Prologue
"What? What do you mean "he's gone"? Don't you be screwing with me!" yelled one of the wardens at the LA local prison.
"I mean that he's not in his holding cell! I came to wake him up this morning and he was just gone! And none of the other inmates are talking!"
"Well, what are you waiting for? Why haven't you sounded the alarm yet?" the warden yelled in a fit of rage as his face began to turn a furious shade of red.
"Because, last night, someone cut the wires and de-activated it! None of us would be able to set it off!"
"What? Damnit! How long has that bastard been planning this?"
"Planning what, sir?"
"His escape! Alert all personnel! That mad bastard had escaped! Alert all personnel on the intercom that inmate number 666 has escaped his holding cell!"
"Right!"
"Chaos filled the air as warden number 86 darted down the disparity fill hallways of the jail. This was the worst thing that had ever happened in this correctional institute since the now escaped inmate had arrived. Everyone in this facility feared- no – everyone had fully expected this dreadful event to occur sooner or later, but nobody ever expected the inmate to wait three and a half years to escape from these prison walls.
By now, nobody could tell where he was now or how he got out. The only signs of him that were left behind were difficult to decipher and were purposefully left by him.
Left behind were traces of the man's existence, simple and seeming to be without meaning, but obvious to even the most foolish of men. Listing off what was left behind; 1095 tally marks and the start of another were etched into the cold, lifeless brick walls of the cell, a distraught ward and all of the cameras and security alarms de-activated.
Hours before, inmate number 666 had become virtually invisible and had made a daring escape, leaving behind barely a single trace. Only the fellow inmates had noticed his leaving, and there was no way they would start talking any time soon. This was merely fear induced by the power and respect the inmate had gained over the years. That's usually how it goes; you gain respect there, and you're set for life. None of the inmates, once questioned, ever spoke, and they never would speak of that day; the day that inmate number 666, the most dangerous inmate in the ward, had escaped.
3 days later-outside local sweets shop just outside of Tokyo, Japan.
"What do you mean, "she's dead"? Who killed her?" the escaped convict screamed into the pay phone.
"We're not completely sure, but all proof that has been gathered has led to Kira being the cause of death, and Kira is currently incarcerated," said the man on the other end of the phone. "Sorry, but that's all the info we can provide." The man was lying. Kira had been dead for months, but he couldn't announce that to any living soul. If information like that got out, it may cause a mass uproar.
"Wha… tha… bullshit!" the convict screamed in the fit of rage. It's not that the man didn't provide the information that he needed, it was the fact that the man had provided the information that he feared hearing. Naomi Misora; the woman that he had broken out of jail to get revenge on was dead- no- killed; murdered by Kira almost a year ago.
Upon disconnecting the line, the escaped convict maliciously slammed the pay phone back down onto the receiver hard enough to be able to see the glass that made up the box begin to rattle.
"Damnit! How is she dead? How can this be?" the felon furiously thought. Stressfully, he brushed his pale fingers through his dark, shaggy hair. As the moments dragged on, the color of his skin began to grow paler and paler as exhaustion and disturbing thoughts began to overcome his entire body.
"What do I do now? I risked my life and dignity to get to Japan, and for what? Finding that someone else has stolen my prey?" the man thought as he nervously chewed on his thumbnail. "What am I to do now? Do I turn myself in? Do I try to live the life of an ex-convict? No! I can't do that! The FBI would constantly be on my tail until I'm caught or until they see me dead! Ah! There's no way out! I'm sure to be caught within a week… But I can't just give up, that would be throwing away my life. But I have to have some sort of motivation for living! I-" Suddenly, the man's thoughts abruptly paused in the middle of his panicked planning. Something had hit him; an idea. A dastardly, dangerous and insane idea. In fact, it was so insane, it just couldn't fail!
A devious smirk crept up his face as his pale skin began to retrieve its original color. A pure sense of pride coming about his being, the man covered his mouth with his hand, knowing he wouldn't be able to contain himself. He started with a low giggle which in a matter of seconds evolved into a strange laugh which, without warning, turned into a muffled, demonic burst of cackles and gasps from the man struggling to catch his breath. This cackle was one that used to be well known and greatly feared by the natives of Japan; a cackle that seemed to spin about your head after reading a terrifying book or watching a horrific movie. There's no explanation for where this cackle came from, but you can hear it in the recesses of your mind, and you fear every second of it ringing in you ears. This laugh was none other than the laugh of the horrid being known as a shinigami.
"Kyah-hahahahahah!" he cackled from behind the tight grip of his scraggly hand. The man gasped for breath once more before looking up, his eyes glowing a demonic shade of crimson. In a low, cracked whisper, the man said aloud behind his loosening hand, "If my designated target is dead, then I guess I'll have to go after the next best thin…"
Slowly, the man brought back his posture from the hunched over posture that had been induced by his laughing fit. He stood, clasped the handle of the phone booth in his hand, and whispered before taking his silent, collected leave, "L… I'll kill you from the outside-in… I swear on my life…"