Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or copyright from the Death Note or Killing Stalking franchise. Please support the original creators however and wherever you can. The original story or plotline, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this fanfiction are purely fictitious. Any identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is not intended or purely coincidental.

Author's Note (A/N): "Killing Stalking" is a manhwa created by Koogi (Lezhin Comics) which entails highly psychological, violent and sexually explicit content. This crossover fanfiction is purely based on the psychological and dramatic criminal essence of the said manhwa, which goes really well with Death Note's own suspenseful tone. Please not there is also a lot of mind games undertone and implied and/or explicit contents of violent and sexual connotation (though I will tone down the intensity of its graphic nature) in this fiction. I do not condone to any type of violence or psychological torture. Other than that, sit back and enjoy this work of mine.

Misery Within All Misers
| The Shadow of Death |
Part One

Hyde Park, Central London
11th March 200*
Late afternoon

"You only have two options," the stranger spoke; his words direct and straight-laced, but the voice that carried them was hoarse and husky, hardly intending to be gentle or kind. Though they didn't even as much as glance at each other, Eleanor somehow felt that he was speaking to her and the dread of paranoia grew in her mind.

"Those two options," the man resumed, "will determine either your freedom or imprisonment."

Imprisonment?

Eleanor tried to maintain composure, but sweats began trickling down her cheeks, bile was rising, heart thumping faster and harder against her ribcage, and it was near impossible to keep the same nonchalant look on her pale face. She had to resist the urge to flick her ginger fringe away from her eyes or even slap her hand across his face; instead, she just kept her deep hazel gaze right ahead, where her quarry walked along the grass amongst plenty of school children. At that moment, she tried to think that making sure her quarry couldn't escape her wrath was all that truly mattered, all that needed her utmost attention and dedication.

Today was supposed to be the day she could finally feel relieved, the day when all the stress and tension from withholding a fury of violence and rage comes to a satisfying and fulfilling end.

Everything was prepared just for this day; she memorised each detail of her quarry's routine, from the time it would take for it to finish its favourite sandwich lunch at Marble Arch's Pret A Manger to the time it would take for it to walk in its debonair stride to this park, where it would then spend the rest of its lunchtime watching school children. It would bask in their presence, storing every distinguished detail of their person into its vile memory or maybe it'd come back to them for something more than just memories. All the things it had already done and the things it would plan to do will and must stop today. She was the one who was supposed to stop him.

She had waited nearly four months for this day to arrive, but then this wonderful day had to be ruined by this disturbing stranger seated next to her—on the same bench as hers, of all the benches to choose from. Just what did he mean by two options earlier? How could he be able to determine her freedom or imprisonment? Maybe the man was talking on his earphone or maybe he was mental and was talking to himself, and maybe he was just talking to her.

"You only have two options. Those two options will determine either your freedom or imprisonment."

If she'd let her suspicions think about it, perhaps he was indeed. His simple words – warnings and threats though they may be – managed to somehow ring her ears again and it didn't help her turbulent mind when he suddenly hummed to Beethoven's Ode To Joy. She pinched herself, biting her lip, and fought the increasingly snowballing need to take one tiny glimpse at him; rage and frustration were fused together, confusion growing a mile a second the longer she stayed there within this eerie silence. Eleanor didn't want to give herself away by jumping up and leave, not while this spot gave her the best view of her quarry as it stood out there in the open, vulnerable for her taking.

She was lucky that she remained steadfast and uninterested because the stranger was giving up on her, too. His humming abruptly stopped at the peak of the song and was replaced by a deep sigh; he was no doubt disappointed by her lack of reactions and that made her snicker quietly.

"I cannot say I completely disagree with what you've done so far," he spoke once more, but they were still looking at everything else other than each other. "But vengeance is not justice."

Vengeance? Eleanor frowned as she began to fume. She turned to get a good look at this bugger, trying to gauge just what kind of rude bastard he was and she was overwhelmed by surprise.

