wanna know what would have made my 'experience' better? Do you?!"
"I'm listening--"
"If you didn't FUCKING RUIN MY LIFE." He screams, and the girl flinches, but Akira's heart has no room for sympathy.
Not after all the trauma and pain he's been through.
The unjust arrest, harsh, forever staining his name. The beatings and torture from the interrogation room. Lifelong fear of needles. The near brushes with death in the Metaverse. The confidants that broke his back as he scrambled to help them with their issues. The sacrifices he had to make.
Being erased from existence. The shrewd looks after his criminal record remained, limiting his opportunities for his entire life. Never getting his justice. His inability to trust anyone anymore, or go to therapy, ever again.
Watching death up close - The guilt that came with it. The grief. The heavy burden only he could carry.
Playing an unjust game, with rigged rules, and no victory, no effect. Society equally as fucked up as before.
- All because of some gods that made a stupid bet? For fun? Because they were bored? Wanted to play around with life and death?
After it was over, seeing his own thieves suffer, then turn away from him, one by one. His confidants only wanted him if he could help them, he just didn't want to admit it.
Let's be real, all his relationships were transactional.
...And Akira had nothing. Left. To give.
As he kneels there, shaking, Lavenza only looks at him. She doesn't react, and doesn't come closer to a broken, old trickster. She's not human, she will never understand - and besides, she has sights for another to replace him, so why bother?
Another poor, naive young soul will take his place. A teen, so full of promise, of hope, to replace this adult, rotten trickster that lived and realized...
... Life truly doesn't get any better.
There is no happy ending at the end of this.
They are locked in a standstill as Akira catches his breath, and Lavenza has no comfort left to give, staring at him. Just as she's about to open her mouth and send him away...
Something odd happens.
The walls of the Velvet Room get colder, darker.
Brick crumbling. The deep blue fog turns into sharp crimson, like an alarm, but smelling of blood. Metallic tang filling the room.
Heavy atmosphere falls over them both, and Joker looks up, surprised.
The girl, an ethereal Metaverse being before him, shudders. She actually looks on edge, too, shaking her head from side to side, trying to spot something in the shadows.
"No, it's... It's you..!" - Lavenza exclaims, dropping her clipboard. "How did you get here?!"
- A laugh is all she hears in response. It's a laugh that feels oddly similar to Akira's, as he listens curiously.
It's getting closer.
"Scram, warden," The shadows seem to speak all at once, from every corner, that smiling lilt heard in the voice. "Go back to your master like a good girl."
" Wha--?! "
Lavenza has a second to gape before an invisible force throws her at a wall. She collapses weakly over the rubble, unconscious, hair a mess and dress tarnished, while Joker can only stare.
The shadows coalesce into one. The red mist parts around him, swirls, and from within, two black boots emerge, standing before Akira.
He looks up.
- Pale skin, dark hair swept to the side, a stubble, and a fancy suit. A crooked smirk, sharp, going together with his angled eyebrows. Tired lines around his mouth, and yellow, yet earnest, eyes - Honest, even if guarded.
A man stands here, tall, and extends a hand towards Joker. Intense pressure coils all around his form.
"Good day, trickster." The newcomer says calmly, and his voice lingers long after he spoke. "I am called Nyarlathotep. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Akira doesn't have to think long. He takes the offered hand, and gets up.
"Likewise."