"Oh my God, you're wearing shoes!"
That wasn't my usual morning greeting - the usual being either a chipper 'good morrow, sir! How art thou on this peaceful morn?' or an illegible and angry grumble - but walking out of my room and seeing that the usually primitive detective donning a pair of sneakers was genuinely like discovering your pet fish had sprouted legs. It was a weird sight, and I would treat it as such.
With a blank stare, L looked down at his feet and then back at me. "Yes," he stated.
I waved away the initial shock, making a beeline for the kitchen, flinching as the crisp morning air brushed against my bare legs.
Snatching a glass from the cabinet, I looked over to the detective, curiosity getting the better of me. "So what's the fancy occasion, detective? You going out?"
"We're going out."
One hand lingering on the fridge handle, I paused, raking my brain for any former knowledge of this outing. "Are we?"
"Yes, get dressed. And it may be a good idea to bring something that covers your face."
My entire mood deflated, splattering across the floor as a pancake does when one arrogantly overestimates their own flipping skills (we've all been there).
"Oh no. What are you making me do now?"
"I'll explain on the way."
"The way to where?"
The look the detective sent me was positively demonic. "To-Oh university, of course."
An hour later, I sat alongside my nocturnal companion on a bench just outside campus, my head jampacked with the bucketload of information that had been dumped on me mere minutes before. We were waiting - with remarkable patience - for Light's lecture to finish. We were sitting and we were waiting, and we were bored out of our minds.
As well as that, we'd been getting looks from passing students for the past forty minutes, and I was starting to become self conscious. To be fair, whenever I was present with L in public, we always got looks - weird owl pose and birdnest hair will do that for you. But today, we were getting twice the amount of looks and it was not just because of the detective.
I'd done as the damn bastard had asked and covered my face because, as you'd expect, I didn't want to die yet. But the seasons had now shifted from a wet and breezy spring into a warm and sunny summer. Wearing a jacket with heavy hood - despite the excellent coverage - wouldn't do me much good. It was also a common known fact that hats did not suit me. So, that left me with the single pair of sunglasses I owned - polariased Maui Jim lenses that I'd gotten for my sixteenth birthday.
To be totally frank, I still looked weird wearing them (the general public had made this very clear) but it was better than the alternative. If I was due to die today, I would not do it wearing a hat.
Speaking of dying, it seemed like the detective had decided today was a great day to retire for he, stupidly, had chosen not to obscure his face and waltzed like a knight without armour, not giving the slightest damn about the omnipotent tyrant who wanted him dead.
It was hypocritical, especially seeing as he'd ordered the entire team - and myself, for that matter, even though we were still dubious whether Kira could kill me - to hide their faces. In my opinion, hypocrites didn't have the right to preach, but whatever. I let him do as he liked. At least he didn't look like an idiot.
Reminded of just how moronic I looked, I glanced down and adjusted the spectacles that sat across my eyes, grimacing.
"She had better show up," I grumbled.
"She will."
"She'd better. I'm not wearing these stupid specs for nothing, you know."
"Of course not," he said, his voice syrupy, dripping with sarcasm. "We all know that Agent would not humiliate herself purposely, though Light Yagami may disagree."
"Do me a favour and please die."
"No."
I forced myself to take deep breaths, glancing around the scenery and letting the sight of the Sakura trees calm me.
Yes. I was calm. I was tranquil. A tranquil idiot, but tranquil all the same.
Another few minutes passed, in which time I got many more judgemental looks, and L started to fidget. Spindly fingers tugged at the fabric of his jeans, and eventually, started to tap. I couldn't tell if he was just bored or whether this was a symptom of his sugar withdrawal. The blank expression on his face gave no indication. Was he plotting how he'd assassinate Light Yagami or did he just want some puffed pastry? Who knew? L was a closed book.
Speaking of books...
"You know, Ryuzaki, we've been acquainted for five months," I announced, turning fully to face him. "Five months, and I've never seen you read a book."
The detective ceased his tapping and blinked.
"I do read."
Well duh.
"I don't dispute that, but still, I've never seen you read a book. A proper book, I mean. Not a prison report or ten-page fax. A novel."
Another owlish blink.
"Come on, Ryuzaki, you can't just be analysing numbers all day long. Tell me you own at least one detective novel."
The response that came was unusually haughty. "As a matter of fact, I own many. Just none in my current possession."
I openly gaped. "Sacrilege, Ryuzaki. Pure sacrilege. They're basically our Bibles. You should have one on your person at all times."
The man frowned. "Which prophet said that?"
"Me."
I flung open my bag, rifling through the many documents that littered its insides, pushing aside useless knick knacks and beauty products that I'd likely never see again, blindly searching for the withered spine of my self declared Holy Book.
"Here," I said gruffly, pulling out one of my many worn paperback novels. "*The Secret Adversary, Agatha Christie. Knock yourself out."
"I've read this book already," L said dismissively, looking away, and I only gestured to it more insistently.
"Well, read it again. You look bored enough."
He couldn't argue with that. Sliding the book from my grasp, the detective skipped to a random page and held it up to his face in a way that I was certain made it impossible to focus on the words. Regardless, I let him do it, mindlessly eyeing the college students that passed us by, until a blurry flash of something tall and Light-Yagami-shaped phased in and out of my peripheral vision. I turned my head to see Golden Boy and - oh hello, this was interesting - Miss Kiyomi Takada walking side by side down from the entrance.
