Hey again and welcome to the first chapter to my second fan fic! This story is a sequel to my first story so if you haven't read it I suggest you do. It will make much more sense that way. I'm sorry I took so long to put this up. Well it's great to be back and I hope you enjoy it, and you can all thank ItsukoLawliet for pushing me to finish this chapter. Your my hero! Thanks for giving me the motivation to write again. Reviews would make me hysterically happy! XB

Prologue-

My name was Haruka Takahashi. I was an only child and was raised by my loving parents. I was the youngest person ever admitted into the FBI, at age 16. At age 18 I started working at an orphanage for the 'gifted' called Wammy's shortly after my parent's murder. I worked there until age 20. Thus, was the life of Haruka Takahashi. The woman I used to be. The woman I am no longer. All trace of a woman called Haruka Takahashi has been disposed of. That woman no longer exists.

I am now known as Rei Saitou, a woman with no past, and a questionable future. I'm now invisible, an expert at working in the shadows. I'm a woman you would suspect nothing of, if I passed you on the street. I am the dark shadow in the corner of the room. I am the person you ignore as you take your seat in the subway. When you actually bother to notice, I appear to be a dull person, someone who isn't worth much value, when in reality, I've helped solve some of the most difficult crimes in history.

Disclaimer- Yeah, yeah, I know, I don't own any Death Note characters. There, you happy now?

Chapter 1- Responsibility

Samantha Collings walked slowly down a nearly empty road, dragging her feet with every step. Her golden blond hair whipped around her as she pulled her collar closer to her face to block the brisk morning air. The young girl sighed as she noted how her shoulders ached under the weight of the textbooks in her backpack. Stupid AP Chemistry textbook. I hate that thing. How I wish I could burn it, she thought as she passed under the yellow glow of a streetlight. Her only solace was that she was near her destination. Soon she would rest.

There it is, Samantha thought, as she gazed upon the sight she had been waiting for. A simple dark blue bench. Finally, I swear this walk gets longer every day. Damn district budget cuts. Now I have to take two public buses to get to school. I can't believe this. She slowly let her backpack fall off her shoulders as she sat on the bench. She rotated her shoulders a few times and slouched on the hard surface. Reaching into the deep pockets of her coat she fished around for her cell phone. It should be here any minute, she thought while looking at the tiny screen.

Then, in the distance, she heard it. The low rumble of an engine, preceded by the two blinding headlights. She brought a hand up to shield her eyes as she rose off the bench. The bus screeched as it slowed its pace and eventually pulled to the side of the road, next to the young woman. She piled the heavy load that was her backpack on her back once more and climbed into the bus. She paid her fee and took her usual seat, half-way back, next to the window, while ignoring the other passengers.

The bus took its usual path, and five minutes later was in central Los Angeles. Samantha sighed, her hazel eyes staring blankly at the city center as the bus stopped at a red light, gazing out at the city, a living breathing organism in its own right. A city, full of soccer moms loading up their mini vans, rushing their kids to school, men in drab suits they paid way too much money for, walking briskly to an early meeting, street performers earning an extra buck, drug dealers standing on street corners clandestinely announcing their merchandise, and students, very much like Samantha, working their asses off, trying to get good enough grades to get a scholarship. Everyday we live our lives, is the same. It's nothing but a never-ending re-run which we wish we could change. Our habits, our behaviors, the things we care and worry about, does any of it really matter? Does anyone really care? Is the world any different because I'm in it? She paused, smiling slightly she shook her head. What the hell am I thinking?

The bus pulled forward with an unknown passenger aboard. This passenger was unlike any other. It was neither man nor woman. It had no flesh nor bone. All it had was a red LED light which showed it's purpose. A purpose which was inevitably carried out. The inhuman light blinked, once, twice, three times, then turned green. The inhuman passenger then fulfilled its purpose with that signal. Suddenly, the bus, its passengers, and everything else within thirty feet ceased to exist. They went up in the ball of flame as it engulfed the bus and ignited the gas in its gas tank. Witnesses screamed in horror, unsure of what to do. They felt their eyes begin to water, and they wept. They wept for the victims they never knew. The people they probably passed two days ago without a second thought. They wept, because the fire burning in someone's soul was extinguished. They wept because they were afraid.

Samantha Collings' world ended that day, with something as simple as the changing of a light. The future she looked forward to with such hope, is now nothing more than fantasy. Was the world any different because she was in it? Did it change because she left? None know the answer. The only thing that is known, is that she was finally able to rest.

Rei's P.O.V.

For the last half-hour the world had lost all sense of balance and order. The media was on the story like vultures on a carcass. Various politicians had already started making press conferences denouncing the latest attack in an attempt to guard themselves against future accusations. The world stopped, and the eyes of all its citizens were glued to the nearest television, watching the horrific images unfold.

