#hes not stupid and naive hes extremely smart and good at masking how he really is!! cmon people

[cringefail-clown]

shoutout to afab nonbinary he/him jake english, must be my favourite gender

[oliviayamaoka]

The Roseville Murders (Chapter 2)

Hi, just wanted to say I adjusted the plot slightly and will go into more detail with the story next chapter! This was a bit experimental and I wanted to write the growing relationship / rivalry between Y/N and Danny. I also wanted to write Y/N as a girlboss and to be just as witty as Danny!

Anyways, please comment any ideas or suggestions you may wanna see in future chapters! I have this planned out but would love any ideas or stuff I can add into the story! Tysm for reading!

It rained softly outside as you took a seat at your workplace. The desk was a bit cluttered with your art, notes, junk, and your papers regarding your current investigation.

One of the drawings on your desk was a sketch of Ghostface’s mask, attached to it was a few notes regarding the origin of the mask. Did Ghostface care for the history of it, anyways? You already theorized he was a narcissist who took pride in his work. Perhaps, he admired Edward Munch and his infamous “The Scream” artwork? Or maybe he based his persona off of it? You weren’t too sure but you did research the distribution and the company that made the masks. It wasn’t a particular popular company but it only distributed to the USA, Canada, and Brazil.

Ghostface didn’t seem too caring when it came to where he stabbed victims. As long as there was a lot of blood and something only he could perceive as art. And maybe you too. You felt excited, you already had a three year timeline. Maybe, you could get ahold of other states and ask if there’s been similar killings. Maybe even Brazil and Canada? You had to pinpoint a location and see if you could find just one name, any name.

Three years. Three countries. A part of you doubted he was Brazilian. Maybe Canadian? You weren’t so sure, you were pretty sure he was American. Y/N would probably have to go to the library tommorow to do research and use the slowly growing internet. Your research was suddenly halted when you knocked your sketchbook over.

Our slid a page. You kneeled down to pick it up, holding it as you examined the dark sketch. On the paper was a sketch of claws? No, they also looked like tentacles. Ever since the incident, you had dreams of these tentacle claws grabbing you and pulling you away from life as you know it. It must’ve been a sign of trauma or maybe it represented what happened through the nightmares? You slid it back into your sketchbook, deciding not to dwell on it. It would only make your room feel more depressing.

Beside your sketchbook was your leather journal. Y/N wrote everything in there, for mental health reasons. You included the incident and what Jonathan did for you. Your previous therapist said journaling your thoughts helped the healing process. It worked but journaling about how you killed your abuser was hell.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted when your phone rang. It was a chunky, black mobile phone you got about a week ago? Y/N reached for it and answered.

“Hello?” You answered, using your other hand to organize your desk.

“Hello?” A voice answered, it was a male by the sound of it.

“Hi, who’s this?” Y/N asked, paying no mind to the phone call as she started to put some of her stuff away. Art supplies.

“Who’s this?” He replied.

“Y/N L/N, am I who you’re trying to reach?” You asked, sitting back down.

“Ah, you’re no fun, detective.” He chuckled as you stopped, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. Who was this?

“My apologies but, this is my personal phone. Can I ask who gave you this number?” You questioned him.

“Why does it matter, gorgeous? I know it’s you now.” He responded.

“Please don’t call me that. And yes, I am indeed a detective but I’d feel more comfortable discussing anything with you on my work phone.” Y/N said sternly.

“Oh, yeah… Detective L/N, huh? Think you’re some sort of hotshot because you’re new? Where did you come from? Washington? Gonna take more than the feds to catch me.” He said to you.

You listened intently and stopped for a moment. Catch him? Must be a stupid prank. Although, not a funny one since he had your personal phone number. An eyebrow raised as you looked at your notes on Ghostface.

“You still haven’t told me your name. Let’s not be rude, yeah?” You responded, being a little more cocky since you were off-duty.

“Awe, don’t tell me you forgot my name. I’ll give you a hint… I’ve been quite famous lately. In fact, I think you’ve taken quite the interest in me, Y/N.” The man teased. It was 100% Danny.

“I asked for a name, not an alias.” You said.

“Maybe after dinner, hotshot.” Danny said to you as you furrowed your eyebrows.

“I’m not in Roseville to play games. Either verify you are who you claim to be or quit wasting my time.” Y/N spoke with a stern tone.

“My last victim had three stab wounds to the throat. It was going to be two but their scream wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. And they had a tattoo on their upper thigh. Bella Smith.” He said as you froze for a moment.

It was true. The latest murder victim was a middle-aged woman named Bella Smith who worked at a convenience store. She had multiple stab wounds but it was pretty much impossible to see she had three wounds on her throat just looking at photos of the crime scene.

“Okay and how did you get my number? I imagine the infamous Ghostface doesn’t have access to these types of things. How do I know this isn’t some sort of elaborate prank orchestrated by my coworkers?” You questioned.

“Honey, I am Roseville. Also sounds like you have experience with these kinds of things. You ever get humiliated like that?” Danny asked, grinning widely.

“No, it’s just a very logical conclusion. And why would you be talking to me anyways?” You asked him.

While you spoke to him, you quickly wrote down what he said and what he sounded like. You quickly speculated what his age may be, maybe 25?

“I keep tabs on the cops who are investigating my work and to be honest? They’re all stupid, it’s pathetic. Although, I noticed something about you. You come from one of the big cities, don’t you? You’re actually smart compared to those other pigs.” He said.

“Those pigs you speak of have tried their best in pursuing you. They have families too.” You responded.

“Really, huh? You’ve only been here three weeks? I think you should just trust me on this one because those other officers really don’t know what they’re doing. If you actually find out who I am, are they gonna give you credit? The newbie? A woman?” He asked.

“I don’t understand why gender is an issue. And why would they try to steal credit?” You questioned.

“They’re stuck in this shit hole city and I bet they could just really use a promotion right now. They want so badly to be the hero that arrests me… but first, they’ll let the freshly graduated detective do the work. It’s so easy to overshadow women in this world.” Danny said.

