Persona 3 As Told By AI Dungeon

What follows is a retelling of Persona 3, an RPG  tale of troubled youths who struggle against their weaknesses and eventually do battle with death itself, as told by AI dungeon. The bold paragraph below is the prompt, while the AI came up with the following text. Numbers in parentheses are footnotes, which will be referenced at the end.

 You are Kotone Shiomi, an orphaned second-year in high school. You transferred to Gekkoukan High School, situated on Tatsumi Port Island, and are on your way to stay in a dormitory in Iwatodai. You enter the dorm after midnight and see a girl named Mitsuru Kirijo in the lobby. She is also in the same class as you.

"Hey," she says when she sees you entering her room. "I was wondering if we could talk."(1)

"Um...sure?" you reply nervously.

"Well, I'm not sure what to say..." she admits.

"What do you want to talk about?" you ask.

"Oh, um...nothing much really. Just that I don't have many friends here at all."

"Really? That's kind of sad." You try to think of a conversation starter, but are met with silence. "I like your hair," you say at last, flustered.

"Oh, thanks," she smiles. "So, do you have any friends here?"

"Eh, I talk to a few people, but it's nothing special."

"Oh, really? Who?"

"Well, there's a girl named Aiko Yumeno, she's in my class and she's alright."

"Aiko-chan, really?"(2)

"Yeah, what about her?"

"Well, I honestly don't know her that well either, so..."

"What's her class?"

"Uh, History of course."

"Shitty(3) class, if you ask me. I hope she's a good swimmer, 'cause we need lots of people for the Dive Club."

"What's that?"

"Oh, we were forming a club to protest against the government and other shallow things. Kind of an interest in social issues...you interested?"

"No."

"What grade are you?"

"Oh, I'm a Junior."

"Well, I guess it's too early to be forming a rebellion then."

"I guess so."

"Well, my name's Mitsuru. What's yours?"

"Ryoutarou,"(4) you say, shaking her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Ryoutaro."

"Yeah, nice to meet you too, Mitsuru. I have to get to bed if I want to meet with the others tomorrow."

"Alright then. I hope you have a good day at school."

"You too."

You get to your room, take off your shoes and go to bed.

~ The Next Day ~ You wake up at seven in the morning and decide to exercise. You go downstairs to the small gym in the basement. There are two floors, one for aerobic exercises and the other for strength training.

You choose to do the latter. There are two bench-presses, a rack, and several other machines you don't know the use of. You put on your boxing gloves and begin to punch the bag.

A sharp beeping noise startles you, and you slam your fist into the bag instead of it.

"Ow."

The bag continues to beep insistently, and you go back to punching it. Soon, you're breathing hard and stop to rest.

"Ryoutarou?" a voice says. It's Kiki. "What are you doing?"

You wipe the sweat from your brow. "Exercising."

"I see." She says, standing to the side of you. "May I...?"

She takes your gloves and attempts to take off the bag. It doesn't want to let go, however.

"It's mine." it says in a monotone voice.

"Ahahaha!" Kiki laughs. "It's not letting go of my gloves."

"Hey, why don't you try putting them in the microwave for a bit, Kiki?" a boy asks.

"Yeah, it'll make the bag let go."

"Alright then."

Kiki rushes away to the kitchen. You let out a sigh and the bag releases its grip. Kiki puts it in her backpack, and walks back over to you.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

The bell rings, indicating that class has started.

"Well, I have to go."

"Me too."

With these words, the two of you part ways.

~ After School ~ You arrive to Honjo-Kumas Higashi Middle School(5) at three o'clock. You walk into the school, and into the school hall. There, you see your class. Looks like you'll have no problems with this. A girl with a yellow tracksuit and her uniform on the same day. There's also a boy with his blue tracksuit on the same day. Wait, there's another boy? In that case, your class could be uniformed. You start to think about the meaning of school uniforms.

Soon, the final bell rings, and you rush to your classroom. Inside it, you find that it's not decorated for Halloween. Instead, it has a large pyramid of candy bars on your teacher's desk. Great, you think, smelling the chocolate. There's a small piece of paper on your desk. You lean over it to read it.

He looked at you.

You feel a chill run down your spine. Did you see him? You peer out the window, but there's nobody out there.

You turn around to look at your classmates. They're in class, paying no attention to you. You turn back around to read the paper.

