Chapter 2: Condemnation
For you either die a hero, or live to see yourself become the villain.
L absently scrolled through a list of prisoners on death row, just in case this hoax held even a grain of truth. He ignored the voice at the back of his head,which chimed, for if you truly believe there is even a decibel of a percentage of a chance that this is not some silly lie, not some morbid game, then you are going into this with the intention of committing murder, and isn't attempted murder illegal, or at the very least immoral? Are you not making a decision that shall make you yourself a criminal, one of the fallen? L ignored the voice. He always did. How could he not when he, on a daily basis, was forced to determine who lived and who died, calls of life and death, of grace and damnation, because there was no one else able, no one else capable. This was not a matter of peas and nuts*, nor of mice and men, but of a blatantly false journal, that of which some as of yet unseen intruder apparently wished to impress upon him and leave to do with as he will. Then why are you even humoring them, and playing this silly game? To this, L had no response. None but perhaps that of human curiosity, and even that was an argument which lacked a backbone of any sort to reinforce his ridiculous notion. Even so he carried on, determined to see this through to the end.
He stared solemnly at the face and name of one Henry Whitfield, and quickly scrawled the name on the Death Note's pages while his nerve still held. With a deft movement, L moved to another monitor upon which he pulled up live footage of every jail cell at the Oakwood Prison. Changing the screen to show only Whitfield's cell, he rolled back to his original monitor, only to see movement at the corner of his eye. He watched with bated breath as Whitfield gasped and choked, clawing desperately at his chest in vain. He watched as Whitfield collapsed. Watched as the prison's paramedics entered the room minutes later when a guard on watch noticed the corpse. Watch as Whitfield was pronounced dead. L watched. Yes, he always was good at that. Still, he had to be sure. L did not believe in coincidences, but for this he would make an exception. For once, he would test his hypothesis a few more times. One trial does not a theory make.
Eleven, on the other hand, most certainly did. Especially when the murd... trials following the first took place in a variety of nations, too great a distance for a hitman or assassin to traverse. The theory was flawless, lacking in any anomalies or loopholes, and the notebook was, to the best of his knowledge, legitimate in every way and form. L tilted his head to the side in a distinctly feline motion. "Oh." He murmured, voice breathy and full of disbelief; his eyes were wide, his pupils blown. "Oh…" He whispered once more, his lips caressing the sound delightedly. His mouth curled into a small smile, saturated with satisfaction and elation alike. "Oh!", He repeated, thrice for good measure, as something sounded from his wildly beating heart, some immeasurable pleasure coiled within his chest rumbled in a contented manner, proud, victorious. He threw back his head and, with a sound like the pealing of a great many bells, laughed. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, till he was breathless, crouched on his knees and gasping for air, lungs heaving for a single breath of life. Only then did the ringing give out, and his endless laughter fade. Even so, a wicked grin still grew, wider and wider, across his face as he trembled with glee. Because he had been so tired, so bored. And this? This was new, was interesting, was different! And L experienced two new firsts that day. For as the first genuine smile he had ever experienced crept across his face, he, for the first time in his life, felt truly alive.
*There is a riddle/dilemma in which two men go out to luncheon, and one of the men secretly hates the other. This man decides to kill the other man by dropping a dressing packet with nuts in his salad, which he believes his lunch partner is deathly allergic to. The man eats the the salad and has an allergic reaction, but his autopsy shows that it was not an allergic reaction to the nuts that killed him, but that the man was secretly allergic to cranberries, instead. Should the man who put the nuts in his food be charged with murder, attempted murder, or walk home free?
A/N: I'm having a ton of fun writing this story so far, and I hope ya'll get at least half as much enjoyment from reading! Also, I will make the same promise to ya'll on this story as I did on my other major story, Hoshi. I may go on temporary hiatuses and what not over the course of writing this story, but I will not abandon this story until it is complete.
