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Goro Akechi was not born with venom in his veins, but with each life taken it grew in him, ever more potent and hungry.
His first brush with death was age 8. He came home from the bathhouse with pruned fingers and water droplets in his hair, skinned knees and one front tooth, and his mother's latest fling was on the living room floor with tracks in his arms and a cold dead stare. His mother shooed him to his room, but that man's vacant stare followed him long after the sirens took his body away.
His second was age 10, only this time was his fault. She told him as much. Cursed his name in the same breath as Shido's, before she bled out in the tub as he begged her to stay. She haunts him too, in the colour of his eyes, the cowlick in his hair. Blood and water.
At age 12, all knees and elbows, in the orphanage yard a baby bird cried up at him having fallen from its nest, and he didn't have the heart to feel sorry for it. He envied the inevitability it faced while simultaneously, illogically, hoping it would fly away home. He's called inside without ever knowing its end and perhaps that's for the best, because maybe in some reality it didn't die alone and unwanted in the dirt.
He was 15 when he dreamt of his other self. Locked up like a caged beast, in a velvet room on the edge of reality, a long nosed man dangled possibility before him. Starved for it as he was, how could he refuse?
And so Loki emerges. Thou art I, trickster, true self. As twisted on the outside as he was inside; hard lines of black and white, bleeding power and promises and lies.
At 16 he bowed his head to Shido and swore he'd do anything if it meant the man would suffer even a mote of what he had. And so his justice began, with the death of a researcher, his gloved hands soaked red and the fire in his blood burning ever brighter with each name spilt from Shido's lips.
Robin Hood manifests after his 5th kill. Kill, investigate, solve; kill, investigate, solve; kill, investigate, solve, reap, reward. The beat in his chest thick and viscous like the splatter of cognized brain matter across Mementos in his wake. The more he breaks the more they sing his praises, and so a hero is born.
He hates that side of himself. The version of that exists solely because people perceive it. The mirror of his true self, blacker than darkest night. But it is a tool, like any other, which he will use until every last drop of venom is spent.
"Cool persona," Joker says, the king of thieves to a lowly prince. Because of course he does.
Akechi grinds his teeth so hard his jaw threatens to burst and crumble to dust.
But that's not where they started.
At the TV studio he quotes Hegel, but which side of the equation they both fall depends solely on perspective. Sometimes one, sometimes another, sometimes both.
It's not like him to extend a hand so freely but there's a first time for everything. Akira Kurusu's got some kind of power over him in a way he doesn't yet understand. His handshake firm and lingering long past what would be considered polite. Though he feels no warmth from the touch through his gloves, a primal heat licks at the base of his neck and he musters his most perfect, talkshow laugh to deflect the feeling before it, too, lingers.
Someone's fucking up Shido's carefully laid plans. It's his job to make it right and his new acquaintance's inexplicable pull is too convenient to ignore.
They text each other on occasion.
[[ Kurusu: Saw you on TV again. Must be rough, answering the same question over and over. ]]
[[ Akechi: All part of the job. There's only so much I can say, after all. ]]
[[ Kurusu: Don't you want more? ]]
Always. And you're going to give it to me, you just don't know it yet.
He doesn't respond.
Sometimes, in sleep, he feels the presence of another in the cage across from his. He's never seen them. Igor says nothing and Akechi doesn't ask. Still, he knows they're there.
They play pool together and he wins, because of course he does, except he promises to use his left hand next time. He's not the only one of them who hates to lose. Still, that would be another first. How many more firsts will Kurusu steal from him before the end?
He calls before either of them make it home, tries to sound casual, but you'd have to be a fool not to see through it.
"If you're so inclined, we could go out again sometime," he says.
And when Kurusu agrees and calls him a worthy rival he feels the fire alight in him once again.
He takes his twelfth life that night. Not that he's keeping count. At least that's the lie he tells himself as Mementos and the black mask overwhelms his senses.
He'd always thought Mementos smelt like blood. Old and dried, but unmistakable. He feels closer to his mother the deeper he goes, searching for each new target in the depths.
Killing in the cognitive world wasn't quite the same as real, true death though. Sure, they screamed and cried and begged and bled all the same but he could still see their stupid vacant faces when he returned and had to wait out their end like a starved beast.
It was dirty, tainted work. But it got him closer to Shido, closer to the justice he was born to fulfil.