He was sitting two rows ahead of you, in the corner of your eye.

You see him. He's sitting in the corner of your eye, dressed in black pants and a long-sleeved gray shirt. His eyes are invisible, since they're covered by his hat. His mouth is contorted into a small, thin line. His hands are in his pockets, and at this distance, you can't see if they're twitching. He's looking straight at you.

You rip the paper off your desk and slide down in your chair. The whole class turns to look at you.

"Ryoutarou? Are you OK?" your teacher asks.

You don't answer. You don't have the courage to look up.

The boy in the gray shirt looks at you. You want to run, but your legs are paralyzed with fear. Your lungs won't let you breathe.

The gray-haired teacher gets up from her desk, and walks over to you.

"Ryoutarou, what's wrong?"

"S-sorry." you manage to spit out.

She sits beside you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

You shake your head.

"Are you sure?"

You nod slowly, trembling all over.

"Then why don't you grab your book bag and take a seat?" she says, motioning to a empty desk beside the one you usually sit in.

You walk over and drop your bag. Your feet are lead, carrying you even though you want to run.

"Ryoutarou!" she says, "What's wrong?"

You look up, into her kind eyes. This woman is as kind as the woman at the train station. You feel ashamed of yourself.

"I'm th-th-thr-thr—"

"Stress?" she asks. "Is it exam prep?"

"Y-yes."

"I can give you a short break, if you want."

She walks into the teacher's room, and comes back a few minutes later with two slices of bread and an orange soda.

"Here." she says, handing you the treats. "Take a five-minute break, and then come find me."

You smile slightly.

"OK," you say, and walk to the principal's room.

You sit at a table by yourself, and eat your snack. It's only been three minutes, but you feel quite full. At this point, you doubt you'll be able to eat anything else for the rest of the day.

You hear the principal, Mr. Donner(6), screaming your name.

"Ryoutarou! Where are you?"

You push yourself away from the table, and walk over to him.

"Here," you reply, standing beside him.

"Ah, good," he says. "Listen, if you're feeling overwhelmed, I can give you a big break on your test grades. I mean, it's not like you're not smart, you just..."

"I get it, I get it."

Mr. Donner nods, then waves you away.

"Well then, off you go."

You walk back to class, wondering what on earth he could've been talking about. Did he realize something was off with you? If that was the case, would he have given you a break on your test grades?

Your stomach still hurts quite a bit, but the bread and orange are enough to cure any hangovers you have after drinking. You're full, but still quite tired.

Classes pass by slowly. It's easy to follow what the teacher is saying, but your brain isn't really focusing on the information. It's as if you're in a trance, listening while some other part of your mind does something else.

Time passes, and as the week goes on, you're getting more and more worried.

Mr. Donner seems a little worried as well, and he starts giving you a longer break than usual. He also asks if you're feeling OK, or if there's something he can help you with. You assure him everything is OK, and there's nothing he can help you with.

By the end of the week, he concludes that you're an excellent student. He mentions something about you getting a perfect score on one of your tests, and that you're a dedicated student.

You leave the high school feeling a little down. You half-expected the police to come after you, at least. Instead, an officer brings you home and your parents pick you up. They ask what happened, and you explain that there was a mistake. The police were called because you didn't want to eat with your classmates.

"Well, I suppose that happens," your dad says, "but I think you should speak with a lawyer about the situation. It seems pretty sketchy."

You nod, and go upstairs to your room. You spend the rest of the day trying to come up with a solution.

A week passes, and you've decided that you'll talk to the lawyer on Saturday. You just need more time to think. You'll explain that you're nervous about the test, and just need a little more time to study. The lawyer will understand.

The rest of the week passes, as it always seems to do. You go to school, come home, and repeat.

This time, though, it seems to go by slower than ever. You're so tired all the time now. You're not sure you could handle a week of school.

Everything seems to blur together. Schoolwork, chores, friends. It just all blends into one long stretch of boredom. It isn't until Saturday that you finally decide on what you'll say to the lawyer.

You want to say that it never really was about the money. It was about the principle of the thing. You wanted so badly to prove that you could do it, that you could make it on your own. You wanted so bad to be something... something greater.

You wanted to be someone.

The words feel weird in your mouth. Like they're not really yours. You almost wonder if you came up with them, but you know that can't be the case. They feel like something else you've heard before, something you should know.