The attacks. It's been a little over a month since they started, and we're still no closer to solving the case, I thought as I walked briskly down a narrow, crowded, European street. I had to push my way through the crowds as people of all ages stood in the streets watching the events on televisions in shop windows This attack, which happened in a London subway, was number eight on the international list of cities hit by the terrorists within the last few weeks. Their methods were simple. Find a highly populated location, plant a few charges of C4 explosives and watch the fireworks. Except there was a catch. These weren't the typical 'here today, gone tomorrow' suicide bombing type. No, they never killed themselves, therefore making them even more dangerous because that meant they were still out there. Worse yet, was their speed. Before the federal authorities could even start sorting out tips from the public another city was hit.

Unfortunately what was worst about the attacks was the international paranoia that came with the crisis. The world's leaders were not taking the situation lightly, but all were too frightened to actually lead effectively. Most of the world's most powerful countries had declared some sort of martial law, and with it came a whole new set of challenges. Curfews were put in place, military checkpoints in all major cities, as well as increased security at airports, subways and bus stations.

Needless to say the public was terrified, and attacked any group whom they felt could even be remotely responsible. Riots had already broken out in Chicago, Los Angeles and New York, where groups of fundamental Christians stormed Muslim neighborhoods, doing countless damage to businesses and beating many, sometimes to death. "We were doing a service for our country," the groups replied simply, when asked why they committed such acts. The public was losing faith in their governments, no longer believing they were capable of keeping them safe. Elected officials, would, in response, become frantic and pass ludicrous "security measures", such as the "temporary holding facilities", meant to house suspected terrorists, but in the end simply proved that we as a modern society are highly skilled at racial profiling. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet politicians stuck to their guns. "Security has its price," said one White House Chief of Staff Member.

Almost there, I thought as I turned onto a major street, pulling my long gray sweater closer to my body in a futile attempt to keep out the bitter cold of mid-January. I quickly passed boutiques and various wealthy women with their latest splurge in tow. Faster. I can't keep him waiting any longer, I thought as my ballet flats tapped lightly on the sidewalk. My heart raced as I increased my pace.

Finally. I stopped before my destination, a large, expensive hotel. I made my way through the double doors, giving a slight nod to the doorman, through the lobby decorated ornately, almost to the point of being gaudy, with 19th century furniture and ultimately to the stainless steel elevator. I stood inside the small space, trying to catch my breath and regain my composure. The elevator stopped abruptly at the sixth floor and I exited. Two minutes later I reached the appropriate room. 217. I slid my key card into the slot and turned the handle.

"I came as soon as I heard." I said, though I saw no one, as I entered the organized chaos of my hotel suite and closed the door. I stood in the long foyer, slipped off my sweater and opened the closet door next to me. The subtle, mysterious sounds of the room slowly drifted to my ears. The rapid clicking of keys on a computer, the clatter of a porcelain cup set down on its saucer, and what sounded like live CNN coverage on a television off in a corner of the room. I pulled out a wooden hanger from the closet and hurriedly put my sweater on it. "What have we got?" I asked the still-unseen occupant, as I closed the closet door.

"Nothing yet." A man's voice replied calmly from the living room. "They haven't finished processing the crime scene." Thank god. I'm early. I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that I could relax, at least for a moment.

"Watari?"

"He should be back any minute. He was out on an errand when the attack occurred." I nodded without looking at him. My body ached as it begged for rest. I'd been out all day, walking throughout the city meeting with my various contacts in search of information that could help us in our case, but to no avail. I can't stop. Not yet.

I walked into the large living room, making my way around the eccentric organizational skills of the man whom I'd just spoken to, and arrived at a table, upon which sat an expensive coffee pot. Coffee, my latest habit. A habit only out of necessity, for it seemed to be the only thing which could keep me awake for forty-eight hours straight. At least I'm still not as bad as him, I thought as I poured myself a cup, then dropped two sugar cubes into the dark liquid.

Carefully, I picked up the saucer and cup and walked over to one of the couches in the room. I set my cup on the low coffee table and collapsed onto the smooth, beige, taffeta upholstered couch behind me. My eyelids felt as heavy as lead, and it took all my strength just to keep them open. Uggh, I can't fall asleep, the police report should come in any second, I thought as I leaned forward and reached for my coffee. Across from me sat a man, a man of legend. The genius. The recluse. Ever illusive. Reckless. The enlightened mind. These are mere words used to describe a mind, a soul, a heart, that very few understand. L.

I felt my mind begin to drift, slowly at first, as I took a sip of my hot coffee, back to the moment which had brought us to this point.

-Flashback!!!- XD

I walked into the darkened hotel room silently, taking my usual route around the various stacks of binders and papers thrown about the room, careful not to disturb anything. I made my way to the only source of light in the room. The bluish glow of a laptop on the floor across from me. Before the computer sat L. Light cast heavy shadows across his face and body as he sat hunched over, thumb to his lower lip in contemplation, staring intently at the computer. His pure black hair stood out shockingly this way and that. His white shirt, nearly glowing in the light.

"Good, you've arrived," he remarked as he glanced up at me with his penetrating eyes for a moment. "I need you to help me pack. We'll be leaving soon." He finished as I stood next to him.

"Really? Well, it's kinda sudden, but okay. Something caught your eye?"

"The bombings." He stated simply.