“Well, I don’t care. As long as you’re put behind bars.” Y/N responded.

“The bars at this station? I must say, your desk is quite cute. A bit plain but I like your style… interesting files too.” He mused.

“Huh?” You responded, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Your lil’ office at the station, I like it. This place has always been easy to break into. You noticed it too, didn’t you? Their security sucks and their morgue is just too damn small.” Danny said as you frantically looked around, shoving your shoes on.

“I’m going to call them right now and tell them you’re there. That was a stupid move on your part.” You said, practically yelling.

“So young and naive. I’ll be long gone.” He responded, chuckling as you hung up.

“Fuck, shit!” You said, quickly dialling the number to the police station.

You practically flung your door open, sprinting down the hallway and out through the front doors of the apartment complex after three flights of stairs. Your heart rate increased as you continued running down the sidewalk, feeling more frantic when there was no answer.

“Answer…!” You yelled, calling the emergency number.

“911, how can I help you?” A staticky voice answered as you continued running.

“I’m Detective Y/N L/N! Please inform the police station that there’s an intruder! He might be armed and dangerous! Do not touch anything since there may be forensic evidence!” You instructed.

“Oh—yes, right away, ma’am!” The dispatcher answered as you hung up, continuing to focus on your running towards the station.

Back at your apartment complex, there stood Danny with his own mobile phone. It couldn’t be traced back to him since it was stolen and he didn’t leave any DNA on it. If anything, it had the previous owners. Bella Smith. Your apartment complex had fire escape stairs outside your window. Easy enough, he thought. His outfit was black and had some stuff hanging off it. Strings? Ribbons? Danny was quite quick and extremely quiet when it came to climbing the set of stairs.

He reached your window, pulling it open gently and hoisting himself through, landing gently whilst kneeled down. For precaution, he had his knife gripped in one hand. This was purely for investigation and to see what you truly had on him. His head tilted curiously as he noticed your desk. Your art and notebook. His gloved hand reached out to your sketch of him.

Danny was truly impressed at how detailed and good it was. He read through your sticky notes and theories. Other than the fact he was blown away, he knew you were a threat since you successfully guessed his age range and height. Wait, his height? You did a careful examination of the footage he was in, looking at objects around him and his boots to correctly guess a height.

“What the fuck…?” Danny muttered as he looked at your notes.

The Scream by Edward Munch and a costume company? He skimmed over your notes and the psychological profile you built on him. He felt somewhat panicked since you were indeed no joke. His gaze averted towards your leather notebook. Eagerly, he grabbed it and opened it. Most of it was your thoughts and causes of your stress and anxiety. He stopped flipping through when he saw a darker page. It was dark because of the writing and how crumpled it seemed.

December 23rd, 1992

I was walking down an alleyway two weeks ago. It was cold so I had a jacket over my uniform. I suppose that’s why the man didn’t know I was an officer.

At first, I thought that he was going to try and rob me. It took me a while to realize that my money and belongings wasn’t what he was after. I suppose it would be appropriate to say that I was in shock for a moment. He never finished what he started. Despite being in shock, I was able to feel everything and the adrenaline only helped my rage.

Why? Why did this have to happen to me? After getting him off, I pulled my gun out and he stopped. I still remember the look on his face after I shot him. He was scared and pathetic, as he was in life. I don’t regret killing him. I never will. I just feel utterly violated. Never once have I been touched like that so violently. Is this what this fucked up world has come to? What if I didn’t have my gun and training?

He definitely did this to other women… he deserved to die. And I would do it all over again to him and to other men just like him. Of course, I had to call the police. They were going to charge me with manslaughter but they said that they would push this all under the rug, just as long as I never tell anybody. Did I contribute to corruption in the police force? This getting out would ruin everything. I don’t know but I do know that this was my gift.

Freedom was my gift for killing that man. It felt oddly exhilarating. I hope nobody remembers him, I hope his family know what kind of monster he was. Anyways, I’m being reassigned somewhere. They said they’ll give me my first investigation. In a smaller city.

Danny’s fingers trailed over the page. He felt angry and sad for you. That this happened to you. But, something arose in him when he kept re-reading that paragraph. You… enjoyed it? Behind the mask, he had a soft expression on his face. He imagined your beautiful face full of blood with you and your gun. He smiled gently as he kept the notebook.

He did indeed feel bad for you but he wasn’t satisfied with his limited knowledge of you. Danny decided to use this notebook of incriminating evidence to hold some leverage over you. Not only that but he figured he’d get to know you better if they had something interesting to talk to you about. Danny couldn’t help but grin when he thought about your journal entry and the sketches you made of him. So smart yet so naive.

Danny quickly took a look around your apartment to see all points of entry. He took a peak into your bedroom, it was neat and tidy. He seemed somewhat paranoid so quickly went back to your living room window, making his swift little escape. Not without taking some of your notes on him and your sketchbook.

About two hours later, you rubbed your eyes in frustration as another officer came to talk to you. There was a forensic team still investigating your little office space. Apparently, there was nobody here and your office seemed untouched. For about thirty minutes, you inspected any points of entry and tried to look for out of place shoe marks since it rained outside.

“Detective, are you certain it was the killer who called? We get prank calls a lot.” He said as you nodded.

“Yes, I’m certain. It was him, he knows I’m going to catch him soon.” You said as he nodded a bit.

“Okay, well, we’ll take it from here. Come early tommorow.” He said as you sighed.

“I will but please, don’t miss anything. I’m starting to think he was lying. It was him though.” You said as you turned, walking down the hallway towards the exit.

It seemed to be evening at this point and the rain stopped pouring. It was slightly humid but the city looked oddly beautiful when it was wet? You couldn’t stop thinking about your phone call with Ghostface earlier. Y/N already had some tech professionals try to track the number he called from and all of the information regarding the phone company. You’d have to wait two days at the latest for the results to come back.

As you walked through light puddles, you felt more and more tired. All the running and frantically searching for him was enough to just make you exhausted. It was all last-minute too. Y/N stopped dead in her tracks when she felt her mobile phone ring. You pulled it out of your pocket and answered it.

