3 months earlier.

A young man all in black walked into the Los Angeles Federal Penitentiary, his boots clicking on the unsweeped floors littered with smoking cigarette butts. His hardened blue eyes sweeped the perimeter of the facility, from the guards with rock like muscles standing at all corners to the plump, dark skinned woman sitting at what appeared to be the receptionist desk.

"Inmate visitor check in," he said in the strangest of accents, though his English pronunciation was flawless.

The old woman had breasts like great sacs of milk, saggy and drooping downwards. She looked up at the man with bug like eyes behind dusty spectacles, unfazed. "You gotta remove your gun before enterin' the visitors ward, sonny. Inmate ID?" She spoke in a strong Yankeys accent.

The young man's lips curled into a smirk, one finger probing the sleek gun hidden within the folds of his fur coat. Apparently she had a keen eye. "Prisoner number 14039372."

The woman typed this serial number into her computer quickly, then retrieved a large, dusty bin from under her desk and set it in front of them with a loud thud. "Gun in 'ere, sonny. All of 'em."

Slowly, deliberately, the young man took out his gun and placed it into the bin. Then a 2.0 BB pistol. Then a number of other gadgets and weapons. When he had finally dropped the last one, a small knife dredged in flakes of red and black with a strange series of X markings across the wooden handle, it fell with a clunk on top of all the other weapons. He grinned up at the woman and held his hands up. The markings on the knife did not go unnoticed by the woman as she carried the bin away.

"Mafia, eh? Where exactly have you been, son? Your momma couldn't keep you good and still s'what I'm guessin'."

The man's face did not betray any emotion but the woman still sensed his surprise. She chuckled. "I seen 'em all go twisty curvy, oh trust me, I seen a lot, sonny. Now give me your arm."

Without a word, the young man stretched out one long pale arm. The woman tied a chord around it, VISITOR in large black letters encircling it. "Mark'll take you," she said, inclining her head to one a buff guard with tattooed arms and a shaved head.

The young man's cold blue eyes appraised her one last time. Slowly, his hands reached to take off his fur trimmed hood, revealing a mess of golden blonde hair falling into his eyes, fair skin, and a mouth as cold and hardened as the ice in his eyes. "Thank you," he said shortly, and turned around without another word, his coat swishing behind him.

The woman looked pensively after him for a while. "S'shame," she mused, "he was a handsome one, that one was."

Some of the inmates jeered and leered at Mello as he walked in the wake of Mark.

"Heyyyyyy pretty boy come play with us, eh? Let's have a little fun…" They all hooted with laughter, the gasps of airs bouncing off the walls maniacally.

Others yelled obscenities at the top of their lungs. Still others ran to rattle the bars of their cells and stare hungrily at Mello, drinking in his appearance. Still others sat in complete oblivion to the noise and commotion, lost in their own world, their dead eyes staring at nothing. Mello glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw a young girl who couldn't have been more than 13 years of age, studiously picking at scabs on her dirty bare feet. Her fingernails were caked with blood. She looked up at Mello and his stomach contracted when he saw that her face was exquisitely pretty: porcelain blue eyes framed with dark lashes, small red lips, fair skin, long golden blonde hair that spilled over her shoulders in waves. She smiled at him and there was something feral in that smile.

The man Mello was visiting, prisoner 14039372, was one of the few who remained completely still, his legs crossed and back facing Mello. He spoke just when Mello had seated himself in the visitors chair.

"Mark here is fluent in German, French, Spanish, Italian, 20 African dialects, and English. Let's try our hand at Korean today, hm?" The prisoner spoke the Asian language easily.

"Fine. Whatever." Mello responded just as easily. Beside him, Mark shifted in his seat and Mello could feel him tense.

"Miss Latner came the day before yesterday. She murdered her mother and grandmother with intent, by running them over with a school bus. As she was being pulled in, she couldn't stop babbling about how much she'd enjoyed it—the thrill, the adrenaline rush, the power, I quote."

As usual, prisoner 14039372 spoke softly with the slightest hint of a Yorkshire accent in his lilting voice. Further than that, his voice was smooth; he spoke in full sentences topped with perfect grammar. It was a stark contrast to the rambling fragments and erratic inflections that characterized the other inmates' speech.

