In the Valley of Shadows
Chapter One:
Call
Is there any reason to this? Why I'm standing here, why I made the bet, why it happened that I got this Note?
Drop it, they tell me. They cackle and dance, flailing their arms and gnashing their teeth. I don't care, either way. Nothing matters.
I've seen humans before, once. Until that point I'd only seen names, years through unblinking eyes. One time they glanced below the words, below the numbers and saw the people they belonged to. They don't make sense to me. I can't understand how they act, think. All that they fear, everything – it comes right back to me, to my Note. The only way they escape the fear, my Note, is to find reason in things. I don't see the reason they see. My eyes can't see past their ends. I don't see reasons.
There is no reason why I'm standing here. There's no reason I made the bet, and no reason that I have this Note.
But I'm going to drop it anyway.
--
Log: 9.17.2123
6:00AM
Thursday
Wake Up, Master Darryl
His vision was blurry as his eyes opened, heavy and beginning to drift once more. He could just barely make out the clock next to his bed. The Log was as it had said: Thursday – only this time it was 6:01. He grudgingly forced himself out of bed, stretching out the stiffness from his back.
Info: Your mother is waiting downstairs. She has your new supplies and is preparing your breakfast.
"And where is dad?"
Processing…
Info: Your father left for work fifteen minutes ago exactly.
"Is his portable turned on?"
Message
From: your father. Accept?
"Yes, Dael. Put it through." He struggled to remove his pajamas and speak at the same time.
Message Stream "Darryl, I saw your test last night. You know you can do better, so…well I'm not going to repeat myself again. You're not getting punished this time since I saw you were studying pretty hard the night before. If you need help you can always go to tutoring. Call me when you get out today." Message sent at: 5:45AM from your father's portable. Erase message?
"No, save it please, Dael. Maybe I can use it against him next time he tries to yell at me about not studying hard enough." He let loose a chuckle as he slipped his socks on.
Message Saved.
Darryl got his laptop from the desk and headed for the door.
Have a good day at school, Master Darryl.
"Thanks, Dael. I'll see you when I get home." He shut the door behind him
--
Darryl shivered a bit beneath his sweater under the still-damp trees, the morning just breaking through the leaves. He shrugged his messenger bag up further onto his shoulder, lessening the burden a bit. The walk to school was never an enjoyable one, be it due to the weather or the impending doom of a test. Whatever the case, Darryl wore his gloom like it was part of his drab uniform, something he wasn't proud of, but something he had to wear unless he wanted detention.
He began to ponder why he was in school in the first place. He never really understood some of the reasons he was given. Sure, there were always the essentials – proper grammar, basic math, some history and so on, but why did he need to know some of the more specific things? Like the square root of twenty-nine? Or current events. The phrase made Darryl gag. He couldn't stand it. His father did nothing but nag him about how he should be "up on current events," and know the status of the Middle East, find out what the latest economic crisis is or how the internet is controlling humanity's free will or something.
Sure, beyond the awesome, wonderfully urbanized landscape of Northern America and the still-thriving rural beauty of the southern and more western states, the world was still in bad shape as it always would be. Behind the beauty of the skyscrapers there was still a suffering world. Not so much in America anymore, since the Union Act of 2080 (or was it 2090? Darryl wondered), but in other countries. Darryl remembered seeing it on the news when he was twelve. A major terrorist attack, one of the last surviving extremist groups from the Middle East, bombarded sections of Palestine and Israel for weeks. Darryl never asked his parents why it happened, never cared to ask – it was fear – that was the only thing he could remember coming from those looping scenes on the TV, those unending explosions recurring like they were caught in an endless reel. Darryl watched them that whole week. He was disgusted how an entire country could fall to waste just because of one group's immense hatred. They had no ideals anymore: no ideals except to strike fear and terror into everyone they could. The thought made Darryl want to puke.
When it came down to it, that was why he hated current events so much – they made him think about the bombs.
The best way to kill something that can't die, to kill an idea, is to ignore it. He heard that in a movie once, he thought. Or from someone famous. He couldn't recall.
--
He was sitting alone at lunch that day. He hadn't made too many new friends since school had started. His father was constantly telling him that moving away from New York could be an adventure. It did nothing but make Darryl feel less safe. New York was so peaceful and so on-the-move, it was like the beating heart of the world, pumping life into all markets and all other individual countries. Something about that top-of-the-world status made Darryl feel much safer, ironically. He ate his sandwich in peace, reflecting on how life could have been if he'd stayed.
