"So farewell Hope, and with Hope, farewell Fear.
Farewell Remorse: all Good to me is lost;
Evil thou be my Good." –John Milton, Paradise Lost
Matt stood, fear racing through his veins faster than it took him to get there, body still whipped and aching from the harsh movements of only moments before. The acrid taste of tobacco was fresh on his tongue from when he'd clamped too hard on the cigarette that still rested between his lips, there only for his selfish reassurance, a reminder that he was choosing his own death. No god, real or false, could be the one with control over his life if he killed himself slowly. The strap to his goggles was sweaty at the back of his head, and he longed to pull it off, if only to rustle his hair, cool his heated skin for a moment. But he couldn't allow anyone to get a close look at him, not today. Had it really only taken him those few moments to get here, just a few harried minutes of dodging men that wouldn't have had a prayer of catching him if it were one on one. He supposed that it was just the cost of fighting a murderer who had the rest of the world backing him.
Matt wondered how long it had been since that simple life that he led, so different from the one he'd been raised to expect, one of clever plans, catching those criminal masterminds with one of his own. He'd never cared before, just sat back and gave into his electric addictions, allowing his mind to dull as he watched the rise of Kira spread over the world, as the new 'L' slowly lost his footing, taking less and less drastic (and more and more asinine) actions against the growing murderous force. It could only be attributed to his withdrawal from the world that he never saw, never cared to see just what was going on. He knew when Near took over his role as lead investigator, a small blurb in the Washington paper about a reforming special operations for the United States, caught only because he was looking for updates on the release of the new game systems for that country (although it was always more fun to buy it illegally, it was getting harder as less and less people were willing to break the law, weak fools). Only that little brat would need to find so many other people to help him, so much legal force, building up something against the current L. He could at least accept him for that, being able to form a team on his own.
Well, perhaps they all needed that. They all needed someone to validate their genius, someone to make them more than they were, more than useless, odd creatures picked as the oddest ones from the strangest place. Matt could attribute to what they became on their own, smart freaks abandoned by the normal people of society, avoided for their lack of charms, brusque nature that demanded the best of the minds around them for any sort of comprehension. How the hell had L done it, created himself to be so much more than he actually was, created not only himself but the image that still resonated through the minds of those lost people that still had hope in the ravaged world today. Who were they really, but lost, hurt little boys, blessed with minds that would eventually be their downfall?
The click of dozens of guns turned on him, drowning out the feeble tries for humanity in a demon's world, trying to work with those he despised. The pain engulfed him, shutting out those fleeting thoughts of a life well spent in imaginary worlds, people that barely mattered to this cruel place, the final thought being of a flash of black leather and bright silky strands resting next to him before the black abyss overwhelmed him.
Matt fell to the ground, ready never to rise again.
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"Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell;
And in the lowest deep a lower deep
Still threatening to devour me opens wide,
to which the hell I suffer seems a Heav'n" – Milton, Paradise Lost
It was numb here. That was the first thought Matt had, as he slid his eyes open. (He'd never been one to keep his eyes closed if he was awake. That man, no that boy had always said that he opened his eyes before he was even awake, creepily looking around the room with blank dead eyes. But he was… no one, wasn't he? It wasn't time to remember.) Matt slid his gaze around the room, while his mind was waking to try and find the source for his unfeeling senses. His body was upright, angled only slightly to make that transition from sleep to consciousness that much easier. He knew where he was supposed to be, listening to endless rants made by people either addled by the controlling forces or impassioned by the loss of faith in that old world left him a firm believer in his current predicament.
The empty room seemed to mock him, but if this was hell, then it looked a lot like a hospital, bright and shiny to reassure those who were dying to get out. Silent Hill was starting to make a lot more sense to him. He wondered how long he would have to wait before the main player to reach him. It might be a while, given that it was someone else playing.
Matt winced and grimaced hard, as a portion of numbness slipped away. Fire raced through his leg, ignited by a small muscle twitch that Matt would have stopped if he could, followed by a wave of relief. Perhaps he should…
Sleep overtook him again.