He looked taller than her – maybe more athletic than lanky – and looked her age, but had big creepy eyes that were as dark and mature as a starless night; sleeplessness in the form of swollen eye-bags haunted him and now decorated underneath his eyes. His raven hair looked like the mane of a rabid animal, especially as it was forced to mesh with a red cotton baseball cap marked with 'Mind the Gap'—it still had a price tag attached, no doubt bought from a souvenir stall nearby. She recognised it being hung along the rails of several stalls and shops she'd walked by earlier. Perhaps he had been following her then?

With the way he messed up his khaki pants – one cuff a little higher up the knee while the other almost stepped on by the sole of his left shoe – and the untied shoelaces of his unspoiled white Converse sneakers or that horrible wrinkled grey Rentokill uniform, he was possibly the most obvious character in the crowd and probably the least suspicious to be so intense and intriguing. This man could've well been just another worthless street bum, but he certainly didn't smell like one nor even spoke like them—in fact, he smelt like vanilla and strawberries, and spoke like an eloquent and educated gentleman.

Was all that get-up even real? These clothes, this appearance and figure was not his own; the only thing real of his was just his speech. What was the real reason behind this look? Oh, she knew the reason, alright. He made himself look this way so she wouldn't have seen him coming from a mile away. This man was no worthless street bum.

Eleanor felt a sudden purr in the beating of her heart and the whirring of her lungs. This thrill of danger from getting caught mimicked the same excitement of actually catching all her preys, but this was somewhat different. This feeling was so otherworldly that it was numbing and blinding even, but if she wasn't extra careful, she'd be caught and all her quarries will have escaped justice.

"This is not justice," the man's voice scattered her nimble thoughts away as if he knew just how fragile they were. "Justice can only prevail if you do not intervene with it in this vengeful way."

Vengeful. What did this man know about vengeance? The words he had thrown haphazardly at her may not be as harmless as the way he looked and dressed. They were very intentional, as calculated and driven as they were true and meaningful. He had chosen them to deliver the best effect and derive the ultimate result; this stranger probably already knew everything there was to know about her and there was no use rebutting him. He may even know exactly what she was up to, enough to know which buttons to push, and she had so far been successful at holding back her response.

He was out fishing her out. Just as she was hunting quarries, she was his.

But even so, it didn't explain why he had to come here to warn her and offering up a proposal such as those two options he mentioned, no matter what they were. So Eleanor looked around; Hyde Park was far too wide for sniper scouts, so that would mean there would be more boots on the ground. But there were no obvious signs of plain clothed police lurking or skulking around—she would've caught them talking to radios or had earpieces in their ears and whatnot. Not to mention, if he did bring the police with him, then he wouldn't have let them heard what he said to her about his offer. Plus, the things she'd committed so far wouldn't need so public and grandiose an arrest.

What could he have found out anyway? What would he know? He may've came up with an offer for her to consider, but he failed to mention something rather important: proof. Or evidence. Or testimony. Without those, his words were just mere alphabets and syllables strung together in a pretty tight bow.

So Eleanor chose to ignore him and the bubbling deep within the pit of her stomach; her eyes found comfort in following her quarry as it walked past her with several children, carrying their football in its hand. The scene was somehow painfully quaint—what with the lax, carefree and lush green shrubs in the background. Foreigners took photo ops here and there whilst families roamed with cheers and roars of laughter, yet there lurked a malice so well disguised it stood up from the crowd like a needle in a haystack, but she had an eye for needles—she always had. Everything today was absolutely perfect for a hunt, if not for her present company and the smile on her quarry's face.

She wondered why it was so hard at first to believe that a man like Mr Ian Cole was her chosen quarry today. He was a 45 year old man with good looks, ordinary blonde curly locks and striking green eyes; he was married with one Mrs Jeanne Davis-Cole, his high school sweetheart and mother of his three children. He enjoyed studying and teaching science, so he became a biology teacher at an international school in Westminster. He could've been just another typical middle-aged father who taught at school or play football with his colleagues and friends on weekends if not for his impulsive desire to rape and molest children. He wouldn't have been able to function so aptly as a 'normal' man, husband, father or friend without these abnormal sets of paedophiliac routine that included such heinous abuse of trust and admiration. He had gotten away with it so far, too—well, at least he must've thought that way.