I nudged the man beside me, unable to stop a humoured smirk from crawling onto my face. "Suspect and Dreaded Ex at three o'clock."
It was easy to tell they were an estranged couple - Light's deadpan expression and Kiyomi's sullen eyes said it all - and I wouldn't be surprised if she blamed me for it. Trying to save face, I sent Kiyomi a pleasant wave as she passed us by. Her face lit up in recognition, then fizzled into reserved anger, but she didn't wave back.
As his lady-friend reluctantly departed, Light drew to a stop in front of us, his face perfectly composed, but his eyes were on fire.
"Oh, I hope she's not too upset," L lamented as her figure faded into the crowd.
The boy dismissed it with a wave. "She'll be fine. Nevermind her, is it even okay for you to be out here? I thought you were apprehensive about appearing in public."
The older man hummed, handing me back my book. "I was, but then I realised as long as you aren't Kira, I should be safe."
Light opened his mouth - probably to say 'I'm Not Kira' for the umpteenth time - but L wasn't finished.
"And the fact remains that you're the only person on the outside who knows my true identity. In the unlikely event that I die within the next few days, I've asked your father and everyone else at headquarters to assume you are Kira."
There was a really long moment where L stared at Light and Light stared at L. In the absence of my own arch-nemesis, I stared at the sky, trying to find faces in the clouds, and wished the pair in front of me would break up their mental stand-off so I didn't have to.
As always though, it was too much to hope for. Both boys were way too stubborn and too high on testosterone to take the first step back. So, of course, I had to play peacemaker.
Doing the equivalent of snapping your fingers in the middle of a staring contest, I stood up off the bench, smiling breezily. "Can we talk about something less morbid perhaps, gentlemen? It's a nice day and we don't get to hang out all that often."
"That's true," L agreed. "It's a pleasant change of pace. As long as it doesn't result in my death, I think college can be a lot of fun."
I thought back to all those times I'd seen students crying on their way to class, carrying a flask that most likely contained either alcohol or coffee (or, God forbid, both), and said, "I guarantee you're the only person who truly believes that."
As always, I was ignored, and the detective began to retie his shoes. Then suddenly, looking up, he addressed Light.
"Say, do you want to go get some cake with me in the cafeteria?"
"Sure," the student replied, shrugging. "I have a break right now anyway."
"That's perfect. I'm kinda craving shortcake."
I sighed. "What's new? You're always craving something sweet."
The detective didn't deny it, for he had no grounds to, and we kept our steady pace until the *seven trumpets of Revelation were sounded via the voice box of a teenage girl.
"Light! There you are!"
The sudden shriek pummelled against my ear drums like a battering ram. I did more than wince; I full-on startled-cat leapt at the noise, head whipping wildly to try and locate whatever predator was trying to deafen me.
Lo and behold, a few yards back stood Misa Amane in all her glittery, glistening glory. Fabulous.
Refusing to take my eyes off the creature in fear of sudden attack, I slowly leaned towards L. "You never told me Misa Amane was a howler monkey."
"If a howler monkey were capable of reaching an E5, then yes, she is," he replied, just as seriously.
Misa practically floated into our perimeter, all grins and giggles, not looking too dissimilar from an angel.
Clearly besotted with his beautiful girlfriend, Light's entire demeanour shifted into something sullen, and he frowned at her. "Misa, what are you doing here?" From my perspective, it sounded more like a scolding than a question, but who was I to judge their dystopian love affair.
"I had a photo shoot nearby," she elaborated, looking highly pleased with herself. "So I thought it'd be a nice surprise if I came to see you."
Although - to be fair to Misa - he did look very surprised, Light didn't appear very flattered by his girlfriend's sudden entrance, and didn't humour her with a response.
Hair swishing in the wind, the model spun our way, and I genuinely almost flinched.
"These must be some friends of yours. Hi, I'm Misa Amane! We're dating," she said lovingly, gazing up at Light with all the adoration of an awestruck newborn.
I gritted my teeth and forced a lopsided smile. "Katherine Turner."
"So nice to meet you," she cooed, turning back to face us with a dazzling smile, only for that smile to drop as her attention deviated.
Her eyes glossed over in mild confusion as she stared at a spot just above my head. Her gaze lingered, flicking back and forth across the empty air, reminding me of the way a cat becomes mystified by lazerlight. I tilted my head back slowly, curious to see what had gotten her in such an entranced state, only to turn and see nothing.
Her eyes then flickered to L as he introduced himself under the alias of Hideki Ryuga. She repeated the same lost, awkward stare until Light moved to stand between us, grabbing his girlfriend (stalker) by the shoulders.
"Yeah, he shares the same name as the famous idol. Bizarre, isn't it?"
L and I shared a long, long look. This was weird. This was a really weird interaction - yes, even by our standards. There was no way in hell these two could actually be dating. It was shady as fuck, and Light's Could Be Kira points had probably transcended into the Definitely Kira region by now.
"Light," L muttered, voice low but articulate, and a nauseating blend of unease and excitement settled low in my stomach.
As his dramatic pause stretched into an almost unbearable silence, the detective looked his nemesis dead in the eye and stated, "You're a lucky guy."
Oh. Okay. Bit anticlimactic. I was hoping for "you're under arrest in the name of justice" or a dramatic Law and Order-esque monologue. But whatever. Compliments would do.
