They meet with a familiar face once theyāre off the Hangang Bridge.
Perhaps aĀ āfamiliar faceā is a strange phrasing -- the operatives of this twisted game never show their faces, after all. Instead, they have the same face in the form of a mask, making each and every one of them familiar -- robotic and distant, cold. Jokerās never been a fan of any of them, not with the way they look at him so clinically, like theyāre so far above him and he really is nothing but a toy beneath them. Even if that may be true.
He casts a glance at the two heās with, the girl named Ivory and the boy named Hangman, then steps forward from them to greet the masked operative without a hint of fear in his stride. āGreetings! I guess the game is truly afoot now?ā He says, not actually expecting a response.
And yet, he almost thinks he sees the Masked Oneās eyes smile.Ā āTake it,ā they say simply as they extend their hand, and Joker is caught off guard by the fact that their voice is feminine.Ā āAnd good luck.ā
Theyāre holding out an envelope. Joker glances at it, then looks back up to the operative with a smirk -- reaches out and takes the envelope while looking them right in the eye. They turn and leave without another word; Joker doesnāt expect anything different.
He turns back to his allies, holding the envelope in two fingers.Ā āInstructions for the rest of the mission,ā he explains simply, mostly to Ivory since she seems really startled and confused by everything, before opening the note and beginning to read its contents out loud.
ā...Booby traps and ambushes, huh...ā he breathes in a low tone once heās done, eyes narrowing.Ā āAt least they had the courtesy to warn us beforehand. You never know, with these things.ā Jokerās gaze snaps up, dark and haughty.
āSo, do we go for the statues? Itās dark, but that means we can use it to our advantage, too. We see better in the dark than some random mercs.ā He waves the paper between his fingers, thoughtful. They shouldnāt stay in one place too long, even if the mercs are probably all gathering back at the temple about now to get more kills, but they need a plan of action before they rush into danger. āBut we wonāt be able to avoid fighting completely. Not that we should expect anything about an A-level mission not to be dangerous...ā
āStill, I think we can do it, but only if youāre both sure that youāre up for it, too. Weāre a team for tonight, you know?ā
been a while since i posted! i had 2 get my phone upgraded, n it took a bit... but now im back & better than evr! srry 2 keep u guys waiting, i hope u werent worriedšš ill b doing another livevlog as soon as i get a chance, so keep ur eye out... i got plenty of beans 2 talk abt~ ā
āIāve got it!ā she confirms, waving Coffeeās cylinder in her hand. Not an ounce of concern for Royal Milkās skull is shown; sheās sure heāll be fine. Given the traffic situation and the fact that, you know, theyāre being hunted down, sheās not so sure if they all will be if they continue to dawdle for long.
āWe know where to go from here, right?ā The thought that sheād automatically assumed Coffee would now be joining them on their track to the temple crosses her mind as something presumptuous; maybe she should fix that. āI mean ā if youāre coming too? To the Bongeunsa Temple?ā
If he was the type to laugh, he would probably do so when he hears Coffee calling himĀ āRoyal Milk Guyā. It seems that his particular choice of drink has left an impression on this coffee-obsessed cafe man. Not that he can be shocked considering how much heās heard the other discuss how important it is that he find some form of cafe coffee he likesā¦ But thatās really not all the important right now. What is important is the cylinder that is now hurling toward him.
And when it clocks him in the forehead he canāt help the slight wince that graces his face for a small moment. He failed the catch order, but really how was he supposed to considering the LSD trip heās still enjoying? Really, how did Coffee even think that it was a good idea to chuck a metal cylinder at him in the first place? Then again, Hangman judged him as being the reckless type from the moment he met him. This shouldnāt be too much of a shock.