But even Eleanor had to admit he had an air about him, a kind of charisma that many would find attractive for someone his age; his manner of poise was suave and alluring, the kind that would make you forget your age and innocence. That was how he managed to lure them—boys or girls, middle or high school. He mostly preferred those who had their own cliques or groups because he told them 'the more the merrier' and he enjoyed the control he had over them, turning each individual weak to his demands despite their great number or close friendship together. He had ways to convince them to betray their own inhibitions, grooming them to his sexual fantasies so they grew willing and complacent to his manipulations until they were finally broken inside and out, losing all identity. That was how she knew about Mr Cole—one of the boys committed suicide two weeks ago. He was the fifth child to do so.

No one would've known about Mr Cole and his gross past times if his victims hadn't been calling her up at the Psych Healthline where she volunteered as a counselor on call. That was how she always knew about these lying scumbags, all their secret inner workings and dark side before she'd later decide that they were her fateful quarries. Then she'd work on many plans for the best way to eliminate them. She wasn't paid to do this, to invest her time and energy like this—she never asked for anything in return. But no one else should ever die having been controlled and manipulated by this man. No one else should fear this man's influence and power. No one else should be raped or molested by him anymore nor even have fears for their dimmed future because of that.

Today everything that Mr Cole had been doing was going to end. Today, he was about to get an intrusive, shocking reality check.

Eleanor was going to stop him. She was going to ruin his life by destroying his future.

"I'm not oblivious to what he's done. I know what he's done," the stranger spoke to her, again. This time though, his voice was stern and adamant; when she just gave him a sideways glance, he finally turned to her. "I will expose him. You can trust me, Ms Taylor-Soh."

Eleanor was repulsed. Ms Taylor-Soh? No one ever knew that last name of hers—not in that form or sound, but this man did. How could he know this much about her? Perhaps someone sent him to find out what she had been doing, but who? Who would seek her out? Did her father sent him? Or maybe even her own mother? Maybe one of her other quarries actually remembered something that she missed, maybe her hypnosis failed or they may had broken through. Maybe this stranger can indeed expose Mr Cole as he would expose her, too.

"B-Bloody Hell," she murmured slowly as if she'd just learned how to speak; she purposely intended to sound confused and distraught, just to fool him before snorting into outbursts of laughter. "You're a funny fellow! Just who're you talking to?"

The man looked as cool as she was and that almost made her stumble. Undeterred and unabated, he simply shrugged at her; "Why," and ended up chuckling himself too, "I'm talking to you, of course, Ms Eleanor Taylor-Soh! Or perhaps…"

Eleanor turned. What else was he going to say?

"Perhaps you prefer Soh Eun-Seong?"

"Golly, I don't know," her laughter slowed down though and she tried to ignore the growing flood of bile in her stomach. How many of her names did he know? How much of her past did he really know? "Why would you think I'd know wh—"

"Or do you prefer that I called you… Shadow of Death instead?"

She wasn't laughing anymore; it was as though she wasn't even laughing two seconds ago, or even thought of it. Her eyes were void of every other emotions except for rage, panic and fear, and she braved herself to return his own eager stare with a sharp glare.

"That's not funny, whoever you think you are!" she growled low—in case any passerby could hear her, see her eyes almost feral or feel the fiery air oozing from her. "I really don't know what you're talking about!"

"Then why are you whispering?"

"Because I don't want everyone to think that a mad bugger like you had infected me!" she burst into another uncontrollable fit of giggles, covering up her concern on where this conversation was heading, and her gaze quickly found its way to her quarry once more. A gracious smile decked up her lips as she distracted herself, thinking merely on how horrible she would make him feel later, forgetting all about how uncomfortable this stranger was making her feel.

She was about to get up and leave, to trail down her quarry when something jumped on the bench she shared with this stranger. Her ears followed the sound of vibrating steel to her side and her eyes turned with her head only to find the stranger now crouching and facing straight at her—the edge of his cap nearly brushing her forehead. But Eleanor was too startled for a reaction. She chose to listen in.