The man turned to Misa, voice brimming with what seemed to be humble respect, instead of its usual monotone. "I have been a huge fan of yours since the August issue of Eighteen."
Well that explained where he got the magazine.
"Really?! That's so sweet of you!" She squeaked, clasping her hands and giving him the type of smile that would bring Eeyore out of his depression. Her response seemed sincere (clearly she was the type of girl who thrived off praise and attention).
Somehow, probably due to Misa's volume dial being stuck on earsplitting, people had begun to notice the young celebrity and were not shy about showing their appreciation for her.
Girls around my age flocked to the model like pigeons to a trash can, spouting heartfelt compliments and swooning at the sight of their beauty icon, awestruck. Some of them merely looked on, blushing and giggling, too 'unworthy' to step into Misa's sphere of oxygen and steal her air. The occasional male bobbed around in the sea of women, ogling Misa, admiring a little bit more than just her outfit.
As the crowd gathered, I hung back, quiet, feeling that provoking the hoarde of fashion harpies would only result in a throbbing headache and loss of hearing - if not death.
Out of nowhere, Misa suddenly yelped and jumped forward. "No way! Somebody just grabbed my butt!"
I spun, expecting to see one of the lecherous touch-deprived college students flushing guiltily, but no. Oh no. In whatever alternate universe I'd fallen into today, the lecherous touch-deprived molester was none other than the embodiment of moral justice.
You have got to be kidding me.
"This is outrageous!" L spouted, flinging himself in action, briskly fleeing the scene of his own crime. "Taking advantage of the situation is unforgivable. Do not worry Miss. Amane, I will find whoever is responsible and bring them to justice."
He couldn't be serious. I knew he was weird, for sure, but there was no way he would actually grab a girl's ass for his own gratification... I hope.
The surrounding hoarde laughed boorishly (probably because Misa herself was laughing and the primitive act of monkey see, monkey do fell into play; it wasn't actually funny). Light looked unimpressed, and I probably looked the same. This day was turning into a fucking pantomime.
"Misa!" A commanding voice rang out across the crowd.
The gaggle parted to let through a tall woman, heels clicking authoritatively against the pave as she approached the young blonde (geez, what was it with these business women and heels? Inhuman. All of them).
She grabbed Misa by the wrist, tugging her away from us and peering down at her. "It's time for your shoot, remember? Or were you planning to be late again?"
The model shook her head aggressively. "No, no. Sorry Yoshi."
Misa was led away as she bid her soppy goodbyes to Light, the volume of her voice thankfully dying down the further she was pulled away. The crowd dispersed also, apparently having much less interest in a hot nerd, grumpy foreigner, and that one guy who touched Misa Amane.
We three amigos stood in an extremely prolonged silence, broken only when the detective decided he'd gone too long without his latest sugary fix (it had been almost an hour to be fair; that's the longest I'd ever seen him go without food) and the promise of shortcake seemed to be lingering on his mind.
"That was fun. Should we get going?"
I nodded my agreement, somewhat looking forward to sitting down after all that brouhaha, and made a move to go. Light, of course, hesitated.
"Actually," he said with a short, awkward chuckle. "I need to use the restroom. You should go on without me."
I didn't particularly want to leave our prime suspect unsupervised after that weird interaction, but L couldn't have disagreed more. Spinning on his heel, he gave a simple "okay" and I mutely followed.
The pair of us wandered in peaceful quiet for a few paces, in which time the detective crudely commented on the convenient timing of Light's bladder, and I turned slightly to see the student take out his mobile. We continued forward, and I waited until we were a little further out of earshot before questioning him on his previous fiasco.
"Okay. What was that about earlier?"
The older man feigned confusion. "What was what about?"
"Frankly, I don't know what gets you off - and I don't need to - but you don't seem like the type of guy who gropes women for kicks. So what's the deal, detective?"
At first, he said nothing, and I assumed he wasn't going to dignifiy me with a response. Fair enough. Whatever. If he really did grope famous women for his own gratification, that was his business, disturbing as it was.
Before I could huff out my disappointment, however, a plastic device was pushed gently into my hand and, without even looking what it was, I curled a fist around it. Keeping the object concealed, I glanced down slowly. It didn't take a genius to figure out this was a female's phone, specifically Misa Amane's (if the Misa Misa phone charm dangling off the side told us anything).
I looked back up at L, eyes wide and shoulders shaking in my attempt to hold back the laughter that was threatening to burst forth.
That sly bastard. He'd stolen it.
"Smooth, Ryuzaki. Smooth," I whispered with a wicked grin as I passed it back, genuinely impressed with how clean that robbery had been.
It only took a few seconds for the phone in L's hand to burst into song, and I forced myself to deadpan as Light glanced behind, the anger in his eyes nearly scathing me.
Damn. Don't send that hateful gaze my way, Pretty Boy. Wasn't my idea.
I turned to walk away, raising my hands as I passed the student, pointing towards the insomniac stood a feet feet behind me with the offending object in hand. As soon as I'd drifted out of his line of sight, I permitted myself to chuckle, imagining how frustrating this must be for the poor kid.
Behind me, I could just about hear the pair begin to bicker. Light's quiet tone juxtaposed the furious expression on his face, and L kept his composure, calmly responding to the student's utterance. Outwardly, his face was as monochromatic and deadpan as usual, but inside, he must've been loving this. He'd been waiting for an opportunity to bash Light Yagami and rub his smug victory in his face since he was first deemed a suspect - which felt like a millennia ago - so good for him.