āI suppose I deserved thatā¦ā He rubs his forehead slightly- face back to blank as he tries to adjust to the slight pain throbbing from it. At least his poor companion managed to catch the cylinder despite the fact that she is still, clearly, not having the best time here. He nods at her weakly before looking back up at Coffee. Having a third ally certainly isnāt a plan that he plans to object to in any way. Besides, a reckless guy like this might have his uses when it comes to mafiaā¦
āFeel free to join us down here. While your aim has just proven to be as terrible as hers, I suppose our collective aim might be good enough to give us a slight chance against any mafia who hunt us down. Though I still am willing to bet their collective aim is betterā¦ā He shakes his head at that- watching as Coffee lands in some all too flashy manner. He wouldnāt expect anything lessā¦
āNow thenā¦ with that in mind, letās head out. Ah, but no more throwingā¦ Of anything.ā
Despite the drug-induced fuzz over his senses, Joker thinks his aim was pretty decent -- the cylinder fell straight toward the other two, after all, and if Hangman had actually tried, he couldāve easily caught it. Then again, theyāre probably all in the same boat when it comes to the drugs thing -- Joker still canāt help but laugh, especially since the other candidate seems to have caught his weapon just fine and allās well that ends well.
āComing, coming.ā He takes a moment to focus on climbing down, taking a few awkward steps down the grating before deciding fuck it, the ground isnāt that far away, so he drops himself back down into a dangling position from the lower part of the archway -- then swings, throws his legs out, and falls. These are the kinds of stunts heās had to get used to as a candidate in this damn game; he rolls into the impact, stopping on his knees just a short few feet from the other two in the narrow slits between the traffic.
Maybe he just likes showing off.
āSure, we can avoid that. Itād be no good if anyone else got clocked in the head,ā he chuckles toward Hangman as he stands upright -- finding himself significantly taller than the other two, who are essentially the same height. Joker takes a step forward and reaches out to take his weapon from the girl;Ā āThanks, Taeyi-ssi.ā
A pause.
Why did he say that? Ryeontae blinks a few times, mentally blaming the LSD for such an obvious slip of the tongue, and shakes his head.Ā āI mean -- yeah, Iāll come with you. Three heads are better than one and all.ā He nods and turns away pointedly, brushing off what just happened -- itās not that important, not in a situation like this. Itās not even like sheād remember him, or itād mean much of anything even if she did.
The object in his hand shifts, expanding outward into its proper form -- still a melee weapon, unfortunately, but they should be able to make do if they play their cards right.Ā āAh -- Iām Joker, by the way.ā His gaze cuts toward the girl, but he doesnāt shift.
Theyāve managed to, at least, avoid the mafia. This has involved far more running than he would like and at this point his absolute direction feels like itās failing him. See, while he has been in Seoul he hasnāt been around Seoul often and certainly not outside of a car. So Ā he was hoping, if nothing else, that heād know to head south. But, as it turns out LSD likes to take you for a spin and a half and south is feeling more north than it should while east feels a bit more like up. Heās hating the way that his stomach is churning even now as they continue to run, but if nothing else theyāve gotten this far and he should be happy that heās got his hands on his weapon once again.
Heās also found an ally, which is probably good or something. Not that sheās proven to be extremely useful yet but he canāt say he has either. Theyāre working together because, well, they can, and that means that they both might as well stay together until Seoul stops spinning and the mafia stops having guns. Did he mention that fight guns with a garrote is some form of torture? It is. Heās annoyed by it. None of this is showing on his face, though. He wonāt even let the dizzying effects of the LSD break his robotic mask no matter how much he thinks that taking a dip in the Han River is starting to sound like a good way to cool his head.
Speaking of the Han, theyāve at least managed to reach it after all this running and that car that he stole andā¦ possibly crashed. Driving is not his best skill and while he tried to obey the traffic laws (though noting that traffic was absolutely terribly) some mafia members spotted both himself and Ivory inside their little (stolen) car they had no choice but to bail. How did they get away after Hangmanās several minutes Ā of extremely reckless driving (his father would be proud)? Well, Hangman pulled into an alley, hit a dumpster and they ran leaving the car and mafia behind. Good enough. Ā Now that their at the Han, he pauses only for a moment- adjusting his hood and letting out heavy breathes. Heās in shape, but this running is still far too much for him (as is driving like he belongs in MadMax). His head rolls to the side as he looks at his companion. The obvious answer for getting across the Han is to take a bridge, but he just canāt let his awful sense of humor go. So instead, he deadpans at her.
