Title: Dog of the Industry
Summary: It's almost funny how the need to do laundry can lead to so much excitement. Poor, Mail Jeevas never thought he'd be involuntarily pulled into a world of underground criminal activity. "Welcome to the Industry."
Disclaimer: I don't own DN.
Author's Note: Hey, just wanted to wish everyone a good new year! -Also, this chapter is a bit rushed, but the next one will be better. Promise!
…
"I am L..."
The man introduced himself, as if the mere letter held all the answers and credence to the Christian God, but to Mail, it didn't. And suddenly, the redhead's brain began to work to connect loose ends. "L... there has to be a valid reason for calling me here," he said. "Was it to check up on me? Make sure I'm tending the Suicide Hotline? Maybe you want to know if I'm worthy of your cause? I don't know, but the fact that you're calling any shots leads me to believe that you're some sort of big shot. And I didn't see you at White Chapel yesterday, and Watari specifically said that the 'activity manager' didn't make it. So... that's you, right?"
L was silent for a moment before humming absently. "You're more astute than I credited. Perhaps I might find you a task more suitable."
Mail said nothing at first but quickly found himself asking: "Wait, sir... How do you know... about me? About what I've done? About-?"
"Matt, from this moment on, please assume that I know everything; it will take away many pending queries that could warrant unnecessary stress."
A nod from Mail came, followed by another question. "So... what happened to my car? Someone trashed it," Mail asked.
L shrugged and removed his mask, setting it aside and moving closer to the redhead, looking him over from head to toe. "It was not 'trashed,' as you so eloquently put it; it was vandalized. Another employee of the Industry grew restless and requested a higher workload. And, to reward him for his numerous services in the past, I have tasked him to target predetermined icons of the System. One of those icons: a vague description that could have easily matched up to thirty vehicles; it was a mere unfortunate coincidence that your car was the one targeted. However, once the deed was done, I made amends by providing another form of transportation..."
"The motorcycle," Mail interjected, only to be kicked hard in the face; his head whipped to the side and a small sound of surprise escaped his lips.
Like Mello had before, L was quick to explain his actions: "I'm starting to really dislike your fluent mouth. Please shut it at least until I am done talking. It is rather difficult to talk and listen at the same time, and it's in your best interest to pay attention."
And Mail said nothing, finding himself momentarily sated with the answers provided and the stinging sensation left on his reddening cheek.
L continued, his tone bored and bland and uncaring, though his next few words nearly portrayed unbidden and turbulent enthusiasm. "I actually have an interesting proposition for you." As he spoke, L curiously circled Mail, stopping behind him and rewarding his compliance to being quiet with an awkward pat on the head. "Surely you've noticed Mello's absence by now. Since he recruited you, it was his obligation to prepare you for your assigned job; he did his job, and now he is moving on. However, I've given it some thought, and considering the successful little kidney-escapade, I've considered allowing you to continue under his tutelage. Is this something you desire, Matt?"
Mail opened his mouth to speak but closed it without a word; instead of vocalizing his answer, he gave a nod.
L ruffled his hand through scarlet locks in a show of praise. "Very well. But first there are things that need to be done. I've already assigned Mello a solo act for his next job, but I'm willing to change that. However, in order for that to happen, someone else must be assigned the task in his place. For this, I choose Near. His real name is Nate River, but upon induction, he will be addressed by the former. -Matt, I want you to recruit him."
Mail hesitated, but after waiting several seconds and realizing that L was not going to continue to talk without prompt, he spoke up. "How? Would I do it like Mello did me?"
"No."
"Then...?"
"Near is a much more simple and complacent individual; he'll be much more objective and easy to reason with than you were, I'm sure. Even so, I do not believe you are up to par for the task...-"
"But-!"
"Yet. Matt, please stop interrupting." With that, L's fingers curled and he yanked harshly at Mail's hair, reprimanding him. "Your new name is Matt. You know this, and the fact that you haven't denied it shows that you've accepted it to an extent, but I'm sure in your System-driven mind you're still categorizing yourself as the same individual that couldn't hold the attention of his parents and so selfishly killed his own brother. -But that is not the case, and you need to acknowledge that. You're a young adult now, Matt. You're no longer a child waiting to be coddled. You've grown up. You're still learning, but you're not a child. You'd do well to drop the pretense of your former life and embrace the new expansion of your world. Do this. Accept yourself as Matt. Wipe away your former identity. Do this, and then continue with your mission to tend the Suicide Hotline. And after you've taken 100 calls, I'll allow you to work with Mello."
The redhead listened to what he was told, and his head buzzed with the effort to take it all in. "Yes, sir. That sounds fair," he found himself saying.
Then he heard scuffling. The sound of bare feet shuffling across the floor, getting further from him. L was leaving, but he stopped shy of exiting to say: "Oh, and Matt... About those 100 calls, you might want to get home and wait by the phone."
"Why? Am I supposed to expect an important call?"
L's tone took on an ominous lilt uncharacteristic of his earlier behavior. "No... But the sooner you finish your work and move on to assist him, the better. I can't promise he'll be alive by the end of the week. He's most likely in a... compromising position."
The redhead found himself holding his breath after hearing that, trying to process and make sense of what he just heard. "L?" He called. "L! Hey! What's Mello getting into? Where is he? Is he in immediate danger?" When he received no answer, he groaned and kicked his feet against the hard floor. As thoughts flooded his mind in a state of disjuncture, he voiced them. "Gotta get home... Mello... One hundred calls... Dammit."
He got up blindly and stumbled toward the door, tearing off the blindfold along the way.
He had to get home and get to that damn phone.
...
Using the motorcycle for transportation and arriving home quickly, he raced inside, barely noticing or caring for the fact that once again members of the Industry were flooding his home. He ran straight for the counter where he'd left the phone and checked for missed calls, but there were none.
"Ring, damn you..." he muttered despairingly, trying to to futilely make the phone ring with a desperate caller.
For the first time in his life, the number 100 seemed relentlessly high.
Still in the dark about the mysterious ways of the Industry, he couldn't help wondering what would become of the blonde he'd so quickly grown attached to. He thought of Charles -Arvio- whom had suffered death and a kidney extraction, and he wondered if something similar could or would happen to Mello. The thought made him ill. He had to do something... but what?
Clutching the phone tighter in his grasp, an idea began to form.
...
/There we go. So, Mello's not in this chapter, but we know that where ever he is, it's not necessarily a good place to be. More coming soon./