As much as I'd have liked to stand and listen to the couple's dispute, however, I was drawing closer to the main road, and the focus of my hearing began to shift.
I could hear the commotion before I could see it, and increased my pace, feeling the cool metal of the gun L had given me press remindingly against my tailbone. The safety was off, and the point of "this is only to be used as a last resort; shoot to disable, not kill" had been burned into my subconscious. I'd been hesitant to take it initially (after all, our suspect was barely five foot, and looked as though she'd cry if she accidentally injured a dog) but gave in when I realised it was necessary.
Despite having the face of an angel and the demeanour of a sweet, attention-starved puppy, Misa Amane was still most likely to be Kira.
A crowd had gathered in the small amount of time it had taken for Misa to exit campus, moving in a desperate and eager throng, held back by numerous police officers dressed in the appropriate SWAT-style helmets. I pushed through the gossiping hoarde, keeping my head down, and gestured to my colleagues as I breeched the front row. One of them - I think it was Matsuda, judging by the height - pointed to the police car and placed the keys in my hand.
I turned my attention back to our suspect, who'd now been blindfolded and was paler than a ghost. One of them leaned in and spoke to her quietly - loud enough to be heard over the crowd's suspicious murmur but too quiet for anyone else's ears; this was supposed to be discrete after all.
"Misa Amane, you are under arrest for suspicion of being the second Kira. You have the right to remain silent but it may be used—"
"What's happening? Please, where's Light?"
"—anything you say may be given in evidence."
I felt a bit bad, but only a little bit, as I listened to her cries and pleads. Then, I remembered she might have been the one to kill Ukita, and that man had died in front of me. My sympathy soon fizzled into callousness, and I stepped forward, placing a hand on the shoulder of my associate, turning him to face me. I couldn't see an inch of face behind the visor, but from the sound of his voice, I knew it was Mogi.
"Agent—"
"He wants me to drive her there," I explained, offering a reassuring smile. "I've got her. Don't worry about it."
The officer relented and stepped back. I grasped the model's cuffed hands with one of my own and steered her in the direction of the car. Misa gave very little fight as I led her towards the vehicle, though I could feel her tremors through my grip on her arm. She was terrified, understandably so, but I didn't treat her any nicer than I would've any other convict. Many men had died - innocent men - and she might've been the one to kill them.
With grim indifference, I popped open the car door and helped her duck inside. Closing the door behind her, I was startled by the sound of a hand slapping against the hood, and whirled around to see one of my colleagues leaning against the side of the car. I raised a questioning brow.
The hand on the hip and cock of the head spoke volumes, and I knew full well that our Japanese colleagues weren't that camp (not in public, at least). It was easy enough to decipher that this was Chris gawking at me and, by God, I just knew he was smiling.
"Nice shades, Snoop Dogg. Where'd you get them?"
Yep. Definitely Chris.
"Don't test me. I've been given permission to use a gun if I have to."
My friend backed off, raising his hands in defence. "Christ, you're in a cheery mood."
"I have to drive a car with this banshee sitting in the backseat, my eardrum is already throbbing, and you're saying I look like an oversold rapper. Do you blame me?"
He gave a muffled chuckle. "Sorry."
"Anyway, how far is the location from here?"
Chris nodded forward, gesturing with his hands. "A little over two miles, heading towards Kojimachi. I've already put the details into your SatNav so you're good to go."
Sliding into the driver's seat, I nodded up at him. "Thanks. I'll see you later, then."
He patted the hood once more. "Sure thing. Have fun, Kenickie!"
I was going to kill him.
The sound of the buckle clicking into place alerted Misa to my presence, and she jumped up, face contorted with panic.
"You have to let me go. Please, mister! I'm begging you!"
I shuffled awkwardly in my seat, shifting the car into first gear. "I'm a woman, Miss. Amane."
She gave a somewhat relieved sigh, but didn't falter in her desperate appeal. "Please, please, tell me what's going on!"
"It's all been explained to you." Remembering what L had said about making sure the reasoning behind Misa's arrest was absolutely crystal clear to her, I asked, "Did you not understand?"
"But I'm not Kira!"
"That's not for me to decide. Just try to cooperate."
Defeated, she seemed to settle down then, going quiet for a good few minutes, only giving the occasional shaky breath. The car coursed along the streets, engine rumbling, thrumming with life. The tyres gave the occasional pained screech as I pushed the car onwards, hoping to get Misa to the holding cell as soon as possible. I didn't want to prolong the process of finally capturing Kira any longer, not when we were so close.
"Where are we going?" I heard suddenly from the back seat.
"I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"You are under arrest, Miss. Amane. I don't have to tell you anything."
She went silent after that, seemingly having accepted the circumstances, and I fell silent too. It was deathly, the only sounds came from outside. It seemed Misa was holding her breath - or perhaps trying not to cry. I didn't look back to tell for sure.
Over the sound of traffic, I could barely hear her dejected whisper.
"What's going to happen to me?"
Even if I had known, I wouldn't have told her - the element of surprise could be a very powerful thing, and I was confident L wouldn't be too happy if I spoiled his surprise. As such, I remained silent, and the fear of pain and the unknown settled across the car like the shadow of a guillotine.
"Did she say anything?" was the unconventional greeting I received as I returned to the hotel suite.
