20XX December

Akechi Goro leveled his gun at Joker, the alter-ego of his... friend... Amamiya Ren. Father's cruise ship was so monstrous he need not worry about sudden surges of water. His aim was sure. If he pulled the trigger now, there would be no time to block with a persona's skills. Ren wouldn't be able to dodge, lest chance the bullet might hit one of his teammates. They may have bested him and Loki, but this was something they could not defend against.

The cognition, the pathetic facsimile of Goro that existed in his father's mind, egged him on. All he need to do was take out Ren, like a good little puppet, and the rest of the Phantom Thieves would fall apart. Goro mused. He could go right back to his plan to deal with Father himself afterwards, if not for the fact his own cognition would likely kill him. The entire time, Father had been on to him, using him. Sure, his mind's eye double hinted he might survive if he took out Ren, but Father wouldn't be so stupid as to take chances. Would he?

A facet of Goro raged. At the end of his gun stood Ren, the person who had everything Goro did not. The person who lived a life so charmed he could just accept Goro back, despite all that had happened. If Goro was going to die anyway, why not just shoot? Who cared anymore?

Goro pulled the trigger.

The bullet was on target, as always. The cognition fell to its knees. Goro fired again. The second bullet depressed and then destroyed the blast door controls, trapping Goro and his cognition apart from Ren and the others. The real enemy had always been Father. It was up to the Phantom Thieves now.

The warning sirens screamed. "The watertight bulkhead door has closed. All personnel within the partition wall, evacuate at once."

"Akechi!" Sakamoto called. It sounded like he was pounding on the wall.

"Hurry up and go."

"You fool!" Kitagawa's voice came next. "Are you trying to get yourself killed!?"

"The real fools... are you guys," Goro called through the wall. It was a strain. "You should have just abandoned me here a long time ago... You would have all perished... if you had tried to face these with me weighing you down..."

"Akechi-kun!" It was Makoto.

"Let's make a deal... OK? You won't say no... will you? Change Shido's heart... in my stead... End his crimes... Please!"

"I promise." Hearing Ren's voice, Akechi tried to be content in knowing they would take care of Father. There was nothing Ren couldn't do. However, Goro couldn't help but feel regret for what might have been.

"You bastard!" The cognition was standing again. The bullet hadn't been enough. With Ren and the others out of sight, Goro no longer hid his condition. He stooped, panting. The battle with the Phantom Thieves had taken its toll.

The cognition pointed his gun at Goro and Goro did the same in return. "So, my final enemy is a puppet version of myself... Not bad."

Goro fired and like the cruel mirror image it was, the cognition did the same.

Goro's cognitive double evaporated into a black mist, fading from view. Goro himself fell to his knees and clutched the wound in his stomach. Dark red blood seeped over Akechi's gloves and overtook the white of his costume. When had he changed? He was feeling light-headed. He leaned against the blast door, dimly aware of the shadows coming for him, Robin doing his best to hold them off alone.

Multiple shadows had their teeth in Robin, their fangs cracking through the armor, trying to tear him apart. It all appeared to be happening through a haze. Everything was becoming numb. Goro's eyelids felt heavy. He felt himself floating, drifting off somewhere far way.

When Goro opened his eyes again, he was still on the ground, leaning against something. Looking over the expanse of dark, almost indigo, dirt that extended all the way to the horizon to meet an unbroken canopy of gray clouds, Goro knew behind him was a wooden door with chipping blue paint and splinters, similar to the first room he remembered, the one at his uncle's house. This unforgiving barren void-he was in the Velvet Room.

Goro's wound continued to oscillate between extraordinarily painful and disturbingly numb.

The wind whined high-pitched past his ears and kicked up dark dust into swirls. Before him, the long-nosed man appeared, seeming to have walked up from the horizon. Skinny legs supported a wide hump. How long had Goro been gazing into the distance, half-conscious of where he was?

Stopping perhaps five meters from Goro, the man spoke, his deep voice booming even in the vast emptiness. "So, the game is over... What a truly foolish end..."

The man's white hair flapped violently in the wind. Goro's was plastered to his forehead and neck with perspiration. His chest swiftly rose and fell. It was getting difficult to breath.

Two small moths with pale yellow wings fought against the wind, barely holding their place.

"A failure," Igor frowned. "Perhaps a synthetic Wild Card is not possible..."

Goro's vision blurred. Everything was becoming dark.

"This truly was an unfair game..." Goro heard the voice of a young girl.

Goro could no longer see Igor. He squinted, trying to make out the twin moths being tossed in the wind.

"Your chances of winning were almost nil..." the voice continued.

Goro didn't want to die dwelling on regrets, but he couldn't help but wonder if things could have been different, if only he...

"The choices you made... The regrets you hold... The deeds you carried out... Do you wish to be rehabilitated?"

Rehabilitated? Goro didn't understand the voice. It was hard to focus. He found himself forgetting the beginning of sentences, of thoughts. After all he had done, could he be rehabilitated? Goro tried to put the pieces together in his mind. It would be nice. It would be very nice...

Akechi Goro lay still, slumped against a lone blue door standing in a flat, bare wasteland.

20XX minus ?

The early morning sun streamed in through the hospital window, the sky dotted with only a few white clouds. The sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze, animals calling to their kin, and people bustling could be heard.

A newborn cried in his mother's arms. His father leaning over the hospital bed, eyes filled with wonder. "Welcome to the world, Ren."

A pair of moths, small round wings with a hint of yellow, hovered by the glass. You can be rehabilitated.