Disclaimer: The characters and worlds are the properties of Ohbata Takeshi, Ohba Tsugumi and the creators of Psycho-pass

Author's Note: Hello, Zen speaking! And it's nice to be back. Apologies for the formatting - document manager on fanfiction isn't working for me at the moment (for the past month) and I can't upload anything onto it through my computer or edit the uploaded documents. It's very frustrating doing this on my tablet. Anyway, for anybody waiting for Ghost, it hasn't been abandoned! I'm writing the next chapter and I hope to get it out by mid-January. I'm sorry about the delay, but I've been having various ups and downs with my own long term writing project and whenever I write a one-shot like this, it's largely stress-busting.

So, here I am crossing a couple of my favourite series. ;) The narrative's non-linear and I'm hoping for a fusion feeling between the two worlds. Let's pretend that the Death Note fell and a Light Yagami living under the Sybil system picked it up but got shipped off to rehab as a latent criminal before the Death Note story could kick off. I hope you enjoy it! ~ Best, Zen :D

In a world awash with colours, Souichirou felt that the black and white nature of the law was a reasonable necessity.

Colours and hues had to be contained. Colours needed to be controlled. The world was a saturated canvas of cymatic palettes these days, and to stop them spilling over and muddying minds into colours too complex to understand the law drew in the outlines, in neat black and white, and set the acceptable limits.

Souichirou liked knowing his boundaries. He liked the order they brought to otherwise such easy chaos and the walls they provided to define his place in the world, clear cut and as snugly fit in the bigger scheme of things as a square upon a chessboard.

The law was not perfect. It was sketchy. People were all works in progress and society constantly being redrawn, but in the daily flux of his own hue, Souichirou found the black and white colours of the law comforting in their stability.

Black and white for the police cars of old before the Sybil system was introduced in his final years as a rookie inspector; black and white for pedestrian crossings; black and white for a Tokyo skyline against any old cloudy autumn day with a chance of rainfall; black and white for newspaper prints pinning down the believed truths and the truths to be believed.

Black and white for chess pieces that knew their place and knew full well to keep to their squares.

The doors of the lift slid open. Souichirou tucked the papers beneath his elbow and stepped out into the long black corridor with its white rooms.

The privilege that came from remaining in the black and white chessboard world meant that others were taken off it, and when they were removed from the board they came here: The Coefficient Rehabilitation Centre, state provider of excellent care and therapy for those of dangerously high crime-coefficients.

Aizawa called it a glorified quarantine ward. The Centre kept the psycho-hazardous off the street, stopped them corrupting the hues of others. It was isolation first, patient care and rehab second, and were they really patients or were they prisoners?

Souichirou tried not to think about it. He had tried not to think about it for three years, three years in which Sachiko had never visited and not once allowed Souichirou to take along Sayu. The Centre was a zone so psycho-hazardous it could almost be imagined toxic.

No laws banned relatives from visiting Centre 'patients' but there was no denying that hues tended to bleed together like watercolour paints, and the strong, dark colours of the patients in the Centre could leave touches of darkness that were as hard to scrub out as blood.

"This place still gives me the shivers," Aizawa muttered, rubbing his arms and gritting his teeth. A care-robot glided past. He flinched. "Rehabilitation, my foot. Still haven't heard of anybody leaving here who wasn't going to the kennels or zipped up in a body-bag."

Souichirou said nothing. He focused on the walk down the aisle and ignored the cries and shouts he heard from the cells they passed.

"If he needs convincing, maybe you should tell him that," Aizawa went on, his voice uncharacteristically subdued as he spoke over the calming music being pumped through padded walls and the whir of care-robots doing their rounds. Perhaps it brought back memories for him. "It's practically an ultimatum. Sign up and live, or die in here with nothing to his name but the body he's born with."

Souichirou gripped the papers in his hands.

"If that was my daughter in there and I was in your position, Chief, I'd tell her something like that. Just tell it to him straight. He's never going to get out of here otherwise."

A nurse approached and they stopped to show her their IDs. She gestured towards a prepared visitation room then went on her away, carrying psycho-stabilising medicines on a tray.

"It's not Light who needs convincing."

Aizawa scoffed. "If you're still trying to convince yourself that you'll be fine seeing Light with a dominator shooting to kill, Chief, that's not going to happen in a million years."

The room was bare but for two black chairs on their side of the glass panel. Souichirou and Aizawa sat down. A few moments later a care-robot slid into the room on the other side of the panel, leading in a figure in white. There was a numbered tag on the collar of his clothes in black.