"Ms Soh, I know what happened to all those girls and boys at Mr Cole's school, and even about the ones who have committed suicide. I can promise you that I will have him imprisoned… Isn't that what you wanted?" he sounded encouraging—if she let it influence her, she may've let him in.

Eleanor finally sensed the extent of the threat this man had brought with him; the purposeful ways he'd arranged his words so she could relate as easily and quickly as possible, and on some normal reflex she would've responded in a heartbeat. She knew for sure now that this man was not playing around. She began biting her lips, again.

"Imprisoned?" she tried to make it sound as casual as 'hello', "My word, who is this Mr Cole? And what did he do to deserve your wrath?"

"It really is up to you to decide your fate from here on out… by deciding on those two options I mentioned."

Eleanor paused. How did this man know? How could he have found out about her of all people?

She traced back her steps from the last six months. She had been making sure that all the calls she took at the Healthline were anonymous; she even got to know the people who lived in the neighbourhood of her quarries and learned their routines only so that it would fine tuned with hers, and she even double checked everything all over again with her chosen scapegoats. She had never known anyone who grew suspicious of her—even if she sensed it, she'd just hypnotised them and walked away forever. Not to mention, the name Shadow of Death was used only whenever she was alone with her quarries and most of them were neurologically disabled by now.

If this man knew about her past somehow, there were only a handful few who knew—either it was her own father (who was also disabled by her), her mother (catatonic, nonetheless) and her paternal grandmother (the one who taught her hypnotism). However, none of these people had been in contact with her since she ran away—which was for over 5 years. So just how could this man have known everything at all?

Besides that, he kept throwing the threats of prison at her as if he knew the exact nature of her crimes. Furthermore, he did say she would either be free or imprisoned, not executed. Eleanor widened her eyes at him, fully coming to terms to his implied suggestions.

Slowly but surely, she turned to look at him properly once more—this time without any suspicious feeling of dislike or detest. There was a strange glow in his dark, almost black and empty eyes; the eagerness exuding from his mere stare told her he was indeed harmless—after all, he did warn her first before asking her to make a choice. So whatever terms he approached her with, it must've been on cordial terms.

"Ms Soh," he called out her from brooding and when their eyes locked, he prodded on, "Your father… he was your first victim, wasn't he? Did all of this happen because of what he'd done to you?"

Eleanor narrowed her eyes, nearly closing them.

Things flashed past her – things she had long forgotten and cast away – as if time rewinded back to that dark time in her past; she was forced to watch her parents perform sexual acts before she had enact the same whenever she was alone with her naked father. For a long time, he had managed to convince her that that was the perfect way to lead a peaceful and successful life, where she could have everything and anything that she wanted without anyone going against her wishes. Way back then, those gifts she'd receive made her feel better about the abuse, but over time she realised what a worthless and dependant whore she'd become—it was exactly what her father had wanted. Her mother was already helpless with him too and Eleanor had no one to turn to. That was why she ran away from home. Shortly after that, her mother was driven to a catatonic stupor and her grandmother found her, took her in to join a circus band.

Even if it had been just 5 years, it felt as though it had been ages since she last saw them all. She grew up by herself believing she didn't need anyone to survive and that she had to live for her own sake now—since she failed to trust someone before, she no longer could trust anyone. Her heart grew cold and frozen, she no longer had the need to keep tabs with her family. She flew off the nest and never looked back, thinking if she had it would only bring more misery. Even now, as she pondered upon it, it stung every pore on her skin, twist every fibre of her muscles and stretch every nerve in her body. There was a reason why she had run away and she must never forget that.

She stood up suddenly, startling the stranger. "You bugger!" she cried, voice shaky but it was hard to tell if she meant that. "I don't know who you are, mister! But you're absolutely mental! Stay away from me!"

The stranger watched as she started to walk away, trying to appraise that scoff of hers as something more sinister like even a snicker instead. He noticed how her eyes were focused only on Mr Cole and that she moved much faster when she saw him patting young children on their heads—it was very clear in her stride that she had no time to spare anyone.

