L walked slowly through the dank halls of the institute. It was odd that he should find himself here, rather than just having someone else go in his stead. Every step he took seamed thunderous and silent at the same time, echoing off the wall and being swallowed by the screams of the prisoners. L sighed, looking at his feet at his shoulder hunched closer together, as if caving in under the pressure of the sadness that lingered perpetually in this place.
He recalled the debriefing he's had. This was of course due to the fact that he's stolen Matuda's I.D to use as his own, hence the suit he was now wearing and the fact that his hair had been combed flat. If he had gone as L, there would be no doubt in anyone's mind that he would know how to deal with a criminal as notorious as this one. But the fact that L would go so far as to visit a criminal would raise questions, questions he'd rather not have to answer. Was he reopening the case? No. Were the allegations that they'd been related true? No. Was he your lover? No. Do you think that he is going to escape or continue his murders in a Charles Manson-esc way? …No. Though it was this very last question that had sent to him back to the dungeon. He's awoken from his daily 'nap', for he never really slept, with a dark twist deep within his stomach. He'd known there was something wrong. And so he had to check. He waved off Watari's proverbs – "One often meets his destiny on the very path he took to avoid it" – and went to the institution. If you could call this festering hell-hole that.
"Hello, Detective." The voice purred from the glass box. L looked up from his feet, a little startled to find himself in front of the killer once more.
"Hello B."