Before Light could take his seat the robot demanded another cymatic scan. Its voice was high, its intonation disjointed. Light complied with a sigh and turned away, giving Souichirou a good chance to read the panel of shifting numbers stitched to the back of his clothes.

CC: LY4253-2

Hue: BURNT UMBER

Current Crime Coefficient: 262.3

Daily Average: 253.2

Then, suddenly, Light was in front of him, sitting on the other side of the panel on the hard black chair, with the same picture-perfect smile he used to show at the dinner table.

Except it wasn't the same, was it? This smile was dryer, older, angrier, more resigned, only as apologetic as it needed to be and not quite altogether there.

"Light."

"Dad." A small laugh, as if a crime coefficient that was closer to three hundred than two was only a small embarrassment, just a minor social faux-pas. At least it wasn't anything near as bitter as it had been the last time Souichirou had visited. "It's been a while again. How's everyone at home?"

The notebook they had found in Light's room was black.

Black and cold as dominator gunmetal and its blank pages white, marked with only a single kanji on the first page, like a first step onto a frozen lake. The officials from the Rehabilitation Centre had picked it up and handed it to enforcers in white-gloved hands.

The van that had carried his son away to the Centre was black too. It had been raining the night the Yagami household quietly lost their son. The rain had glittered white on its disappearing trail.

Souichirou had watched the van go, looked up to the round white moon and wondered where and when had he missed his son slipping between the cracks.

What had he not seen?

Division Two had started the day as a squad of six and ended a squad of four.

In most divisions this wouldn't have meant very much. Ukita and Watanabe had been enforcers after all. Enforcers were disposable manpower. They were there to come between the criminal with his poisonous hue and the inspector and, if needs be, die. All Souichirou was expected to do when one fell in the field was file the paperwork and put in a request for replacements

But as the other divisions knew, Division Two did things a little differently. Their average age as a Division was almost twice the Bureau average. Its members, aside from their rookie inspector Matsuda, had been working together for a very long time. Perhaps it was because they took good care of each other, perhaps because their senior inspector dared to treat his enforcers as humans and spoiled them with freedoms that the other divisions couldn't imagine trusting their enforcers with, but their mortality rate was low and their success rate enviably high.

Despite being a(n) (in)famous latent criminal sympathiser, Inspector Yagami was well-respected. The other divisions decided to give him space before broaching the subject of enforcers looking for transfer, or, in other words, seizing the chance to palm off difficult enforcers in the same way hunters sold off hounds.

Director Kasei, however, summoned Souichirou to her office as soon as Division Two returned from their disastrous field investigation.

"You lost two enforcers and you have yet to solve this case, Inspector Yagami." She drummed her fingers on her armrests. "I want you back to work with a full squad as soon as you possibly can. You have a duty to the safety of the public to ensure this case is solved and solved quickly, irrespective of what hindrances you may suffer during the course of it."

Duty. Souichirou understood duty. He had had a duty to keep the enforcers under his care alive but he had failed to do even that, but he bit back the retort at the tip of his tongue (the kind of retort he imagined Light would no doubt have delivered without fear) and saved it for sharing with his division later. "I understand, ma'am."

"Do you really?" Kasei flashed him a thin-lipped smile and tapped a few keys on her keyboard. Souichirou's wrist device flashed blue. A message had been delivered. "That is a list of enforcer candidates we have identified as both willing and suitable for performing the roles required of them. I expect a return to full working capacity by next week, Inspector Yagami. This Yotsuba case has gone on now for far too long."

Souichirou left Director Kasei's office with a feeling so dark and heavy he half-expected to see burnt shades of umber when he checked his hue in the lift.

But Souichirou's hue was as staunchly resilient as ever. He saw nothing but his usual pearly blue, the blue grey of winter rain, the same blue grey his hue had been in the morning when they had found Ukita and Watanabe's still cooling remains.

He wondered what made him so resilient that Light seemed to lack.

Or what it was perhaps that Light saw and was affected by that Souchirou was blind to see.

"Sayu's enjoying her new school."

"New school?"

"Bullying." Souichirou watched Light's face twist. "It wasn't your fault."

"That's her third school in three years."

"It is never your fault."

"It isn't. I know that." A spot red glowed through the burnt umber hue patch on the tag at his collar. Numbers flickered and Light looked away to the side. "It's this world, this whole world, with all these colours and coefficients and crimes before they even become crimes. It's the world that's wrong, not me. I haven't done anything."

Aizawa shifted agitatedly beside him. Souichirou cleared his throat. "Light – "

"I've been getting tired lately."

