Emilia raised an eyebrow at the shrill Japanese blonde that was fast making her way towards she and Light. She threw her hands up in the air as she approached, clearing her throat. This was a bit much for a first meeting, really, despite this young man having said he had already seen her before. She laughed, not amused in the slightest, and began to walk away from him as the evidently jealous blonde gave it all she had to tear this 'Light' to shreds.

She pulled her hood up and began to head off home. She heard the blonde girl barking at Light sharply in Japanese, and she caught the word, 'morrumotto'. Now, this would not have been at all interesting to her if her friend Tina hadn't kept calling her a retarded morrumotto, being obsessed with all things Japanese, searching random words on Japanese online dictionaries. She stopped and glanced back.

Why were they talking about guinea pigs?

Still, she could not stay and worry about them. They were together and did not concern her; they had already made the decision to abandon their old lives and go into hiding. People in the authorities were already aware of the fact that they had powers. She was not going to make the mistake that they had made and make a mountain out of a molehill. She would lay low, the way she had for a long time, in order to stay safe.

She could have disappeared for all they noticed. Light was still dealing with the scream-y female from what Emilia could discern. As she weaved her way through the crowds that thronged Covent Garden, she saw a man in a dark suit, a pair of shades darkening his eyes. If there were ever an official that were more indiscreet than the one that stood before her, she was certain she had yet to meet them.

She automatically knew the direction in which this agent was heading, and it wasn't to Candy Cakes.

She clenched her teeth and ducked her head, not giving him direct eye contact or even turning her face his way. She was torn; if she did nothing, two seemingly innocent individuals would be hauled in for questioning, torture and imprisonment. If she dared to intervene, she could risk blowing her secret wide open and be destroyed herself. Her intervention perhaps could also be futile – what if he just knocked her down?

It wasn't until a woman tapped her on the shoulder worriedly that she realized she'd stopped walking completely. She was staring ahead, a serious expression on her face, not looking at anyone. As soon as the hand came in contact with her shoulder, she flinched away, panicked.

"Are you all right, dear?" the woman asked. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

Her eyelids fluttered a little as she considered her options. She suddenly had an idea. She smiled politely to the woman and walked away from her briskly, taking a leaflet for the National Theatre from a nearby stand subtly. She deliberately hurried over to the man in the suit and took his arm, commanding his attention.

"Sorry, excuse me," she murmured, "I was wondering if you could help me. I mean, here it says that the National Theatre is just around the corner, but I have been looking for twenty minutes and I still can't find it…"

"I'm afraid I-"

"But I thought you looked trustworthy!" Emilia protested, pretending to cry. Her eyes flickered to the space over the agent's shoulder and she locked eyes with Light, communicating that he needed to leave. "I'm going to miss my show… my friend said I must see it… oh, she'll be so angry…"

"Oh, fine," he snapped. He pointed imperiously toward the edge of the square, near to where the majority of street entertainers performed in front of the crowds. "Over there! You see it?"

Emilia made a big show of searching for the theatre as she noticed Light and the blonde girl flee in the opposite direction. When she thought she'd given them enough time without milking it and making the agent suspicious, she let out a small squeak of excitement.

"Oh!" she gasped. "There it is! Oh, God, I'm so silly… you must think I'm such an idiot… thank you for helping me!"

She rushed off in the direction he had pointed her and kept going until she was sure that he could no longer see her. She looked back once over her shoulder once she was through to the space just outside the National Theatre before she turned to head home. She found herself slamming into another person: a much bigger, more intimidating person. Definitely an agent.

She spun on her heel and tried to dodge him, acting as if their collision was a total accident on both their parts. She was still playing the dippy blonde. The next thing she knew, he had grabbed hold of her shoulder and was pulling her toward him. She did what she knew how to do, what any young woman would do confronted with this type of situation. She opened her mouth and screamed, kicking and thrashing out at her assailant. She managed to poke him in the eye and he let go.

She immediately made a mistake without thinking it through. All this time she had been controlling herself so that she would not move too quickly. Now she flitted out into the street, almost tripping on the cobbles with the suddenness of her halting. She began to run at a more human pace, sensing the agent behind her again. She fled into a clothing store and ran upstairs into the storeroom, where she was followed.

The echoing silence that had formed when she had hidden herself now was broken as the agent called in backup and kicked boxes out of the way, shoving clothing racks to the side. She was hidden at the very back of the dark storeroom, with one white light bulb as illumination. It reminded her of interrogation suites she had seen on television fleetingly. This did not necessarily bode well.

She winced every time a loud noise punctuated the air, holding her breath and staying painfully still. She knew her time was up. She only hoped that she could get someone to deal with her assailant once she was taken. Silently, she took out her phone and held it to her lips, pressing the button required for her to film.

"White male, mid-thirties, about six foot four, stocky, I don't know… I didn't see his eyes… brown hair…" she whispered frantically. "Definitely an agent, MI5 or MI6 most likely. Whoever gets this, track him down. My name is Emilia Deaver, and I was taken by the government. Think about the storms… all of the storms-"

She heard all of the boxes being swiped away and could not help the gasp of fear that escaped her. Finally, the box she was hiding behind was knocked aside and she gazed up at her seeker, the agent, with determination that seemed to disconcert him for a moment. The moment was all that was needed for the person behind the agent to knock him down.