āI wonder if you could throw me across the Hanā¦ā he looks toward the nearest bridge. Theyāre going to get to have one hell of a time playing chicken with all of those carsā¦Ā āThen againā¦ your aim is still the issueā¦ And the Han is running away from Gangnam from here, isnāt it? Pityā¦ Otherwise Iād say we should try swimming. That would be one way to avoid the mafiaā¦ā
He then starts to walk toward the bridge- only glancing back to make sure sheās following. They havenāt had a mafia run in yet, and theyād like to keep it that way. That means they need to keep moving even if moving is probably less pleasant than a dip in the Han. He really needsā¦ to stop thinking about jumping in the Han. Once they get across he can maybe steal another car orā¦ They could probably just run. It doesnāt matter. What does is the bridge and all of the cars their going to have to NOT get hit by. His head spins suddenly and hard- causing him to stumble for a short moment. He stands straight again and sighs.Ā
āCome onā¦ We can cross using the bridge. Just watch for cars.ā He almost feels bad for her. She doesnāt even have someone who can show her sympathy hereā¦ Sheās stuck with him- the ally that heās pretty sure no one wanted to have.Ā āI canāt really take a speeding car for youā¦ So please be careful.ā Itās the only comfort he can offer.
And so he takes one more deep breath before running into the traffic on the bridge. At this moment, heās glad for the Seoul traffic being so terrible. It at least means the cars arenāt zooming across the bridge, but moving at a manageable speed. That doesnāt change the way that they all honk at him, thoughā¦ Heās sure their honking at her tooā¦ Itās really an annoying sound. It makes his head ring. Or maybe thatās the LSD tooā¦
He only stops when suddenly he spots something from the corner of his eyes. A man, one he canāt help but recognize as the one whoās so obsessed with coffee, is hanging in a rather amusing manner from the bridgeās supportsā¦ Clearly heās trying to reach his cylinder, which has been hung not far away. It seems when youāre even taller and Hangman and his still nameless companion theyāre even crueler with the height they hide things from you. Heās glad that he didnāt have to attempt climbing bridge supportsā¦ His companions shoe might have gone in the Han that way.
Enough with the Han already.
āCoffee Manā¦ you might be awfully easy to shoot up thereā¦ Though donāt worry, Iām sure neither my companion or I could hit you if we threw our shoes.ā
Joker presses himself as close to the railing of the bridge as he can as he runs -- heās glad that his weapon seems to be on the bridge, not in the river itself, since swimming seems awfully tiring at this point. The drivers on the bridge are looking at him strangely but at least they arenāt trying to shoot him; he stands still for a moment, pushes his lips to the side, and stares upward. Itās above him -- on the arches.
āThis is ridiculous,ā he grumbles, stretching his arms. Ridiculous, but nothing he canāt handle. Heās pretty sure he could get away with anything at this point. Joker wastes no time scaling the metal structure, feeling the way the slow-moving drivers have to be staring at him -- heās not about to fall, though. He isnāt here for slapstick, after all.
Well, so he says, but he loses his footing just a bit and has to catch himself mid-fall -- his hands scream from the uncomfortable grip and Joker could swear his racing heart had stopped beating for a moment, there. At least heād probably survive if he fell into the river, but...
āCoffee Manā -- Joker glances down upon hearing that, blinking a few times. Why did he know that was referring to him? There are two people there who he vaguely recognizes, in different ways -- the guy, the one talking to him, heās met more recently, but he canāt put his finger on where heās met that girl before yet. Joker huffs; āThen donāt do that,ā he calls in a low tone, āyour shoes are better off on your feet anyway.ā
He pulls himself up with all his strength, feet connecting with the underside of the metal archway so he can flip up the rest of the way. Being superhuman, having limits that are hard to reach -- it definitely has its perks. Once heās on his feet Joker only has to reach forward a bit to grab his cylinder from where it dangles precariously, wondering how someone even managed to get it up here -- this sort of nonsense never ceases to amaze him.
āHey, Royal Milk Guy,ā he calls back down, leaning over the edge of his perch to look at the pair, āCatch.ā And with that cavalier kind of trust that only Joker could possibly manage, he tosses his weapon gently down toward the pair so that he can properly climb off of this stupid archway thatās somehow digging into his feet through his shoes.
mission: ENLIGHTENMENT. (A-LEVEL)
objective 1: FIND YOUR WEAPON: BEGIN.
