Hello! I am so sorry this is late, my computer had a bug, so I had to fix it, and it took forever, and I was also a little busy making a YouTube video about L and BB, and if you want you can see it, just type up L&B Victims Of Love (Another Note), then click the one with the picture of a girl in a white blanket with bandages wrapped around her face. That's ME! Anyway, I decided in this chapter I would reveal a little more about V's past, and also, if you have any questions about V, please just ask me, I will answer them all. By the way, just so you all know, I am Australian, so don't be surprised if you read something that is spelt Australian, just ignore it.

CHAPTER 14

THE QUESTION GAME

V'S POV

Now, before we begin this chapter of my life we need to make one thing clear. I do not find the same enjoyment out of killing people as most murderers do. There have only been few actions where I have killed, but every time I feel somewhat remorseful. I never killed for fun, or for blood. I killed to protect myself. I will admit that at first I killed for blood, but if I had not I would not be the person I am today. I had to kill to become known, and I created a reputation before I even considered the possibilities of gaining one, it all just happened. I will never forget the day I realised I did not have to kill for blood anymore.

I had been eleven at the time, only a year into my murderess scams, and I had only killed around four men for blood, but word about it spread like wild fire, and I was quickly known and fear all across the U.K, if not the world, and at the time I had wished more than anything that it had not, but now I am only grateful. I was getting bored with just walking into the criminal's house and killing them, so I decided to try something new. I would warn them before attacking. The first man I tried this little experiment on was named Bradley Tomes. He was a drug dealer, and has been sent to court many times, women accusing him of sexual assault, but always got away with it for lack of evidence, but in the proses of stalking him I have seen several occasions where he had raped the women. I wanted to laugh at myself for how crept out and revolted I was back then. It was not the first time I had seen such a horrible action, but it was the first time I was about to drink a man that enjoys it. I was so revolted I almost abandoned the thought of killing him and going onto another person, but I had denied my thirst for too long, and any longer would result into physical pain, so it was too late to change my plans.

At first I left a simple letter, telling him who I was and that I was after him. He thought it was some sick joke, and shrugged it off, but I continued to post emails onto his computer, and destroyed it after the third post, as it read I would. That was enough to have him believe it. The day I walked into his apartment he was sad, very sad. He was crying in the bathroom, but the second he saw me . . . well, let us just say he did not hesitated to pull out a gun, but he never shot at me.

At the time I was known as many things, little dead lily, wild child, no floor or walls. All these names where ridiculous exaggerations created by the public, but none went entirely without cause, but the one he was undoubtedly thinking was the ungraspable, or, bullet heart, and I am known for those two because whenever the police shoot me, it always misses. Call me lucky if you want, but I have always had a good eye, and for years I had trained myself to dodge bullets, even before I became a cannibal. Well, not so much dodging bullets as knowing where someone would aim, and always being one step ahead of the shot, so, when he pulled out the gun I was very prepared to dodge whatever he had to through, but instead of pulling the trigger, he pulled it to his temple, and that is the story of how Bradley Tomes lost his life.

That was one of the last times I ever felt the emotion of fear. I was scared at how powerful I am, how much of a hold I have on a person's life, I could make them willingly end it! It frightened me to be so powerful. Sometimes it still does. I fear that, one day, I will lose myself completely to the monster I have made. So, in order to avoid such a fate, I decided I would set some more rules. They were quite simple really; just things like not completely losing myself for blood and visiting the only people that ever get to see me for myself, not the crazy murderer.

Sadly, these people were not in the room I was sitting in, instead, it was just the task force, L and I . . . strapped to a chair, with a wine glass of blood sitting on the coffee table. Right. In. Front. Of. Me.

