AN: Many thanks to Questionable Decisions & Someone Else Took My Name. You guys are the real MVPs.
The Morality in Murder
L broke a packet over his cup and emptied all of the white powder into it as Naomi watched in silent dismay. Slowly and reverently. As if it were cocaine and not just everyday sugar; although, when Naomi thought about it, the two were not that dissimilar, both being stimulants and highly addictive. He repeated this process with another packet. And another. And another. And another. When he eventually spoke, the FBI agent was wondering whether she'll soon be witnessing spontaneous death by coffee. "Tell me," he said, with a tone that somehow managed to be both sardonic and polite. "Has Miss Misora heard of the trolley problem?"
Naomi blinked. "It's a hypothetical scenario used to discuss ethics, philosophy and psychology."
L nodded. "A trolley's barreling down the tracks and out of control. In its path are five people tied down to said tracks. Miss Misora is near a lever which, if pulled, would divert the trolley onto another track; a track which has only one person tied down in its path." L stuck a spoon into his beverage, stirring as he intently watched all the sugar dissolve into the bitter black, melting like snow. "The question in the air is, should one be obliged to kill the few to save the many?"
Naomi leaned back in her stool. "Sure. I'd pull the lever."
L nodded again. "That's an answer I hear more often than the other. But I'd like to hear Miss Misora's reasoning, that is if Miss Misora doesn't mind of course."
"Well, one way or the other, someone will die. If I don't pull that lever, I'd essentially be sentencing five people to death, and if I do, I'd be killing one." Naomi shrugged. "The actual question should be: how many lives?"
L stared at her, cup held to his mouth. "I see." He sipped. Naomi blinked, her breath held. L swallowed. His face barely twitched. "That is true, very true. Inaction in itself can be seen as murder. But allow me to adjust the scenario. Suppose that that one individual on his lonesome happens to be a famous scientist who is very close to discovering a cure to cancer. His work could potentially save the lives of many; and on the converse, his death would lead to many more years of potential cancer patients succumbing to the disease. Statistically, at least a thousand a day. What then; would Miss Misora kill the five?"
"Sure," Naomi deadpanned, heart hammering in her chest as she watched him take another, much longer sip. "If the other five aren't such famed scientists themselves in the middle of creating a cure for something similarly untreatable, like Ebola."
L's lips curved into an unnervingly gleeful, almost Cheshire smile. "So what Miss Misora is saying is, for every such scenario, Miss Misora would act to accomplish the greater good, the larger sum of happiness, and Miss Misora would have no scruples resorting to murder if it was called for?"
The FBI agent narrowed her eyes at the verbal bait. "Ryuzaki, the world is not that simple. Those people would never be near those tracks, let alone tied down to them. And even if something like that was to occur and I was there, I may not even pull the lever, even if I told you I would."
Third sip. Still no signs of dropping dead. He was taking it like water. Perhaps he might live out the day after all. "Of course, but see, Miss Misora, for some people, it is just as simple as that, which is why I brought all of this all up. The purpose of these experiments is to allow us to examine the conundrum that is the human race." L slurped. "The first step to tyranny, in my experience, begins when one adopts the rationale that he must do bad things for good causes. And the point of no return is when he believes that he must keep doing bad things so that the sins already committed are not for naught. What's worse than a monster, is a monster who also believes he is in the right; or barring that, not to blame due to a misplaced sense of righteousness. Maybe even narcissism. Strictly speaking, the one who pulls that lever has the potential to be such a monster, who believes that the ends justify the means. Ironically it's also something toted by both democratic nations and terrorist organizations alike. However…"
"However?"
"As Miss Misora said, it's really not that simple."
Naomi looked at her own mug, noticing that the milky froth was already softening and realizing that she had yet to sip her own beverage. She remedied that as she mulled their discussion over. Criminal profiling was not something she was unfamiliar with in her line of work. The FBI as well as many other law enforcement agencies have dedicated entire branches to such topics. It's how they know the things they know. How arsonists tend to be late bed-wetters. How sociopathic killers, more often than not, started off with puppies and kittens. But the kind of individual she and L were talking about was a different story, legendary and all but mythical. The kind you can only read about in sensational crime thrillers and occasionally the history of genocide. More rare than the run-of-the-mill burglar. More twisted than a cannibalistic fetishist. "So what about you, Ryuzaki?" Naomi asked. "Would you pull that lever?"
L placed his cup on the table and made a steeple with his hands, the solemnness of the posture lost considering that he was crouching on his chair. "I think," L answered carefully, "I would do what my calling would require me to do."
Naomi's eyebrows raised up a notch. "You would-"
"Walk away." L's smile was gone now, and his wide and bagged eyes were gleaming. "And then I would hunt down those responsible for tying the six down and see them trialed for kidnapping. I would also see those responsible for the trolley be trialed for negligence and involuntary manslaughter. If they are the same people, I'll see them sentenced to life in solitary confinement; and if that's not enough, I would make an example of them and bring the electric chair back into the law, so that something like that will never happen again. I would do what is required of my title as the World's Greatest Detective, and ensure that punishment is bestowed accordingly on all guilty parties."
Naomi looked around the café, taking it all in from their quiet, secluded corner. The friendly ambience from the warm yellow lighting and mismatched but cozy furniture, the sharp scent of the oil paintings on the walls and the floor's cedar wood, as well as the sounds of coffee beans being nosily grounded and commuters and university students loudly chatting in the middle of their lunch break: these things bespoke a world of innocent normality. A place for ordinary people with ordinary woes. She sighed. "All in the name of justice?" She remarked wryly. "What about mercy?"
L was glancing down at his coffee, frowning with a finger to his lips as he pondered something else. "I do believe this requires more sugar." He picked up another packet, and the moment of grim soberness was gone. Naomi watched him with silent dismay as he broke it and poured the white powder out, slowly and reverently.
AN: Comments? Kind words? Or you just want to argue that L would prefer tea over coffee? You know where to drop a line.