I might've been just as bored, he said to himself, taking a bite out of the processed egg salad. Still, at least I'd be bored with some people I knew.
The periods drudged past like a creature without legs, digging its nails into the laminate floor hoping to make it to somewhere the pain could end. It never did. The stale air, the teacher's drone, it was all unbearable. He prayed to whatever God was listening, underneath the scratching chalk cutting numbers and equations into the board, that it all could end. That he could be taken away, like he was meant for something more than this. Or at least that he could be taken away to a more interesting class.
The one thing that was even remotely interesting that day was history, strangely enough. The class had just started on the chapter of Japan Pre-2080, which was incredibly boring. Japan was heading the technological market, coming up with more and more innovative ideas by the month, and was the leading country in technological design and engineering. But the teacher, Mr. Allen, went on to a whole other topic.
"As an aside," he began, removing his glasses and leaning forward on the desk, as if preparing to speak secretively. "Have your parents ever talked to you about the Reign of Kira?"
Some kids raised their hands, but most of the class was clueless. "Ciara? Who's she?" one kid asked.
"Kira's something your parents probably weren't alive to remember, and he's something your grandparents probably wouldn't want to remember. It's been just over a hundred years since it all began, but some still like to think of it as 'just a legend.' It's their way of trying to hush it up."
Darryl sat up for the first time in months. He closed his laptop, leaned into the heel of his hand and never broke concentration.
Around that time, Japan was at its all-time highest in criminality. Darryl, once again, began to remember the bombs. Nothing that drastic occurred back then of course, but crime, corruption, all of it was at its apex. Rapists running loose on the streets because of a lack of evidence, robbers going on with their so-called lives, murderers being sentenced for parole again and again.
Until Kira surfaced to take action. There is no record of how it was done, no record of the weapon or management of the murders, but his name still lives on as one of the most confusing, baffling, and longest-running criminals of all-time.
One-by-one, he began to kill criminals off like flies. Though, the most interesting thing is that he did not kill them directly. Whether he had some (or many) others doing the work for him or not, he would kill off all the criminals by having them die of heart attacks. How he did this was either never discovered or never revealed, but the teacher decided not to continue on that subject. Once a few kids began to question what his motives were, and why someone isn't continuing his Reign, he closed the topic from debate.
"I think that's enough for now, guys." He put his glasses back on and opened up his tablet. "Let's start on section one of the chapter."
But Darryl never once stopped thinking about it. This "Kira." What kind of a person was he? What did he want? Did he have some direct, personal vendetta against criminals, or was he simply enthralled at the thought of killing those he saw as lesser than himself? Was it something overnight, or something that gathered itself, collecting the pieces for years at a time until one day it decided to take shape and unleash itself upon Japan, and then the world.
Who was Kira? More importantly, though – who was the man behind the idea?
There was still something that hung in the back of his mind as he pondered the person behind all of this, something that nagged him until he couldn't bear to contain it from his curiosity anymore.
How did he do it?
--
Welcome home, Master Darryl. How was school?
"It was like it always is, Dael – makes me want to kill myself." Darryl threw his bag on his bed and sat at his computer desk. The system spoke again from his bedside clock.
Message
From: your father. Accept?
"Can you just tell me the gist of it? Did he need something?"
Information: Extracting… No. He did not need anything. He simply asks if all is well.
"I can answer him back later. Dael, I need a favor."
Command: waiting…
"I want you to look up information on the 'Kira' case."
Command: Confirmed. Processing…
Security Question: Is this school-related? Information contains content which may be inappropriate.
"Yeah, my history teacher brought it up in class today. It – caught my attention."
Information: Found. Open which source?
Darryl thought for a moment. "All of them."
Darryl hardly slept. Everything he read about the Kira case haunted him, but intrigued him. He stared up at the ceiling, lying on his bed, just thinking, thinking like his brain had been sleeping for ages and just now lit up like a wildfire. The teacher kept referring to Kira as a "mass murderer." Darryl did not see him as such anymore. He saw Kira's true intentions: to rid the world of crime, and to pass righteous judgment upon the world.
