Missing Persons Report: Date Filed: 6/17/2010

Name: Usagi, Miyoko

Age: Seventeen

Birthplace: Yokohama, Japan;

Last Seen: Tokyo, Japan

Height: 160 cm (5'1)

Weight: 47 kg (103 pounds)

Hair: Dark brown, straight, long, past shoulders

Eye Colour: Green

Sometime in 2007, Somewhere in Winchester

She was walking alone in the streets, having just run away from that damn orphanage. The wind blew through her brown hair, and hatred reflected in her emerald eyes. All she knew was that she was on the other side of town. There was no one left for her out here. She was fourteen years old, and her parents just abandoned her. Well fuck them. She doesn't care. She's not staying at that house any longer. She doesn't need their shitty food, or their strict rules. She doesn't need all those screaming girls, whining because they didn't get enough food, or someone stole their unicorn dolls. Then there were the girls her age who were swooning at the geniuses that lived at Wammy's.

She pulled out her IPod and shuffled through the songs. She certainly didn't need those girls sneering at her because she came from a family. One hell of a family they were too, seeing as they dumped her here on vacation. They asked her why she would fuck something up so badly. She wasn't that bad of a kid. She wasn't pregnant, she wasn't stuck up like her sister, and she wasn't doing drugs. She was stubborn. She had her pride. She didn't take orders from anyone. She pulled a cigarette from the pack in her pocket as well as the plastic lighter. A moment later she was blowing smoke in the air. The menthol woke up her anger-riddled mind, and the nicotine calmed her nerves.

'Damn catholic place for girls. Who keeps a house full of just girls, anyway? You can expect nothing but drama from a house full of girls, no matter how hard you try to work it out of us. We're not meant to be kept among ourselves.'

Someone had the nerve to yank out her headphones. "You seem to be a long way from home," a gruff voice growled at her.

"You seem to want to be knocked on your ass," She answered, looking up.

He was glaring at her with annoyance in his brown eyes. His hair was tasselled and coppery. "You've got a lot of spunk for an orphan."

"Let me guess, you've been following me," She accused. She swung at him and knocked the wind out of his chest. "You've got a lot of nerve, boy."

He scrambled to grab her, but she twisted his arm around his back and thrust it back up into his shoulder blade. He grabbed her waist with his other hand and pinched off a pressure point. She gasped in pain. He threw her into a wall. "Step up your game before dancing with the big dogs," he growled.

She lifted her knee, which met his groin. He howled in pain and doubled over on the ground. She then kicked him in the stomach and hissed back, "Big dogs my ass; you're nothing but a yorkie terrier."

He kicked out her legs from under her, watching her fall to the ground. She landed on her hip and yelled in pain. He glared at her, and she kicked his forehead and watched as blood matted his overgrown red hair.

x*X*x

Sometime in 2010, somewhere between Yokohama and Tokyo

Derrick and she were sparing again when it happened. He panted and looked up at her when he said, "When do you think they'll catch Kira?" Sweat made his copper hair stick to his forehead.

"Before summer, I'd bet anything, with all the police from around the world. No one can hide forever."

Well, June rolled around and there was still no sign of catching Kira. Shitty thing was, he dumped her out in the middle of nowhere because of it. Damn him. She wished she had never kicked his ass that day all those years ago; she should have just killed him. He wouldn't have had the chance to always be telling her they should stick together for safety's sake. He didn't say that until they had fought some four more times. Now he had left her to die out here. "What happened to sticking together?" She shouted. He was gone. She knew he didn't care, the heartless bastard. To make things so much worse, the sun was going down.

It was the taste of imported Swiss cigarettes that woke her up. She shoved the pack back in her trench coat's pocket as the smell of the chocolate quickly filled her mind with sweet fantasies of waterfalls of dark chocolate and raining gumdrops. A little Willy Wonka, but it put a rare smile on her face. She leaned against a tree and puffed happily, forgetting her troubles for a few minutes. She watched the smoke rise from the burning tobacco as she exhaled. She could feel the sting of smoke in her eyes as the wind pushed against her face. It brought some calm to her storm.

Flicking the bud to the ground and stepping on it, her sweet smile vanished as she was ready to face her predicament: She was stranded in a forest with nothing more than this pack of cigarettes and a lighter, a switch blade knife, and the lint from her pockets, which was fucking brilliant. At least she could make a fire, but food? She guessed that she was shit out of luck. No compass, no phone, nothing. She couldn't use technology in their bet, either. She didn't even have her Ipod.

She started walking as the sun set. There is no point in wasting time. Damn her friends and damn their foolish bets. Kira hasn't been found yet, and because the bastard is still killing people, she was knocked out and stranded in the middle of this god forsaken forest. She had bet that he would be found within the month when Jenji asked her what she thought. Man did she think wrong.

She wandered in a large circle on purpose for an hour. She was waiting for the stars to come out. She couldn't see the sunset through the trees, but she could see directly above her. It may take her a five minute climb up an ant riddled tree, but she could see the stars for a little Boy Scout direction finding.

Sitting in that tree, after getting her baggy pants caught a couple times, she could find the North Star. She banged her head on the trunk of the tree. She had passed a building twice on her wait for the cover of darkness. There was light emanating from it. She thought she'd head toward it. She got one foot on the branch below the bough she was sitting on when something caught her eye: there was a flicker of light coming out of a door that had just opened. Some guy stumbled out of the building. She bet he's drunk. He fell off the back steps and nearly face planted into the dirt.

He would be her window of opportunity. She followed her way up to get down from the tree, and dropped to the soft and squishy moss below. She darted the some five hundred yards to the building, and could still see the stumbling buffoon swaying on his way to some back building. She tested the door knob of the back door, but it locked. She would have to either kick in the door, or wait for the man.