He hates that heās become used to this.
An invitation, a word, unconsciousness -- only to wake in absolute nothingness, surrounded by the echoing of his own erratic heartbeat. Itās these sorts of cruel and unusual moments of psychological torment that always hit Joker harder than the physical trials -- he shuts down because he refuses to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing him scream, but his body betrays him by shaking and he hates that this is just normal now.
It takes time to sort out what about this is real. Joker comes to the conclusion that heās probably back in his bizarre reality when he registers brick against his forearms and forehead, a feeling worse than dizziness still spiraling through his body, but heās on his feet, in unfamiliar clothes, sweating cold. Heās uncoordinated as he digs through his pockets but finds little more than lint and one crumpled piece of paper -- that was more what he was expecting, rather than anything useful. But who knows -- sometimes they give him seemingly random objects that have to do with the mission at hand.
He takes a moment to press his back to the alley wall and breathe, even though the air smells foul and his vision is distorted at the edges. Itās hard to read the note but Joker does so regardless, ignoring how his legs are shaking despite the way heās locked his knees for stability. Itās funny, almost, so Joker laughs lightly -- heād probably go searching for his weapon even if he wasnāt explicitly told to. Heās rather attached to it, after all.
The conclusions are thus: he needs his weapon, heās being hunted, heās somewhere in Gangseo and needs to get to Gangnam with his weapon in hand and an ally at his side, without getting caught unaware by the people hunting him. Thereās no time to waste, even if he does feel ill standing upright; Joker pushes his sweat-drenched curls out of his face and tries to focus. Itās like he canāt keep his mind on track yet heās hyper-focusing on every little detail -- disorienting.
He can feel it, though that feeling canāt be described -- that little piece of himself that heās been separated from calling out from somewhere. Itās all heās got to follow so he does just that, flitting beneath the overhangs of buildings; there are people sure to be looking for him and god, he can feel the paranoia creeping at his already-racing heart, but he swallows it back, presses his teeth together to stay together. Somewhere in the distance there are gunshots, but Joker isnāt convinced if those are real; it could just be the paranoid hallucinations lingering, or it could be a very real danger.
Someone shouts nearby and Joker turns his head; thereās a mean-looking man who heād almost recognize standing there, barely facing away. A hunting pack; Jokerās seen enough thugs in his day. He tucks himself into the closest alley and scans it for an escape route -- he has a long way to go, he realizes. He has to conserve his strength -- he has a few options. A bus or taxi would be the most efficient course of action, but he doesnāt have a single won in his pockets; he could steal enough for fare. He wouldnāt be in danger while he was inside something so crowded -- any merc worth their salt isnāt that audacious. Alternately, he could steal an entire vehicle, or perhaps surf on top of one -- though that poses a different risk.
Joker chuckles -- fine, then. Honor may be inscribed on his ankle, but thatās never kept him from being a thief before -- as long as he doesnāt hurt anyone, he can justify it to himself.
A few sharp maneuvers and silver words later and heās got a pretty ladyās pretty wallet in his hand -- itās not like the police will identify him. Go Ryeontae doesnāt even exist anymore, after all. A few more careful steps and heās crammed in a bus with plenty of other weird people and some tourists who keep giving him strange looks; he makes small talk with a college-age girl whoās nursing a huge cup of coffee as though he isnāt still a little high on LSD and there arenāt mafia dogs trailing after him.
Really -- everyone is just living their normal lives. How many times might Ryeontae have spoken to a candidate who was just trying to live a few seconds of normality, himself? The thought makes him a bit ill.
As soon as he exits the bus he realizes someoneās watching him -- someoneās had an eye on the stop, unsurprisingly, to catch anyone whoād had a plan like his. Joker takes off as fast as he can, through the crowds of Dongjak-gu -- itās closer now, finally, but not close enough, and he has to throw off his pursuers first and foremost. He slinks into a tight crevasse in an alleyway, scales his way over a high fence, jumping the barbed-wire top of it with a flourish. There are still footsteps, but theyāre in every direction -- Joker just keeps moving.
