Disclaimer: I don't own anything
A/N: Might be a few grammar or other errors, let me know if you see one because I currently don't have a beta. Constructive criticism would be nice. Happy Halloween and Happy Birthday L!
In a dingy, sparsely-furnished apartment in Los Angeles a man contemplates his life so far. Miniscule cracks running across the off-white ceiling fit perfectly with the dull brown carpeting on the floor. The sounds of a busy city that never sleeps gently drift in and out of an open window that badly needs to be cleaned. A lone chair sits next to an unsteady table, forgotten in the middle of the small room as its occupant prefers to crouch in a peculiar position most of the time. If anyone had bothered to look in the small kitchen connected to the main room they would have found a fridge full of strawberry jam and a bloody kitchen knife lying near the sink.
He lays curled in a corner near the only window in his meager accommodations watching the velvety blackness of the sky as it's smothered by the smog of industry. He remembers that in England he could see the stars and almost wishes to go back to that time.
Unnaturally red eyes coupled with a sadistic smirk and haphazard raven hair gives him a startlingly otherworld-like appearance. He sighs and brings his thumb to his lips in a mockery of his adversary and obsession. Then he bites down hard letting the sweet crimson flow. Sweeter to him than even his beloved strawberry jam is the metallic taste of fresh blood.
He thinks that he's never seen anything more beautiful than the simple act of releasing his life essence. Tearing through fragile paper-white skin and pale blue veins with the nearest sharp utensil is perhaps the only thing that truly gives him joy. With the exception, of course, of slicing open someone else's skin.
To him it's the only thing that's real; everything else in life can be manipulated and fabricated but not blood....not pain....not death. These are the things he thrives on for they make a shallow world filled with dull, self-serving, moronic people much more entertaining.
He muses that blood is the color of both life and death. A neutral, calming blue underneath the skin that changes rapidly when exposed; into an angry, unforgiving red warmth that gushes forth.
His eyes are red, he supposes, because he sees death. If blue is the color of life then red is most definitely the color of death.
Many people don't understand this and often think that black represents the reaper, but he knows the truth. White is purity and black is the opposite of white. Following this logic would mean that death is the opposite of purity and this is certainly not true. Some would disagree with this color analysis but he doesn't care for their opinions. He sees death hovering above people every day and it is written in red, not black.
There are some days when he feels anger and frustration consume him as he watches people go about their lives. He observes, with no small amount of disdain and sick amusement, as they rush around pretending that they're not living pointless, futile existences.
Don't they know they're all going to die? Of course they know, but people are so good at deluding themselves and ignoring this fact as something to be dealt with later.
Beyond cannot do this because their deaths are ingrained in his mind. Floating above their heads in an unearthly red script, he can't look at anyone without knowing their final day.
He still hasn't decided whether this is a blessing or a curse.
Perhaps he would've been a very different person without his death-colored eyes. He's an intelligent man and is well aware that his thoughts and ideas are deviated from the societal norm but he can't bring himself to care.
He doesn't think he's insane, just radically different. Honestly, who wouldn't be if they had lived his life?
If he had to pinpoint when his supposed madness began he would guess that it was born at Whammy's House. In retrospect, Whammy's was practically a breeding ground for mental illness. Orphaned children of the brightest minds and highest intellect all harshly competing for the same thing had to end in disaster.
He remembers very little from his childhood except that it was fairly ordinary. Since he was able to walk Beyond had noticed the strange floating characters and assumed that everyone must be able to see them. Later on it became abundantly clear that only he could. A normal child might've been scared or turned to parents for help, but he was no normal child and decided to keep this information to himself.
The concept of love seemed foreign to his mind and it always would be. He figures that his parents spawned him but other than that there was no obligation between them. There was no innate reason for them to love him simply because they created him. In fact, he wasn't so sure that they really were his parents considering the strange power bestowed on him. Maybe his mother slept with a demon or perhaps someone put him on their doorstep one day. Whatever the case was he never had the chance to find out.
One day the glowing numbers above his parents' head began to morph into a countdown. They died the next day in car accident and he felt nothing but astonishment. Now he finally knew the real purpose of these numbers.
Between the ages of six and eight he resided in a regular orphanage. Although he was young and spent only two years there, it made a large impact on what kind of person he would become. It was these years that taught him the true cruelty of the world. He learned that if you wanted food you would have to earn it, if you wanted respect you would have to bleed for it. Looking back on it Beyond chuckled at how ruthless those poor, starving children had been.
He recalled how he had smiled his now trademark twisted smile as they beat him as hard as their small bodies could. Tiny fists smashing with surprising force against his weaker, more fragile body as they ganged up on him like a pack of wild dogs. His only offense being that he was weird and had scary eyes. When it was over he laid motionless in a small puddle of blood, decorated with bruises and lacerations all over his upper body and face.
With the smile still on his face he silently wished for death. The death that he saw every day, the reprieve from this world, was not granted to him. He felt a bittersweet agony envelop him when he realized he would live. From that moment on he vowed to unravel the mystery of his eyes and conquer death itself. He would decide who would live and die; he would master the strange power he had. For a time he wondered if he was immortal because when he looked in the mirror there was nothing floating above his own head. He dismissed this thought though because he had no god-like abilities with the exception of his eyes and intellect. He was not delusional or egotistical enough to believe that he was a god. Little did he know that his quest for understanding would be pushed aside as soon as he was transferred to a different orphanage.