“Hello?” You asked, tired.

“Hey, gorgeous. Just wanted to apologize for my little deception trick earlier.” He responded as your eyes widened.

“Ghostface…” You responded, shocked that he had the courage to call you again.

“God, hearing that from you…” He said with a slight husk as you took a deep breath quietly to calm yourself.

“You know I’m close, don’t you?” You questioned him as he chuckled.

“Of course, I do… only these hands of mine can do wonders for you.” Danny said to you as you scoffed.

“You’re disgusting.” You say to him.

“Don’t lose your temper now, detective. There’s… things we should discuss.” He cooed.

“Things? Seriously?” You asked him, already tired of his bullshit.

“Yeah! Like, this lil’ notebook of yours! Really deep stuff… Victor Houston, was it? The serial rapist? Must’ve felt real good to put him down, didn’t it? Did it feel as good as you said it did in this thing?” He asked as you froze.

You probably let out a small whimper of shock as your hands trembled. Your heart pumped hard and fast. It was all you can hear as you felt your face heat out of pure embarrassment and shock. He… read your journal? This wasn’t good, this wasn’t good.

“W-What…?” You asked as he cackled.

“God, you’re so hot when you sound scared. Don’t be offended though, babe. You still sound real sexy in your cop tone.” He said as he continued.

“Yeah, I read all about the guy you killed. And how it was all covered up to accommodate you. Are you a star student or something? It’s hard covering up murders… or has it always been easy for you?” He asked.

“I-I, um… how did you get that…?” You asked him, trembling.

“You see, Y/N… we’re the same. You and I are too smart for Roseville. It’s just that I got the upper hand this time. While you rushed to the police station, I took a quick trip into your apartment.” He said as you let out a light gasp.

“Yeah, that’s right! I know where you live, I know where you’re from, and your number. I know who you truly are, Detective Y/N L/N.” Danny said mockingly.

“And what are you going to do with it?” You asked him.

“Always so straight to the point. I might give that annoying little journalist Jed Olsen. You’re trying to work with him, aren’t you? You mentioned in one of these notes… you also think he’s handsome.” He said as you covered your eyes.

You fought tears.

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask.

“I should be asking you that. I’m a bit jealous you find someone like Olsen… attractive. He’s so boring, so normal, so… ugh, I hate talking about him. Still though, nice to know I have another fan besides him.” He said to you.

“Where are you going with this?!” You snapped as he chuckled darkly.

“I won’t tell anybody. Just as long as you halt your investigation for a while. I still want to have fun in Roseville here and well… get to know you.” He said.

“Go to hell.” You muttered.

“How original… so what’ll it be? I kinda need to know now since I’m also on a bit of a time crunch.” Danny asked you.

“W-What the fuck do you want me to do? Sit back and watch as you kill more innocent people?! I won’t let you.” You said with a venomous tone.

“What are you gonna do? Stop me behind bars?” He asked mockingly.

“Fuck you.” You said.

“I’m sure we will. But first, I just want you to sit back and not do anything stupid. We’ll see each other eventually. I’ll call you from another phone soon.” He said, hanging up.

You held your phone in disbelief and quickly made sure you had your gun. How the hell could you have been so dumb?! It was genius, leading you away from you apartment and finding such leverage against you purely out of luck. Your breath trembled as you walked back to your apartment, having your gun ready in your pocket as you did so.

[sage-nebula]

In Mystic Messenger, it feel like all MCs from Good Ends are meant to be what the route owners want and need, their ideal MCs in a way. Like I could figure out the characters' preferences from their routes, but that's not the case with Saeyoung. He even said outright that his route MC (naive and obnoxious???) fit 707 the mask better than the real him. Sure, what he likes might not be what is right for him, but then that wouldn't be ideal. What do you think is Saeyoung's ideal MC?

While I agree with you that the minimal characterization MC has in Mystic Messenger varies depending on whose route you choose (in that MC has to behave a certain way to get the Good End for whatever character the player decides to pursue), I don’t really like using the word “ideal,” because I think that it makes MC less of a person and more of a fantasy. Which, I mean, don’t get me wrong, MC as she is in the game isn’t a character. She’s a placeholder, a blank slate; her purpose is for the player to project onto her, which is why she doesn’t have a stated canonical history, or any real personality to speak of. It’s also, as much as the fandom likes to meme about it, why she doesn’t have any eyes. “Eyes are the windows to the soul,” as the cliché goes, and by not giving her eyes Cheritz is showing us that MC doesn’t have a “soul” of her own, so to speak. Her soul is supposed to be our soul. She is supposed to be us.

With that said, as you probably know I grew extremely frustrated with MC during Saeyoung’s Route. I don’t feel that MC, as Cheritz writes her, is a good fit for him. I don’t think she’s what he needs, and in honesty I don’t even think she’s what he wants; she’s what he’s made to want because Cheritz had to make the relationship romantic by the end of the eleven days, and having him reject MC when she was being intrusive, pushy, and clingy would have made players upset. Rather than write an MC who would actually be good for Saeyoung (and thus be someone that he would naturally want to be with), they instead warped Saeyoung to force him to give into her, even if not the Manic Pixie Dream Girl™ version of her. And that, as you could imagine, was pretty disagreeable to me.

So when I say that I ship Saeyoung/MC, what I actually mean is that I ship Saeyoung and the MC that I created. I ship them as I write them, and I ship them based on the version of their story as I rewrite it (which deviates from canon during the apartment days, albeit not by too much, because honestly, it’s not that hard to fix). I’m happy to describe her, but I feel to get the full picture, you’re going to need some backstory. Well, that, and a picture; for reference, my MC (and the one that I imagine being with Saeyoung) is MC 4. This girl:

So with that said, let’s begin.

