Trinity

Summary: Three somewhat connected drabbles based around one-word prompts. Makishima: Theodicy, Ginoza: Entropy, Sibyl: Singularity.

A/N: Someone on tumblr requested these (yes, I do have a tumblr under the same username) and I thought they turned out alright. I haven't posted much of anything in the P-P fandom in a while so here' just a little something that I hope you guys enjoy ~

Disclaimer: I do not own Psycho-Pass.

Makishima: Theodicy

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Shougo Makishima had no delusions of god.

In a world where a collection of brains could dictate one's self worth, where people lived in a sleepwalker's haze, where right and wrong had no distinction— both a heaven and hell— was all he could believe in.

If Sibyl, the god of this brave new world, would not recognize his existence, he too would block out the fake, simulacrum utopia; to pluck the tranquilizers from his flesh, pull the iv's from his veins, to step forward without a single backwards glance. To run and run and run—

(Because if there truly was a divine, holy god, it wouldn't have allowed such an atrocity to take its place and he would not defend a slumbering deity with petty thoughts of theodicy.)

Ginoza: Entropy

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Everything after Tomomi Masaoka's death was an entropy. A spiral into that labyrinth of darkness the old man so often talked about— even as he painted larkspurs and chrysanthemums. Chaos and order laden with hints of madness and punctuated by a muddying hue and explosive rise of numbers (that, in the end, amounted to nothing— because the catalyst of his fall was not his father's death, but his birth into a dystopia).

To think that he'd become the beasts he once controlled. To think he'd follow so seamlessly in his father's heavy footsteps…

Perhaps he should have expected it. He was cursed, after all. Cursed to live in such a damnable society.

He just hadn't realized it until it was too late; the collar had been clasped around his neck long ago.

Sybil: Singularity

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The system was a paradox. Infinitely unique, yet infinitely uniform. A series of glass boxes shifted through a too-quiet atrium. The voices were all different— the voices were all the same.

They spoke in tandem, ghosts of people who believed they had reached the plain of gods— deities boxed away and shuffled like misplaced products. They spoke together, acting as an Oracle to the people. Whispering their desires to the masses under the guise of a benevolent spirit.

Sibyl was a paradox. A king and queen. Leader and soldier. Monster and Angel. A singularity—

and a conformity. Wrapped up in cyan lights and pretty, electronic speeches.

A/N: That's it folks! Hope you enjoyed :3

Review?

-Isis