"Tired?" When Light didn't immediately respond, something cold and hollow curled up from the depths of Souichirou's stomach. "Of what?"

"This whole impossible world." Light looked up and met Souichirou's gaze. "I'll be twenty one in three months but I'm not sure I can wait that long."

"Light, I don't understand – "

"I'm still a minor, Dad." Souichirou closed his mouth, watched his son take a deep breath that eased the red on his collar back to burnt umber. "I'm asking you as my father, my legal guardian, to give permission for me to be euthanised."

Aizawa scowled as the printed files dropped on his desk. "Ukita and Watanabe's seats aren't even cold yet and we're looking for replacements?"

"They won't be replacements." Souichirou. He looked around the room and made sure he had everybody's attention. "Every man here is irreplaceable. Is that understood? Not one of you can be replaced and we are not looking for replacements. We are looking for new members - new eyes, new feet, new minds, to work on this case with us in a new way, in a new Division Two, don't think for a moment that I would ever condonereplacing Ukita and Watanabe. We will remember them and build upon their work, and by solving this case we will honour them, but to solve it we need more men. Are we all clear on this?"

"Yes, sir!"

After some length of time measured out in coffee cups and empty instant noodle pots, Matsuda raised his voice: "How about this one?"

He brought up the profile on the shared screen, and the first thing that struck Souichirou was the stark colours of the young man's face in black and white.

He read the strange name off the profile: "L Lawliet."

"Average Daily Crime Coefficient 251.2. Current Coefficient 262," Matsuda added, clicking between sections and bringing them up on the screen. "Unknown foreign descent. He's been on the enforcer candidacy list for a while, about six years, but he's been in rehabilitation since he was five."

"If my parents had called me 'L', I'd probably have clouded my hue thinking about killing them too."

"Aizawa, don't say things like that."

"I know, I know."

"Why has he been on the candidacy list for so long?" asked Souichirou, studying the data and the young man's meagre history. He had been schooled in the Juvenile Rehabilitation Centre until he was thirteen, but after that there was nothing of any note. "He did a stint with Division Three five years ago."

"Oh, yeah, I thought I recognised the name! Inspector Aoyanagi mentioned him a while back. He's the really difficult new enforcer she couldn't get to even sit properly, let alone cooperate with the rest of the team." Matsuda scratched his head. "I think she said something about how he'd happily solve the case in the safety of the office, and he was smart enough to solve about twelve cases on his own in the time it took the rest of the team to solve one, but Aoyanagi was looking for an enforcer that was a teamplayer and would do a lot of fieldwork, and L Lawliet wasn't great at either."

Mogi hummed. "Sounds like a difficult man to work with."

"Sounds like a dick," said Aizawa shortly, "if you'd excuse my language, Chief."

"But his scores on the assessments for enforcer candidacy are like nothing I've ever seen," said Matsuda, still scrawling through L Lawliet's profile. "Yeah, I think it's the highest anybody's ever scored, except for…"

He trailed off and looked suddenly awkward, so Souichirou put him out of his misery. "Light."

Matsuda nodded.

Souicihirou sighed, folded his arms and considered the profile of the so-called 'difficult candidate' again, and something, something about the profile almost seemed familiar.

"Could you bring up Light's profile, Matsuda?"

A few mouse clicks and Light's candidate profile was up in front of them and he could see the two profiles side-by-side.

Aizawa let out a loud 'ha!' of laughter. "That's funny."

"What is?"

Aizawa pointed at the screen. "Same marks on their enforcer candidacy assessment. Same monthly average crime coefficient. Same percentage clouding in their hue, and, hell, look, scroll back, they even got the same score in their eleven year old IQ test."

"Damn, that's weird."

"Inspector Aoyanagi said that half the time the problem was keeping him from being bored," said Matsuda, giving both profiles another curious look. He laughed. "I bet Light could keep him on his toes."

Eyes slid as one to Souichirou, asking the same silent question.

Could Light work under Souicihirou as an enforcer?

No, that was the wrong question.

The question was, Could Souichirou could bear to see Light working as an enforcer, dominator in hand, running towards the criminals with their weapons and their curdling hues whilst Souichirou stood back and directed him from relative safety?

Souichirou considered Light's profile again, then closed it with a sigh.

No father should have to hide behind his own son as a shield.

The morning after Light was taken away to rehabilitation there was a fraught, nervous tension in Division Two's office. News got around quickly, especially when Director Kasei thought it was in his Division's best interest that they knew Souichirou's psycho-pass might be more sensitive than usual.

"If you think I blame any of you, you would be wrong."