He realizes heās probably lost them after the third or so alley he traverses in some inventive way -- heās still burning up and shaking but at least the tremors have settled down a bit and perhaps he no longer feels like heāll pass out from fever. He looks ahead and sees the river, spanning wide before him -- and he grabs hold of that feeling that his weapon is even closer than ever, perhaps just close enough.
He laughs.
āOn the bridge? Or in the river? Someone has a sense of humor.āĀ Itās almost like they enjoy making these missions obnoxious for him in specific, like the time his personal keycard was inside the subway system or the time he was left to start a mission from the top of a skyscraper. And yet he always finds himself rising to the challenge -- maybe thatās his rebel soul, refusing to back down precisely because the odds are impossibly stacked against him.
Fearless and foolish, he breaks out into a run, heading up the bridge to his target without delay.
Where he is, who he is, how he got here -- itās all a blur, unnaturally fogged over, the questions each becoming more difficult the more he asks himself. Itās dark and strange here; at least, theĀ āwhoā becomes more clear as heās forced to think about it, to dig into himself to answer questions that he finds no real significance in. He realizes in the process that he hates telling the truth about himself, too -- but perhaps heās too disoriented to lie.
He thinks that perhaps he is dead -- dead, or simply dreaming -- one of those things makes the most sense, doesnāt it? Perhaps purgatory would prove a reasonable explanation for why heās being asked to choose a sin to be tried for; he laughs quietly, throat dry despite his body being drenched from swimming. To be boiled in oil for avarice, broken on the rack for hubris, roasted on brimstone for lust -- this is an unusual form of punishment, isnāt it?
Punishment -- yes, that would make sense, somehow, instinctively. Ryeontae gives a weak hum, closes his eyes as he finally remembers enough:Ā ā...So I got caught.ā
He presses through the door of pride; if he must be honest, then heās certain that thinking he knows better than whatever gods placed him here is his greatest sin.
His body is all wrong.
The changes are subtle but they make him uneasy as he looks at his reflection -- itās just wrong enough that it doesnāt look like him anymore, but at the same time, it would be stranger if it was anyone else. Wasnāt he already too tall? Ryeontaeās long fingers brush against the tattoos on his chest -- those are his, they always have been, but when did they get there?
As he dresses himself he finally accepts that he is not dead yet; the IV, the strange instructions, those things are proof of that, even if nothing about this really makes sense. Perhaps itās still true that heās being punished -- but Ryeontae -- Joker -- has never cared for such constructs, has he? As far as he cares he could be punished for everything he is and has ever been and it would not force him to change; he straightens his back, steels himself and regains his footing.
The weapon in his hands is foreign, yet it feels as natural as anything -- at first itās unnerving, but as time passes Ryeontae begins to like it. Thereās a certain satisfaction in the weight of its swing, of the way itās double-edged like a card is two-sided and how his muscles are beginning to scream from strain but he keeps going regardless. Practice until your legs give out, pass out, repeat -- itās a few meaningless cycles of immeasurable time before Ryeontae, panting heavily, bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead, hears the sound of the door opening and a smirk pulls at his lips.
The trials only grow more difficult, but he clings to that satisfying heat pumping under his skin. Ryeontaeās body -- bizarrely enhanced and capable as it is -- is screaming for it to end but that, too, serves to drive him forward; even if this is some sort of hell on earth, he refuses to die here. If heās survived this much, then there must be so much more he can endure -- heāll push himself until he breaks, rather than giving up anywhere before that point.
Heās barely holding on to consciousness when everything goes white.
It doesnāt seem so strange this time.
A cot, an IV, corrugated metal walls, a tunnel ahead. Itās strange, the feeling of becoming numb to it ā the darkness, the solitude, the pain. He wonders if heāll be able to live if he makes it out of this ā if this is some kind of trial, or some kind of game, if his fate is sealed, if thereās any escape at all. He gets the feeling that heās being watched, that someoneās been watching all along. Itās fine; Ryeontae has plenty of enemies.