I'd just arrived back from the location where Misa was being held. Watari had met me there, face covered, posture taut. We'd exchanged very few words as I passed Misa onto him, and the model - kudos to her - had abandoned her shaky disposition and left it squirming in the car. She didn't tremble or cry, merely kept her head lowered and mouth shut as she was led in front of the elderly man, who, I was sure, also had a gun on him.
I'd managed to sneak a peek into Misa's holding cell as the door was cracked open and the convict led inside, but didn't see anything of particular interest. The room was scarce, save for a single padded rack stood upright in the centre, and a camera. Bland - for obvious reasons; aesthetic wasn't really necessary for a prisoner. At the lack of intriguing decor, I found myself marvelling at the numerous security measures L had taken to ensure our potential murderer wouldn't escape.
The walls were thick and metallic - obviously soundproof - and the passcode Watari used at the entrance had at least twenty different digits to it; his wrinkled fingers moved at such an astounding speed that I could barely memorise anything past the first four.
The rack, which I assumed would be used to restrain Misa, had several straps looping across it to hold her down - several across the abdomen, some across the waist, one across the neck, and one for each leg. They were sturdy restraints, I could say that much. I'd be very surprised if Misa were able to move an inch in those things.
Basically, it was inescapable, and Misa wouldn't be going anywhere until - if - we released her.
In response to L's question, I shook my head. "Nope. Nothing incriminating. No Jedi mind tricks. She just seemed skittish at first, and kept asking the usual questions - who are you, where are we going. Though, she did state she wasn't Kira. Explicity."
He hummed, taking a seat on the nearest armchair, and I continued.
"She went quiet when I handed her over to Watari. Probably found her courage. I doubt she'll speak much; might need some prompting."
Taking a seat in my own chair, I received a quiet hum as thanks as the detective, who turned his attention to the microphone in front of him.
"Watari," he spoke into it. "Has she said anything yet?"
The older man sighed. "Not a word."
When L asked for a visual and audio, Watari hesitated, and I knew why. Warily, I cast a glance back to the oblivious men of principle in the room.
"Sir, are you sure?"
An adamant "yes" was the answer.
Without another delay, Watari complied and sent through the video feed.
Misa looked to be in a way worse state than the one I'd left her in. Skin pale and glistening with sweat, her whole body trembled. Her long blonde tresses had already slipped out of her signature pigtails and hung limply at the sides of her head, already starting to dampen with grease. The clothes she'd arrived in had been removed and replaced by what I could only call a torn-up bedsheet, fashioned into a sort of straight jacket. Unlike the promiscuous girly get-up she wore for her shoots, this wasn't at all flattering on her body, hanging loosely off her quivering figure and exposing almost the entirety of her pale legs.
Her whimpers were the only noise coming through the speakers. Otherwise, it was silent.
It was discomforting, to say the least, to see her like that - the awful way my stomach churned conveyed that well enough - and the men in the room appeared to agree, startling at the sight of the tightly bound woman.
"Ryuzaki!" The Chief bellowed, aghast. "What is the meaning of this?!"
"I've apprehended her on suspicion of being the second Kira. Bearing that thought in mind, it should become clear to you why this is necessary."
"The chances are she's guilty," Chris explained. "There's more than enough proof to convict her. What we need now is a confession to validate it."
The detective was murmuring, moreso to himself than us, eyes locked on the television screen.
"I want to learn how she kills," came as a quiet whisper. "Whether she knows Kira - and if so, his true identity."
As though snapping into another alternate, the man's eyes became more alert, less transfixed on the screen's image, and he leaned towards the mic.
"Watari," he said carefully. "Be sure to take the necessary precautions."
Precautions? What the hell did he have in mind?
"Beyond that, you're free to do whatever must be done. Just make her speak."
The rest of the team waited in quiet trepidation as we saw Watari walk out of view of the camera. A minute of silence passed before the old man reentered, wheeling a cart carrying an assortment of vials and flasks, all containing some sort of transparent liquid. Common sense told me it wasn't water.
"L, what drugs are those?" I asked shakily, discarding his alias in my shock.
He pretended not to hear me, so I said it again, louder.
"What drugs are those, Ryuzaki?"
"There is nothing on that table that will leave Miss Amane with lasting injury," was his ambiguous response.
"That's not answering my question."
His shoulders slumped in what appeared to be a sigh, and then he straightened himself.
"Most are basic psychedelics," L admitted, "though I have requested some others."
"Such as?"
"An antiprotozoal, a barbiturate, and a muscle paralytic."
Unease hit my stomach like a lead weight and I shifted uncomfortably. The men in the room glanced at one another, perhaps not knowing the definitions of such drugs, but definitely understanding that they wouldn't be the sort to send Misa to a happy place.
I tried not to jump to any conclusions, wetting my lips before asking, "Which are?"
To no one's surprise, L - blunt as ever - listed them off as though he was reciting the list of ingredients in a cake. "Those solutions contain doses of LSD; DMT; thiopental; mefloquine; succinylcholine chloride—"
"Succinylcho—?" I stammered. "You mean anectine? Are you mad? Ryuzaki, that could kill her!"
"A low dosage will be used and, naturally, she'll be kept under constant supervision," he elaborated. "A fatal reaction is highly unlikely."
I shook my head, speechless, trying to make sense of what my ears were hearing.