If she kicked the door in, then there is a chance that one, the police would be called, or two she would provoke some sort of fight. If she wait for the guy, he'd ask her what she was doing out in butt fuck middle of nowhere. Then she would have to explain the bet… It was either that, or he would just pass out on her and be no help at all, forcing her to kick in the back door.

She figured there was a front door to try, but then she'd have to explain why she was out in the middle of nowhere, which would lead back to the stupid bet anyway. God she hates her friends sometimes.

Before figuring out her best course of action, she found herself with a burlap sac thrown over her head. She kicked and flailed, screaming like a little girl. She felt someone pin her arms behind her and she thrust her head back. She felt it collide with that someone's nose. She stepped back onto the same someone's foot, and heard him scream. Before long, there were more people and shouting male voices. "Fuck my life."

She chose to give up, because she would end up getting hurt more than hurting other people. She was dragged inside to a corridor, shoved against the wall, and frisked for any listening devices. They then removed the sack from her head and threw her into a shower with her clothes still on. She had the common sense to throw the pack of cigarettes on the counter once she realized they were going to do this. One guy took a metal detector to the flimsy box, which went off immediately. They pulled out her lighter and screened it again: nothing. They then took apart her lighter. Derrick gave her that lighter, and now it was rendered useless. "You're buying me a new lighter," She barked. She heard what she assumed to be the fluid cartridge shatter.

Some brunette punk ass wearing goggles pulled her out of the shower and guided her to another room with nothing more than a table and some chairs, taking her cigarettes with him. Who the hell wears goggles? He threw her into a chair quite roughly, tied her hands behind her back around the chair, and sat opposite her, facing the door. "I'm not going to bother asking who sent you here."

"I wasn't sent here," she hissed.

"If you were, you'd be bugged."

"Maybe, maybe not," She answered.

"Were you sent here, or were you not?"

"What's it matter to you?" She growled.

He pulled out a switch blade a tad larger than her own and began flicking it open and closed while he talked. "It matters quite a bit, actually." She just noticed he had the undertones of a British accent. Damn Brits, She hated every one of them, unless she has to put up with Derrick, but that's pushing it.

"I'm sorry to be a disappointment to you," she answered, mocking his accent openly, "but I refuse to tell you anything."

His hand collided with the side of her face. She quickly started to retaliate, but she couldn't do much considering she was tied to a chair. She kicked the table over, which landed somewhere unpleasant.

After regaining his composure, setting the table right again, and tying her legs to the chair, he only answered her rebuttal with, "That makes it all worse for you."

"I'm scarred," She gasped sarcastically. He went to slap her again, but she scooted the chair out of his reach and laughed. "Nice try, kid."

The guy got out of his chair and walked around the table to stand behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them half to keep her calm, half to threaten her. "I'm not the worst thing that can happen to you here," he warned her gruffly.

"I'm sure you're not the best either."

He pressed his thumb into her collar bone. "I can get so much worse."

She head butted his abdomen. "I'm sure you could, bucky." Her voice was reduced to a gravely rasp due to the pressure he had put on her wind pipe.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I asked.

He squeezed her shoulders tightly. "I would."

"That doesn't hurt," she pointed out. "It kind of feels good. Keep doing it."

His arms dropped to his side and he walked back to his abandoned chair. He pulled out her pack of cigarettes, took one, and threw the carton back on the table. He put it to his lips and pulled out a red lighter. She watched in anger as he smoked her Swiss cigarettes.

"Chocolate," he smirked, "very feminine."

"Well, I have to be a girl sometimes," she smiled, taunting him. The smile faded away quickly.

He pulled another dreg from it, enjoying its unusual flavour. "I still need your name."

"You don't need my name. You want my name."

"No, I'm quite sure I need it."

"You need my name as much as I need yours."

"You don't need my name."

"Exactly, and I don't want it either."

He glared at me and answered, "Matt."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"My name is Matt."

"I suppose you're telling me this because it implies, under proper happenstance, that I need to give you my name."

"Well, if it works, then yes."

"There's one thing that you overlooked."

"What would that be?" he asked.

"I've been abducted, you're smoking my cigarette, I'm being interrogated, and I'm not a 'lady' by anyone's standards. I don't give a damn about what's proper."

He laughed lightly at her comment. "I figured it'd be something like that," he answered. "After all, I'm not proper either."

"There's an understatement. I thought the British were supposed to be gentlemen."

"I thought the Japanese were supposed to be honourable."

"Well, I'd have to choose between honour and being lily livered."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he growled.

"Well, look at yourself. You're smoking a chocolate cigarette and attempting to hit a girl that's tied up. You couldn't fight me, you lily livered bastard."

"What's that got to do with you?"

"My mother was British. After dad died, she left me all alone in the middle of bloody fucking England with everything I owned. She couldn't handle me, because she was a cowardly bitch with an unruly daughter."

"So you're insulting the British, and yet you sit here, a Brit yourself."

"Yep, and you still don't know my name, Mathew."

He glared at her, telling her that she struck a nerve. He rose from the table, threw the cigarette on the floor, stepped on it, and then walked out, slamming the door behind him. He was mumbling under his breath down the hallway. "Damn woman and her infuriating sarcasm."

"What are you bitching about now," the blond sitting on the couch asked.

"That woman refuses to answer anything."

Mello looked at one of the many television screens, showing her staring straight into the camera. It was almost as though she was watching him, challenging him, looking him in the eye. He smiled and answered, "Only because you're simply not doing it right." He got up from the couch and watched the woman for a moment longer, then walked to the door. He glanced back over his shoulder to where Matt stood. "I also need you to pick something up for me."