His enforcers relaxed, relieved that Souichirou didn't hold his son's reclassification as 'one of them' against them, which was irrational but not uncommon when latent criminals could be made the convenient scapegoat for anything if one needed somebody to be at fault.

"I can't believe it," said Matsuda, sad and stunned, from the neighbouring cubicle. "Light, he was a good kid. I mean, he still is a good kid! It's just...He's not the kind anybody ever would have imagined could end up a latent."

"Matsuda."

"Maybe there was something going on with him, something at his school, bullying or harassment, problems with his peers, or something he couldn't tell you about."

"Matsuda."

"Maybe we should look into it - "

"With all due respect, Inspector Matsuda," Aizawa sighed, "shut up!"

"Right. Sorry!" Matsuda shrank into his seat, his face red with embarrassment. "Sorry, Chief."

"You meant well, Matsuda. I appreciate the thought." Souichirou typed in his password on the sleek black keyboard and remembered the tap of rain on slick black concrete and the van driving away. "It pains me to say it but you may not be entirely wrong."

Matsuda pricked his ears. "Not wrong? Really?"

"Sachiko and I were given access to Light's coefficient flux record for the past three years. This, whatever this was last night-" His desktop loaded and, for a moment, Souichirou paused, as there on the desktop background appeared an old picture of two children, one bright-eyed boy in blue, aged seven, one round-faced girl in red, aged three, smiling with fixed expressions of willingness to please out of the monitor.

He clicked open the first report of the day. "Whatever this was last night was a long time coming."

"What makes you say that, Chief?"

"He had been receiving warnings to attend psycho-pass cleansing sessions and therapy for the past year and a half and refused to go to any of his suggested appointments."

Matsuda spluttered and looked up from his work. "A year and a half? I thought therapy was mandatory for anybody under twenty one after five warnings?"

"School seemed to be under the impression that he was seeing an external therapist since last April." Light had hidden it well. No one had even suspected that anything was wrong. No one had even suspected that Light could be such a proficient liar, but since when had Light ever done anything and not been exceptional at it?

"And he didn't tell anybody about any of this?" asked Mogi. "About his deteriorating psycho-pass?"

Souichiro shook his head. "Not a word."

"You know," Matsuda lowered his voice as if to impart a piece of juicy gossip, which wasn't entirely far from the truth, "I heard something interesting from Inspector Aoyanagi the other day."

"Oh?"

"It's not common knowledge and I don't think she wants it spread around much, but you know Inspector Ginoza of Division One?"

Inspector Ginoza gave Souichirou the impression of being wound up tighter than a thumbscrew and so defensively closed off it was a wonder he hadn't crushed himself under all of his own self-imposed rules, but he worked strictly within the limits of the law and stuck firmly to his principles, which was difficult in their job as inspectors and something Souichirou could respect.

"Matsuda, we've done six joint missions with Division One. I should hope by now that we all knew who he is."

"Sorry, I'm getting to my point. I was just thinking, about the way things are with you and, er, Light." Matsuda swallowed, licked his lips, looked nervous. "Well, apparently Division One's Enforcer Masaoka is Inspector Ginoza's dad."

"In the same division?" Souichirou both hated the surge of hope that welled up inside him as he wanted to tackle it down and take it into custody for its own protection. "I wouldn't have thought the PSB would allow that."

"It sounds pretty messed up to me." Aizawa spoke around a pencil in his mouth. "Talk about emotionally compromised. I mean, I hear us and Three are different, and One used to be too until Inspector Kougami flipped it with that Specimen Case and left Ginoza running their ship on his own, but you really should have some distance between inspectors and the enforcers. We're here to suck up all the mental and emotional trauma and go crazy and die on the inspector's behalf, because nobody's supposed to miss us. Inspectors shouldn't be close to enforcers, not really - not that I'm complaining about how things are done here."

"Well, it's in the Sybil system's records that they're father and son so Kasei knows about it and they're both still in Division One, so it's got to be alright, right?" Matsuda was looking intently at Souichirou as if waiting for something to go off, a bomb or a bell, or light bulb. "So, what do you think, Chief?"

Souichiro stared at the profile that hanging over the table – L Lawliet, the 'difficult enforcer', the one that had been sent back into the Centre like a dog to the pound, who had been in rehabilitation for twenty or so years – and L Lawliet stared back at them with black eyes and white face, black hair and white shirt. He was a skinny chessboard man, all black and white where his son was overflowing with red and umber.

"This case is difficult," Souichirou started, his eyes fixed on the profile. "Maybe difficult people are what we need for it. I want the best that we can get for this division – the best, brightest and sharpest minds."