"Hello, everybody," I said politely, making sure I added the cheerful tone. "How are we all this fine morning?" They did not answer, just stared. "Alright than. So . . ." I looked down at the glass, then back at them. "Are you going to feed me, or did you want me to get in myself?" Again, no reply, but the way L sat back a little in his seat was enough of an answer for me. "Alright than." I leaned over to the side until my face was inch away from the rope holding me to the chair, grabbed in with my teeth, and tugged. It was too thick to just bite off, so instead I simply used my teeth to turn it anticlockwise until the noted side was in view. I then pulled at it until it came loose, then slid off, leaving a purple-y mark, but I did not mind, it would heal soon enough.

I smirked as I rolled my hand around, warming it up before letting it take the glass. Then, with a motion so slow it looked as though I cared enough to make the scene dramatic, I lifted it to my lips and took the first sip.

It was so . . . cold, and tasteless. Do not get me wrong, it was still go, and such a relief to taste it, but it was almost nothing compared to the blood I usually have. This was . . . old, lifeless. This was the blood of an old, desist man.

Grose.

"Something the matter, V?" L asked, noticing my grimace.

"No, it is just that the blood is a little old." I heard a gulp, and lifted my head to find S.B staring at me nervously. "What?" I know the way I sounded was a little rude, but it felt like he was insulting me.

"Oh, I . . . umm." His reaction was not one of fear for angering me, but more of hesitation. He wanted to ask me something.

"Is there something you wanted to ask? If so, I am willing to answer all questions." His mouth opened and closed three times before asking.

"What's it like? The blood, I mean."

"Matsuda," Mr. Yagami warned. I was not surprised by this question; in fact, I had been waiting for someone to ask it.

"Well, the first time I tasted it, I was completely revolted, but then the pain enforced me to have it, and at the same time, my body began to lust for it, so really, I need it just as we all need air, denying myself any of it would be like holding your breath, but I want it and love it like . . ." I rubbed the rim of the bloodied glass on my chin, thinking of the appropriate word. ". . . like sex." Yes, I believe that was the most appropriate word. "The day you all can live on without air and sex is the day I will stop drinking blood." I tilted my head back and gulped down the rest.

And that was how the question game began. "So, how long can you go on without . . . blood?" The question was from Aizua.

"Hmm, a few months at most, a week the least, it depends on what blood I had, the younger and fresher the blood, the longer I last." I stent a look directed to L, wordlessly informing him to get me fresher blood soon.

"How . . ." Mr. Yagami looked very hesitant to ask, but now so nervous as much as . . . cautious. "Please forgive me if I sound rude, but how old were you when you started . . . drinking blood." I stared at him blankly. That was all he was cautious about?

"I was nine." The taskforce gasped. I was a little unsure why, had they not known this already?

"But what could have possibly made you want this at that age!" I looked down at my glass and stuck my finger in it to dish up some of the leftovers, considering ignoring S.B's question. "Well," I began, deciding to answer. Why not? Maybe the sad story of my past life might soften their thoughts about me, not to mention the fact that it will give L no choice but the keep me involved in the Kira case. "It is a very long story, so I should start from the beginning, when I was born. My birth mother had not the slightest clue that she was with child; I was one of those babies in a lopsided womb, so the pregnancy took almost no effect on her. Only when she went into labour did she realize she had a little person growing inside her. She was very young, no younger than me, and nether her or my father, were ready for such responsibility, so, my father left her, and she, quite literally, threw me in the nearest trashcan." Again, all men gasped, aside from L, but even he seemed a little taken aback.

"Seriously?!"

"She just through you away?!"

"What kind of a mother would do such a thing?!"

"Yes, yes, I know," I replied with a smirk as I untied the rope on my left hand. "I was alright though; I was on there for no more than half an hour when a young hippy couple came by. They had been trying to have children for a while, but were unsuccessful, so when they saw me, they were 'over the moon' as they would say. They razed me, took very good care of me, loved me, and I loved them, too, despite the difficulty I had in doing so. The only thing I did not particularly like about them was that they refused to name me. Every time I were to ask them, they would simply say that when they found me, there were no words to describe their joy, so, if there was not a word that could describe me, then I should be left with no name, just let the mind think what it wants about me.

