Yo, so this story is actually a complete rewrite of the original version that I had written in 2012 but never got around to publishing because it was crap basically . So like all the stories that I write I'll go ahead and post all the warning for this, disclaimer, yeah you guys get the idea.

Warnings: Possible OOC, Suicide (well kinda-not really but still putting that here just in case), possible violence (Minor), Language (minor), Character Death

Trigger Warnings: Well there's the (not really) suicide, and death. Seriously though if this triggers you, don't read.

Disclaimer: I'm too lazy write a multi-chapter story (this one doesn't count), do you think I would put forth the effort to write 12 volumes?

What does it feel like when someone's identity is stripped away from them against their will? When, even though they are alive and breathing, they are nothing more than an empty shell? A ghost of your former self as you slowly slip through the cracks.

What does it feel like to be thrust into the middle of a bloodied battlefield where the only goal is to become something you're not? What if, on the off chance, you wake up from the illusion to be surrounded by hell on earth? To see that everyone around you is nothing more than a mindless zombie, clawing each other's throats out in order to achieve the impossible. To see that everything you were led to believe was nothing more than a well placed lie, one stacked on top of the other. Some kind of twisted experiment conducted on you and your peers by the very people who were supposed to protect you.

Would anyone bat an eye and care if you attempted to escape from the hell that you were thrown head first into? Would it even make any kind of difference in the end? Would anyone lose any sleep at the sight of you slowly wasting away from the agony that's consuming you? Would it matter when all was said and done?

I can't find a way out of the dark chasm that's steadily draining the life out of me. I can't breathe as I slowly choke on the various lies that I'm forced to swallow. I can't move as these chains bind me to the very place I once thought was a home.

As I write this, I can feel death circling me, like a bunch of hungry vultures, and I feel my restraint waning. No one hears my screams and pleas for help and respite from where I am held and I don't want to die in vain. I want someone to know the dark truth that surrounds this place, even if it's a futile attempt.

I am a nameless child that resides in Wammy's Orphanage, the safe haven for exceptionally bright orphans. At least that what the public thinks when they hear the name. Beneath the propaganda and lies, however, is a grotesque reality, one so horrific that it could shock the world. Wammy's House is from what the bright facade makes it out to be and is more akin to a war zone.

Here at Wammy's, there is but one goal for every child; to become and eventually surpass the Great Detective L. That is what we all live for, nothing more nothing less. That is our only purpose in this world.

However, unbeknownst to all, it was nothing more than an experiment in the long run. The children, myself included, were expendable for the 'greater good'. As the first generation of Wammy's kids, the scientists didn't have any data to work with so they used us as the guinea pigs. That way, even if we were a failure in the end, they would be able to use what they learned with us in order to not make the same mistakes next time. Our whole purpose was to answer one question: 'How far can you push a child to strive for perfection before they buckle under the pressure?' After all, what is science without some...collateral damage?

Regardless of any of this, I have to hand it to them, they had it set up so...perfectly. The scientists in the experiments were posing as teachers and staff. That way they could closely monitor us all without raising some kind of suspicion from the children. They all worked under the orphanage owner, Quillish Wammy, who was actually a good actor. Pretending that he actually gave two damns about us that we weren't just mere prototypes. An experiment that was set up to fail from the beginning.

From the start, they had everything planned. They conditioned us to believe that we could actually obtain the honor of becoming the next L. To see every other child as an enemy that would stand in your way and double cross you the first chance they got. We learned to associate anything less than perfect as completely worthless. That we would only have a chance of happiness in this life if we were the best of the best, without error.

I followed their teaching so blindly, devoting everything I had to their ways. I was the best, the highest ranked child in the orphanage, with my closest friend, B, right behind me. B and I fought tooth and nail against each other to one up the other. He strove to finally beat me while I fought to stay on top, to show him that I was better then him. It was because of that title of the best that was what made me and B friends after all. If I wasn't on top, he would disregard me and it killed me to think about that. I would do anything to make him proud of me, even if it meant facing the catastrophic disaster that was to come head first.

It wasn't until B took the plunge into his own insanity that I finally I opened my eyes to the reality. It wasn't until my once dear friend gave into the demons that plagued his mind that I was forced to face the ones that resided in me. It was then that I learned the true price of freedom. In exchange for release from the delusion that clouded your mind, you in turned forfeited your sanity. The illusion protected you from the true toll of the stress that came with living in this forsaken place. Without it in place, when you finally woke up to the truth, your worldview is erased. Slowly you find yourself drowning the agony and pain that was reality.

It was a slow and agonizing process for me. At first it was something that I could easily ignore and write off as nothing, even if I knew better. It was something that was easily fixed with a nap or medicine when the pain got too much. However the aches and the pains began appearing more frequent and started lasting longer with each passing day.

Now a days I don't notice the burning in my body as I move, save for the dull roar in my head. I don't notice how my bones protrude from my skin, stretching it in unnatural ways. I've learned to ignore the ever persistent ringing in my ears and how my body seems to shake on its own, even when I fought to stop it.

I know that I am on borrowed time. I can hear the tolling of the nearby church bells signalling each hour as if reminding me of how long I have left. I can see the shadows dancing across the walls as I watch this, inching their way towards my desk with their claw-like limbs.

I've accepted my inevitable demise long ago when I escaped from the nightmare that entangled me. All I wish for now is that someone finds this, someone who can set things right, to stop them before they force anyone else into the corner like I am. I hope that B will not resent me for my selfish actions that are to come and that he will escape while he has a chance. That he can forgive me for taking the easy way out, that he can go on without me.

~ A

I'll post the final part to this later on today if I get the chance.