A/N: Warning - this story is not for Near fans.
Like he has any, pfft.
This is quite possibly a oneshot, but I have A PLAN! I SHALL HUMILIATE NEAR EVEN MORE.
Maybe. If I could get more time to make more chapters.
Sigh.
Please review and REVIEW!
Near stood up, and looked at the mirror. He had a slightly horrified expression on his face, almost like he didn't expect what he saw.
His face.
Alright, maybe that was rude.
But hey, I'm a story teller. I can say whatever I want.
Back to the story, back to the story.
So, Near looked horrified in front of the mirror. Yes, it had been thirteen years since Light Yagami was shot to death (although, he knew that his post mortem report called the cause of death as a heart attack) but he hadn't aged much at all. His eyes were a little sadder, and he had a thinner body. He decided to play with less toys and probably eat more.
"No wonder L could survive for that long." he mumbled.
He took that back as soon as he said it. L was 24 when he died. Near was now 30. He felt guilty that he lived that long, and even more so because Mello died.
He could only sigh, and put on some clothes. As he left the room, the girl got out of his bed, and jumped out the window.
There were no more cases. Only duplicates of previous serial killers. Yesterday, he caught the tenth imposter of the Zodiac, and a few months ago, caught another person who claimed to be the descendant of the Zodiac. 15 imitators of Jack the Ripper, and two imitators of Kira. Turns out, they just drugged them with a blood pressure increasing drug quite sneakily. But Near caught them nevertheless.
The SPK grew more and more useless, since the provision for Kira was no longer required because Kira didn't exist anymore. But Near knew about the existence of the Death Note, and the Shinigami realm, and guessed that there must be more sociopathic death gods roaming on the Earth. He wanted his team to be ready. But there wasn't any. Not even one. And the United States government spent almost 5.7% of their annual budget on the SPK, compared to the 8.9% they spend for the CIA and 78.2% they spend for the FBI.
Near logged on to the computer, and pressed the internet explorer icon. He opened google and searched for one simple thing.
How to make your white hair black
Now, there was a lot of sites that only talked about dying the hair, and although he could have programmed something to remove such results, he didn't want to, simply because he was bored. He just added a few more keywords.
How to make your white hair black without using dyes please i am only 30 yrs old and i have white hair ever since god knows when so please think about my future and the woman who is possibly still asleep in my bedroom.
It worked. The first link pointed him out to what to do.
His eyes widened.
His lips widened in glee.
He knew immediately what to do.
He closed the computer down, and ran away to his bedroom.
Of course, in the process, the stepped on a lego block, but that was no big deal to him now, so he continued running.
He looked into the same mirror where he saw himself first this morning. He removed his shirt, and he turned 180 degrees to examine his clearly overgrown hair. He also noticed a lipstick mark on the back of his neck. He nervously took a nearby towel and wiped it out.
But he knew what to do.
He brushed his hair softly, and had a maniacal smile on his face.
Giovanni was only more than concerned. Near had been more and more secluded, and for a 30 year old man, he did nothing that even closely resembled as to what a normal human being would do.
Over the years, Giovanni had assumed somewhat of a fatherly figure to Near, and he keeps telling himself, "If Near was L, then I am Watari."
Although he knew he was nowhere close to Watari.
So after Near sped away to his room, which he found odd, since there wasn't any interesting case so, as any fatherly figure would figure, Near found out something...he hadn't seen before.
He almost went up to the computer to check what he had seen. Then he brushed aside the thought, seeing as Near was now 30, and there was no need for Giovanni to be towering over him.
However, his innerly fatherly instincts kicked in, and he looked at the computer. The window was closed. He opened Chrome, and found nothing on the search history. He opened Firefox, Opera, Safari, Netscape, you name it, but he didn't find a single search history, or a browsing history at all. Then there was that lonely blue 'e' sitting by the corner of the desktop.
"Clever, clever Near. He knew that that would be the last person anyone would check."
He opened it, and looked at the history. His face turned white.
How to get black hair easily, by Doctor Henry, the most authentic specialist when it comes to hair regrowth.
What you need:
You.
A pair of pliers.
Some anesthetic for you to sleep through the afterpain.
Steps:
Slip in some anesthesia.
Take the pair of pliers.
Look at yourself in the mirror.
Pluck each and ever hair out.
Wait for four months.
Voila, you will get black hair by then.
Giovanni was suspicious at the content, and the search which Near made. It seemed almost...targeted.
He quickly looked at the source code of the web page, and ah.
Ah.
Oh.
Dear.
The meta tag that holds the keywords for the websites that search engines use to track contained,
How to make your white hair black without using dyes please i am only 30 yrs old and i have white hair ever since god knows when so please think about my future and the woman who is possibly still asleep in my bedroom.
It was the exact same words that Near typed it.
This was a targeted attack!
Giovanni could waste no more time. He ran towards Near's room, and in the process, slipped on a lego cube, and crashed on the floor. He sprained his wrist. "That's alright." He ran towards the room, and oh, dear.
Near.
Near you poor, poor little kid.
Why?
Giovanni looked aghast as he saw the 30 year old detective genius, in his bedroom, with all of his hair (Which is a lot, I'm not joking) on the floor, and a pair of pliers in his hands, and a bald scalp that was sore and red from all the plucking.
The 30 year old detective genius, Heir to L, the only survivor of the Wammy household, Nate River, was bald.
Giovanni fainted and fell.
Oh, Near, what have you done?