A/N: My first Death Note fic. Not sure yet about the timeline, but I'll start off in post-DN-series, specifically starting from our beloved L's admission in the Wammy House. Hope you enjoy yourselves. Reviews are not really necessary, but such will be greatly appreciated.

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Chapter One
- Encounter -
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There was a soft knock at the door.

Roger looked up from the stack of papers he was peering over for the last three hours just in time to see his office door open without waiting for his reply.

"Ah," he said in his steady voice, recognizing his early morning guest. "Good Morning, Watari."

Of course, Watari isn't the real name of the old, bespectacled man in a thick black coat who had crossed the threshold of his office. And it's not like that Roger was any different from him either.

His name, the way he sat in his chair, even this tedious job he was doing; all of them are part of this lifetime façade. In the Wammy House, everything is hidden beneath a cloak of disguise.

He waited until Watari had closed the door and settled himself in the squashy chair before his desk. "So?"

"It's raining outside," Watari said softly.

"Is it?" Roger's study is windowless. Light came from the latest neon light technology attached on each corner of the square room. An air conditioning unit stood near the door, humming dully. Almost the entire wall behind Roger was cluttered with books, except for one corner where a rickety side table held a vase of almost wilted dandelions and a small heap of mails.

"Naturally," Watari said, and then there was silence, save by the AC's low humming.

Roger shifted in his seat. "So…is he here?"

Watari chuckled. "Of course he is. He's currently heading towards his first class."

"Ah." Roger blinked. "I can sense a great deal of potential in the boy, Watari, with what you've been telling. Where did you find him again?"

"In England."

Roger didn't reply immediately. Then: "I see. The boy's pseudonym?"

"L."

Another short pause.

"Do you still want a briefing with him?" Watari asked, in a manner as though he was asking if Roger wanted to have a cup of tea.

Roger smiled. "No need. I think you already said to him everything that I would have."

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"L? That's your name?"

The messy-haired boy nodded and stared at the kid unblinkingly. "You, who are you?"

The kid, a mousy-haired boy with bright blue eyes, grinned, revealing a few missing teeth. "Khai. The name's Khai." He bent closer and added in a low whisper, "You know your true name?"

L continued to stare at Khai observantly. "We're not supposed to say that aloud, are we?"

"Yeah," Khai said offhandedly. "But most of the people here doesn't know it. Just look over there—" He pointed at a girl sitting in the far corner of the room, who was chewing on a strand of her rag doll's hair "—That's Cain. She couldn't remember anything before she ended up here."

L slowly turned his gaze on little Cain. "A traumatic experience must have affected her nervous system. Her eyes were always unfocused, she likes the dark, and she loves to bite anything in hand—if not, her own nails. Am I correct?"

"Pretty yes," said Khai, mildly amused at L's sudden conclusion. Well, many people in this freaky orphanage were no different. "Listen, classes here will start, like, in five minutes. And I think we'll be classmates in Logic—the first period. Should I lead the way?"

L finally looked away from Cain to look at Khai blankly. "Sure."

When they entered the class for Intermediate Age Bracket (that is, children aged from eight years old through twelve), the orphans barely spared L a second glance, too much engrossed in their own little world.

L took the desk on Khai's left. He immediately kicked off his battered old sneakers and rested his feet on his chair, hugging his knees. Khai looked mildly surprised, but he didn't say anything.

"Good morning."

A tweedy woman entered the classroom at last, her high blood-red heels clicking noisily against the off-white stone floor. Her dark hair was tied up in a tight bun behind her back, and her eyes resembled that of a hawk's.

"I heard," she said in an audible, stern voice, "that there is a new boy in this class." She scanned the faces of the students minutely and finally found L's wide eyes.

"I'm L. I just came hours ago," L said without much enthusiasm, but the teacher seemed contented with the short introduction.

"I hope good participation, Mr. L," she said, in a very intimidating manner, that anybody wouldn't be surprised if she added, "or else you're dead."

Logic class has a span of two hours. Today, each student was given a couple of complex I.Q.-tester-like puzzles, to be solved in a given time limit.

"The test will be a basis for your Acceleration Examinations this coming spring," the hawk-eyed teacher said, before signaling the start of the test.

But only fifteen minutes had passed (one-fourths of the allotted time) when a pale hand shot through the air.

The teacher looked up from her record book to see L, sucking his thumb while his other hand was languidly raised up.

"I'm done."

The rest of the day wore off in the same manner how days wear off in this large cathedral-like orphanage called as Wammy House, except that, by evening, there were faint murmurs among the people—kids and adults alike—about the impressive performance of the newest orphan around: L.

"That Columbus paper in History was great, L," Khai said, as they headed to the dormitories. They walked along identical, plain halls lined with doors. "And how you solved that problem in Algebra."

L didn't say anything. People only respond in compliments out of politeness. And he thought in an institution like this, politeness doesn't count that much.

They turned to another hallway and Khai stopped at room number 0034.

"My room's over here, 0034," he said, opening the said door. "See yah tomorrow!"