First, the backstory. How I have it, MC’s name actually is MC … as far as she knows, anyway. You see, sad backstories are par for the course in Mystic Messenger, and MC is no exception. When she was little (say, around nine or so), she was in an accident. It was a pretty major one; details are hazy, but as the story goes she was on a train with her parents, traveling somewhere, and the train derailed and crashed. MC was thrown clear of the train car; she somehow (quite miraculously!) survived without serious injuries, but she woke up on the ground, completely alone, with no memory of how she got there or where she was. It was quite frightening; she called out for help, but no one came. As a result of that, and since she could still walk, she picked herself up off the ground and, well … walked. When she located the train tracks, she followed them until she managed to make it back to a station. There, some adults found her, and they asked her where her parents were. She said, truthfully, that she didn’t know. They asked her what her name was. And she said, again truthfully, that she didn’t know … but then she said, “MC.” It was all she could remember. She didn’t think it was really right (it was sort of right, she thought, it felt right, just not … complete), but it was all she could think of, it was all she could remember. And the adults, in lieu of anything else to call her, went with it.

(In reality, her parents had named her Mi-Cha. Her father did a lot of business overseas, and so he had taught her how to write her name in English as well as Korean. She had thought the English letters looked funny, so she had a lot of fun writing them out … and since the M and C were capitals, those were the ones she remembered. Mi-Cha, MC. Head injuries can be funny like that, I suppose.)

Of course the adults at the station knew about the accident, but of the few survivors of the wreck, none of them laid claim to MC. MC didn’t recognize any of them, either. And so without any other options, particularly since MC couldn’t remember if she had any other family, the adults at the station turned her over to the police, who put her into foster care.

The foster families that MC had weren’t … bad, per se. She moved homes a lot, especially in the beginning as the system tried to put her front and center to see if they could find a family to adopt her. The thing is, they couldn’t; MC was already older than most children who get adopted by the time she entered the system, her name struck potential parents as odd and she wasn’t willing to change it, and the fact that she was not exactly the cute and sweet type didn’t help matters, either. So she changed homes a lot, until finally she found one that stuck. The home was … again, it wasn’t necessarily bad, but it … this particular foster home had a lot of kids. And as a result of having so many kids, the foster parents were … very strict. It was almost run like military barracks; there were always chores to do (a lot of them), and the foster mother in particular was rarely satisfied with the job that was done. As MC grew, the fact that she was very independent and mouthy really didn’t earn her favors with the foster parents. It also didn’t earn her favors with potential adoptive parents. And though it could likely be guessed, it didn’t earn her favors with her foster siblings, either. MC spent about two years in that home before she decided she had enough, and decided to take matters into her own hands. In this case, “matters” meant robbing a little safe that was in the study one night while everyone was sleeping, and—with all the cash she could carry and a backpack of clothes on her back—running away.

MC was fourteen.

She was fourteen, but even at fourteen she knew that it wouldn’t be wise to stay in the same city, so she used some of the money she stole to get a train to skip town. (The second she boarded the train, she felt like she was going to suffocate. It was anxiety—she was having a panic attack. But she couldn’t remember the accident that had killed her parents and left her an orphan, so she told herself this reaction was stupid and forced herself to suck it up.) She rode the train a couple towns over, and then decided that it would be best to lay low for a while, to make sure no cops were going to come look for her. Unfortunately, she was a fourteen-year-old with only a wad of cash, no diploma (since she was now a … she might not have even finished middle school), and no way of getting a job. This meant that she was now homeless. But MC figured, well, in a way she had been homeless ever since her parents died, since the foster homes never really felt like home to her. She had always known that they were going to be temporary. So she could do this. She could. She would do this.

It wasn’t easy.

MC had, at least, the foresight to run away in the spring, so it wasn’t too cold out. But she had a lot of nights curled up on porches so she could avoid the rain. She was able to buy food, at least, with what money she had, but because she had a limited amount of money she sometimes resorted to stealing fruit from market stalls, and she really wasn’t very good at it at first. After a time she managed to find a church, and the people there helped her. They gave her food, at least, because they felt bad, but any time they started to ask questions about her family life, she always made sure to beat a hasty retreat. She was still afraid the cops would arrest her if they found out that she had stolen the money from the foster home and booked it, after all. In her mind, she was a fugitive. She didn’t want to push her luck.

But the church was warm (enough), and safe, so she stayed there a lot, even though she technically wasn’t supposed to. It wasn’t hard; she would hide in a bathroom stall until the church was locked up for a night, and then sleep on one of the pews. The church had a communal bathroom, with a shower and everything, so that helped her keep clean. And so long as she made sure to duck out of the way and retreat back to the bathroom whenever she heard the church doors open in the morning, she could avoid being caught. It was a foolproof plan. MC was pretty sure it wasn’t a problem that she had dropped out of school. Clearly, she was smart enough without it. 

This continued on for about two, maybe three, years. And then, when she was about seventeen, she met Byungho.

Byungho was a businessman about five years her senior (so, around twenty-two) who came to the church every so often. MC didn’t talk to him at first; she made it a practice of not talking very much with others, because again, when she talked to people, they tended to ask questions, and that was something she wanted to avoid. But he took notice of her anyway, given that she was frequently in the church, and so one day, he struck up conversation with her. It was light, innocent; he asked her what her name was, commented that “MC” was a rather odd name to have. He tried to make small talk, and she made an excuse to get out of it. But the next time she saw him, he tried talking to her again. And the time after that, and the time after that. And on the fifth time, he invited her to go get lunch with him—his treat. 

MC felt that it was probably a bad idea. But she was hungry, and he seemed nice enough all the times she talked with him, so … what the heck. She went.

As it turns out, Byungho seemed quite nice. He seemed that way. They went to a restaurant and had lunch, and he confessed that he thought she was quite pretty. MC, as a seventeen-year-old homeless girl, was caught pretty off-guard by this. Had he … was he blind? Her clothes were shabby and ill-fitting, since by now they were donations from people at the church. Her hair was unkempt, and cut unevenly since she had cut it herself. She had acne. She never got enough to eat, so she was underweight. Like, honestly … had he seen her? But he insisted that she was pretty, and that he liked her, and that he wanted to spend more time with her. And she, well … she couldn’t remember the last time she had heard such kindness. It was flattering, and it made her feel good, so she accepted the compliments. And when he said he would drive her home, she confessed that she was staying at the church, because she had nowhere else to go.