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Several times he awoke, only to see the same room, the same pale yellow walls that so perfectly matched his idea of hell (he always hated that color, a disgust that was only second to the color orange), that one window with blank white blinds opened only enough to let in the filtered light from the flames that must be raging outside, the machine sending endless annoying beeps into his mind, pure and personal torture created just for him, his bed, silver with seemingly pure white sheets, and the blank door that stood endlessly closed. Was the light changing, or was his mind just playing with him, making him think that days were passing when in reality there was no concept of time in the depths of the underworld. Once he caught the door pulled shut, silent and eerie, a humanlike shadow splayed on the wall for only a moment before the monotony set in again. He wasn't sure if they were human, he was in hell after all. Matt had smiled then, dubbing that creature the 'blind nurse,' if only for his own amusement.
The pain, which frequented him only sporadically, eventually dulled, as well as the numbness. It was the fifth time he awoke that Matt realized that he could lift his arms, flinching only slightly at the ache emanating from small points, muscles cramped from so much disuse. He was wrapped in endless bandages, and dressed in a pale, soft hospital gown. He could almost imagine how cool he would have
looked as an enemy, one evil eye showing, hair long and viciously unkempt to the point that it was impossible to duplicate, as awesome as it would look. The IV stuck into his arm could be used as well, the ultimate move that would be useless to dodge, but instead taken like a man, so long as the player carried enough life packs to save him.
If it wasn't for the fact that he was alone, even less interaction than when he'd spent five years without a single person who knew who he was, Matt might have thought he wasn't dead, like he was supposed to be.
But that wouldn't be right.
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"There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery," –Dante, Inferno
The next time Matt opened his eyes, he knew he was dead, and that the blank white walls were hell itself.
Once, back in that place that was so much more than a school, so much stronger than a home at one point, he had been forced to read Dante's Inferno, required when he was only twelve years old to dwell on the place that his soul would eventually spend eternity. The teachers there would deny that, it was only for literary critique, but when they were all groomed to die young and brilliant, how could they not think on their souls? Matt never got around to reading Purgatory and Paradise, (He was too busy adding features to his Game Boy, making it more useful than it already was) but he figured he'd never need to know about those. It's not like he was planning on being good enough to get into heaven, so why bother knowing about what he would be missing? (He recalled that one blond boy being so terribly upset by Hell that he proceeded to read through all of Purgatory and Paradise three times before he got bored a week later, his interest drawn away to other tasks. But now wasn't the time to remember.)
In the Inferno, Virgil, (whom Matt liked just because he reminded him so much of his favorite movie Tombstone, a dramatic telling of Wyatt Earp, Matt's hero,) led Dante through all of the levels of hell, each one growing progressively worse as the level of sins increased. It was one great game to Matt, levels to be beaten, weapons gained before Dante could reach the goal at the end of a long dark tunnel. At the end, an anticlimactic final boss if there ever was one, the devil stood frozen in ice, grasping the betrayers of Caesar and Jesus in his vicious jaws. Matt hated how Dante just climbed over the devil on his way out, a beginner move that didn't belong at the end of the game. He always thought that the devil was stronger, otherwise it meant that people really were evil themselves, that they didn't need much help to commit the millions of atrocities that infested the current world. There had to be someone else, some way to keep the faith in humanity.
Matt never thought that he would meet the devil himself. He knew that he wasn't destined to be a saint, but downloading and hacking weren't the worst evils of the world, were they? If so, he clearly had underestimated the power of technology. But he was curious, wondering if the devil was really a horned tailed monster whispering in people's ears. When he opened his eyes that day, the eleventh time since his death, Matt knew that his chance had finally come for him to meet the monster himself.
Standing before him, clean and pressed for his audience in hell, Light Yagami smiled.
((Let me know how this is, because this is just something I'm writing at my breaks at work. Not how I usually write, but I really liked this. Let me know what you think, and I'll put up the next chapter. If you don't then I'll forget to care. ))