"Evidence!" the stranger shouted back, just before she headed right for Mr Cole. "I have evidence that will implicate you!"

That was enough to stop her at her tracks, but not her attention—she was about 10 feet away from the bench when she stopped. She refused to face him, debating whether she should listen to him or make a good example of Mr Cole. But who else would resume what she had been doing? Who else could? If she were to keep on doing what she had been doing, she had to be fully aware of everything in her surroundings—including this increasingly annoying stranger.

She turned around to find him smiling widely ear to ear.

"I forgot to mention the magic word it seems!" he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck.

Eleanor was still standing there, stunned. No one around seemed to be paying attention to what he yelled at her about, but just in case she waited for several of them to walk by and listened in to their conversations. When she was sure, she approached the bench but not taking a seat; it was a more powerful position to stare the stranger down.

"What evidence are you talking about?" she asked, almost uninterested and in disbelief. She always planned her huntings with intricate and meticulous detail—this sounded implausible.

The man smiled once more and something about what lurked behind it gave her chills; "If I'd told you, I won't have anything to bargain with," and he pointed to the empty slot next to him, which she declined with pure mistrust and raging intent. "Don't worry… I'm not a cop, you know!"

"That doesn't answer my question nor ease me."

"Well, will you tell me what will ease you, then?"

Eleanor thought about what was the most cryptic thing to say—not only that, she wanted to see how much he thought he knew about her. "I think you know," she retorted; her hazel eyes gleamed sure and with zeal, something she sensed he detected as he kept his gaze and nodded to himself.

"You can choose to finish what you came here to do, but bare in mind, I have evidence."

"You've been going on and on about this evidence of yours… but what are you talking about exactly? What is it that you know that I don't?"

He seemed to have caught on. "Oh, did you think I don't know your story? Or what happened to you for the past 5 years?" he chuckled lightly, seemingly too familiar and friendly for comfort. "I have been keeping tabs on you longer than I would most criminals."

Criminals? Eleanor raised an eyebrow, which he saw, and it only entertained him even more.

"You see, I have always had a keen eye on people like you… but you were one of the most elusive—dare I say, as elusive as I am! But besides that, I needed to painstakingly understand why you did what you did and in turn I have gathered as much conclusions and evidence on you as I can. The evidence I have confirms most of my suspicions—granted, I've a few questions left unanswered, which was why I had to come and see you for myself," he explained.

As she surmised his words completely, she averted his gaze and wound up looking to the ground and chewing on her lips. If he knew her real name and that name, or the fact that she had been missing for 5 years, he must've really known everything there was to know about her.

"Ms Soh, will you hear my proposal now?"

Eleanor fought the urge to scram. She needed to hear what he could offer her, what he knew and whatever that evidence was. If she had left without knowing, without studying this man and his words, then she would have to look over her shoulder every single time—she may no longer be able to 'hunt' anymore, too.

She raised her head, taking several steps forward. "What exactly can you offer?" she shrugged, "What could you possibly want from me that I most certainly have?"

"You have great talent and potential. I hate to see it wasted just hunting scums of the earth like this."

This man knew about Mr Cole's misdeeds and trespasses? It sounded like he was teasing her and she sensed something similar to herself in the way he spoke and acted. She almost couldn't believe the likeness, but he continued.

"I heard that you have a knack for hypnotism and… your grandmother was a fortune-teller, wasn't she? She was the one who taught you mentalism, but you had better use for it than conning righteous people off their hard earned money. Besides that, you have read up on psychology many times—I know you've checked out more books on psychology than students who study it on their first semester. You've learned plenty, judging from how guarded and walled up you are—I try to think it's because of your past and history, but I think this shell of yours is harder to break because you finally understood why it existed…"

"Are you sure you're not talking about yourself?" Eleanor threw the question wondering if he could understand her implication. She wanted to see if he saw that they were similar.

The man pouted. "I know how similar we are, if that's what you're implying."

"So what's your point then?"