Beyond never quite understood why he was taken to Whammy's orphanage. He was certainly intelligent enough but had never scored exceptionally well on any tests. Perhaps they were captivated by his eyes which held an awareness that no child, no matter how brilliant, should have.
Of course he was rigorously tested as soon as he arrived to make sure that there hadn't been a mistake in selecting him. Beyond knew that being at Whammy's would be beneficial to his future so he tried his hardest to score higher than any of the other orphans being tested. To his eternal anger and disappointment he only reached second place.
Another child, codenamed A, had scored the highest and would therefore be given the best training available. Beyond was given the codename B, which stood for backup, and would be trained as well. At nine years old Beyond had long since forgotten his real name, at the orphanage he only been referred to as boy, so that suited him just fine.
He fashioned himself the name Beyond Birthday as a kind of private joke to himself. Birthday represented age and age represented death. Since he figured he would become the master of death one day it seemed only fitting to name himself Beyond death, transcending the ages. To everyone else it was just a strange quirk and was largely ignored as many of the Whammy children had oddities.
For three years A and Beyond were roommates although they hardly spoke a word to each other. A was a deathly pale child with feathery blonde hair and clear blue eyes. He reminded Beyond of a flighty bird as he was often nervous and made quick, darting movements. It perpetually annoyed Beyond that he was second to a quiet, innocent looking boy that was quite popular with the other children. Almost the polar opposite of Beyond. He knew that underneath A must be hiding some powerful intelligence, using his endearing appearance to manipulate those around him. Beyond supposed that he was mostly jealous that he could not do this himself because of his anti-social nature.
When they were both twelve the reason behind their training was finally revealed to them. A was to become the next great detective L if the current one should be killed. Then if A was killed Beyond would take his place. With this news Beyond felt excited for the first time in a long while. Being a great detective would allow him dole out punishment, essentially decide who would live or die. He decided that he would become the next L no matter what. He had an advantage over A with his eyes, and for the first time he felt truly glad to have them.
From that point on, Beyond became obsessed with figuring out who the real L was. Since he never visited the orphanage and there was no real information about him L became a new, exciting mystery to figure out. A figure shrouded in secrecy that judged and punished as he pleased.
Thoughts of meeting L and eventually succeeding him kept Beyond occupied for the next five years as he strived hard to make this happen. As Beyond began to excel A began to fall behind due to the hard training. They would both be regularly tested to see how well they handled pressure and stressful situations.
For one test they were left in a room and deprived of food and sleep until they solved a specified puzzle. For another they were "mock" tortured for information with small electric shocks, being held underwater to the point of almost passing out, and isolation in a small dark room where they would be beaten at random intervals. If they were to fail any of these tests by not solving a puzzle or giving away information they would be terminated as they know knew too much to be released to regular society.
Being able to stay strong in the face of horrific torment gave Beyond a great sense of accomplishment and he often found himself searching for pain outside of the testing sessions. It was a test for him, to see how much pain he could cause himself so that he would become stronger. Large, gaping wounds began to appear on his arms and chest but no one mentioned anything to him. And why would they? After all he was only the backup.
Beyond eventually realized that A was beginning to fall apart at the seams when he saw the numbers over his head meld into the same countdown that he saw right before his parents died. He found that he didn't particularly care because that meant he would be first in line to become L. He was only curious as to how A would die. Would it be an accident? Would he kill himself? Beyond found it quite entertaining to fantasize how it would happen. Death was his only real friend and it never failed to disappoint him.
The next day Beyond came back from his morning classes to find A dead in their room. A gun lay in his limp hand and chunks of brain matter decorated the walls. The air smelt of death and Beyond reveled in the sensation of seeing such a horrifyingly, exhilarating sight.
At the tender age of seventeen Beyond decided that death was not only his friend but his lover as well. There was something romantic in the way blood pooled around A's blonde head creating a red halo. He bent down and dipped a finger in partially congealed red-black substance and spread it across his lips. He grinned and thought to himself, just like strawberry jam.
News of A's suicide spread quickly throughout the orphanage and Beyond was sure that L would come and visit now. To his disappointment L didn't come at all, not even for the funeral. Beyond didn't care about A at all but it bothered him that L could easily dismiss this. This lead to the painful realization that both he and A were simply pawns being used by L and his cohorts.
Beyond's obsession with L begin to twist from hero-worship to some kind of respectful hatred. He admired the man for being able to manipulate people so coldly. Taking underprivileged children and shaping their entire lives for his own means. Yes, he loved L for his power, his cruelty, and his callousness. Yet, he hated him as well. He hated the way he had been controlled for so long, lead along like an ignorant pig to the slaughter. He vowed that he would have his revenge and he would use his eyes of death to exact it.
Beyond ran away a week after the funeral, taking a substantial amount of money from Whammy's private account. He wasn't called a genius for nothing and hacking a bank account was practically child's play. He ran away to Los Angeles and rented a run-down apartment under a fake name to use as his base of operations.
Beyond slowly uncurled from his hunched position and grinned sadistically. He was beginning to look more and more like L. He shuffled over to the fridge and took out a jar of jam to celebrate with. He dipped the kitchen knife, still bloody from a previous cut, into the sweet fruity jelly and slowly licked it off relishing the exotic taste of blood, jam, and cool metal.
"I will have my revenge L." Beyond said as he spoke for the first time in days.
"I will become the world's greatest criminal."