Trials by fire, by water, by earth, by air ā itās nothing he canāt handle, not with the way his body has become stronger, his senses sharper. Somehow he knows he can survive; heās too stubborn for his own good. He wonāt die. His conviction wonāt allow it ā even if heās not sure what remains at the end of these trials. The slightest taste of fresh air steels his nerves even harder: there has to be something at the end.
The answer is a fall, and for just a moment, Ryeontae feels a flicker of something peaceful ā the feeling that maybe dying wouldnāt be so bad, if he truly has no choice ā but he snuffs it out as soon as his back hits the netting below.
When he strides into the next trial he has a new tattoo on his wrist, one of a sun ā he touches the one on his chest, still there despite all the strange changes in his body. Itās a comfort; even if his memory is still foggier than heād like, this mark of his own is still there. The Awakening ā it sounds ominous, but he only laughs.
āIām tired of sleeping.ā
He fights for his life, his body torn in places but not falling apart yet ā he wonders how each task somehow truly does grow more difficult than the last, but he refuses to go down no matter how his legs pulse with pain and his blood starts to flow out from his body. It goes down and his knees buckle at the same time ā thereās a grin on his lips when everything goes white again.
He has no idea how long itās been since he saw another person -- itās almost disorienting.
Here he is, though, surrounded by others -- but unable to grow closer to them. No one speaks and Ryeontae doesnāt know what to say, either; he doesnāt know any of these people, but he wants to. Theyāre trapped here like him -- his mind skips the cynical assumptions in its desperation for some weak semblance of human connection.
The chains heād barely taken note of fall off and Ryeontae lifts a foot experimentally ā strange. Itās almost like heās getting used to nothing making sense ā which canāt be a good thing. He stands and takes his weapon ā notices that he immediately knows that itās his, like itās a part of him now, which doesnāt seem to be untrue. Heās silent as he heads outward, following the path and watching as the group grows smaller ā theyāll be working together, then? He can do that. He turns and looks over his group. Heās one of the older ones here ā some of them look nervous.
āWeāve made it this far. If we work together, we wonāt fail now.ā
His voice echoes low and the others all stare at him; he doesnāt flinch. Thereās a decisiveness both in how he speaks and how he moves and it finds people following him, the rest slowly trailing thereafter, perhaps simply out of fear of being left alone. Humans are social animals in the end, arenāt they? Joker most certainly is, though he thinks it would be easier if he wasnāt.
Joker -- isnātĀ āJokerā a bit different fromĀ āRyeontaeā? Is he going to have to beĀ āJokerā from now on, in order to survive?
He acts as a rallying point, pushes the group through the course one step at a time -- risks must be taken but they pay off in the end, as much as it finds some of the members of his group frightened. Joker refuses to leave anyone behind, even if it makes things difficult; perhaps thatās another reason that no one really objects to his low voice calling out instructions, because theyāre desperate for someone to trust, too.
When they all make it out alive, Joker feels like heās glowing.
They reconvene and the group is smaller, but Joker doesnāt comment on it even if he silently feels vindicated. He stays cool -- itās one of his better qualities.Ā Even a brief reprieve of human contact, where they talk about nothing particularly meaningful, feels better than a glass of cold water would. By the end of it, Joker feels like heās been friends with these people forever. Maybe he should know better than to feel too attached, but a part of him does anyway ā he canāt help it.
When theyāre hunted he does everything he can to protect them ā finds some selfish part of himself that canāt stand to let others be harmed before his eyes. This isnāt selflessness; this is the sign of a weak ego.
Some of them donāt make it this time ā it feels like a fall. But Joker doesnāt let the way it hurts to hear screams of pain show, not any more than he can help it ā he has to survive, they have to survive, and with that kind of mindset, most of them do.
This time, everything goes black.
Kill your opponent before they can kill you ā but what kind of opponent is a defenseless one?
The clock is ticking and Jokerās head is swimming. He canāt die. He canāt ā heās suffered so much to make it this far, there has to be some light at the end of this tunnelā
ābut can he kill someone else so that he can survive?
The answer comes when he stops thinking about it, when his eyes go dead and his finger pulls the trigger ā he never looks the person in the eye, never hears their voice over the pounding of his own heart.
Everythingās a blur after that. Somehow, out of everything that made his body and mind scream for release, those fifteen seconds were what came closest to killing him.