This was not the L I'd revered in childhood. This was not the L I'd gotten to know over the past five months. He couldn't be serious about this. He must have a better plan than this, surely!
"You're torturing her," I muttered disbelievingly. "You're literally torturing her."
I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. It really was hysterical. Out of all the crazy things I'd suspected L would do for the sake of his cases, I'd never expected this. The man always seemed so morally righteous; his ideas of right and wrong set in stone. I knew from experience that L was a little adventurous (read: suicidal) with his methods. But this... I wouldn't have seen this coming in a thousand years.
"Do you really think this will be how you get your evidence?" I paused, looking him up and down with tight eyes. "Do you want this to be how you get your evidence?"
"What else do you suggest I do?" He pressed, voice becoming breathier with exasperation, and I could only shrug.
"I don't know," was my meek reply. "But you seemed to have jumped straight from gentle prodding to CIA-level torture methods. Come on, there must be easier ways to glean information from her than this."
"Personally, I feel that painful stimulus is enough encouragement to draw honest information from anyone."
I breathed out a laugh, and nodded. "That's true, but it can also get you false information. Someone undergoing torture will do anything to get the pain to stop. If they're smart, they'll tell you what it is you want to hear, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's true. Ryuzaki, there's countless cases where torture has been used to get false convictions. It doesn't work; you should know that!"
"Could it be that the reason you're acting so against this is because Misa Amane is a woman?"
Oh wow.
Was he not listening to a word I said? I'd listed countless reasons - valid reasons - why this was inhumane and he still had the nerve to ask me if I was being soft because she was a fucking female! Offended didn't even begin to describe the level of outrage I felt for that accusation.
"Are you kidding me? No, it's not because she's a woman! And no, before you ask, it's not because she has a tragic sob story either. I'd feel the exact same way whether it was a man or woman in there, young or old, stranger or not. I'm against this because this is wrong and I'm honestly disgusted you don't feel the same way."
Barging my way past the men, footsteps thundering as I crossed, a firm hand clasped my arm.
"A, come on—"
"No, Chris, don't. I don't want to be involved in this."
"You know he wouldn't be doing this if he didn't have to, Agent. It's for the sake of the investigation at the end of the day." His voice softened, and he glanced between me and the screen. "Couldn't you just turn a blind eye? Just once?"
I took a deep breath and turned to him, face heavy with solemnity. "Chris, you must be stupid if you think I'm going to stand there and watch and somehow be okay with it. Isolated imprisonment: that's fine, I don't care. It's psychological mindfuckery, but whatever. If she can get over her parents' murders, I'm sure she'd get over that too. But this - physical torture - is a whole other thing. I'm not okay with it."
As I began stepping towards the hotel door, not even bothering to throw on a jacket, Chris' voice followed. "Where are you going?"
"Out. I don't know where." I paused, looking back at him. "Can I take your car?"
"Hell no! You're not driving in this state."
I huffed. "Fine then. I'll walk. Don't come with me."
Thankfully, he didn't. He kept his tail between his legs and watched as I stormed out, ultimately boycotting the investigation. It was better that he stayed where he was. I was furious.
L. Greatest detective. A man who resorts to torturing young women because he can't use those big brains of his to think up a more humane method. It was just unbelievable! Absolutely ridiculous.
My train of thought only became more hostile the longer I walked. And I walked for a while. Some sensible part of my brain made notes of where my feet were taking me, but consciously, I had no idea where I was or where I'd end up. When the more sentient side of my mind decided to stop moping and kick in, I realised I was in a part of town I did not want to be in.
Dark, looming walls. The faint hum of neon signs sounding in the distance. Telephone wires dangling dangerously overhead. And, of course, to complete the whole aesthetic: a broad male figure standing at the other end of the alleyway I was currently trapped in. Perfect.
It may have been paranoia speaking - or good judgement, depending on how you look at it - but I had a feeling this man wouldn't be your average peaceful, well-meaning citizen. From the look of him, he seemed pretty comfortable with the current scenario, standing tall against the suburban backdrop as though he ruled it. Ah... a serial offender then.
Discreetly, trying to not appear as though I was staring, I looked down at his body. He had one hand in his pocket, the other swinging against his side as he walked towards me. Could've been a weapon, or a phone, or anything really. It was too dark to tell for sure, but I wasn't taking any chances. My senses went on high alert.
Okay. Alright. Let's narrow this down. He was a possibly armed, fully-grown man. In other words, likely a threat, and definitely harbouring bad intentions. From the gleam in his eyes, I guessed he wasn't a rapist. He seemed more determined and focused than he did lustful, as though this were a job. I realised it then. Mugger.
To this day, I still remembered what Jason had told us about muggers:
"Remember kids, your life holds more value than anything in your pockets. You can always replace material items, but never yourself. Just give them what they want."
Obnoxious brat that I was, I'd laughed in his face when I heard that statement. Even now, if he reiterated his sermon to me, I'd probably still have to stifle a chuckle. *There were simpler ways to exit a mugging situation with both your life and your valuables intact if you knew where to punch.
But right now, I was tired; emotionally drained; and frankly, way too wound up to even consider starting a street brawl. I genuinely felt that if I imagined his face was Ryuzaki's, I'd actually kill him. My criminal record wasn't flawless, but I absolutely was not going to add murder to the list.
Shaking away any violent considerations, I felt alone the side of my phone, clicking open the small crevice with my nail and sliding out my SIM card. He could take my phone, fine, but I had way too many important notes and numbers on there to risk giving away.