Mello growled slightly, an eye twitching. "The fuck does that have to do with anything?"

"Calm your anger, Mello," the man said. Mello thought he detected amusement behind the prisoner's controlled voice, which only served to anger him further. He clenched his fingers into fists. "I only thought you would be curious."

He was right, as usual. His ability to detect emotions was as uncanny as his civilized speech. Prisoner 14039372 was miles more devious than the other inmates, a whole level above them in terms of intelligence. But that just made his crimes that much more macabre.

"Feel free to stop bullshitting me anytime, Backup," Mello said, his face twisted with annoyance. "I just came to confirm tonight's agenda."

"Please do not call me that," the prisoner said, his voice even. "Regarding tonight, you would do well to remember exactly what number of firearms we need and that we will communicate in tuscarora. But if everything goes according to plan, that should be unnecessary."

"Right."

The sudden ringing of a bell caused all the prisoners to suddenly strip, unbuttoning their gray flannel shirts and shaking off their grey pants. Likewise, prisoner 14039372 unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to the side. Mello's eyes widened. On his back was puckered and scarred skin, not unlike the skin on Mello's own scarred face.

"When you tried to kill yourself, eh?" Mello sneered.

The prisoner did not respond except to take off his pants. Mark the guard opened the door to his cell and stepped in, muttering shower time.

"Hey!" Mello shouted, enraged. "D'you hear what I said?"

The prisoner stood up. Then Mello saw, with satisfaction, that he was trembling slightly. "I did. I will be very apprehensive if you continue mocking me, Mello," he said, and his voice was quieter than usual. Mello couldn't help the smirk spreading across his face.

"See you later," he called over his shoulder condescendingly as he walked away, his boots clicking. Miss Latner, the girl who had murdered her family for fun, stared at Mello with her deranged smile as he walked by, her blonde hair covering her barely blossoming breasts. Mello took care not to look at her again.

Later that night, the LA Federal Penitentiary was thrown into chaos when one of the guards was fatally stabbed. The alert sirens in the prison, all 100 of them, were ringing away while the inmates' cackling laughter echoed off the walls. The police got involved along the way as they attempted to chase the inmate who had managed to escape.

Prisoner 14039372 had vanished. The whole state of California's police force was on a mad manhunt.

Mello and Beyond Birthday hid in a dark alley in downtown Los Angeles. Mello's hands were covered in blood, his blond hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Beyond Birthday slid down from Mello's back and peeled off the 14039372 sticker on his left sleeve, ripping it into shreds before scattering the pieces. He looked over at Mello.

"Dammit!" Mello said through labored breaths. "They almost got us!" He gritted his teeth and snarled at Beyond. "You didn't tell me I'd have to carry you, dammit why!"

"Apologies," Beyond said, his expression blank. "Please be silent, they are still looking for us and our current location is not ideal."

Mello tossed him a look of disdain but quieted his labored breathing. After a while of relative silence, Beyond said suddenly, "You refused to kill him."

Mello started, his eyes widening. Then they narrowed maliciously. "There's a difference between you and me," Mello said tersely.

"You don't seem like the type to factor ethics in decision making," Beyond said. "But then again…" his dark orbs travelled down to where Mello's rosary was hanging around his neck, the wooden cross set against a background of black leather.

Mello noticed where his eyes were looking and suddenly clutched at the beads protectively, his eyes flashing.

"Let's look here!" a nearby voice suddenly shouted. A flashlight shone at the garbage can next to Mello.

Within half a second, Mello had whispered "tactic of diversion" to Beyond, and stepped out with his gun at the police officer.

After a loud scuffle in which many police officers were grievously wounded, Mello found himself carrying Beyond once again and running like a madman.

"If you don't stop, we'll be forced to shoot!"

"Stop now! Surrender!"

Mello kept going, gritting his teeth. He skidded into a dark alley and found the opening to a sewer. This'll have to do for now, he thought. He was just about to pry open the lid when he felt Beyond jump off his back and run the opposite direction—straight to where the police were.

"Hey!" he shouted, his heart contracting with fear. What the hell was he thinking? He was going to give them away… the bastard. Mello never should've trusted him.

He contemplated abandoning Beyond but then remembered his purpose and, against his will, ran after Beyond. He skidded to a stop and hid in the shadows of a building—what he saw shocked him.