In the five or so years that Kira had reigned, wars had ceased. Crime in Japan was almost extinct, for those who were criminals were already being killed off, and those who were smart saw the judgment which was being passed on to the others and ended their criminal ways. Kira wasn't evil. Kira was justice.
"Justice…" Darryl whispered to himself before drifting off into the netherworld of sleep. Then the bombs came back. "…the world could use some of that now…"
--
Log: 9.18.2123
7:45AM
Friday
Wake up, Master Darryl. Your father is waiting downstairs.
7:45? Christ! Darryl thought to himself. He remembered he was off from school, but he had forgotten that his ID was due to be renewed today. He quickly snatched his clothes, threw them on and ran downstairs.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Darryl, slow down!" his father urged. He was dressed in his work clothing (jacket and tie), and was halfway through his coffee. Darryl noticed his father wasn't entirely ready to leave, just relaxing with his paper, which was sprawled out across the dining room table. "What's the rush?"
"Isn't-isn't my ID due for renewal today?"
"Hah, yeah, but not for another hour and a half. Slow down, you should learn to trust your DAEL more than your instincts." Darryl plopped himself down at a chair, almost causing his father's coffee to spill. He had never been the most graceful person.
"Yeah, I know. I'm never too trusting of technology. I mean, have you read some of those old, old stories? Like, you know, machine gets created by man, becomes self-aware, kills man and takes over the Earth. You know like…Antirov--something…what was his name?"
"Asimov. Still, Darryl, Logging Machines like the DAEL aren't artificially intelligent! They're just machines designed to obey their owners and log information. They're bedside search engines, and last time I checked, those can't kill anyone."
Darryl chuckled. His father was right. He gets too paranoid sometimes. Still, there are always antagonistic aspects to everything, and he tended to take those sides. Life, if anything, taught him to expect the worst.
As he sat back in the chair, staring through the window facing the road he took to schoool, images of Kira and the New World he proclaimed went through his head again. It brought him to a strange realm of peace, like Kira was his escape from the world. He really had no idea why he was so enthralled by those years they deemed the Reign of Kira. There was just something eerily calming about it, and something so mystically omnipresent. Like everything fell into place perfectly for Darryl to learn of it.
It can't be an accident.
--
Darryl and his father, after an hour, made their way to the front of the line. Like all federal offices, the American Citizen Identification Department was infamous for long lines, especially since there was never a day when it was closed, and never a day where someone didn't need their ID renewed or made. Darryl wondered at one point who would want to work on holidays in this God-awful place.
He fidgeted impatiently the entire wait, his necktie choking him each time his father attempted to pull it up into place. At times he found himself pacing left and right, almost bumping into the metal divider or the person behind them if he lost footing. At last, they made their way to the booth.
"Hi, how can I help you?" the ACID attendant asked indifferently. Darryl knew she didn't care. She was going home with a pay check; so as long as she did her job, what did she care if she was friendly about it?
"Hi, this is Darryl Hunter. He's up for renewal today."
"Hold up your right arm and hand me your card, please."
Darryl's father pulled Darryl's ID from his own wallet and placed it under the booth's divider while Darryl held his right arm outward, facing the left side of his wrist towards the ceiling. The woman ran the card through a scanner while the reader on the ceiling fed the information into his wrist-ID, which was implanted into his bone. He found it strange that, when he first got the procedure, it was actually painless. One would think drilling a nanochip into a bone would sting quite a bit.
Thank God for modern science, I guess. Darryl chuckled to himself as the woman handed back his card to his father.
"Go to your right to get your photo taken for your new ID. It will be mailed to you in a few weeks, until then your old card will be valid if you need it."
"Yes, we know, thank you for your kindness." Darryl's father remarked sarcastically. Darryl snorted, attempting to contain a full-blown laugh. The woman glared at him, as if laughter were not allowed in the office.
Darryl and his father moved towards the photo-booths, which were simply digital cameras in areas separated by blue sheets. Darryl sat himself down on one as his father slid his newly validated ID through the camera's reader. The camera lit green on its timer and counted down from 3. 2. 1.
The camera took the picture. Darryl got up groggily from the seat. After an hour of standing he was grateful for those fifteen seconds, but they were not enough. He needed to sit down. The car was five or six blocks away, and he wasn't looking forward to the walk.
"Hey, Dad?" Darryl asked. "Can we go to the roof, please? I feel like I need some air."
