It's raining.
Shit, I think to myself. Shit.
Now by the time I'll get home, I'll be cold, hungry, sore, and wet.
Jesus fucking Christ this rain is so fucking bad. Then, I spy it not to far ahead, and give a sigh of relief that momentarily fogs up my helmet. If I wasn't gripping the handlebars of my motorcycle for dear life in this rain, I would've clasped my hands together in a prayer of thanks. when the crappy run-down apartment complex I call home appears in the distance.
I get off the cycle. It feels like every bone and muscle in my body are simultaneously on fire. I'm so fucking sore, and with my lifestyle, it's no surprise.
Every morning, I'm up at daybreak, and ready to go out. I have important business to take care of, errands to run for the mafia, which are anything from just getting information from a source to killing ten people at once. Then it's to work on the case, which successfully makes my brain numb. By the time I'm home around two, I'm ready to die, like now. But I can't fall into my coma of sleep just yet, I think as I trudge up the stairs to my miserable apartment. My door doesn't even lock. I just give it a push, and it opens. I'm greeted with my bare living room. It's nothing but several tables with monitors and television screens. I squint against the harsh light of so many monitors, all running full time, all the time.
It's their fault I'm stuck living in a place like this. Even with the generous amount of money I "find", it takes all I have to run these things all day and night. I have to be on the constant lookout for information on Kira, so now that I'm home, it's time to watch them.
Throwing my coat to the floor, I kick off my boots, and change from my usual attire of leather to something more comfortable to be sitting on hardwood floors for the next few hours.
Even they feel comfortable and warm compared to being outside on a night like tonight. Though hell, with the rain pattering loudly against the windows and walls, and the floor under me being gently warmed by my body heat, I'm downright comfortable. I try to stay conscious, but in a few minutes, I am out cold on the floor. A nuclear war over my roof wouldn't have woken me.
When I wake, sunlight is streaming through my window. My entire body is stiff and in worse pain then last night. As I brush a strand of blond hair that hadn't been washed in so long it was almost brown out of my face, I finally admitted to myself: I needed someone to help me.
I groan when I sit up, rubbing my neck. My hand comes back with old dried blood on it. I don't even know how long that's been there. I need a shower. I need a fucking spa day. I may not be able to get a spa, but I know I have a shower, and cold water is better then no water. And it is, I think as I let the water rush down me. It's been so long since I've actually bathed. This was taking time I couldn't afford, but would take anyway. As the water run down me, I think about getting myself some help on the case. It wouldn't be anyone from the mafia. I couldn't see myself giving them orders anyway. No, I need someone good with technology, computers and shit like that. But I was compromised. I couldn't afford to pay them, and they'd probably have to be living here with me, and I doubt any of the hacker's-for-hire I knew would like to be in that situation. They'd laugh in my face.
An idea is forming in my mind, but I don't want to think about it. However, I'm running out of other ideas, so finally I allow myself to explore the idea further. Wammy's House. As much as I fucking hate that place, I think I'll need to get someone from there. Not that little fucking twit Near. He was already running his own investigation, and I would have nothing to do with it, not if I could help it. A name tugs at the edge of my mind, followed with a flashback. A little red-headed boy with goggles and a videogame in hand, that kid who followed me around. M…. Matt? Yeah, that was it. Then I'm bombarded by old memories. That's right, Matt. I wonder how I'd forgotten about Matt, the poor kid who'd spent his life from the time he got to the House following me around. He was like my fucking dog, and he was the only person I actually felt regret for leaving. Matt. I wonder if he'd still come to me if I called, or if he'd just find some way to tell Kira about me. Hell, maybe he was working with Near and would give away my location to him. I don't even care. It has to be done. If I keep going at this rate, I'll be as dead before I can destroy the bastard who killed my only fucking hero. I'll try later today, to get in contact with Matt. I have to do it, for the sake of L.
Don't worry L. M will avenge you. Your death wasn't in vain. I swear to god it wasn't in fucking vain.
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Author's Note:
This is my first fanfic! Please don't be too harsh with me.... ;~;