Beyond was standing in the centre of a large circle of officers, all with their guns pointed at him. His hands were up. Mello caught a look at his expression and suddenly saw the murderer in him. His smile was far too wide, demented, his eyes hollowed and hungry looking. He looked ready to kill.

Mello was surprised the officers did not retreat in fear. That look was a hundred times more dangerous than any gun or weapon.

"Give me L!" Beyond suddenly shouted gleefully. "I want L! L, show yourself!"

When nothing happened, Beyond's smile slid off his face. "L!" he shouted, his eyes bugging out. "Here I am! Take me back to prison, that's what you want right? To show dear Wammy you'll always be number 1? Then defeat me! Come out, L! It won't mean anything if I die by anyone else's hands." He licked his lips, his face haggard.

More silence.

"I want," Beyond continued, his eyes gleaming, "to be killed by you, L."

He's mental, Mello thought. He finally fell off the cliff of insanity. There's no way L would be in—

Mello muffled his gasp.

L was pushing past two police officers and walking right up to Beyond. Mello had never laid eyes on L, only ever heard his technologically altered voice through a computer, yet he knew this was L. He just knew.

The physical similarties were striking. But while L's onyx eyes was grave and solemn, Beyond's were lifted with some sort of twisted euphoria.

"L," Beyond said, almost purring the word. He stepped closer and carressed L's face, his demented grin growing. "I have two weapons of destruction with me. Which would you prefer to end my life with? It can be done quickly and cleanly with a bullet through my brain or…" Beyond lifted one finger and tugged on L's lips. His other hand cupped L's chin. "You could see my blood come gushing forth, staining your fingers, and pull out my steaming guts and…" Beyond suddenly threw his head back and laughed hysterically, his wailing, breathy laughs sending Mello's heart into the pit of his stomach.

"Maybe," Beyond said with a feral glint in his eyes, "should I take your's, L?" He grinned victoriously and Mello barely registered L suddenly slump the ground, a knife deeply embedded into his stomach.

"Fire!"

A loud bang and Beyond was on the floor. Mello thought he was dead but then he slowly got up and grinned derangedly at the officer. "Missed me."

"Stop!" a voice suddenly ordered. "Don't open fire. You might hit Ryuzaki."

Beyond's face became gleeful, for some reason at that. He picked up L's limp body and shook him. "Ryuzaki? For me? L, you shouldn't have."

"Charge!"

Mello blinked and the police officers who had been encircling Beyond were in a huge scuffle, and next thing Mello knew, his sleeve was being tugged by Beyond whose expression was blank. "Let's go," he said.

They were trudging through the sludge in the sewer tank underneath the city when Mello's emotions got the better of him. That was the one thing he always failed at—suppressing his emotions. It was the one thing that kept him inferior to Near.

"You sick bastard," he snarled, taking Beyond by his shirt front and slamming him against the brick wall. He heard a sickening crack that barely satisfied his ravaging anger.

"Now, now," Beyond said, his ghostly smile not reaching his eyes. "What was L to you, anyways?"

Mello slammed him against the wall again, wanting to see pain on that blank face. "You were going to kill him, weren't you?"

Beyond Birthday did not show any pain whatsoever, but only laughed a wheezy sort of laugh as a stream of blood trickled down his cheek from his hair. "I think I did."

Mello snarled viciously, taking his gun and clicking it in place at Beyond's brain. "I ought to kill you for your impudence," he said quietly.

Beyond Birthday seemed to find Mello's palpable rage amusing. "You won't shoot."

Mello tightened his grip on the trigger. His finger itched to pull it. "And why not?"

"You're… weak."

The blood rushed into his head, a roaring sound that filled every particle of his being. I'm better than Near. The sound of gunfire shattered Mello's eardrums, followed by a guttural scream. His own?

Beyond Birthday was laughing demonically. He clutched at his lower arm, which had just been blasted. It was drenched with blood. "Not bad, not bad at all. But your aim was off. My heart happens to be located—"

"Save it," Mello said, his throat constricted, his eyes inexplicably watering. "Just shut up until we get to the place, okay? Shut up before I blast your brains out next time."