"Oh, God yes," his father replied. "I was thinking the exact same thing."
--
They still cackle, still taunt. As long as they kill, they have all the time they could ask for – so why are they impatient?
The notebook is slipping. My slender fingers lessen their grip little by little every moment, toying with the time I have left.
I'm still waiting for that reason. It still hasn't come. The note will fall when I decide.
And I don't need a reason to tell me when the end will come.
--
They made their way up to the seventh floor of the building and climbed the centered stairs to the roof. There was nothing up there but a fence around the edges, a few benches along the sides, and a vending machine for sodas and snack bars. Darryl took a seat on one of the benches beside his father. They both looked up at the clear sky, the breeze catching their hair in its run.
"Tell you what," Darryl's father said. "I'll go get the car and bring it up front. I'll honk three times so you'll know it's me. Take your time coming down, Ok? We've got nowhere to be."
"Okay, thanks Dad." Darryl shot a weak smile back. His father disappeared behind him as he descended the stairs. He filled his lungs with cold air, letting them expand to their fullest before releasing his stress with the wind.
Darryl got up again, seemingly restless now. He moved his way to the edge of the building, curious about the world beneath him. He looked down and saw several parked cars at the front of the building, a few angry and bewildered customers about to enter, and several very dissatisfied ones leaving. As he looked out towards the town, he noticed there was not a single building as high as the one on which he stood. The tallest one he could see was about four or five stories, but no more. While The Carrows was a nice town, it was far from New York. Darryl missed the buzz of car horns as they echoed to his window from some distant backstreet, the "dirty water" hot dogs which his father despised, the ever-moving Times Square. All of it.
Then he remembered how scary New York was. How dark it could really get at night. How people would come right up to your face, begging for money, then demanding it. How, as a child, Darryl's only protection was his father's coattails. He held on to them as the people went off in their own directions, ignoring the man passively threatening him. There was a dark side to everything.
Then he remembered Kira again.
Is this what he saw? He asked himself.
--
The reason never came. I didn't hear a voice, a breeze. Nothing. Nothing came.
The Note still fell.
--
Darryl lost his train of thought as he heard something fall onto the gravel behind him. Had someone come onto the roof for air as well? He hadn't heard any feet coming up the stairs. Darryl turned around, but saw no one. He looked down on the ground before him, and on the gravel lay a black book.
Where did this come from? Darryl asked as he bent to pick it up. There was no one up here to throw it, and the likeliness that it fell from a plane was slim at best. Darryl picked it up and turned it over to read the cover.
DEATH NOTE.
Huh, weird title, Darryl thought. It wasn't a very thick book, but it felt heavy, for whatever reason he couldn't explain. He opened to the first page, but there was no copyright, or even a table of contents. They were blank, black pages. Strange.
He flipped to the next page. There was writing on this one, just not the plain-font writing he expected. It was a silver-like color, similar to the title, and it said:
How To Use:
Darryl read the next line, and his heart leapt into his throat.
The human whose name is written on this note shall die.
Darryl's heart pounded more violently with each pulse. Was this book real? No. No way. This had to be some sick, unfunny prank. Still, Darryl kept on reading.
This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.
Whoever made this up is pretty clever. He kept going.
If the cause of death is written within 40 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen.
Is—Is this…No, no it...it can't- The next line sent Darryl reeling with amazement.
If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack.
THIS IS IT!! Darryl shouted in his head, holding the book up to his eyes in astonishment, the black binding absorbing the light of the sun. He knew it now, without a doubt. This is the weapon of Kira!
Darryl shot a glance at the roof, checking to see if anyone noticed him. He had forgotten he was alone in that instant of mingled joy and disbelief. His shirt was ruffled, his hair was a mess, and he was beginning to break in a sweat. His eyes locked onto the pages of the book called DEATH NOTE, and they could hardly tear away. Through some miracle, through some act of God, Darryl wound up with the very tool Kira used to build his utopia.
Through the silence of his ecstasy broke the three blaring notes of his father's car horn. He had lost all sense of time and jumped at the sound. He had to get down there, but he couldn't let anyone see the note. He un-tucked the back of his shirt, shoved the DEATH NOTE inside and tucked the shirt back into his pants. He hurried down the stairs to the elevator, hitting and missing the DOWN button a few times before it was pressed. His whole body trembled. He had to read all the rules before he rushed into anything. He had to hide the Note. He had to figure it all out.