Gingerly, I clutched the empty mobile in a tight fist, fiddling with it slightly, making it obvious I had something of value on me so at least he wouldn't try to attack me for being empty handed and useless.
He slowed his pace as the distance between us narrowed, and all my senses shifted into hyperdrive, soaking in the man's exterior. The lower half of his face was covered by a thick woollen scarf - smart move, all things considered - so there wasn't much physically for me to examine. Though, I could tell from his build that he was most likely young, and, if the overwhelming scent of tobacco was any giveaway, he was a smoker (might explain the mugging).
As the man approached, I outwardly remained calm but inside, my brain was ticking, preparing me for every conceivable outcome. I didn't look at his face and he didn't look at me, the both of us pretending we were kindly citizens, keeping our heads down and minding our own business. But I knew better. I'd seen faces like his and I'd fallen victim to it more than once; not today though - I was smarter now.
We breezed past each other, footsteps falling into synch as we crossed. For a split second, I thought I'd misjudged him, but then he whirled around on himself and thrust the knife in front of my face, making his intentions perfectly clear.
Nevermind then.
"Let's do this the nice way, yeah, sweetheart? Gimme whatever's in your pocket." He jutted the knife at me and I took a step back on instinct, slowly reaching into my pocket.
"Okay, okay," I answered obediently, taking hold of the cellular carcass and offering it up in tribute, maintaining a perfect look of reluctance and regret.
The man snatched it from me, flipping it over, turning it between his gloved hands, examining its exterior until he was satisfied.
"Nice. What else you got?"
"Nothing," I said. And it was true. I hadn't taken any money or any valuables, other than my phone, with me. Although he probably could've made a fuck ton of money from the technology in the belt Watari had supplied us with, I wasn't going to risk being stabbed for having the audacity to hand my mugger a belt.
"Bullshit. Pass it over, lady."
"Shove off! I've given you what you wanted."
He twirled his penknife around his fingers - a warning - the metal gleaming eerily in the yellow streetlight. I took another step back, eyeing the space around my attacker for the best escape route. My options were few. He was a big guy and this was a thin alley. It'd be hard for me to get around him without risking a cut or a blow to the head.
Right. So that left only one option. Fuck, this was going to end badly.
"Come on," he taunted. "Don't try to be a hero, sweetheart."
Yeah, this was definitely going to end badly. For him, of course.
His knife was sharp, but the way he gripped the handle told me he was inexperienced with bladed weapons, and I doubt he knew where the major danger zones were. Even if he did manage to nick me, it was unlikely to do much damage. I could take him on.
Confidence fiery in my veins, I smiled at him. "I don't need to try."
A blow to the face would catch him off guard. Then I'd just go for the wrist, twist, he'd drop the knife, and I'd pick it up. That neutralises the threat. Then... well, I'd hope he has the good sense to run because, unlike him, I actually know how to use knives. If not, I could always try to KO him.
"What did you just say, bitch?"
Oh yeah, this would be easy. I just hope that phone can pay for his hospital bills.
He took a step forward as though to grab me, and I took that as my cue, curling my fist and sending it flying across his cheekbone. Despite having had my fair share of fistfights, the contact of fist meeting face did still send painful tremors down my arm. I gritted my teeth, and rode through the pain, waiting for the adrenaline to kick in and make it all obsolete.
The man grunted and jumped back, cupping his sore and rapidly bruising cheek. He looked across at me with fury in his eyes, hand trembling and reeling back to strike. Muscle memory took over then and my body kicked into autopilot. I lunged for his arm, latching onto the wrist and twisting until I felt the muscle quiver. Distantly, I could hear the knife clatter against the ground, and made a mental note to grab it as soon as Mr Nice Guy was on the ground and incapacitated.
The mugger howled and tried to land a punch in my gut. I was ready for retaliation though and grabbed his other arm, pulling him earthwards and bringing my knee into his face. Blood spurted from his nose, streaming down his cheeks like tears, and he groaned, clutching his face.
I readied myself to punch again when a succession of heavy footfalls sounded from behind me. From the sound alone, I could guess it was a man - the clacking of suede business shoes was a big enough hint. I didn't dare turn my back for fear my assailant might get over his little blood-soaked pity-party and land one on me. Silently, I prayed this was a kind member of the public come to assist me and not one of the moron's buddies. I could probably take two on, but it would be a struggle.
The footfalls fell closer, and the unidentified male ran up beside me, skidding to a halt, dark bangs swishing against the sides of his face. He was tall - easily breaching the taller end of the five-foot spectrum - and sturdy, his shoulders broad and well muscled. He had dark hair; dark irises; dark, dull clothes. Notably youthful, but had a mature look in his eyes, and those eyes were hardened, glaring not at me but in the direction of my attacker. A friend then, it seemed.
"You, get out of here!" The man yelled, moving in front to shield me (wow, my hero). "The police are already on their way."
My assailant didn't need to be told twice. His feet skidded against the ground as he struggled to regain footing, scampering off out of the alleyway.
Looking towards the stranger, I nodded in thanks, too out of breath and too high on adrenaline to verbally respond. It was in this moment, as I recovered my breath, that I realised the mugger had taken his knife with him. That sucked. Aside from the fact he was back on the streets and armed again, that knife would've been a great way to get evidence. Now what could I do? Let them swab my knuckles?
