A Kyrie for the New World
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. I make no profit off of this work of fiction. However, I do not give permission for anyone to take this body of work and claim it as their own.
Summary: Movieverse. On the battered spine of an old friend is written a prayer for man. Touch it and sing its hymn, for the Madeleine of memories loosens the tongue with its bitter sapor. A detective game begins anew. T for bad language, some violence.
CHAPTER ONE
Gossamer threads wind slowly around a fingertip, as fishing line coils upon its reel (1). The ghost fibers tighten with every revolution. Under an eerie teal light, the tresses take on an aquamarine sheen. Around the nail, the skin grows colder and turns a deeper purple by the second. That's fine, its owner notes. The gentle throb provides an interesting contrast to the near-soporific state of his pulse.
Which is an even more interesting contrast to the current situation.
"Near!" The shout thunders through the figure in white huddled on the floor among modems and machinery, the panic instilling a tremor to the voice emanating from one of the thousands of computer monitors dressing the walls like glowing picture frames. "Agent Sutch—"
The floss coil unwinds from his finger. With the most infinitesimal tilt of the head and just the barest shift of cold, dark irises, Near turns his attention upon warehouse monitor three. Three twitching bodies lie on the floor before an open vault, their hands to their bleeding chests. Awash in the grainy slate monochrome, the figure on screen dashes into a blindspot.
"I see him, Agent Lidner. Deploy the RK and return to base"(2). Pinching the end of one particularly springy curl, he stretches it to its limit and allows it to fall over his eye.
He needs a haircut.
Agent Thad Sutch has been in his employ for five years (3). Extensive background checks had failed to turn up any marks on the man's flawless record. The SPK does not allow just anyone into even its lowest ranks. That is how he lost.
Near does not intend to lose.
Near switches to camera five. The vault door hangs open. In it, only one safe deposit box of the many remains obviously disturbed. Four black shapes can just be made out among the shadows if Near cares to squint. The mystery of it is enough for the man to forget he has plenty more curl to tug at. The safe should be empty.
This is either luck or something more concerning at work. Since Near does not believe in luck, he presses the button on a nearby mic.
"RK-1," he addresses, "ETA."
The low, synthetic voice of a vocoder crackles over the speaker. "A minute and twenty."
"Not fast enough," Near reprimands in the tonal equivalent of drying paint. "Rester. Target's current location."
"Got into a cab. Hold on. ...Yeah. Headed downtown, looks like."
Downtown. What was downtown?
"RK-1," commands Near, "You are looking for a cab. AR will send you coordinates."
"Roger."
Near at last recalls the protein strands upon his head, and he wasted no time twirling them. Sutch's only motivation now appears to be escape, but he won't risk his best agents in his capture. This is a mission befitting of an RK— a member of an emergency task force, whose identity is known only to him. As of three minutes ago, the SPK has become compromised.
To think that in three months Sutch would have been cleared to enter N-rank. Near remembers with satisfaction how he had delayed his clearance only a week ago. He adds another polkadotted cube to his dice tower. The playing card castle behind him threatens to topple over him. It shudders as Near commences building the second tower and his elbow passes too close. Stopping, he waits for it to stabilize before continuing construction.
No, luck has nothing to do with any of this. Fortune has not cared once for him since his entrance into this world.
Why bother with Faith when he has Knowledge on his side?
RK-1 is less than a non-entity. They are a phantom of a memory of a daydream. Names have no power here.
So they tell themself.
They have been flying helicopters for eight years yet their grip on the cyclic slips now as their fingers shake and their palms moisten. Expert training and professional composure have a penchant for crumbling in the face of crossing the Great Divide.
An RK afraid of death. L would...well. He would not laugh. RK-1 doubts the guy has a sense of humor. One time they tried to make an alphabet pun for the sake of breaking the ice and all they got for their effort was a chilled silence.
Silence is what RK-1 steeps themself in as they drag tired eyes over the sea of skyscrapers. Dusk has fallen upon the Big Apple and damn does it make it harder to scan license plate numbers. Traffic has thankfully (never once in their life would RK-1 ever think that they would have such a thought) slowed to its usual Manhattan pace. Fiddling with the buttons on their visor, they flick on the night vision and zoom in on the tiny yellow rectangles below. After this is over, they resolve to grab an ice cream and hang out by the East River. It is not all that far away and they can land on the helipad over at—
"Target sighted." RK-1 confirms the string of numbers and letters with one AR. "That's him. Right, he's getting out. By the heliport. Sending coordinates."
A silence even more chilled than the one that followed that failed pun ensues before L decimates it. "Do you have that item, RK-1?"
That item. Yes. It will be the first time they have ever used such a thing. That item accounts for only an iota of their anxiety.