Figure out what to do with this black book.
--
How long should I wait? How long do I have? I let loose a single chuckle.
All the time in the world.
No reason to hurry. No reason at all.
--
The ride back was excruciating. At times he caught his father glancing at him through the rear-view mirror. There was no way he could know about the book called DEATH NOTE, but Darryl was still terribly paranoid. And who could blame him? He was holding the world's most dangerous, most effective weapon. If it's even real, he doubted to himself.
Upon entering his room and sitting down at the desk, he called out again to the words which echoed through his mind.
The human whose name is written on this note shall die.
This needed to be tested. As soon as possible. There was a chance that the Note could really be an incredibly elaborate joke. He had to find a target.
He ran to his closet and grabbed his bag, tearing the DEATH NOTE out from his tucked shirt and throwing it into the bag.
Question: What book is that, Master Darryl?
DAEL! Darryl thought to himself. His heart once again lodged into his throat. He had entirely forgotten about her. She had security feeds linked directly to his father's office. It wasn't safe to do anything here.
"It-It's some book I found. It's called, uh," Darryl reached into his bag as if to look at the book, but in reality he was thinking of a lie. Perhaps a book he had heard of in school. What was the one his teacher just…
"Songs of Experience. It's some kind of abridged edition. I saw it on the ground and picked it up. I didn't want Dad to see it, just in case he thought I stole it."
Statement: I would not think your father would see you as one to steal, Master Darryl.
She bought it.
Thinking quickly, Darryl walked over to his desk and opened the bottom drawer, rummaging through old toys he'd thrown in there to avoid actually cleaning his room. He clawed at the back until, at last, he'd pulled out a pen. He hadn't used one of them in ages, not since he got the laptop. He clicked the button and scribbled on the palm of his hand to test the ink, which was still fresh.
"I'm going to head over to school and see if anyone's there I can study with. Talk to you later, DAEL."
Take care, Master Darryl.
--
Who should be the first? Darryl thought to himself as he walked down Third Street, the DEATH NOTE in his bag. No, no. I'm moving too fast! First I should find somewhere to read the rules. All of them. Anywhere's fine as long as I keep the book inside a magazine or something. Or, wait…
Darryl sat himself down on the bench alongside the playground on Third Street. He was right near the bus stop which would take him towards school. The buses only came on the half hour, so Darryl figured he had a whole twenty minutes to read. He looked both ways. The street was almost completely empty; no cars were parked, even. There were only a few mothers with their children in the playground behind him. He took out the DEATH NOTE and bent the book over the cover to block the title from view. Flipping to the first page of the rules, he read over those first four paragraphs again.
The human whose name is written on this note shall die.
This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.
If the cause of death is written within 40 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen.
If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack.
And on this first page of rules, there was another one which Darryl must have skipped over in excitement:
Details of the death should be written down in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.
What did this mean, precisely? Exact details surrounding the death can be explained? Can a victim be controlled before their deaths? Could it possibly--
Just then, Darryl felt a sudden pain in his shin. He was so enthralled by the pages of the book that he'd forgotten to check his surroundings. He looked up to see the face of Barry Halbright. He was the school "bully" by all accounts, only far worse than the title merited. He was a pure sadist. He enjoyed nothing but the suffering of kids in the school – and by his hands alone.
"Well, look here, it's the new kid." Barry said, drilling his index finger into Darryl's scalp, his followers laughing like hyenas being tugged by their navels. "What're you doing? Studying? Pfeh, please, you're lucky I'm still buzzed from last night, otherwise I'd be walking all up-and-down on your ass. Think you're so cool since you're dad's with the government? What an asshole!"
Darryl did nothing but stare up into Barry's empty eyes. He had no fear of him. None. Luckily, he'd never been subjected to Barry's tortures, and if all went as he'd hoped, no one ever would again.
Barry, Darryl smiled. You will be the first to know the judgment of the DEATH NOTE.
Darryl threw the folded-over DEATH NOTE into his open bag, tossed the bag over his shoulder and walked away from the stop, away from those cackling tormentors.
"Yeah, Hunter! Keep walking! There's nothing you can do! Haha! Go read your stupid book somewhere else!"
