[Even though Shido falls, Akechi lives. Joining up with the Phantom Thieves for their last operation had proved prudent. In those final moments, he was able to do what was necessary, a laugh bursting out of his throat at the same time. He already saw that his original plan had gone to waste. But perhaps Shido being a victim of the Phantom Thieves would prove someone's justice: his own.
He recalls the anger of the others—
Ryuji pissed, yelling that they shouldn't have trusted him. Morgana telling him that he shouldn't have done it. Haru looking at him without a single ounce of sympathy, not like before. Makoto shaking her head and turning away. And Joker—
Well, what happened then doesn't matter compared to now. The world has been in ruins for months now, mindless drones happily locked away. He tells himself that this is the way the world should be: steadily devoured by the endless droning of the people within it. They aren't worth his time or energy.
The problem is that the more the world is enveloped by the entropy, the more he is alone. And the more he is alone, the more he wishes his mind was just as gone as the minds of those complacent prisoners, locked away and trapped. Happily removed from everything around them. He envies that.
More than that, he envies not feeling the need to think, to defy, to—to fix this.
Because even if the Phantom Thieves had been angry—
—even if—
—it doesn't measure up to this, to the misery he's caused. He picked ruin. The choice came to him easily, driving him forward in those moments after his father's mental shutdown. He doesn't recall every aspect of the choice, only the moments before. The betrayal. The resentment. And yet, those moments are never about his thoughts or feelings, just about theirs. Because—the truth is that Akechi regrets it.
He doesn't relish the feeling of his father's blood on his hands, and he can't explain the bubbling anger and loathing that swelled up and took over every fiber of his being. And he knew, he knew his father's plan, he knew what he intended if he was ever on the end of a gun, on the end of a potential change of heart—so he snapped. His white and red suit shifted, the dark colors quickly bleeding through as his mask formed over his face. And then he killed him—indirectly to do it directly, pleased with the results. His laughter wasn't out of pleasure—rather, it was something more manic. More chaotic and out of control.
And then he had to move.
And then he departed.
In a world with a red sky and strange structures all around, Akechi knows there is little chance that the Earth will survive much longer. Though it rains, the rain comes down in large, black droplets, and it seems to burn into the surroundings. The only good thing about this version of the world is that he doesn't need to eat. Entropy does that to a body, it seems. He no longer has to pretend to care about making conversation over food, showing off what he's capable of. That world is gone, destroyed.
He knows the Phantom Thieves are still out there, trying to undo the mistake he's made. (The ruin he's caused.) So, he waits. It's difficult for him to choose a location. Some part of him wants to play a game with them—to make them seek him out. But would they even bother to look?
Instead, he chooses the TV station to hole up. He tugs a cot in there from the hospital. He doesn't send out a message, doesn't plant clues, doesn't do any of that. He just waits. If they wish to find him, it won't be hard to guess where they can. And if not—
He doesn't know.
Akechi has his suspicions about how to end this. If they're truly up to it, they'll need to see him eventually.]
don't read this until your schoolwork is done
He recalls the anger of the others—
Ryuji pissed, yelling that they shouldn't have trusted him. Morgana telling him that he shouldn't have done it. Haru looking at him without a single ounce of sympathy, not like before. Makoto shaking her head and turning away. And Joker—
Well, what happened then doesn't matter compared to now. The world has been in ruins for months now, mindless drones happily locked away. He tells himself that this is the way the world should be: steadily devoured by the endless droning of the people within it. They aren't worth his time or energy.
The problem is that the more the world is enveloped by the entropy, the more he is alone. And the more he is alone, the more he wishes his mind was just as gone as the minds of those complacent prisoners, locked away and trapped. Happily removed from everything around them. He envies that.
More than that, he envies not feeling the need to think, to defy, to—to fix this.
Because even if the Phantom Thieves had been angry—
—even if—
—it doesn't measure up to this, to the misery he's caused. He picked ruin. The choice came to him easily, driving him forward in those moments after his father's mental shutdown. He doesn't recall every aspect of the choice, only the moments before. The betrayal. The resentment. And yet, those moments are never about his thoughts or feelings, just about theirs. Because—the truth is that Akechi regrets it.
He doesn't relish the feeling of his father's blood on his hands, and he can't explain the bubbling anger and loathing that swelled up and took over every fiber of his being. And he knew, he knew his father's plan, he knew what he intended if he was ever on the end of a gun, on the end of a potential change of heart—so he snapped. His white and red suit shifted, the dark colors quickly bleeding through as his mask formed over his face. And then he killed him—indirectly to do it directly, pleased with the results. His laughter wasn't out of pleasure—rather, it was something more manic. More chaotic and out of control.
And then he had to move.
And then he departed.
In a world with a red sky and strange structures all around, Akechi knows there is little chance that the Earth will survive much longer. Though it rains, the rain comes down in large, black droplets, and it seems to burn into the surroundings. The only good thing about this version of the world is that he doesn't need to eat. Entropy does that to a body, it seems. He no longer has to pretend to care about making conversation over food, showing off what he's capable of. That world is gone, destroyed.
He knows the Phantom Thieves are still out there, trying to undo the mistake he's made. (The ruin he's caused.) So, he waits. It's difficult for him to choose a location. Some part of him wants to play a game with them—to make them seek him out. But would they even bother to look?
Instead, he chooses the TV station to hole up. He tugs a cot in there from the hospital. He doesn't send out a message, doesn't plant clues, doesn't do any of that. He just waits. If they wish to find him, it won't be hard to guess where they can. And if not—
He doesn't know.
Akechi has his suspicions about how to end this. If they're truly up to it, they'll need to see him eventually.]