"My point is…" the man pulled out his hand; two fingers were pointed out and the rest clenched as he went on, "I'd like to propose two options: one, you can choose to proceed with what you've planned to do today and only be arrested with the evidence that I have, which will implicate you on all your crimes… or two: you can stop now and join me."

"In your merry band of men, Robin Hood?"

"Do you think you're a criminal?"

This was his retort to her question on their similarity and that name she just called him with—she sensed that before it was too late.

She quietly pondered on their conviction—what was their differences there? This man may have been seeking out criminals to deliver his own brand of justice, but she exacted her vengeance for those who cannot seek out justice for themselves. Was that so different? To Eleanor, it didn't matter how justice was carried out as long as it had been and that was her motivation all this time. Pursuing her quarries had been an intoxicating journey, but it was well worth it—to see them cower in pain, tremble in fear and beg for forgiveness and mercy. That was always going to be the best way to ensure justice will prevail.

But if she considered herself a vigilante and this man admitted their similarity, then they were cut from the same cloth—no matter what colour that cloth was dyed.

"Do you consider yourself a vigilante?" she threw it back at him.

"Yes and no," he raised his hands before she could scold him for cheating, "Allow me to explain myself, please!"

"As long as you'll return the same favour."

"I consider myself an extendable hand of justice—you and I are very much alike in that sense. You only acted outside the system of order that society had provided while I acted within it where it lacks an eye—"

"—for details that which you most certainly have?"

"Something like that, yes," the man nodded repeatedly. "I see past whatever that has slipped through the cracks within the system."

Eleanor snorted, "So if I had slipped through those cracks, why are you now asking me to join you?"

"They say like-minded minds work best together. We both have the same mindset, same outlook and brand of justice… To be honest, I wanted to use your talent and potential in a better way, a way where you won't end up in prison."

If her ears could twitch and prick up like those of an eager wolf, this would have been the time; she couldn't believe the prospect he was offering that he had to nod at her, almost as if her thoughts were so transparent to him because they were just like his. He really was offering her a job—a job where not only he could keep tabs on her, but allowing her to take down these scumbags in permissible but less vengeful ways.

"Are you really—"

"I'm positive."

"I don't even know who you are! H-how do I know you're for real?"

"My name is L," he sheepishly spoke up. "You may not have heard of me, but I have repeatedly worked with the FBI and many other investigations throughout the years…. More recently, I was the one who solved the LA murders."

"Is that the one with the drugged victims?"

He looked surprised. "How did you catch on?"

"I think you know," she replied with creased eyebrows—he should know that. When he mumbled something about the Psych Heathline in Chiswick, she nodded. "Some of the psychiatrists there are actually painfully aware of crimes everywhere in the world—I think one of them had a brother who was a copper."

"I see… News travels however it can, I suppose."

"Look L, I'd really like to trust you. But you haven't offered me something I don't already know or do… and I like being my own boss! Aside from that, the first option was for me to go to jail once you've submitted your evidence—how do I know this evidence will in fact imprison me? You're not doing yourself a good job at convincing me, if that's what you're here for!"

"Ah, I see your conundrum. True, like you, I keep my identity a great secret so there is no telling whether I am telling the truth for you."

Eleanor nodded again, more vigorously this time. "Exactly! I'm so glad you understand that."

"Still," L stood up now; he was hunched over slightly and his knees bending forward as though his spine was broken or too heavy to carry. He placed his hands into his pants' pockets, thinking. "At this point, I can only assure you with my words and my words are gold. And I do have solid evidence to use against you. Or are you not convinced that I know everything about you?"

She paused—quite frankly, most of the facts of her past (that he had so far revealed to know) could be used as circumstantial evidence and he was being very vague about this evidence. Or could this meant he only had that much evidence?

"If your evidence is so solid, Mr L, then why didn't you just tell the coppers on me?"

"I don't like to repeat myself: I've already told you—it's because you have talent and potential. I'd like to see you harness them in a good way."

"So you don't want me to go to jail?"

"Yes, I do prefer that you don't go to jail. There are better things to do than going to jail just because you decided to poison and hypnotise some child molesters and paedophiles… Although, if you ask me, eight is a considerable number of victims and the FBI still finds interest in these cases—particularly because of its varying victimology."