Darryl reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. Once he was out of sight, he opened the DEATH NOTE to the first blank white page. He checked his watch. 2:25:02. He took his pen, called to mind Barry's pig-like face, and wrote while continuing to walk:
Barry Halbright.
I should take this time to test the Note's full effects, he thought to himself. Beneath the name, he wrote:
At 2:28 exactly, he is killed in a traffic accident.
He clicked the pen and placed it back into his pocket, checking his watch: 2:26:59 exactly. Just over 60 seconds now. He continued to walk; his heart was racing. He couldn't help but smirk gleefully as he walked towards school. He could hear Barry shouting obnoxiously as his friends continued to laugh as if they lived only to praise his antics.
Darryl kept walking, but with each step, he grew more doubtful.
2:27:58.
Ugh, why am I bothering? Darryl thought to himself.
2:27:59.
There's no way this is real. I'm fooling myself.
2:28:00.
There's no reason to think any of this is real--
There was a deafening scream of a horn and a loud crash! Broken glass flickered onto the pavement, and shouts of terror echoed down the street.
Darryl gasped. He had to stop himself to not dare turn around. He had to act as conspicuous as possible. With a smile stretching from ear-to-ear, he continued on to school.
It's real. The DEATH NOTE is real! He kept walking. The shouts still echoed.
--
The cacklers have all left now. I dropped the Note, so they don't care. They won the bet, I lost. What reason is there to stay?
"None," I say outloud. My wings unfurl themselves from under my long arms, gray feathers releasing themselves to the stagnant air.
Reason does not tell me it's time to leave. I tell myself. I let my balance go, and release myself to the humans.
To their reasons.
--
Walking home from school at night felt a whole lot scarier now. Darryl darted his eyes at every cross-street as if hunting for prowlers, regardless of The Carrows being virtually without criminals. It was too upper-class. The only criminals in this neighborhood were embezzlers.
And possibly hitmen, Darryl always joked to himself.
Once arriving at his house, Darryl made his way up to his room and turned on the lights.
Log: 9.18.2123
9:10PM
Friday
Good evening, Master Darryl.
"Hey, Dael." He placed his bag on his bed and began to undress.
Question Are you going to bed now?
"Yeah, actually," Darryl threw on an old, baggy T-shirt for bed. "Long day, actually got some studying done."
Very well. Good night, Master Darryl. Shut down Terminus?
"Sure, thanks." The Dael turned off Darryl's desktop, effectively shutting off its own networking functions. Until 7:45 tomorrow, or until the computer was turned back on, it was just a clock.
Darryl ripped the DEATH NOTE out of his bag and opened to the first white page to see the names he'd written. Beneath Barry Halbright's were exactly one hundred others. Darryl felt like he'd never done so much writing in his whole life, and he most likely hadn't. Paper-and-hand writing was a rarity with computers being assigned even in public schools. Some schools, like Darryl's, removed paper completely to aid the Global Warming Commission. Before the DEATH NOTE became a factor, Darryl thought having less paper to print and waste was a great idea. Now it was nothing but a hindrance. Without the ability to print, he would have to get virtually all his information straight from the display on the computer.
He brought to mind the plan he concocted in the computer center.
The Union's 100 Most Wanted List is public information, he recalled. These will be the first to be killed. The only problem is, once all one hundred have been killed, the internet will surely be on lockdown to all users, registered or otherwise. I'll have to kill a certain amount a day – let's say 20.
Then he remembered that the DEATH NOTE could control the time of a person's death.
Could it also control the date?
So he wrote down all one hundred names at once, face by face, letter by letter from number 100 to number 1. He set the last twenty people on the list to be killed tomorrow afternoon, then the next twenty the next day, et cetera. The final twenty would be killed on the fifth day, and hopefully will give the Union the idea that the restricted access would not stop the persistence of Kira.
Riots and protests will have caused so much of a stir by then that the internet will have to come back up. Then, the Reign will truly begin.
Beneath the lamplight the new Kira smiled maliciously. He went over each name again and again, reciting his first victims to himself. This was only the beginning. He may not be the mastermind that Kira was, but Darryl would do his best to live up to the legacy.
"So," rang a sinister voice from behind Darryl, its tone piercing into the back of his neck. "This is where my Note wound up?"
--
--
There is a thing that I know that does it better than me.
And I haven't wanted to be all the things I could be.