Shido never thanks, never praises. But the satisfied look on his face after each report scratches the disgusting, creeping itch that runs through Akechi's veins. It's the same sort of feeling he gets from Igor, too. True acknowledgement. It tastes like victory.
Kurusu frequents Kichijoji.
Akechi knows because he's keeping tabs. What kind of detective-murderer would he be if his newfound rival, in so many ways, was allowed free reign of the city he's destroying.
So Akechi frequents Kichijoji, too.
They cross paths a few times a week. He's usually too busy for more than idle chatter, of course. Except for when Kurusu greets him smelling of collective unconsciousness and Akechi invites him out for coffee and cakes.
He wants more time to pick at Kurusu's seams. Needs more time. But there's never enough and he's barely been able to breathe, let alone imagine Kurusu crashing through Mementos like a bullet train, before he's calling their date short to escape the fans of his ace detective persona.
Only Kurusu's got a cunning plan. And he's too close, too much, all at once. Touching Akechi with his too-soft-for-what-they-steal-hands, messing up his hair and sliding those ridiculous thick-rims over his face. His thumb traces Akechi's cheekbone, like polishing marble, and the makeover's complete.
He looks like a fool. But it works. The crowd disperses and they leave him alone, except for Kurusu who smirks from across the table like he's a fucking superstar genius or some shit. Akechi can only shake his head, overstimulated and touch-high, 'til he manages enough control to clear his throat.
"Well. I think I can understand why you wear these now."
"The glasses, the I-don't-care-hair, it's all to hide how irresistible I am. A self nerf. Can't have all my eggs in one basket, right?"
"Right." Akechi agrees, dumb without reason. And not for the first time he learns to watch his tongue around this one, lest there be dragons.
His ego's certainly overinflated, but Akechi can tell there's more to it than Kurusu lets on. A thief dressing like a pauper is no different to a murderer dressed like a detective. They're all just masks in the end.
Later, he jokes about dressing Kurusu up like him instead. Controlling every aspect, blurring the lines between them 'til they're indistinguishable. It's... tempting. But rather than following through with such idle fancy Akechi invites him to Jazz Jin. He's never invited anyone there before today.
He shares a piece of his true self that night. This place he visits not because of Shido or the detective prince, but because when he was 6 his mother bought a second hand cassette player with a single jazz cassette, and that was basically the soundtrack of his life before it ended and became... this.
His thirteenth isn't a kill so much as it's a masterpiece. He calls forth Loki and wraps the man's shadow in chains of dark, thorny matter, squeezes him tighter and tighter 'til his head nearly bursts. Then lets him loose and does it all over again.
"That's it, that's it." He coos in the shadow's ear. He'll keep going and going until pain becomes pleasure. All twisted up until they're both screaming with euphoria.
The shadow chokes on its own blood and, three days later, somewhere in central Tokyo a powerful man drives a fountain pen through his skull and leaps from the 20th floor. The police ID him by the nameplate on his desk as there's nothing left of human he once was down there on the pavement.
Shido acknowledges another task completed. Only this time it doesn't satiate his hunger.
[[ Akechi: Do you ever go to arcades? I find myself itching for competition. ]]
[[ Kurusu: Oh hell yeah, name the time and place. ]]
They end up at Game Centre. Because it's the only arcade Akechi passes by on the regular and they're advertising shooters in the windows.
He wins, again. Kurusu almost seems like he's holding back this time, except Akechi truly believes he's incapable of such a thing. So he makes a risky joke about needing practice to take Kurusu out and earns himself a thief's grin for it. He knows the wrong meaning will be inferred, but that's by design.
They exchange rhetorics and agree sticking to one's own justice is the true meaning of a hero. It's beginning to bother him that they're not on the same side but that's a thought he'll bend and break and squash down until it bleeds out of his reptilian brain.
He recognises the danger that is spending time with his newfound friend, rival, equal - whatever they are. But that's exactly why he can't stop now.
In dreams, he wonders if the other prisoner feels him too. He wonders if they care. What crimes have they committed to share in the same hell.
He killed Shujin's principal this week.
Akechi begins to frequent Leblanc. He's always busy, between his detective work and his mission, and Yongen-Jaya is ridiculously out of the way, but Boss's coffee and the lack of other patrons makes settling here dangerously comfortable.