They could think about all the things that could possibly go wrong later.

Souichirou reopened Light's candidacy profile.

The black notebook was taken in as a psycho-hazardous item by an enforcer of the PSB. There was a brief investigation to identify its maker but when nothing was found at Light's school or in the surrounding area it was determined an isolated incident and the book was sent to be burned.

Souichirou had a long-time friend in the psycho-hazardous items department of the PSB and when he requested to see it burned his friend brought whisky and they sat and watched the book go up in flames together.

The smoke in the furnace was black and feathered like wings.

The ash was bone white.

Aizawa rose from his chair and went to the door, muttering something about a call from Matsuda. When the door closed behind him, the visitation room descended into a deeply uneasy silence.

"Oh, Light." Souichirou wished now more than ever that Sachiko could have, at least just once, braved the poisonous psycho-pass exposure of the Centre. "Why?"

"I want to leave, Dad." Light's voice was low, feverish, trembling, and there was a far-seeing haunted look in his eyes as he tapped at his temples with a finger. "I have to get out of here. I can feel it. I can feel the rot. It's getting to me. It's trying to get inside my head, and when it does I won't be me anymore. I want to keep my mind, but it's getting so very tiring. Just look at my coefficient."

"It's more stable than before."

"And it's higher than before. It'll only get higher."

"Light." Souichirou breathed down his nose. He had talked down real criminals, not latent criminals. He could keep this situation under control. "last time you told me quite plainly that you weren't going to allow the standards of a system you didn't agree by judge you."

"Did I?" Light's gaze turned inwards. Then he blinked, and he seemed surprised to be in his own skin. "Yes, I did. I did, but that was so long ago, and now – "

"You believed in what you saying, Light. Those were your principles. Those were your beliefs!" Souichirou set the papers down onto the table and clasped his hands over them, his own resolve solidified at last. "Don't throw aside what you believe to be right. Those beliefs and principles are yours and only yours. They define you." They draw out your outlines. "They are your own rules, and so long as you have those and hold onto them, your mind will always be your own."

Light slammed down his hands and leapt to his feet. "But I can't stay here!"

A warning chime went off on his side of the panel. Both Light and Souichirou jumped.

Light shot a look that was a ragged instant of panic, irritation and rage, then he closed his eyes and held up a hand. "I need a moment."

Souichirou nodded. "As much time as you need, Light."

He waited for his son to collect himself and settle the ticking numbers on his psycho-pass tag.

"I signed up for enforcer candidacy years ago," Light said after some time, still breathing heavily but the red in his hue had cooled down to umber again. "My first year here, Dad. You know that, don't you? I must have told you."

Souichirou remembered the stark horror of seeing his son's name on the list. "I know."

"Then why am I still here? I passed all of the assessments - passed them with higher grades than anybody else!"

Bar one other, actually, Souichirou remembered but he didn't think it was the right time to tell him that. "I know, Light. We all do."

"Then why - ?"

"A number of reasons. You are still young, Light. You've only been here for three years. You still have a chance for recovery and that's taken into account when divisions scout for their new enforcers. The only teenaged enforcers I've seen in the Bureau are those young men and women who have been in the Rehabilitation Centre for ten years or more. The other reason," Souichirou looked down at his hands, at their hard lines and ridged veins, "is that you are my son. It is on your candidacy profile. It was likely meant as a kindness to me. I imagine they thought that taking you out of rehabilitation to be an enforcer would have been against all of my wishes for you."

For Light's safety. His health. His chance at a future.

But Souichirou wasn't going to let Light slip away from him anymore.

"So it's your fault that I've been stuck here." Light sounded so tired. "All this time."

"Yes, Light. Yes, it is."

"It wasn't your fault, Chief."

"What kind of father fails to see when his son is troubled?" Souichirou took the cigarette Aizawa offered him. He lit it and blew out a stream of smoke over Tokyo. The city was waking up in a sea of stars for the night. "Maybe I'd never really seen him at all. Not the young man he grew into, and not the young man he is. I thought I saw him but maybe what I was seeing was just the photographs on the living room wall."

Maybe it had been easier that way, to help Souichirou pretend that he saw and knew his son at all. Light had been too fast, too clever, and too sharp for all of them to really see unless they froze him in a moment.

The city smelled of rain and concrete. "Sachiko's been telling Sayu that Light was too smart for his own good."