And that was when he invited her to come stay with him.

The good news is that it wasn’t hard for MC to move into his apartment, because all she had was her backpack of worldly possessions. The bad news is that Byungho was not nearly so nice as he seemed. Sure, he seemed nice at first; he treated her kindly at first. But you know … that’s how they get you. And that’s how he got her. It didn’t take very long for things to get bad. At first it was little things, like he was irritated that she hadn’t prepared dinner for him by the time he came home from work, as he felt a good girlfriend should (particularly one that was staying with him for free). But then it escalated. His annoyance turned to anger, turned to violence. And his expectations from her, as his girlfriend, kept mounting.

MC tried to stick it out at first. This was better than being homeless, she told herself. His apartment was nice. He wasn’t home all the time. He had to work during the day. And maybe this was what girlfriends did. She didn’t know, she had never been anyone’s girlfriend before. And who else would want her? He had wanted her when she was just a grungy, scrawny homeless girl. No one else would have wanted her. This was … this was as good as she was going to get, so she should suck it up, and maybe she could learn to like it.

Of course, she never did. It would be impossible for anyone to like that.

She stayed there for about a year and a half before she hit her breaking point. Really, in honesty, she had hit her breaking point before that; while Byungho was at work, she would spend her time on the internet, trying to learn whatever skills she could so that she could get a job. Most places required some kind of degree, but call centers (and particularly international call centers) didn’t seem to (and even if they did, MC felt maybe she could forge one). International call centers did require some kind of English competency, though, so she did her best to try to learn at least basic English on the internet. And when she finally hit the last straw, well … she did what she does best.

She waited until he was at work, and until he had been there for a couple hours and thus wouldn’t double back. Then she robbed the safe he had in the apartment, stuffed all that cash and her worldly possessions into her backpack, and got the hell out of dodge.

Once again, she hopped a train (panic attack or no panic attack, it wasn’t worse than the Hell she was escaping) and skipped town, this time because she was terrified he would find her if she didn’t. This is how she ended up in the city where Mystic Messenger takes place. By this time she was eighteen or nineteen, so although she was homeless once again, she decided that she wasn’t just going to be homeless this time. Instead, she purchased herself a pay-as-you-go cell phone, and used a local library’s public computer to put in applications at whatever places in the area were hiring, as well as applying at various businesses around. Fortune was on her side; she got hired at a tech support call center (international; she spoke just enough English to secure the position), and after a month of working there, she was able to use her first paycheck and the money she still had after robbing Byungho to buy a small, modest apartment.

MC managed to keep this up for about four years, and in honesty, it was the happiest she had ever been in her life. Oh sure, she had to forge a couple documents in order to make it work, given that she didn’t have a state issued ID and was terrified of being on any sort of radar that Byungho might find if he looked hard enough (plus she was technically still a minor at eighteen, so she lied about her age and said she was twenty so that her employers or landlord wouldn’t think to alert the foster care system), but that was nothing that a library computer and dedicated research couldn’t help her do. Plus, the call center she worked at wasn’t exactly prestigious, and neither was her apartment. Her employers were just happy to have someone else on the phones. Her landlord was happy to have a quiet tenant. It was fine—great, even. She was able to have a nice little flat, she was able to be regularly fed, there was no one there to abuse her, she had steady income. Everything was great.

… until about six months before Mystic Messenger took place.

As I said, MC maintained this lifestyle for four years. She did so off the grid (i.e. no social media; Saeyoung lies through his teeth when he says he found her Facebook, because she doesn’t have a Facebook, because she’s not giving Byungho any way to find her), but she still did it. But six months before Mystic Messenger takes place, her call center went under. There was no explanation for it that MC could see; one day she had a job, and the next it was out of business. She was unemployed. Completely jobless, and definitely in trouble.

For two months, she tried finding a new job, but the job market was … not good. It was a wonder she got hired so quickly the last time; this time, it was like nowhere was hiring. She had money saved up, so for two months she was fine … but she could see that her savings were going to dwindle fast. MC felt she had two options: she could stay there until she was evicted with nothing, or she could leave when her lease ended and wait until she got a new job to get a new apartment.

She took option two, figuring it was safest.

She sold off her furniture for extra money and, hating everything, hit the streets once again. Fortunately, she wasn’t on the streets for very long; there was an apartment building she knew of on the other side of town that, well … it wasn’t in the greatest condition, honestly. Practically no one lived there. But the plus side of this was that no one would notice if someone was squatting, at least if the squatter was careful. So MC took advantage of this. Specifically, she took advantage of an unused, unlockable storage closet up on one of the higher floors. It was a walk-in storage closet, with threadbare carpeting and a bare bulb, but it was enough. It was enough, especially since there was a rec center with public bathrooms (+showers) right behind the apartment building. It was temporary, anyway, MC told herself. She would use her pay-as-you-go phone and find herself a new job. Once she had a new job, she would get a new apartment. She wouldn’t be homeless for long. She did it once before, and she could do it again. She would do it again.

But as the months—four of them, to be specific—wore on, it became more and more difficult to remain upbeat and optimistic.

She had been homeless before, so she could do it again. And she did. She told herself that her storage closet was a studio apartment. She told herself that she would get herself someplace nice. But the job market was just not good, and since her old place of employment was just gone it wasn’t even like she had a reference despite working solidly for four years. In honesty, MC felt like she was at an all-time low, even as she told herself (over, and over, and over again) that she had to stay optimistic, because if she let herself get depressed (or rather, if she acknowledged that she was depressed), then it would just make the whole situation worse. She she tried to combat her sense of hopelessness and depression with aggressive optimism. She tried very, very hard.

And that … that was when she met Unknown.