There's also the added bonus of a certain someone who lives in the attic, returned from summer break. Not that we're acknowledging those thoughts.
He's preoccupied, anyway. The Phantom Thieves popularity continues to grow and push him further from the spotlight. And Akechi wonders just how close this seesaw can teeter before either he or they fall off the deep end.
"Here," Kurusu says, sliding a cup his way. "On the house. You look like you need it."
It's just the two of them in store, past closing. It's not like him to lose track of time.
He doesn't bother politely declining, just accepts the coffee and drinks, and Kurusu humms approval at that before making a start on the dishes.
They're talking about him on the news again and he can't help the way his shoulders tense. He wants to smash the tiny television box out of spite, maybe even visit the studio and destroy every piece of equipment just for a moment's peace. Instead he drinks his coffee and says nothing about switching it off or changing the channel.
"It's late," says the devil himself, "I need to close up. Buuuut, I was thinking of heading to the bathhouse across the street before bed. Care to join me?"
The invitation hangs in the air, for but a moment. And against all logic Akechi agrees to follow.
He tells Akira about how long it's been since he set foot in a bathhouse. About his mother and the long nights he'd spend away. He tells Akira far too much given their circumstances, things he's told noone else before, and in return he's told of Akira's past and the mess that brought the two of them to this moment together, in a bathhouse in Yongen-Jaya at 10pm.
Of course, he already knew all of that. But that's besides the point.
He also realises this is the moment the boy in the bath becomes Akira. Really now - they've shared traumas and seen each others dicks, surely that's a free ticket to first name basis.
When they're done talking Akira looks like he wants to ask if Goro is OK but he doesn't. Instead he offers to stay as long as Goro needs, which is perfect. Goro can turn this into a contest of wills - who can survive the heated bath longest - and it doesn't need to be anything more complicated than that.
Maybe in another life this night could have ended differently. A first kiss, a first fuck. Maybe some small part of him wishes it so. But in this reality they are rivals, enemies; the Phantom Thieves painted with a target red as blood, with Goro Akechi behind the barrel of the gun.
From there everything happens quickly.
He stalks them through Kunikazu Okumura's freakish space palace. The Phantom Thieves are surprisingly un-stealthy, despite their name. They endlessly argue amongst themselves yet move together, almost as one, when attacked. They're reckless and impulsive, yet when he spied on them from a vent above a safe room, he watched them scheme and plan like their entire personalities had changed.
They're all so touchy feely, physically and emotionally, and it takes all his willpower to keep from retching. Or from outright killing Kitagawa and Sakamoto for touching Akira so casually, like that should be his right alone.
Between visits to the palace he declines all of Akira's invitations, says he's swamped with work (true).
And when the time comes, when the Thieves steal their victory, the black mask is there to ensure their fate is sealed.
Okumura is his fifteenth kill. All it takes is a single unsuspecting shot. A disappointment, truth be told, but it comes garnished with sweet anticipation awaiting the fall of the Phantom Thieves.
People are fickle. They come crawling back almost overnight, as if they never stopped believing in their sweet, Detective Prince, and the Thieves were terrible all along.
Goro's waiting to welcome Akira when he gets home to Leblanc.
"Honey, I'm home."
"You're back awfully late," says Goro. Like he doesn't know why.
He makes a show of discussing Sae and pretends not to notice how Shido's voice affects Akira when he comes on TV. He feeds Akira some sentimental bullshit about empathizing with the Thieves, after all that's happened. Hook, line -
If only he knew.
- sinker, he accepts the invitation to Shujin and joins the Phantom Thieves.
And so Kurusu becomes Akira becomes Joker, and somehow it feels more intimate than ever when the name touches his lips.
He's given the name Crow, and follows them in to Sae Niijima's casino as if it's his first foray.
It isn't long before they're considered a threat and his shining, white suit manifests. It's no rebel's attire, but if it fools them that's all he needs.
The heat behind Joker's appraising stare makes him nauseous. Not long now, 'til he can show his true form. We'll see how you look then.
He plays his novice role to perfection. Asks questions when he should, follows their lead, offers minimal but useful advice.
Joker has the nerve to say he's got high expectations of him, so Crow goes all out introducing the Thieves to Robin Hood when the first shadow appears.