You look down at your shirt. Most of the words on it are still legible. But the last two, the ones right after the logo, have faded severely.

"Yours to keep," the shirt says. "Never be someone else."

You sigh and roll your eyes. It was just a shirt. And it was probably a cheap one, too. You're probably overreacting.

By the end of the week, you've finally received a call from the lawyer. He gives you a quick rundown of the situation.

A restraining order prevents you from coming within a hundred yards of the school. If you try, you'll be arrested immediately. His firm has a good reputation, but they're not likely to give you a second chance. They're considering taking you as a client if you wish to pursue this career.

He goes on to say that you'll have to pay a hefty fine, but that he can get you a job at a local coffee shop if you wish. He mentions the hours are inconsistent but there's always work. He says he might be able to get you a job at a local grocery store as well, but the hours are less certain.

He finishes by saying that he can't get you into the performing arts college, but he thinks he might be able to get you a job at a record store. He mentions that they're always looking for new staff.

You thank him, and hang up.

You blink slowly, staring blankly ahead of you. You're going back to work. It's no wonder the lawyer suggested it; you probably would've done it anyway.

You walk downstairs, as a thought crosses your mind.

You wonder why the shirt said what it did. Did you really want to be someone else?

You're pretty sure the answer is no. You wanted to prove you could do it.

But why?

The shirt was cheap. It was something to make your mom happy. It wasn't something you ever meant to keep. You didn't have the heart to throw it out. Maybe, deep down, you still felt as though it was the greatest gift anyone ever gave you.

And maybe you could've done something more with your life. But you didn't try hard enough. You didn't go after what you wanted.

You don't know who made you who you are, but you're pretty sure it wasn't you.

But then, who did make you?

You were a child when your parents met and fell in love. From what you know, your dad was a miner with a 10-year-old daughter of his own until his untimely death in an accident. Your mom soon remarried and gave birth to you in a small village. She moved to the city with you, contemplating a better life for you.

You don't know who your father was. But you do know that he brought out the best in you. When you're on stage, you feel alive. When you hear the cheering crowds, you feel loved. When you get up in the morning, you feel excited to see what the day will bring.

You were blessed with your gift, one of many forms of entertainment in this city. Musicians, singers, dancers, actors,iners(7), venue owners, audience members, performers, and anyone else involved in any way with the performing arts are all part of the beautiful chaos that makes the world go 'round. We all have to train from youth, and never lose sight of our gift even when others lose theirs.

We are all part of the eternal performance, whether we realize it or not.

The shirt. Those words were a gift, above all others.

You turn it over to see what else it might reveal. Nothing but a blank white shirt. Blinding whiteness. It consumes you, but also protects you.

You can't see anything else. A mere blank piece of fabric. But it wasn't blank to you. It held so much history, so much meaning.

You smile. You take off the shirt, crumpling it in your hand. You throw it into the trash as you leave the Coffee Barn.

It's time to go back to work. Time to serve. Time to give. Time to live up to the shirt. You're a cup of coffee, and you have to make them all happy.

Footnotes

1. For those who have never played Persona 3, Mitsuru Kirijo, the leader of S.E.E.S.(i.e. the party) is a mature and sophisticated young woman from a wealthy family who has a strong sense of duty, is serious to a fault and is somewhat detached from her subordinates. This dialogue is uncharacteristically casual for her
2. Mitsuru never uses honorifics on her peers, referring to most people by their surnames without honorifics and a select few by their first names without honorifics.
3. Mitsuru never uses profanity. That said, it's sometimes difficult to tell who's speaking in some of these long exchanges
4. This is one of many cases in which the AI Dungeon forgets your character's name and gender midway through. It didn't take very long in this case.
5. Leaving aside that Ryoutarou gets to school around the time it should be letting out, AI Dungeon forgot the name of the school.
6. At this point, the AI has given up on giving the characters even vaguely Japanese names.
7. This typo was in the original script.

Analysis

This is a good look at the random insanity involved in an AI Dungeon story, and this isn't even the craziest examples. Artificial intelligences may be no match for humans when it comes to creative writing, but they come up with some of the most random and entertaining written works I've seen, so it can be enjoyable to put in a prompt in AI Dungeon and see what comes out. As such, this may not be the last time I share an AI Dungeon-created story.