Now, they are not one to question orders. A superior tells them to jump, RK-1 doesn't bother asking how high and simply hurls their body in an upwardly direction. Yet they feel compelled to maybe, just maybe have L reconsider. After all, they have heard some worrisome rumors about the destruction of the items in their target's possession and even though the pay is good and they knew what they were getting into, they will do what they can to extend their lifespan.
"Don't you think it's overkill?" RK-1 asks, even while knowing the answer.
L's voice sounds terse even when blanketed in static and audio fuzz. "The target can't be allowed to make it past the river."
"Got it." RK-1 manipulates the collective lever and off they are to the heliport.
"Patch us through to your video feed."
Icebergs could form from that tone. They barely fight down the compulsion to rub the back of their head. In RK-1's defense, this is their first deployment and they are chasing Death himself. Anyone can forget procedure in the midst of all of this excitement.
In L's defense... Same reasoning.
RK-1 pokes around on their visor's touch pad, and a small REC appears in the corner of the display. L is silent, again.
"Too crowded," they swear L murmurs. The ripple of irritation is just barely present beneath the cool intonation of the speech synthesizer. But he is right. The heliport is not as deserted as it could be.
Sutch walks stiffly over to one of the choppers, its blades whirling in anticipation of the flight ahead.
"Target is approaching the Bell 407 ," RK-1 says, descending. "Orders?"
"Wait until he is in the air."
Half of Sutch disappears into the helicopter. A second later, a figure spills out of the cockpit. Sutch climbs behind the controls.
"Dead," muses L. "For a while now, it seems." Again, he falls silent. This silence RK-1 recognizes— the silence of gray matter furiously grinding out from its cogs innumerable theories and infinite scenarios.
"Pursue," L says simply when he comes out of his trance.
"Roger," RK-1 replies, and they give chase.
At seven-thousand feet in the air, they are instructed to give Sutch his warning. A mere formality. Every one of the voices buzzing away in RK-1's earpiece know not to expect compliance or a change of heart in a man who no longer owns his own mind. The operative switches on a megaphone.
"Agent Thad Sutch. By order of the SPK, you are to land immediately and surrender yourself. You are to come out with your hands up. I repeat—"
Agent Thad Sutch gives zero indication that he has heard RK-1 and continues on his merry way over the East River.
L's reaction to the disobedience is immediate. "Move to terminate target."
RK-1 manages to not sigh aloud. This is the course of action that they have been trying to avoid. They switch to autopilot, reach over beside them, and heft the RPG over their shoulder.
Please don't kill us both, the RK attempts to plead telepathically with the firearm. They lean out of the cockpit and focus their sights on the Bell at twelve o'clock.
Reaper Killer One fires.
In the movies, when the shit goes down, all slows to a snail's crawl. Sounds are dull roars and distant bellows in one's ears. Perhaps a lifetime flashes before one's eyes.
When Sutch's arm, seconds before the missile strikes, thrusts out of the cockpit and those black collections of deadly paper that RK-1 has only seen in photographs and slide shows in dark rooms disappear, all three movie cliches play out in full color and one-hundred percent reality. They only just remember to pull up and away before the shrapnel can crash into the windscreen.
As the chopper goes down into the water, the silence on the other end grows ice spikes.
"Well," RK-1 says. "He didn't make it past the river."
DEATH NOTE
HOW TO USE IT
LXV
• In the world of gods of death there are a few copies of what humans may call user guidebook for using the Death Note in the human world. However, the guidebook is not allowed to be delivered to humans.
• It is perfectly okay for gods of death to read the guidebook for him/herself and teach humans about its contents, no matter what the content may include.
Author Notes:
Before I do the notes, I want to thank everyone who reviewed So the World's Greatest Detective & His Lover's Father Walk into a Bar. I wasn't expecting such kindness or faves, even. I've started on the second chapter but I'm having trouble thinking of a middle and end.
Okay, so. Notes.
1. In keeping with Death Note's tradition of fucking ridiculous English names, Thad Sutch is born. Please cherish my Original Character.
2. Near...hmmm. This is supposed to be the movieverse but just because he has white curly hair doesn't mean he can't still be that Thai boy from L Change the World. He changed his appearance okay. He had to go undercover.
3. Ah, the Reaper Killer, my other Original Character Do Not Steal. The RK thing is a cheesy idea but I was going for a movie-like feel with this fic so hopefully it isn't too ridiculous.
4. This was my first attempt to write an action scene in the vein of the Higuchi chase? Don't know how I did.
Please keep in mind that this takes place in a verse where Light Up the New World didn't happen. There was maybe a previous incident with the notebooks maybe. I'll insert that into the sequel if I can. It will definitely fuck with the flow if I drop in a flashback. Also it's been a while since I watched the first two movies so apologies if I get some details wrong! It's also been some time since I visited Manhattan so if I got that wrong too...
Speaking of which, I feel like Near would try to move the locations of the notebooks around so thus Manhattan one day...Madrid the next...you get the deal.
I know this chapter was short but please read and review!