More specifically: In lieu of any callbacks about jobs, MC browsed the app store on her cheap phone, looking for something to amuse herself with. She came across a free app called “Mystic Messenger” with a blank icon. It caught her eye, and honestly … she couldn’t say why it did. But it did. So, figuring that maybe it was a dating app or something else she could waste time with, she figured “what the heck” and downloaded it. Sitting there in her little “studio apartment,” she downloaded it, because she was depressed and bored and had nothing else better to do since no one was calling her back about a job.

And that was how she met Unknown.

Make no mistake, she gave him hell. She interrogated him about his name. She interrogated him about why he was so obsessed with returning a phone to its owner. She called him on his vague non-answers. And oh, you better believe she trolled the hell out of him. It got to the point where he ended up getting rather irate and snappy with her during their exchange, his patience clearly lost as he tried to get her to agree to go to some stranger’s apartment, and honestly … she strongly considered just saying “no u” and deleting the app. She did. But it was only 6pm. She had nowhere to be, and nothing to do. And while she was now a far cry from the naive teenager who had taken a man at his word—while she was now a much smarter twenty-two or twenty-three-year-old—she figured … well. She had nothing else better to do. She had nothing worth stealing save the sparse clothes, money, and other basic toiletries in her backpack. And even if he was going to be lying in wait, waiting to rape and murder her, well, she could fight back. And even if she couldn’t, it’s not like she had anyone who would miss her, anyway.

So she figured, what the heck, and she went.

As it turns out, Unknown didn’t try to rape and murder her (although, as she pretended not to see the door lock, and he once again grew terse through the texts, she had the strangest feeling that he was … but that was stupid, he couldn’t be watching her. But all the same, she stopped trolling after a bit), but he did want her to go into the apartment. And MC, against her better judgment (because this was a stranger’s house, what if the cops were called on her?) … well, again. Nothing better to do, and a creepy feeling of eyes on the back of her neck. So she did. She entered the apartment.

And that was when she met the RFA.

Now, you have to understand: MC was more than a little bemused as she joined this group chat. She was more than a little aggravated how they kept referring to her as an “it.” And she thought that it was kind of hilarious how a party was treated like Super Serious Business™ (she laughed out loud when 707 bolded and increased the font size as he exclaimed Hosting parties???). But when they said that they wanted her to be the party coordinator, and that being the party coordinator meant staying at the apartment … 

Listen.

It’s not that MC had a secret passion for hosting parties. It’s not that she felt sympathy for these people who were, apparently, sad over the death of some woman named Rika, and wanted to carry on the parties in her name or whatever. It’s not that she thought that any of the guys were hot (although, to be fair, everyone in the chat was strangely attractive, Jaehee included), and that she wanted a boyfriend. No, this had nothing to do with any of that.

Instead, it was … listen. Not thirty minutes ago, MC had been living in a storage closet that she tried to insist to herself was just a shitty studio apartment. Now she was seated in the living room of an apartment with very nice furniture, and nice walls, and a bathroom with a toilet and a really nice shower. There was a kitchen where she could make food, and a fridge and cabinets where she could store it. It was just down the street from a convenience mart. And while it was clear that being the RFA party coordinator was not a paying gig, in MC’s mind, the equation went as thus:

Do a good job as temporary party coordinator and impress RFA

RFA wants to keep her on for more parties because they are impressed

At that point, she mentions need a paying gig on top of this

One of the now impressed members of the RFA with a career (e.g. Jumin, V, Jaehee, etc) offers her a job with them

SUCCESS AND PROFIT

It was as good a plan as any in MC’s mind, and in any case, Rika’s apartment was a HUGE step-up from where she had been staying before. So she readily agreed, and didn’t even call 707 out on his bs when he said that he looked up her social media (social media which didn’t exist, and anyway, he only had “MC” to go on, like … she scoffed at the idea that he could dig up anything on her). Instead, she played along with him. He made her laugh. He genuinely made her laugh. And it had been … well, it felt like it had been years since she had laughed or smiled that much. She really liked talking to him. He was a funny guy.

She thought that, the perks of having a nice place to stay and the potential for a future job aside, she rather liked this situation she found herself in. She still wanted to know who tf Unknown was (and she forwarded the text messages and chat log to Seven), but all the same, she still had to say (to herself and not through text) …

Thanks, Unknown.

So, with all of that foundation laid, what do we know about MC? Well, succinctly:

MC is smart. She’s not a technical genius by any stretch (though she does, thanks to her call center job, have some background knowledge on computers to an extent—she can troubleshoot, at least), but she is street smart. She has spent a good chunk of her life living on the streets, and she knows how to get by, even if it’s scraping by due to how hard homeless life is. She’s not naive; her circumstances have forced her to grow up ahead of her time, and in honesty, being treated as naive is pretty grating for her. She knows how to take care of herself, because she’s had to learn the hard way, and she really doesn’t take well to that being dismissed.

On that note, she’s independent, and extremely so. Again, she’s spent pretty much her whole life looking after herself. She didn’t always do a great job of it, but she did her best, and she’s still doing her best, and this is something she takes pride in. She’s not helpless; even if she’s in a bad situation, MC doesn’t see herself as even remotely helpless. She’s not a damsel who ever needs to be rescued. She can protect and rescue herself. She always has, after all, every time. Any time she was in a bad situation, the only person who ever got her out of it was her. So again, MC chafes if she’s treated like a helpless damsel, just as she chafes at being treated as naive, and she doesn’t do well with having her independence compromised. She’s rather headstrong like that.