His shots don't miss and the juxtaposition of bless and curse spells rends the shadow asunder. He plans for any suspicion of his power to be overshadowed by how eager he seems to show off, and if Mona and Skull's scoffs are anything to go off - it's working.
They need a member's card for the elevator and end up with two. Oracle registers the first to Taro Tanaka and, after deciding that was too obvious a name, the second to Shinji Nakanomatsu.
He palms the Tanaka card instead of throwing it away. He learned from Shido a long time ago that if something still has use, it's worth keeping around.
They fall into a steady rhythm moving through the casino in the evenings. Some nights they take off to rest and recover, but Akira never seems to do either.
[[ Akira: You up? ]]
[[ Goro: It's 11 o'clock. ]]
[[ Akira: I'll take that as a yes. ]]
[[ Akira: Anyway, I know we've been in the palace like every day this week, but I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. ]]
[[ Akira: There's a two-for-one at the Shinagawa Aquarium tomorrow. Some kind of promo. Wanna come? ]]
[[ Goro: You are ridiculous. ]]
[[ Goro: I'll be there at 10. ]]
Akira arrives at 10:30, managing to look more sleep deprived than ever despite chugging his third coffee of the day.
Goro doesn't care for fish, but he listens to Akira read off the info plaques and watches him watching the tanks, their hazy blue glow softly reflected in his glasses.
Once they've seen enough Akira buys them drinks from a nearby vending machine.
"Thanks for coming," he says. "I missed this."
There's too much weight behind his words for Goro's liking. So he answers by raising a brow and skulling his drink. He's crumpling the empty can before Akira can finish saying "hey, no fair."
It doesn't take much longer to secure a route through the casino. Between Joker's prowess in the battle arena, and Crow's tricks with the Tanaka card they high roll their way straight to the treasure room despite Niijima's best efforts to thwart them.
Now all he has to do is wait.
They meet for pool one last time. He plays left handed and Akira wins. When all's said and done Goro asks if he'd abandon the Thieves and join him instead.
It's only fair. Akira's been asking him the same ever since their temporary alliance began.
"Never. Don't forget, you're my rival." Is his answer.
And so it goes. Neither of them can afford to lose in the end.
Joker meets him in Mementos.
In the dark corners of the human heart he aims his gun and pulls the trigger. Joker's quick, as expected. Ready and waiting and wanting and firing back with no hesitation.
Bullets glance off his sword as he summons Robin Hood in a flash of blinding, white light. He promised he'd go all out but Goro's a liar facing a trickster, and it's still not time for Loki. Not yet.
"Can you take this?"
Joker moves into his sword in an attempt to dodge one of Robin's javelin sized arrows, slicing up his thigh, blood thick and oozing across the floor. And in the moments between seconds that he's focused on it, Joker stabs him between the ribs with his dagger.
"Too slow, Crow."
They make eye contact. Breathing heavy, both crazed and smiling like they've never lived a day before this moment. Then they're attacking again.
Joker calls two persona in one breath; a third, a fourth, a fifth. A counter for almost every move he makes.
"Not bad, but I can do better."
They've fought with and against each other enough now, both here and in reality, he knows what to expect; when to duck and dodge, when to lunge and strike.
There are graves around them. Lighting up with each spell cast. He never understood why they were here, never took the time to read them. If he wins today would his rival become a tombstone, alone and forgotten in Mementos, too?
His heartbeat quickens and he comes so very close to giving in, to letting loose all that he is, desperate to know.
Instead, he takes another hit and concedes defeat. He isn't satisfied (he will never be satisfied) but any more of this would push them both beyond the point of no return.
It's not yet time but they're so fucking close.
Upon their arrival back in Tokyo he confesses.
"I hate you. Your deft handling of your unfortunate circumstances, your uniqueness, your ability to surpass me - all these irritate me."
He throws his glove. It's childish, perhaps, but he knows Akira will accept it. As Proof of their connection, their promise.
"Make certain you never forget, I am the one who will defeat you."
Everything goes as planned. The calling card. The heist. The arrest. The interrogation.
The next time they meet Goro puts a gun to Akira's head in the real world, pulls the trigger and bathes in his blood and brain matter. His first real kill. It was always meant to be Shido, but he supposes it's only fitting Akira stole this too.
He's finally won. Except it could never be that easy. Not for him.