"He probably was. They say that about the smart ones, don't they? 'It's the smart ones that have a lot of coefficient trouble'." Aizawa tapped his cigarette against the railing. "The ones that think too hard about things, like about the world and who they are and what they're doing in the world; what's right and wrong, good and evil, criminal and not criminal - they go looking for questions with no straight answers and then they'll start thinking about changing the world just so that they can get straight answers from it."

Aizawa looked out over the city too. A red-gold river of cars was winding between the skyscrapers and butterfly swarms of neon lights and holos. "It's tough luck really, for Light. This was just the wrong world to be born a genius in. Any other world and he probably could have had it dancing in the palm of his hand before he'd even hit thirty."

Light's face was notepaper-blank.

"I never explicitly stopped them from recruiting you." His knuckles were shiny white, as were Souichirou's. "I suppose one way of seeing this, Light, is that you're still here in rehabilitation because people know that you are my son and that I love you, despite what you may or ever think of me."

"You..." Light screwed up his face. Souichirou could see him trembling. He was fighting to keep calm, his psycho-pass stable and the meeting going, because all it would need were another two warning chimes and the care-robot would return, sedate him and take him away. "I feel as if I could hate you, but I don't want that."

"Perhaps you should want that, Light."

"What?"

"Perhaps it's high time that you hated me as I may well deserve."

Light shook his head and his voice came out almost in a high, shameful whisper. "No, Dad. Never."

"I'm your father, Light. This is one of my responsibilities. I'm here to shoulder whatever you need to burden me with. I'm here, growing old and hunched, so that you can grow tall and strong, so I'll shoulder your hate, Light. I'll carry your anger. Throw all the blame you wish at me. So long as I am here and I am your father, I'll bear whatever you need me to. That's what I'm here for."

The door slid open and Aizawa returned to the room.

Light looked away, stared down his hands, his eyes bloodshot and his shoulders hunched like a hawk, said nothing until after Aizawa had settled in his chair again.

"Is this all this is about, Dad? Responsibilities?"

"Well, as I'm a failure of a father who can't and won't let go of his son and can't seem to stop failing him when it matters, I should say that this is a little bit about love and a little bit about failure."

A wry, sketchy smile. "How does Mum put up with you? You're becoming more of an old fool every time you visit."

"And I'll grow older and more foolish still," Souichirou felt his own mouth stretching into an old foolish smile, so he cleared his throat and took up the papers in front of him with a business-like shuffle, "which is partially why I'm here."

"Partially?" repeated Light uncertainly, eyeing the papers with suspicion.

"My division are working on a case. It's been very difficult and very dangerous and circumstances suggest that we might benefit from the input of younger, sharper minds."

Light's expression suddenly brightened and it was so distant from the tired young man who had been pleading for an end to the monotony of his existence not twenty minutes ago that Souichirou could have wept. "You're asking me to help on cases? Like before…?"

Before he had been isolated.

"Light." Souichirou waited until his son met his eyes again. There was not a criminal's chance after an eliminator shot of saving Light from himself in the Rehabilitation Centre. When all Light had to turn to and distract him were his own dangerous thoughts, there was little doubt that he would rot away, and his brilliant mind would keep him self-aware through every step of the mental deterioration. He couldn't stay in the Centre. "I'm recruiting you to be an enforcer in my division."

The room that Light was held in was white. The corridors beyond it were black. Perhaps it was supposed to be soothing, like putting a curtain over a bird cage. He could dream up his own walls in the dark and they could be as far away as he liked. He could be as free as his mind could take him.

The first time Souichirou visited Light in the centre was three days after admittance. He had found his son on the floor of his cell, knocked out by the sleeping gases being pumped into his chamber. Apparently he had been in the middle of a violent pleading session with the cameras .

That there had been a mistake, that he had done nothing wrong.

"You never know, Chief," Matsuda had said on their way back to the office, "Maybe Light'll be happier this way. He can say what he likes. He can think what he likes. The worst that could happen to him's already happened. It's like he's fallen, but maybe freefall's a kind of freedom too."

Light later argued that freefall was when all human autonomy had been surrendered to one powerful law (gravity in this case), and argued that it was slavery of the worst kind, especially since the slave was under a powerful illusion of freedom.

But when asked if having the illusion was better than having no freedom at all, Light, after his recruitment, would never give an answer.

They made a breakthrough on the Yotsuba case three days after Light and the idiosyncratic L Lawliet were recruited to the division. It was no unremarkable feat. They made more progress in those three days (three days of what felt to Souichirou like adopting two children into a family, only to have those children hate each other on sight and then somehow become inseparable in their quest to prove who hated the other more, which was a game that both seemed to be relishing) than they had done in three whole months.

It was time for a spot of celebration, as well as a belated welcoming party for their two new enforcers.