Itās doors again, and Joker stares at them soberly. Ten words with some significance he doesnāt understand again ā like the sins before, but these seem to be positive, donāt they? He analyzes his options, knowing heās meant to choose one; is this what it is that he has, what he lacks, what he wants ā what he will receive? If it is what he seeks, then itās the power to change things ā freedom from the shackles of circumstance. If itās what he is, then he is passionate, he is ambitious, he is honorable and he is ā well, he was up until now ā free.
But here, passion is without meaning ā here, there is no such thing as freedom. Joker knows that because this entire trial has served to crush him ā itās harder than ever to even know how long it lasted, how long itās been since he smelled coffee in the air and felt sunlight on his skin, or what even came before this. Here, valor has kept him alive ā but so has his ambition, and his honor has kept him strong. His honor is his selfish justice, in a way, his own way of striving for something greater ā of trying to be something more without submitting to someone elseās idea of right and wrong.
He fixes his grip around the handle of the white door. It is what he seeks and what will keep him alive ā the answer to each question heās posed himself ā and so he pushes through with an unshakable conviction.
The others are there, marked as he is ā less of them, again. There was no saving them this time. The only reason they could be dead is simple: they werenāt able to kill.
As everything goes white, Joker doesnāt let himself mourn those who didnāt make it here. Theyāre better off for it.
Itās become routine.
And yet for that being said, thereās actual food this time -- Jokerās skeptical of it, and somehow, as the memories return, he still doesnāt have an appetite despite not remembering the last time he ate. He feels like heās broken, in some way -- no longer reacting to things like a normal person should. Nonetheless he takes what heās given, and fresh clothes as well -- nothing quite feels like a relief.
The sign says this is the last trial, and Ryeontaeās heart skips a beat -- he looks around at the others, some murmuring, most silent, and he steps forward again, ready.
āLetās go.ā
Itās harder than anything before -- the stakes are higher and the enemies are less predictable, almost human but too strange and ghastly to be such. Coordinating his group is harder, too, but Joker does his best; theyāre all elites here, now, arenāt they? Theyāve been through so much -- the terrain canāt be impassable. Theyāve all killed an innocent -- there canāt be any difficulty killing monsters. Are they all numb like him, a little broken, questioning their humanity? Do some of them enjoy it the way he doesnāt want to, feeling the thrill as they break apart and rise higher for it?
There is most certainly something satisfying about the feeling of his blade piercing flesh, of that nigh-berserk kind of high he gets when heĀ āevolvesā and slings acid in the eyes of the final foe -- an advantage that lets his comrades fell it, fewer from the start as they are. (It hurts a bit less to lose them this time, if only because he stops thinking about it at some point.)
Responsibility and triumph and coordination -- adrenaline and blood and pain, it all blurs together into a pulsating, heady haze.
He finally, properly, really, remembers.
He had remembered that he wasĀ ācaughtā, that he probably hadĀ āenemiesā, that he wasĀ āJokerā -- now he remembers Sorisso, remembers cards, remembers stealing, the thrill. He remembers someone coming for him and that he wasnāt good at defending himself -- thatās changed now, hasnāt it? He remembers why his chest saysĀ āViva La Revolucionā and why he chose honor above all else -- heās a bit selfish but heās convicted and heās not afraid, even now, of whatās to come.
The pieces are falling back into place, but he is still broken in more ways than he could count.
He despises being branded and it takes all his strength not to spit acidic words in the faces of the people whoāre staring at him -- he thrives on attention but not like this, not like heās some kind of lab rat or toy, something inhuman. Ryeontae bites his tongue, though, because after all of this he canāt be killed for something so stupid -- maybe he gives a few quips under his breath, but he doesnāt let his true colors show.