The Velvet Room is empty that night. And the next and the next. He thrashes about in his cage, screams and cries for Igor, the wardens, the other prisoner, anyone. Nobody answers.
Shido won't see him either. They won't tell him why, they won't tell him anything at all. There's no logical explanation for any of this bullshit which is why it makes perfect sense that the Phantom Thieves are to blame.
He can't sleep, can't eat, can't think over the sound of heart pumping sludge. There's nothing human left now. Nothing to stop him tearing through Shido's palace chasing ghosts.
He meets them in the engine room.
"Long time no see." The venom is beginning to drip and pool somewhere deep within. "I'm impressed you managed to deceive me."
He can't stand it. Joker's courage, his determination, his unwavering mask and infuriating ability to tear at Goro's insides. Together they could have accomplished so fucking much.
Goro's heart died a long time ago, when his blood turned cold and toxic, while Joker's is unbound and free. If only they'd met a few years earlier, maybe Joker could have saved him, too.
He tells them who Masayoshi Shido really is, and why he can't stop now. The last piece of the puzzle that is his life. He's tailored to destroy. His vengeance demands it.
"In just a few weeks, my plan would have come to fruition... but no, you just had to interfere." Like flies on a corpse. "I can still take it back though."
He locks eyes with his enemy.
"I'll just need to kill you all. So, Joker... rest easy and die."
It's time. Time to show his true power, power that the Phantom Thieves, and Joker, don't have. It's his and his alone.
He tears off his mask and calls forth Loki. Its long and twisted limbs tower over him like a cage exploded from the inside out, and he screams as the chaotic energy overflows, bursting from that pit deep within and overtaking his very being.
They come at him in unison. Panther from the left, Skull from the right, Joker head on and aiming for the place his heart should be.
"Don't --" Loki catches Panther's whip mid-lash and throws her against the opposite wall, "-- underestimate --" he ducks Skull's swing, too slow, too predictable, and kicks him in the back of the knee, dropping him instantly, "-- me!" He takes Joker's hit, a clean slice across the chest.
He bleeds through the layers of white, laughing maniacally as the Thieves regain themselves. They look to their leader, as if they need his permission to fight for their lives. For the first time Goro can't read the look in his eyes. Maybe that's because he's losing his mind. Or maybe it's something more dangerous.
He calls forth an almighty explosion. Everything becomes white light and static noise, until image and sound return and they're coming at him again, broken and bloody but unrelenting.
Between blows they're still trying to convince him to stop. Trying to play to his feelings, his reason, as if he's still in control of any of it. As if anything they say can change things now. And that stupid, fucking cat, claiming he doesn't really hate Joker. He couldn't be more wrong.
The black mask manifests, burning away the last dregs of Goro Akechi. In his place is left a monster, whose only remaining thoughts are an obsession with the people who drove him to ruin.
"Go down with me, Joker!"
He tears Loki's sword from its grasp and charges. Each swing wild and dangerous, difficult to avoid in the small space of the engine room. It doesn't matter where he aims now, he attacks Noir and knows on instinct that Queen will take the hit; they'll throw themselves in harm's way for each other again and again.
He doesn't need what they have. He's always been alone, always succeeds alone. The pounding rush of blood is all he can hear now, his vision blurred at the edges, breathing sharp and shallow. All he has to do is kill, kill, kill --
He doesn't know when it happens, how it happens, but they take him down. An all out attack leaving him on his knees. And still, they try to offer a hand. They still...
They truly are beyond comprehension.
Joker's got that look again, for all their similarities it would probably take a lifetime to know its meaning.
He's so close to breaking, to reaching out and accepting. But then his cognitive double arrives, perfect and proper, gun loaded and aimed at his head. And he knows what he must do.
The last life he takes is his own.
He shoots his double and lowers the bulkhead. Through the thick layers of metal he coughs, splutters, and makes one final deal he knows they won't refuse - to ruin Shido in his stead.
"I'll hold on to your glove," says Joker. As if that's any kind of answer. In hindsight, it's the only answer.
Shido's Goro Akechi dies in the dark, damp, engine room so that his rival(s) can live. And for the first time, he thinks, he might just be okay with coming second.
The echoes of Joker banging on the other side of the door fades to silence, followed shortly after by the uneasy steps of his true self, blood red and heartbeat strong, staggering blindly into a reality of his own making.
(Or not, but that's another story.
- M.)