Leaving the Terrible Two of Division Two under the rest of division's care (mostly Matsuda's watch, since the man had appointed himself the Official Fight Breaker-Upper and now had a broom to get between them when hands and feet started flying), Souichirou slipped out the office to order a surprise takeaway meal from a nearby sushi restaurant. It was a celebration, after all, and Light hadn't eaten non-synthetic rice or fish in four years and L (who Souichirou couldn't help but think of as a boy, even though he was past twenty five) sounded as if he had never had real fish or rice in his life.

He finished the call and was making to return to his office when he spotted a man down the corridor, buying cigarettes at the vending machine.

He wore a light-coloured trench coat, the kind Souichirou had seen the older police officers wearing before the Sybil system, the kind these days they sold as a holo option under 'detective costume'. He was older than Souichirou, more battered perhaps, had a slight stoop, and as Souichirou moved towards him the man turned and raised a metal hand. "Inspector Yagami!"

Souichirou bowed his head. "Enforcer Masaoka."

Masaoka raised his eyebrows then laughed. "An inspector bowing to an enforcer? That's not something you see every day!"

"You're my senior, Masaoka-san, in experience, age and," Souichirou wasn't sure if he had judged the man's character correctly but he took a chance, "apparently, being old fools."

Masaoka was momentarily surprised. He chuckled. "'Old fools'! Does your son call you that?"

"Not often, but when he does it's usually deserved."

A bark of laughter. "Isn't that always the case? Tea?"

"Excuse me?"

"I got two from the machine," said Masaoka, pulling out two small bottles of genmai tea from his pockets. He tossed one at Souichirou. "Here."

"Thank you."

Not sure of what to make of this turn of events, Souichirou uncapped the bottle and joined Masaoka in a quiet camaraderie of tea-drinking beside the vending machine.

"I've been hearing about the goings on at your division for a while now," Masaoka began, after taking a short swig from the bottle. "I admit, I'm curious, from one father to another - and I know you know about my case. Your young Matsuda came and thanked me for 'setting the precedent' after you recruited that Terrible Two of yours."

Souichirou growled under his breath. "Matsuda, that idiot."

"Oh, he's fine. He's honest. He's a better man than any of us could probably even try to look like in our sleep." Masaoka sipped at his tea. Souichirou had a strange feeling that as two old relics of pre-Sybil copper days they ought to have been drinking something stronger, but they were both on duty so tea would have to do. "How have you been finding it - having your own son as one of your enforcers?"

The tea sat cold in his mouth as he tried to give Masaoka a suitably truthful answer.

He swallowed. "Often a trial."

"For him or for you?"

"For the both of us." The device on Souichirou's wrist hummed. Sushi delivery would be with him in half an hour. "He's been finding out that he's changed since going into the Rehabilitation Centre and that the world's changed whilst he was gone."

Masaoka hummed and grimaced. "Neither are easy realisations to come to."

"He's frustrated and angry," said Souichirou briskly, "and then he becomes frustrated for being frustrated and angry, and because I've never seen him like this, he gets embarrassed and angry that I am there to see him like this and it only makes things worse."

Masaoka's eyes glimmered with amusement. Souichirou let out a long sigh of exasperation. "It's taking time for him to readjust. My other new enforcer has no such expectations of himself or society so he's taking it all rather better, but unfortunately, L doing anything better my son gives him cause for grief so – well, it's a wonder we get anything done in Division Two."

"It certainly sounds like a trial," said Masaoka and for the briefest of moments he seemed distant and almost wistful.

"It's a trial of my patience and my tolerance, every time he tests his new limits." Souichirou scowled into his bottle. The vending machines thrummed. Their cold white light cast strange, detached, half-shadows along the corridor. "And I fear for him every time he takes up a dominator and goes with my Division partner and I fear from him every time I take up a dominator and he comes close enough for it to scan him."

"Dominators," repeated Masaoka with a snort, taking another long sip from his tea. "Has he killed anybody with one yet?"

Souichirou suddenly found himself very interested in the fine print on the sides of the bottle. "No."

Masaoka clicked his tongue and drank. "The time will come soon enough."

The thought made Souichirou cold all over but Masaoka was right. With Light as an enforcer he would have to face up to and get used to the idea eventually.

"Damn, talking to you is making me feel like I have it easy," said Masaoka with a laugh that made Souichirou look at him closely. "My son and I, I suppose it's obvious from the name he chose to call himself by but, we're distant. We were close once but I doubt he remembers much of it, and now, between us, there's a gap of a decade or more of his life that I know absolutely nothing about that he wants to keep. Well, I respect his wishes. For the most part."