She’s gutsy. Daring, brave, bold—you name it, she’s it. It takes guts to rob your foster family and then run away like she did. It takes guts to do the same to your abusive boyfriend. And more than that, it takes resilience to be able to survive the way she has. MC, despite everything, doesn’t break. No matter how bad a situation gets, no matter how badly she’s hurt, she always manages to push herself up and keep going. Even if it takes every last ounce of willpower she’s got, she does it. And she doesn’t back down, either; no matter how intimidating someone may seem, if she has to fight, she’ll do it. Sure, she might be afraid, but she’ll still do it. She’s incredibly brave and incredibly determined. It’s how she has survived for this long. But she’s also …

… paranoid. MC is secretive to the point of paranoia about her personal information and identity. She doesn’t use social media because she’s afraid of being found. She forges official documents as best she can to obscure her identity (not thinking, of course, about the national registry; if her call center job hadn’t been shady, they wouldn’t have hired her). She relentlessly grills Unknown and is honestly even a little savage with him in the prologue chat because the fact that he won’t reveal his real name sets off warning bells for her, because what ulterior motives could he have for keeping his name secret? And she doesn’t tell the RFA much about herself, either. She shares her name (MC), but she doesn’t bother to tell them that the picture she had in the chat was a selfie. Better to let them believe she looks like something else. She doesn’t tell them her age, and she lets them believe that she had a place to stay before Rika’s apartment (well, a nice place to stay). Even when Seven asks about her, she dodges around her questions no differently than he dodges hers. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him; it’s that she doesn’t (easily) trust anyone.(Plus, wouldn’t they judge her if they knew she was a jobless hobo before this? Better safe than sorry in that respect, too.)

She has … ZERO tolerance for abuse. Given her own life—her time in the foster home, and especially her time with Byungho—she has no tolerance for abuse or abusers. None. Zero. She refuses to “let” herself ever be in that situation again, and if she ever sees anyone else in that situation, she gets real mad, real fast. Her attitude toward Rika is pretty much summed up as “bring the bitch to me so she can CATCH THESE HANDS” and nothing short of it. But that said, she also wouldn’t tolerate, say, Saeran abusing Saeyoung, if it ever came to that. She’ll feel for Saeran. She’s been abused herself. But being abused is no excuse to abuse others. She’s not about to have it. No tolerance for that. None whatsoever. None, nada, zip, zilch, zero.

And she’s not nearly so cheerful as she seems. MC has had a hard life. That hard life has left her with quite a lot of emotional scars. And while she tried to tell herself, over and over and over again, that things would be okay and she couldn’t let herself be depressed, that doesn’t change the fact that she was depressed enough to follow some stranger’s instructions to some strange apartment even though she was fully aware that she was at risk of being raped and/or murdered when she got there. (Or having her backpack of worldly possessions, which she can’t leave in the storage closet since it has no lock, stolen from her.) Again, she’s not actually naive or innocent. She plays along with jokes because she loves to laugh (and oh, she does—she loves laughing and joking and playing around!), but that’s all it is—playing. When play time is over, she can and does get serious. She still tries to not feel depressed, but … well. It’s harder than it seems, even if she still pushes through it and keeps going for the sake of it.

She is, should she find someone she can truly connect (safely and happily) with, quite devoted. MC’s never really had someone to truly love, who truly loved her in return. This isn’t to say that she has no idea how relationships work, because she does. She was friends (casually) with her coworkers at her call center job, for instance, and after Byungho you at least better believe she knows what not to do or settle for in relationships. But she’s never had a really loving relationship of her own. No family to speak of, no best friends, and Byungho was certainly not a loving boyfriend. MC has been pretty isolated in this way for pretty much her entire life. Casual work friends are nice, but … it’s not the same. So as a result, should she find someone that she truly cares for—even if they don’t love her in return, if she loves and cares about them, she’s devoted to them. She’ll stand by them through anything. She’s steadfast and loyal. She’s protective and caring. And she doesn’t really need anything in return, because for her, it’s enough to have this chance to help someone that she cares about, and to do something good—to do what’s right.

On that note, she’s got a strong sense of justice. Or at least … she has a good sense of right and wrong, and she also does have vested interest in helping the less fortunate (obviously, look how many years she has spent homeless). The charity party actually sounds like a great idea to her (even if internally she’s like “can I bet on the donation side and can you people donate a job to me because tbh …”) because she knows better than most how absolutely awful it is to have literally nothing. She wants to help those that are “less fortunate,” she wants to host the party not just because she wants to impress the RFA (but mainly that), but also because it’s a legitimately good cause in her mind. It’s something she cares about. Though, on that note …

Strong sense of justice or not, she’s resourceful, and is not afraid to lie or steal to get what she needs to live, i.e., she can be ruthless if she has to be. I mean, again … look at how much stealing she has done, look at how she might lie and deceive to protect herself. She has a good sense of right and wrong, but she’s not above doing what she has to in order to survive, even if it’s illegal. MC figures her continued survival is a good enough cause to justify that sort of thing.

So with all of that listed out, what does that say for the story? And more specifically, her relationship with Saeyoung?

I see the story playing out mostly as it does until the apartment days are reached. Once Saeyoung arrives at the apartment, and makes it clear he doesn’t want to pursue a relationship with her—that’s fine. It hurts, sure, to have him be so cold when before this he was honestly the closest to a best she ever had (and she knows that’s ridiculous given they’ve only known each other a handful of days, but still), but it’s fine. If he doesn’t want to date her, that’s fine. It’s not like romance is the most important thing in the world, and he has other problems. He has way more important problems. Hell, the entire RFA has way more important problems. Whoever knew a charity organization could be full of this much drama? Jfc.

But that said, there are still … other difficulties.

When they get into arguments, their arguments are because she wants him to eat something, and he refuses (and you know, she respects his boundaries, but he needs to eat, he doesn’t get to harp on her for not eating if he won’t). Their arguments are because she wants to go to the convenience mart, and he’s paranoid about her leaving the apartment. (They compromise by being on the phone the whole time, even if they’re not speaking.) Their arguments are because he, unintentionally or otherwise, treats her like she’s naive and/or helpless, and she gets pissed off, because he has no right to judge her like that when he knows nothing about her. When he tries to warn her that there are dangerous men out there, she laughs, bitterly and without humor, because yeah, trust her, she knows. When she makes an offhand comment about how, even with the bomb, Rika’s apartment is still way better than where she was before, and he shrewdly asks her where she was before, she dodges the question. And when, ultimately, they get in their last big fight and he demands to know why she likes him, she lists off all the reasons why she does, because unlike Canon MC, this MC knows. She likes him because he’s smart, brave, selfless. Yeah, he made her laugh, and that’s a plus, too, considering laughter is a rarity in her life, but the jokes aside, she loves him—likes him, she amends, way more for his cleverness, his bravery, his selflessness. He risked everything with the agency to come protect her. He does everything for the RFA despite being so busy with his own work. No matter how stressed or bogged down he is, he’s determined enough to push through. He cares enough to go the extra mile for others, not expecting anything in return. She likes him because underneath the jokey, pranky 707 exterior, he’s a genuinely good person who tries his best even if he doesn’t always manage to succeed. There’s sincerty in how much he cares even if he tries to deny it. And that … she can relate to some of that, and admire even more of it. She started out liking the 707 in the chat room, yeah, because he was fun to talk to. But now? Now she genuinely cares about the Seven that’s right in front of her.