L watched until the door closed again, before digging his hands deep in his faded jeans' pockets and shuffling away. If I do see him again.

Life in Wammy House, despite all the weird inhumanly intelligent children it housed, was so monotonous that almost the very same thing happened each passing day. L had always found a good spot in a plump chair near the fireplace in the foyer, chewing his thumb while his other elbow rested on his knees. No one seemed to notice him—in fact, it appeared like every child isn't aware of each other's presence even if you put them side by side. You would see small groups here and there, but still, individuality reigned.

And, as what L's intuition had predicted, he hadn't seen Khai ever since he first met him on his first day. And that was almost two weeks ago.

The thing is, Khai isn't the only one missing. There were others in his class, too, and even the little girl named Cain was nowhere to be seen.

L wondered about the sudden disappearances of a few children since the past week. Do they usually transfer dormitories monthly, quarterly? Is this orphanage like the normal orphanage, whose primary purpose is to give out the likes of them to childless couples? He didn't think so.

One thing is that all the children around here, if someone hadn't noticed, possess beyond normal intellectual capacity. The place was heavily guarded too. And the most suspicious thing was that, much opposite to the normal orphanage, which usually had tad age-old facilities, the Wammy House is far more advanced in technology than half of the world, and everyone hid their true name with a code given out by the Wammy authority.

L bit harder on his thumb. Something, something…this Wammy House is something more than "an institution which protects the welfare of rare gifted orphans." Surely they would not have gone as far as sending agents all over the world just to seek genius orphans? They have quite some great financial backup if that's the case.

Then somebody cleared his throat from behind L.

"I suppose you are the new one?" a boy, who looked no older than fifteen, said, once L turned around to look at him. "L?"

L didn't say anything, and the boy took that as a yes. His beetle-black eyes reflected a large amount of ego, though thankfully it was not clouded enough for you to still sense a fair amount of intelligence behind them. He had wispy, ash-blonde hair and lots and lots of freckles.

"You noticed the disappearances, I see," he said in a low voice. Like L, his clothes were too shabby. A loose faded brown shirt and shorts that looked like they weren't ironed for years.

"Who wouldn't have?" L replied in a much lower voice. He wasn't surprised that he figured that out; from the moment he laid his eyes on this particular boy he had seen the way he read a person's mind by analyzing their face.

"You're right." He grinned. "Who would have not. Referring to this lot, specifically." He spread his arms to indicate all the children present.

There was a short pause.

L spoke. "What do you want?"

The boy remained standing calmly, almost lazily, his penetrating eyes roving around L's face for detection of who knows what. "I'm Dan."

"The answer to my question, please."

Dan's grin widened. It wasn't kind, nor was it mocking. "We'll skip the foreplay, then. I wanted to break this smoothly to you, but you were asking for it." He half-shrugged. "Come with me."

"You already know that I'm going to ask you why." Young L stared hard at the older Dan.

"Roger wants to see us. He's the Head of the Wammy House," he added swiftly, interpreting L's look. "He wants a word. Follow me."

Since they started off to Roger's office, there hasn't been any word exchange from L and Dan. The first set of corridors were known to L, until they reached the fourth floor and Dan led him in front of an innocent broom cupboard, which when was opened, revealed another identical corridor that led ahead.

If L was surprised, his face didn't show it.

The only difference of this hidden corridor from the ones on the other side of the cupboard was that instead of doors, it was lined with niches engraved on the walls, displaying a variety of objects from behind clear glasses. The first set of objects were an ancient brass gun and a thing that looked remarkably like a desk lamp, only that the bulb was missing and was replaced with a large dangling charm-like thing. The rest were mostly artifacts. When they were deeper in the corridor, though, the artifacts became numerous plaques and golden badges and awards. For who and for what, L hadn't had the chance to know, for they were walking in a pretty fast pace.

"Spies and intruders nowadays think too practically," Dan began, his voice bouncing off the walls. "They would not think that an institution like the Wammy House would still use secret, non-computer-monitored secret passages like the one we just went through."

L blinked slowly. "This place feels more like a secret military base than an orphanage to me." He was expecting some reaction from Dan with his seemingly innocent remark.

Dan merely smiled at this, and they came into a halt at the very end of the corridor, facing a tall mahogany door with a golden handle. For a moment, nobody spoke.

"Come in," a voice suddenly said from inside the door, even if no one did as much as knock.

Almost undetectable cameras, L concluded. And scanners, I see, he added as an afterthought, as he caught a glimpse of laser when Dan stepped forward and opened the door.

He followed the older boy inside, and if a while ago he was able to hide his surprise behind his unfathomable mask, this time it didn't work out anymore. His already wide eyes widened even more and his mouth fell slightly open the moment he saw the aging man sitting behind a handsome desk, his fingers interlocked with each other in front of him as he watched them enter with deep-set eyes.

"A good thing to see you again," Roger said smilingly. "L."

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A/N: Hope you liked it. Thanks again.