Clutching the back of his head in pain, the agent clawed outwards. Unexpectedly, Light held onto him by the front of his shirt and looked him straight in the eyes.

"You will forget we were ever here," he said firmly.

"I will forget you were ever here," the agent repeated obediently.

"You will not know who we are or what your assignment is," Light pressed.

"I will not know who you are or what my assignment is."

"You are sleepy now."

"I am sleepy now."

With that, the agent dropped to the ground and closed his eyes, a loud snore erupting from him. Emilia got to her feet and eyed Light warily. The blonde she had seen him with before burst through the door breathlessly.

"Light," she gasped. "Light…"

Emilia shook her head and sat down on an upturned plastic box. "Christ," she muttered. "I can't do this. I… I'm going home. I need to sleep all of this shit off."

Neither of the Japanese citizens moved to stop her leaving.

XXX

Mello was walking to his next lesson after lunch. This just so happened to be with a particularly quirky teacher for French, who may or not have been a burgeoning alcoholic. She spent half the lesson away from the class and spent the remainder smelling strongly of Merlot. He wondered briefly what it would be like to have no worries that way, to have some way of making all your coherent thoughts disappear into oblivion.

The babble that was making so much noise in his head had to be cleared. At first, he had regarded his power as rather… well, cool… and he had been absolutely certain that he would be able to do anything with an ability of this magnitude behind him. Apparently, this was not the case. After the Art lesson, he had come to realize that his having a power changed nothing. He was still number two, still below Near in rankings, and still misunderstood.

Having something such as inhuman strength did not change the person; Mello was just as frustrated, just as irritable, just as competitive and just as arrogant as he had been before the storm had caught him. Despite his misgivings concerning the lack of instantaneous metamorphosis, Mello was in fact glad of one quality he possessed that had not changed – his astuteness.

He sensed people behind him before they could find a leg to stand on. He prepared to backhand them into a wall or something when he remembered the warning that Matt had unceremoniously given to him the day that he and Near had discovered their abilities. He had to be extraordinarily careful.

With this lingering in his mind, he was seized by the shoulders and slammed into the lockers at the side of the corridor. Iago was seething, his face inches from Mello's.

"Hello, Mello," he murmured. "How are you?"

"I'd be better if you let go of me, Iago," the blonde responded shrewdly. His voice had only the slightest hint of strain to it. He peered over other teen's shoulder to see Raphael, Trey and Wolsey flanking him. Oh, that was great. The bastard had brought along his lackeys. Well, that sounded about right. He wouldn't do anything without backup. He had natural leadership, but on his own he would do nothing.

"You humiliated us, Mello," Raphael put in. "You and your little friends."

"You don't need my help to do that," Mello muttered.

For this proclamation, he was met by a fist to his stomach. He gasped, feeling the pain more than he had expected – Iago could punch harder than anyone he had ever met. Had he been at his normal strength, it probably would have crippled him. He had a feeling that he would still get the marks from any pain inflicted, yet not feel it as strongly.

Iago yanked his hand away, yelping. It had obviously hurt him to strike Mello. He glowered, curious, and grabbed a chair with a broken leg from outside a classroom, smashing it over the back of Mello's head. Automatically, Mello crumpled, still unable to hit them back.

"Iago!" Wolsey panicked.

"Well, check that out!" Iago sneered. "Fucking freak can take a hit!"

Mello lifted himself onto his hands from his front, spitting out blood from where a tooth had cut the inside of his mouth. He shot Iago a look of disdain, only to be hit with the chair again. This time, the chair shattered on impact, fragments flying into the air. He did not buckle under the weight of the blow, instead staying completely still.

"What… the fuck…?" Raphael hissed. "How-?"

"I told you he's a freak!" Iago insisted. He kicked Mello in the stomach viciously and smiled at his enemy's unmoving position. "Why don't you fight back, huh, Blondie? Why aren't you defending yourself? Are you too chicken?"

Mello clenched his teeth together. It was taking all of his self-restraint and willpower to remain just above the floor, taking the embarrassment. He scowled at the ground in front of him. After a prolonged beating and astonishment over the fact that he was still conscious, the boys scuttled off back to French with Ms. Crawford, the alcoholic who wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Iago threw a smug comment over his shoulder.

"We'll get your little follower friends next!"

Mello lay on his back, aching. He could feel the welts that had been inflicted by more severe and outlandish methods, and it exhausted him. He swallowed, recollecting his thoughts. He should have just beat their puny skulls into the floor and left it at that.

He heard and saw shoes cross the floor coming towards him. The wearer stopped and knelt down so that their face was level with his and he could see her.

"Mello," Elisabeth sighed. She helped lift him and supported him on the way to the nurse's office.

The nurse had vacated recently, and being a medical student, she was not untrained in situations such as these. She sat Mello down on the bed by the wall so he could lean upright against it.

Wordlessly, she handed him a paper cup of water.

"Drink," she instructed, "and breathe. Now, I want you to tell me exactly what happened."

"Why?" he mouthed, the words barely coming out. "I can look after myself."

"Clearly," she said quietly. Unexpectedly, she put a hand on top of Mello's. "I know you didn't ask for this. I'm trying to look out for you. I don't want you hurt, so you need to talk about it to people at school so that they can help. No one deserves to be pained for things that they can't control."

"Are you speaking from experience?" he mumbled.

She did not look at him, instead picking up a bottle of antiseptic from behind her.