The man looked over to me, eyes softening into a reserved and muted concern. "Are you alright, Miss?"
"Fine, thanks."
He looked up, gesturing to a nearby block of apartments. "I saw what was happening from my window. It's disgusting to think things like this can happen in such a quiet region. He's got some gall."
"Tell me about it," I said with a nervous chuckle. "This is the last place I'd expect to be mugged."
"Did he take anything?"
"Just my phone. It's alright though," I explained, pulling out my SIM card between pinched fingers. "I knocked out the card when I saw him coming."
The man looked surprised. "That was smart of you. Did you happen to see his face?"
Glumly, I shook my head in the negative. "No. At least, not enough to identify him with."
A heavy sighed followed my answer. "It will be difficult for the police to trace him now. A shame. God would've dealt with him easily otherwise."
Upon hearing that, I could barely hold back a groan. Oh great. A Kira fanboy. Just what I needed right now. The cherry on top of a perfect evening.
I hummed, too tired to fake Kira-enthusiasm and too scared to risk upsetting this frenzied follower by saying I reject the divine vigilante and his whimsical work. Instead, I straightened myself up, deciding that I should probably thank my knight in shining armour for doing a remarkable job at standing there, being authoritative. Couldn't have done it without him.
"Well, thanks again... erm..."
"Teru Mikami."
I smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Teru."
We vacated the alley and waited for the police, in which time I borrowed his phone to call Chris for a ride, and we made incredibly stilted small talk - the best that two strangers involved in a mugging could do. When the police arrived, we each gave a statement. As was expected, the officers could do little about it, what, with a weak physical description and no camera footage. Not really too bothered by the loss of my mobile, I accepted that. The Kira supporter reluctantly - not without some heated grumbles and a semi-religious vent - did the same. Chris arrived not five minutes later, coursing down the street in his sleek silver Lexus, the yellow gleam of the streetlights shimmering across his tinted windows. I hailed him over with a lazy wave. The stranger grasped my hand, giving me an earnest smile and a firm handshake. We wished one another good health and prosperity and all that crap and, from there, went our seperate ways.
LONG A/N
* The Secret Adversary totally wasn't me throwing in foreshadowing about Light being Kira. No siree! I don't do that. What's foreshadowing anyway? In other words, Agatha Christie wrote some amazing books and I love her
* Trumpets of Revelations - the seven trumpets that sound to cue apocalyptic events as described in the Book of Revelation
* Just a quick disclaimer: I don't always hold the same beliefs my characters have. PLEASE DONT TRY TO FALCOLN PUNCH A MUGGER. Chances are they're strong enough to overpower you. Always just hand over your valuables; you can replace them
Welcome back, guys! I hope you all had a great Christmas/Hanukkah/whatever you may celebrate and are enjoying the New Year. I most certainly am. Got given the best present of all - a baby nephew! Love him to pieces.
At long last, Misa is here and - surprise, surprise - so is Mikami (who my phone desperately wants to call Miami). Y'all know I have a soft spot for the side characters and Mikami, in spite of all his weird (*DELETE*) quirks, has wormed his way into my affections. However, we won't be seeing him again until his canon appearance in the anime, so sadly it's goodbye for now. I just wanted to tease you guys. At least we still have Misa to entertain us.
Speaking of the blonde howler monkey, I focused a lot more on her imprisonment/torture than maybe I should have, but I think it's something the fandom looks over and deserves more attention. Even the anime barely acknowledged it! In my opinion, the imprisonment/torture shows a lot of bravery and restraint within Misa's character (the fact she went three whole days before giving in is impressive, you've got to admit), and it also emphasises L's grey sense of morality, which is what I consider to be the most interesting part of his complex persona.
Side note: it's honestly ridiculous how many times I typed out 'drugs used in interrogation methods' or 'drugs used to torture' or 'drugs that cause physical pain' so I could have a faint idea of what L might've used to interrogate Misa. The FBI are looking for me, I already know it.
I also know way too much about drugs and torture than I arguably should. If you're interested in learning what the aforementioned drugs are and what they do to you, read below:
- LSD and DMT - both are psychedelics that can cause people to experience strong hallucinations and altered perceptions of size/colour/movement ('tripping out') as well as depressive thoughts, panic attacks, and psychosis. DMT is viewed as the stronger of the two and has the potential to leave you with psychological damage. Both can have strenuous physical side effects. LSD was most famously used in the CIA's Project MK-Ultra (an experiment conducted in hopes to create a truth serum/psychological torture device; it failed)
- Thiopental - a barbiturate that was used as a 'truth serum' by the CIA when mixed with amphetamine. The combination produced a prolonged state of psychosis due to the hallucinogenic effects of the barbiturate and the insomniac properties of the amphetamine
- Mefloquine - when used to treat malaria, this drug seems to be harmless. However, in an uninfected body, mefloquine can produce seizures, hallucinogenic states, and even sometimes trigger depressive/suicidal thoughts
- Anectine/Succinylcholine Chloride (same drug, different name) - this is an incredibly effective muscle parylitic given via injection that, if enough is used, can kill you within minutes. It has been described as having a drowning-like sensation due to the paralysis of the muscles used for breathing. Interestingly, it's the second agent used within the lethal injection (that just goes to show how strong and painful this drug actually is)
So yeah, that's a thing. Poor Misa. I am cruel to you.