He’s at a loss. She just went on some huge speech about everything she likes about him—and at some point, yes, she included how serious and dedicated he is, she likes him being serious, even if she adds she’d also like it if he would take breaks to sleep and eat—and he’s … at a loss. He admits he doesn’t know what to do. So she says:

“Just think about accepting help. That’s all I want. I just—it doesn’t have to be me. If you don’t want me helping you, fine. But let someone help you, Seven. Let Jumin help you, or Jaehee. Maybe even Zen. Just—I want to help you. I’m here to help you however you need. I want to help you find and rescue Saeran, I want to help you get through this. But if it’s not me, just let it be someone. You don’t have to be alone, Seven. You don’t have to do this all by yourself. I … I know how hard it—I know what it’s like doing everything by yourself even when it’s something far less risky than all this. I know how it is doing just basic level hard stuff all by yourself. But what you’re dealing with is extra. It’s a lot, even for several people, but especially for one. So just … please think about accepting some help. Think about accepting your friends. That can include me, or it can not … and if it does, then you can still tell me to get lost when all is said and done, that’ll be fine. I’ll respect that. But just take some time, and think about accepting some help from someone. That’s all I ask.”

And after a moment … that is what he’d quietly agree to.

He and MC would not become a couple at this point, but he would accept help from her. He’d start to tell her more about Saeran. He’d explain what he’s doing. She’d help him prepare for the trip to Magenta, and she’d go there with him. And she wouldn’t go there just so that she could get in the car when he tells her to when V shows up, or so that she could hide behind him. This MC, as you can tell from all of the above, is proactive. She’s brave, and she’s a fighter. This MC is not someone that Saeyoung stands before like a shield; she is someone who stands by his side, who gives him a hand to hold without any expectation of a relationship (despite their mutual crushes; it’s just not the time). Sure, he still tells her to stand behind him, but her attitude is “no u” before she moves to stand by his side. Will he protect her? Sure. But she’ll protect him right back, or go down swinging at the very least. Saeyoung, much like MC, has spent his entire life taking care of himself. He’s spent his entire life having the burden entirely on his shoulders. So it’s about damn time he had someone to share it with, just as it’s about damn time MC had some help, too, however much she (like him, tbh—they’re both so stubborn about it) thinks she has everything under control. Saeyoung has more technical knowledge that she does, given that he is a canonical, literal genius, but outside of that, they’re equals. She’s not a damsel for him to protect, rescue, and pamper. She’s a partner who stands by his side and gives him the support he needs to make it through, just as he does the same for her.

So as you can imagine, she’s a lot more proactive in my version of the Secret Endings as well. She floors the getaway car when it’s time. She learns from Vanderwood how to do first aid treatment for Saeyoung’s injury. When Rika says that she’s going to brainwash Saeyoung, MC says, “Over my dead body,” and moves to stand in front of him. At which point, of course, we get this from Rika:

“That would be a waste, because I believe everyone has a place here at Mint Eye. But if that’s truly what you want … that can be arranged.”

At that point, Believers enter the cell to drag MC off, and Vanderwood has to hold Saeyoung back as he starts flipping out, but Saeran intervenes since Rika promised him that he could have the toy that he personally sent to her old apartment …

As you can see, things really start to deviate.

(Note that once they’re away from the cells, Saeran tells MC that he has zero interest in her. He only said what he did to mess with Saeyoung. MC’s pretty unimpressed and lets him know it. He’s irritated by how unimpressed she is, and she’s petty and satisfied.)

Unlike canon, where they’re engaged promptly once Saeran is rescued, MC and Saeyoung don’t even officially start dating until after Saeran is rescued and has started the healing process. Note that, also unlike canon, MC can’t really stay at Rika’s apartment anymore, because RFA isn’t having that, what with there being a bomb and all. But she also never told them that she was a homeless squatter, so … #awkward. She ends up having Vanderwood take her back to the storage closet, and when he sees that it is, in fact, a storage closet—

“I like to think of it as—it’s not a storage closet. It’s a studio apartment,” MC says.

“It’s a storage closet,” Vanderwood says. “Oh, for fucksake—”

MC and Saeyoung aren’t officially dating yet, but Vanderwood still thinks Saeyoung would flip if he knew his not-girlfriend was staying in a storage closet. Aside from which, over the course of the Secret Endings, Saeyoung, MC, and Vanderwood became The Secret End Squad™, and that’s a bond not easily broken. So Vanderwood says, “Get your backpack and let’s go” and takes her back to his place. Yeah, that’s right: post-Secret Endings, MC is (at least for a time) roomies with Vanderwood.

#RoomieAdventures (and also #JobSearchAdventures because at this point they’re both unemployed lololol)

(Saeyoung’s reaction when he learns this is priceless, I’m sure.)

So yeah, all in all, the MC that I imagine for Saeyoung is someone who stands beside him, as his equal. Someone who respects his boundaries and does not push a relationship, but also someone who does push the notion that he should let someone help him, because she genuinely cares about and wants to help. She’s had a hard life, but that hard life has made it so that she can stand at his equal. Just as his hardships developed him, hers have developed her. She’s someone who can support him, as much as he supports her. She’s someone who wants to.

And ultimately, arrogant though it may sound, I think that an MC like this … is much better suited for him than the MC that Cheritz vaguely defined. But that’s just my opinion; everyone else’s mileage may vary.