Eleanor wanted to snort at that. Varying victimology—what a fancy term! Sure, not all the molesters she hunted were males, but she had a way of choosing them in the first place; even now as she reminisced, that one female bugger was the most frustrating of them all—justifying her actions the whole time. But as Eleanor realised his mistake of the number of preys she had hunted by far, she made a quick brooding of what he meant.

"Seven," she corrected him anyway, smirking. "And no, I'm not being reckless or cocky—unless you're not actually going to arrest me because you have no power to. Then again, I sense you're here on personal interest and gain. Therefore, there aren't any coppers around, right?"

L didn't look troubled. In fact, he stared straight at her all the time it was mildly on the offensive. "Eight," he corrected her, too. "Unless you're answering me on the positive."

"What is this? Have you been looking forward to arrest me? Shouldn't this go beyond your principle, to suggest that I pursue another?"

"I prefer not to. I just don't think you will give me a quick, positive answer now… You're going to refuse and you're going to resume hunting down Mr Cole and punish him anyhow."

"I have no comment."

"For your own sake," he acknowledged.

"And you're right, I am refusing your offer. It seems too hard to believe and too high a risk to take."

L looked away, thoughtful for a moment as he began nibbling on his thumb. "Will you," his tone was slow and quiet, "perhaps sleep on it?"

"How long do you intend to give me? Did you always think I'd reject first hand?" she asked, curious.

"I knew there was a more likely chance that you would refuse me instantly, so I'll let you think about it and about your eighth hunt. But anyways, my offer stands until midnight tonight."

Eleanor's smile was a smug one, but she raised an eyebrow, suspicious of him again. "Midnight?"

"Yes," L mumbled as he pulled down his cap and straightened up his uniform, not forgetting to readjust his khaki pants; "If you're interested in joining my Merry Men," and he chuckled at that, "please go to the address at E1 8JG and I will be waiting for you to give me your answer there. If you do not show up, I will hand over the evidence to the authorities. At this stage, I can only hope that you'll make the right choice, Ms Soh."

She waited when he paused mid-way to turn towards the other side of the park, leaving her.

"I bid you… good luck."

As Eleanor watched his back slowly receding into a flurry of tourists crowd, she couldn't believe what just happened.

She still considered the likelihood of his truth being real; how he knew things about her that other people shouldn't know or that he had evidence on her which was more than circumstantial and was not hesitating to use, but yet he showed up here to offer her such a deal. Was he genuine? Did he really just offered her to join him? Did he really want to see her talent and potential to her avoid prison?

What was with that good luck wish, too? Did he know she was going to study him, checking out whether his facts and fiction was the real deal? Did he know she was going to reject him because she had waited so long to punish Mr Cole that she wasn't going to miss it?

"I know how similar we are."

He knew.

He always knew she will reject him because he understood her, that her planning would've all gone to waste if she had agreed to an option then and there, and that Mr Cole would rape or molest another child today if she hadn't kept to her plan. That was why he came to warn her—it was like telling her not to screw up or get caught by anyone else but him. Even then, by asking her to choose, he wanted her to volunteer for a chosen choice. He knew she would still go for the hunt because that was exactly what he would've done for himself. He always knew because of that.

And now he must've already know what her answer was going to be.

Eleanor smiled to herself. "No one's ever gotten this right about me before," she giggled, body shivering in excitement. "And I'm not about to let this go to waste, too!"

Right up on the opposite side where L headed, Mr Cole was standing by the gate; he was waiting on the children as they followed him and they weren't the only ones who did—a smiling black widow was tagging along and keeping a close eye on where they were heading.

That black widow was Eleanor Taylor-Soh.

A/N: There. It was a long intro, but I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Please leave a review! :)

Also, I'd like you to know that there is a lot of mind games hinted out to you readers, too. So the question for your guys in this chapter is: Is Eleanor crazy? What sort of indication gives it away—is it the fact that she referred to her preys as 'it'?

Alright then, see you next time!