"What?" At this time, I'd spent a little under a year with L, and in that time I'd learned so much about him I felt certain I could write several volumes on his personality alone. Very few of his actions caught me off guard. This one though. . . I was completely blind-sighted by it.

"Are you serious?"

"You think I'd joke about something like this?" He replied coldly.

"No, of course not. It's just-"

"Then what's the problem?"

"Just hold on a minute, okay?"

"I don't see why."

"Will you just listen to me for one second?" God, what the in the hell has gotten into him? He never takes miscalculated risks, and what ever happened to asking my opinion on things, and respecting what I have to say, I thought while staring at the carpet under my feet. I took a deep breath, calming my frustration, then continued. "This is unlike any other case you've worked on before. Besides, there's already so much law enforcement on this case I'm sure they'll have it wrapped up in no time." What on Earth could he be thinking? We've never worked side by side with so many agencies before. The F.B.I., C.I.A., MI-6, and almost every other agency with an acronym is working this. They've got to be able to handle this by themselves.

"Are you finished?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, I'm sure. This is what I want. It's been three weeks since the bombings started and the police still aren't any closer to finding the perpetrators. The crimes have spread to multiple continents. At this rate they'll never catch up." He paused and looked back at his laptop. "Rei, think of this logically, you've been in the F.B.I. When a crisis arises, what happens? Such large organizations, they can't handle themselves efficiently. They waste their time on useless information. They're always two steps behind."

"I understand that,"

"Meanwhile, hundreds of innocent people lose their lives. Do you want their sacrifice to be in vain? How many more people have to die?" He looked at me again, his eyes fierce with determination. What's going on? He doesn't act like this for any ordinary case, I thought with a sigh.

"But L, you've never worked this type of case before. Who knows if the authorities will even let you near it."

"It doesn't matter, and they've already agreed." He replied sternly as he stood. Well it makes sense; if they can't catch the bombers the governments will just blame him. What a mess. L walked over to our fifth story window and gazed over the illuminated city, with his usual posture, slouching and with his hands in his pockets. "No, this has gone on for too long. It ends now."

I crossed the room and stood next to him, trying to find the truth in his eyes. The reason. There has to be one.

"When did you forget that you can talk to me? That you can tell me anything? Please just tell me why you want this so bad." I said quietly. Yes, he does have a very strong sense of justice, but this is different. I've never seen him with such a need to work a specific case.

"It's not important." He replied while still staring out over the various high rises and skyscrapers.

"You're lying."

"I am not."

"You think I don't know by now?" I finished with a sigh. Gently, I put a hand to his cheek. He closed his eyes as I turned his face to mine.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me." Slowly he opened his dark eyes, suddenly full of regret and stared at me for a moment, peering, not at me, but through me, as if he were in the midst of a complex mental debate. After a moment he looked away. He said nothing, but pulled a simple piece of paper out of the right pocket of his jeans. He held it gingerly in two fingers and nodded. I took the slip of paper unfolded it, and stood in shock as I read the following words:

Dear L

I speak on behalf many other families of the victims of the recent terrorist attacks, and I think I share their sentiment when I say that the world needs you now more than ever. The current body count as I am writing this letter to you is 352 victims. That's 352 people who will never see their families again. 352 people whose futures are no longer a possibility. I ask you, how many more people have to die before you take notice? How many more tears must be shed before you find this case to be of enough interest for you to spend your time on it? Who do you think you are? Are you truly that selfish?

I'm writing you this letter from the bottom of my heart, which now, is darker than the depths of hell. I speak as one who has personally experienced unimaginable loss, and I tell you honestly, I do not wish for another person to go through what I have. While it pains me to, I must ask that you please put aside your pride and solve this case. Not for myself, or the victims, or even the families of the victims, but for the hundreds of people who will become victims. You are the only hope they have for any future. Their lives, and blood, shall be in your hands.

Do as you see fit.

Respectfully

Michelle Collings

"How-"

"I found it on the Internet this morning. It was posted on a blog. I did some research on Michelle Collings. Her sister was killed in Los Angeles last week." It must have been awful for him to find that letter. That explains why he's been kinda quiet for the past few days, I though as he paused and turned his piercing stare back to me, gazing at me with his dark, penetrating eyes filled with sadness and guilt. "You know what I have to do."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know." I replied and took his face in my hands, gently brushing his dark bangs from his eyes. "This isn't your fault, but I can only imagine how that made you feel." I paused and looked away for a moment, then brought my gaze back to his watchful eyes. "Let's do this."

So, what do you think? I know it was a weird beginning, but I wanted it to start in an unexpected manner. I'm sorry, it'll get better I promise. I know this wasn't my best chapter ever. Either way, I hope you liked it. Yes, yes I know, it wasn't lovey-dovey. I didn't want it to start that way.

Well I figure this is a good time to beg for your undying forgiveness. Please! I'm so sorry again, that it took me so long to get this up. I'm kinda busy this year, and I'm actually attempting some sort of editing with this, whereas I just kinda put whatever popped into my head in Another Chance. It's a miracle I got any readers at all. XD