Division Of Purpose, a death note fanfic

A/N: Well. This is not my character delving for Light – it's just something that came to mind. Please consider the lines italicized as an Internet article or television broadcast going on in the background; the 'lies' of the electronic world. I did not say what they were in the story, because I believe that Light would be too self-centered when focusing on self-reflection to pay anything like full attention to the world around him. My apologies if that aggravates you.

"Severe, deep psychological trauma, exacerbated by long periods of isolation and-"

Nicknames. What are they to most people? A part of the social contract ingrained in them from birth, a sign of lowered defenses, of the opportunity to feel at ease in the company of others. And titles? The opposite, a demand for formal recognition of status and power.

But most people never think of themselves as their title, or their nickname. Most people, at their deepest darkest levels won't address themselves by anything other than the name they were branded with at birth; a few change that, but they are simply minor abnormalities on a scale so large they cannot even be detected.

It happened the moment the ideology of my new world was born – I could see, out of the corner of my eye, another. A being more perfect than I could ever be, more capable than the rest of humanity.

That being did not stay in the peripheral for long. So many hours I spent; was I talking with Ryuk or just with Him? By the time the cameras were installed in my house, He warned me. Told me 'Don't talk, don't feed the Shinigami, get out.'

And I couldn't disobey Him.

"...Sort of a waking dream, an entity which the sufferer not only encounters constantly, but with whom they believe they exchange information, leading to the-"

He told me to set the inflammable snare in my desk, and it occurred to one of us that if the house burned, where would the issue lie? None of them were divine. None of them were any less than worms crawling through shit in sewers, drenched and dripping in their own complacent inadequacy, with their own comfort in a world worth nothing.

He told me that I was different.

Then L came and screwed things up. I couldn't hear Him as clearly; I was contending with two geniuses, perhaps two perfect beings, and I was never perfection on my own. I needed Him to guide me, so I had to find a way to know more about L. I had to hurt him, for His sake, end him if I could. I began feeling confused, and sick sometimes. Misa – It didn't feel right using her, but He told me to. I manipulated Ryuk and my father, and anyone else who came too close.

I didn't know what to do; there were names, thousands of names that I hadn't written – I couldn't cope after I'd seen Him deal with two people, but He consoled me, convinced me I had to help Him. Before I knew it, there were F.B.I agents tailing me; He didn't say a word, Ryuk informed me out of fear alone.

It was when I found the stub of the railway ticket, and heard about all the dead agents that I knew I had to get out.

"...And this sort of psychosis can prove to be extremely dangerous, both for them and the people around them, particularly if it involves moral convictions or-"

Naomi Misora. It came to a head; the three of us standing there. I told her to run, to go, to get away. I gave her hints but she misinterpreted them. Finally I had to tell her- she had to stop me. I needed her to arrest me, because... because...

"Because I am Kira."

But I didn't see what He was writing.

She walked away, suddenly no longer interested in reporting me to the police, nor of even investigating me. I turned to him, and I knew. He whispered, his voice acid on the wind.

"Say it Light, say it."

"Say what? What did you do?"

He showed me the sliver of paper from his watch, and I finally understood.

"Why...how could you...you're nothing but evil!"

"Why? Why, Light? Because... say it with me, you know it's the truth."

"Because..."

"...Because..."

"I am Kira."

"...Possible that the pressure of perfection has caused a sort of 'short-circuit' of emotional and mental capabilities, forcing-"

I am something different all together.

My title, my nickname, is not just a social definition of what I, or the other people in a room are worth. For other people, it is justice. Or evil. Doctrine or blasphemy. It is a curse and a blessing in the same breath, and it's impossible to tell which way it will be taken by any given person, because the only people who debate it don't exist. They are not who they say they are. Their nicknames are of aliases, of alter egos, of the lies they feed other liars on a day to day basis – the currency of information in an electronic world ruled by the pretty or learned.

And I watch them lie, and it makes me sick. Because I can claim my other name, my nick name, and it is the absolute truth. The God given, and God advocated truth.

"...All the traits of Paranoid Schizophrenia."

Because I am Kira.