As much as a father can, supplied Souichirou's mind, and he thought of how lost and bewildered Light sometimes made him feel, after his occasional outbursts and mood swings, after that incident with that black notebook that started all of this.

"I don't think you have it easy at all."

Masaoka raised his metal hand in an airy gesture of resignation. "It's the best thing for both of us. It keeps me at the arms' length expected of an inspector and enforcer, keeps things professional and keeps me safely away from poisoning his hue. I imagine your hue's pretty resilient - you've been an Inspector so long it must be - but my son's is more impressionable than ideal for the job. He knows this. It's a cause for concern, and I have no intention of failing him as a father any more than I already have done, so here I am!" He gulped down his tea and wiped his lips on the back of his hand. "Watching his back. It's a skinnier back than I would call healthy but he practically raised himself, so I shan't say a word about the man's he made himself into."

Souichirou smiled. "You say man but you still talk about him like a boy."

"Of course, I would. He's my boy - whether he likes it or not. It's what we fathers do." Masaoka tipped back has his head and swallowed the last drops in the bottle. "We're here to embarrass our sons and remind them that however big and grown up they feel, the world's bigger than they are and always out to eat them – that they're never too old to be scared shitless, and that that's absolutely fine. At least, in theory," he said with a playful gleam in his eye and he crumpled the bottle into a wad of plastic in his metal hand. "Well, I hear you finally made some kind of progress on that the Yotsuba case today, so I'll leave you to your celebrations. I've got to head back to my own rabble – we're tidying up a couple of desks for the new inspector."

"A new inspector?"

"Slip of a girl - big eyes, tiny thing, hue as clear as a summer's day. Well, you know how it goes. Sybil says she can do the job and she's got the scores for it, and who's to argue to Sybil?" Masaoka sounded as if he wanted to laugh. His eyes certainly were. He tossed the crushed bottle into the bin. "It was nice talking with you, Inspector Yagami. I wish you all the best of luck with your son, and for you."

"Enforcer Masaoka." Masaoka turned and Souichirou squared his shoulders, looked the man in the eyes. "You say that your son is concerned about clouding his hue from fraternising too closely with enforcers, but if he knows that he is prone to psycho-pass fluctuation, have you ever asked him why he chose such a psycho-hazardous career as an inspector?"

Masaoka hesitated. He put his metal hand to his chin.

"I can't say I have," he said, then at length he smiled. "We'll talk again another time, Yagami."

Souichirou nodded. "I'll look forward to it."

Masaoka disappeared down the corridor, tucking his metal hand into the pocket of his coat and turning up his collar and a message on Souichirou's wrist device told him that sushi had been delivered to the reception downstairs.

Higuchi was a man of the worst sort and when the car finally swerved off the road and crashed into the motorway wall, Aizawa said something about karma and getting his dues. They parked down the road from the wreckage and climbed out. L was holding his dominator between thumb and forefinger and studying its glowing parts with his usual air of disapproval.

Light looked as if he wanted to agree with what Aizawa. His grip on the dominator was white-knuckled and tight with intent. It was the look on Light's face that made Souichirou order the enforcers to stay back and allow him to approach Higuchi's car alone.

When he was close enough to the car that he was crunching over window glass, the door burst open and Higuchi stumbled out, bleeding from his temples and chin and blood smeared across his teeth, brandishing something small and metal that he thrust out in front of him -

"Crime Coefficient, 312. Unlock enforcement mode - Lethal eliminator."

With a high-pitched whine that scraped against Souichirou's ears and sang in his chest, a hot pulse of green light streaked over his shoulder and sank into Higuchi's extended arm like a needle.

Higuchi dropped his pre-Sybil pistol, opened his mouth in a silent scream. He swelled. His arms, legs, torso, and neck bubbled, ballooned. Skin stretched thin and translucent pink, before with a wet pop! he burst like a seedhead and quivering chunks of flesh sprayed across the concrete and the crumpled car bonnet.

Blood and scraps of skin and meat had splashed across Souichirou's face and a fine burnt umber spray hung over the car wreckage scene, but he had dealt with eliminations before, had seen many and would see many more to come. He was more afraid of what he would see when he looked over his shoulder than of the blown apart remains of a man.

Souichirou looked.

Light was lowering the dominator, eyes wide and shining bright, luminous blue in the dominator glow like a wild animal spotted in the dark.

And a strange thought occurred to Souichirou: The dominator in his son's hands was as black as a mysterious little notebook he had watched burn all those years ago.

Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!