Fresh air feels better now than he couldāve ever imagined, as he slowly reconciles the past uncountable days with the years before -- Joker closes his eyes and lets the harsh wind spread by the helicopterās blades rush over him, ruffling his hair and his clothes wildly, and simply soaks in the sensations of being alive.
itās nice to meet you all! (unless I know you already which... shhh donāt worry about it) Iām the mun behind Joker here, who is... an interesting collection of traits but hopefully he comes together cohesively weeps. thank you everyone whoās welcomed me so far; Iāll get to responding to you soon! hopefully we can all plot together and have a good time owo
under the cut here is a long ramble of things about Joker that might or might not be useful for you to get to know him better. a lot about his past. idk man Iām the rambliest of souls I donāt even know how long this initiation solo is going to beeee
NO RELATION TO THE DC VILLAIN. Best if we get that out of the way straight away. (Joker is loosely inspired by the protagonist of Persona 5, though. Loosely.)
Formerly known as Go Ryeontae: cafe owner, (illegal) card dealer, and career thief.
He inherited the cafe from his mom, a little local family-owned place called Sorisso in Incheon with a modest customer base and a good reputation for giving out free meals when the need arose and generally having a warm, home-grown, sort-of-quirky kind of atmosphere. How nice, right? Except the whole thing where Ryeontae is a criminal but weāll get there.
Dealing at an illegal gambling ring was originally just something he picked up doing to pay the bills, but it became a nice path to seedier connections and generally, Ryeontae was good at it. Heās well-mannered and charming and good at small talk -- he might even have a silver tongue -- and skilled/shrewd enough to ensure that hands wentĀ āfairlyā.
Now the thievery -- that was his downfall, though it was also his life, in a sense. He fashioned himself as a thief with honor, a bit of a Robin Hood type -- always targeting people who had money and then being generous with what heād stolen, making semi-anonymous donations to charities and that kind of thing. Though saying it was aboutĀ ājusticeā was a pretty ruse he tricked himself into, in a sense, because really, Joker got high on the sense of power and freedom that getting away with his crimes gave him. This was the culmination of his childhood as a delinquent whoād realized playing the system was more effective than fighting it head-on.
Naturally, heād eventually get caught -- or more accurately, sold out by an accomplice, though Joker doesnāt know that. It definitely did not help that Joker had targeted members of the Collective for his theft -- both in the physical and digital realms -- so he had enemies there, who were happy to identify him and see him punished. Putting him in BLCKTMPL was probably easier (and more fun) than putting him on trial with scarce evidence, so thatās what happened.
With his reputation, Joker is a somewhat polarizing candidate -- some people are just waiting for him to fail spectacularly as a form ofĀ ādivineā retribution, while others have fallen in love with his cool and cavalier attitude. Heās now been in the game for almostĀ three years -- though heās older than a lot of the other players at 27.
He has a love-hate relationship with the game, to be sure; on one hand, he hates being confined and he hates that heās lost everything, but a part of him thrives on the adrenaline and the fact that he gets to show off for an audience. (He can be really flashy sometimes.)
He chose Isabelline because while he believes in justice, he believes not in aĀ ālawfulā justice but in aĀ āfairā justice, and felt that he would be out of place among others whoād chosenĀ ājusticeā. (Aka, his justice is selfish, and heās a prideful little fuck.) His noble persona might be a facade to some extent but itās what keeps him alive and going most times -- maybe he wanted it to become more genuine, too, when he picked the white door, though thereās a lot of corruption buried in his system at this point.
So yeah. Jokerās a bit of a mess but heās a charming mess? Kind of? He doesnāt talk much about himself but heās still a great conversationalist and a good listener. Heās a natural leader but he takes a back seat when necessary, because while heās very assertive, he also doesnāt always have it in him to directly fight people over things, and he knows when itās best to just lay low. He wants people to rely on him but has a hard time relying on people even though he really needs to sometimes? He can really be stubborn and reckless and short-sighted in general but he does it with such a cool and confident demeanor that it can be hard to tell that heās being stupid. He might or might not get high on taking risks.
Also, some fun facts: he always smells like coffee, he lowkey steals things from people he likes (to remember them by), he always carries around playing cards (but you shouldnāt play with him), and he spends most of his time hanging out in local cafes around Seoul.
This is a lot of text but hopefully you have an idea of what to expect from Joker now! Feel free to drop into my inbox or wait for me to respond to your welcome or like this post and we can get plotting~ I definitely am going to want an event thread right away if possible, so yes!
hereās a gif that made me smile and is also probably accurate joker