Later on, it occurred to Mello that Beyond Birthday, who could have defended himself with his own firearms, had let him shoot. More than that—he had willed Mello to pull the trigger. He had wanted him be overcome by his raw anger and hatred. He had let himself be flooded by searing pain because he enjoyed it, he loved it, and he was sharing this darkness with Mello. He wanted Mello to succumb to this dark pleasure. He had wanted Mello to take his life, and become as much of a killer as Beyond Birthday was.

Present Day

Near woke up alone in the tech room, shrouded in darkness. Someone turned off the computers…?

The doors swished open and L walked in in his usual attire, carrying a mug of something steaming. "Near. Good morning."

"L," Near said, slowly sitting up in his crouched position, with one knee pulled up and the other leg sprawled. "Did someone turn off the power?"

L raised the mug to his lips but did not drink from it, Near noticed. "Yes, I did. Our budget is slightly tight at the moment, so I thought it would not do any harm while everyone was sleeping."

"Our budget is tight?"

L glanced at Near. "I do not mean to put you on the spot, but to be blunt, I'm referring to the time you used my inheritance to escape from Kira around 4 months ago."

Near opened his mouth confusedly. "But—"

"Hmm?"

Near halted his speech and became silent. "Yes… I understand."

L turned away and turned on the tech room, blue florescence suddenly glaring into Near's eyes. He squinted. Yes… he understood. L's inheritance wasn't monetary aid that equipped them with the necessary technology and tools. It was a substantial financial bursary from the Wammy's House. Near's little expedition hadn't cost them anything. And financially, they were stable. Yes… L was hiding something. Doing something that required utter darkness during the night.

A hint.

And yet... that was exactly it. Near had figured it out too quickly. Was he being lured into something? L did not underestimate his intelligence and had all but blatantly told him to wander around at night. However—

Near would find out what it was.

Mere minutes later, Mello walked in, dressed in his usual black leather garb. He sat down rather heavily at one of the swivel chairs and immediately began typing into the computer. Near quietly gathered a deck of cards to his side and began to lay out the foundations of a pyramid. He opened his mouth to speak but—

"I was doing research last night on my prime 3 suspects and they all have histories of abnormal behavior, even though the information has been meticulously cleaned from medical reports and such," Mello said, his voice still husky from sleep.

Near was startled. Mello was speaking to him for the first time.

"I also asked your agents to do some digging and if their reports are accurate, the suspects have shown homicidal tendencies that have been overlooked by people in their surroundings."

Mello swivelled around in his chair to look at Near directly, his eyes grim and his voice brusque.

"Miyako Tsukishima, Kaneki Kenta, Ayato Rize… aged 13, 12, 14 respectively. These middle school children attending Yokohama Junior High are the ones committing the string of murders that have been happening this past month. I'm certain of this."

Near contemplated this hypothesis quietly, weighing the possibilities and ratios. Finally, he said "This is a huge jump in logic, Mello. You've made many assumptions."

The corners of Mello's lips tightened. "They're well informed assumptions." A beat, and he smirked wrly. "Sometimes you have to go by your intuition."

"Indeed," a voice said distantly. L walked back in, continuing, "I often have to proceed with only the assurance of my well honed instincts, if you will. And now, Mello, because I agree with you, how should we convict these 3 children?"

Silence.

"I think," L said, one finger tugging on his lip thoughtfully, "because these children have financial subsidies in the form of their image obsessed and unbelievably affluent caretakers, we need to bend the law a little bit… just the slightest. If we go about it honorably and respectably, we will struggle, and we will lose the struggle ultimately."

"You mean abducting them?" Mello said harshly.

Near had abandoned his card pyramid. His eyes were trained on the floor in order to not betray the fear he felt. L… never would use such tactics. Hadn't Near himself once refused to kill Kira because it would be meaningless, as L's successor?

This man… is not L.

A/N

er… hello all. This is my very very first author's note… teehee :3 ahem, anyways, I just wanted to say that… well, can you guess it? … yes you guessed it: PLEASE REVIEW (: feedback on my writing, what you like/dislike about the story, ideas for future plot development, flames, trolls, they would all be appreciated ! and… erm, yes, that's it. Uhm, sincere apologies for my slow updates, and, ah, I get writer's block quite often, it's actually a long sad story with a lot of twisted psychology… uh, why am I saying this…? … oh dear I am quite awkward I better stop now.