"By the time I was around six, I began to envy other children, the once that lived in a warm houses, not in a tent on the beach, the once that got chocolate after school, not a plate on salad after have to peak into a school classroom window to get some education. So, I began to break into candy shops, book stores, and other places, so I could be more like the other children, and that is how I gained my inhuman stealth.

"One night, on my ninth birthday, I came home to the tent after stealing some fresh, and found a drunken cop beating my parents . . ."

FLASHBACK

. . . Why was he doing this? What was wrong with him?! I stood there and could only stare, watching in horror as the men in uniform brought the long, thin club above his head, only to bring it back down with tremendous force , to my mother's head.

Mommy, why is she not moving? Is she . . . ? No. NO! She could not die, she just could not, where was daddy? "Run." I snapped my head in the direction of the soft, lifeless voice. Daddy, there he was, lying on his stomach, head barely lifted, blood and purple marks all over his face. He looked dead, so dead, always dead . . . dead, dying, dying, dying, always dying. "Run." What did he mean, I know what that word means, I do, but I forgot it. Dying, dying, dying. Why was the world shaking? What were these things coming out of my eyes? Oh, they are tears.

The cop lifted the club again, only this time it collided against daddy's head, slamming it into the sand. Daddy did not lift his head again. Daddy, daddy, daddy. There was a sound, but it was not from the club colluding against daddy's head. This sound shook me, made my body vibrate. So the world is not shaking, I am shaking! But the sound is what made my presents known to the cop, and when he looked at me, I knew right then and there, that I was going to die. I have no friends, and the last of my family is gone, so, I played the funereal I would never have, inside my head. Here lies Shaggily Petal and Lilly Petal and their daughter . . . That is my name? What is my name? I have no name, I have no description. All this time I have told myself it does not matter, because that way I could be anyone, but it is not true, not anymore, maybe it never was. Not having a name, just made you nothing, I am nothing. Nothing.

The cop smiled a smile that I could have sworn was evil, then stood up straight and stumbled his way over to me. I am going to die. And their daughter . . . What is my name. The cop lifted the club up once again, grinning wider.

What is my name?! WHAT IS MY NAME?!

The cop let out a booming laugh and swung. He could laugh if he wanted, I do not care, but the one think he could not do is make me close my eyes. I would not do that. Everyone does that whenever something is about to hit them, but not me, not this time.

I am nothing.

Just as the club is about to hit me, it stops. What is happening? I watch as it slides out of the cop's hand and hits the sand with a thud. The cop is . . . clenching his chest. What is happening? He suddenly collapses, dead. He is dead.

END OF FLASHBACK

"A heart attack, you say?" L questioned, leaning closer.

"Yes, ironic, I know, but that is what happened. It could not have been Kira, for this had happened years ago. Anyway . . ."

FLASHBACK

Knives, knives, knives and more knives, but witch to pick. I examined each one of them, all shining silver and all extremely sharp. I like the thick one, but it was a meat cleaver, I want something with a sharp tip. There are two like that, but which one do I take. Oh hell, way not all of them? So, that is what I did, I grabbed all of them and started slicing, taking turns with each knife.

I cut through the thick slices of meat with little effort, but it was not enough. I need something bigger, much bigger. I look around the butcher shop, searching for something else to attack with knives, until something did catch my eye. It was big, and hanging on a hook, exposing itself perfectly. I did not even stop to see what exactly it is; I just have to cut it. And I do. I run to it without hesitation and slice at it. I do not know exactly what happened next, but to put it plainly, red squishy things came out of it, and, because I did not expect it, I managed to slip over it, landing face first into it. It was warm, but wet, and only then did I realise what it was. Guts and blood, and the thing I had sliced at was a dead cow. Oh, GOD! It is in my face! I gasped, and that was probably the worst mistake of my life, because it was not air that sucked into my mouth, it was blood! OH GOD!

END OF FLASHBACK

"At first, I was absolutely disgusted, but then a few months later I began to get stomach aches. I was convinced I was sick, or having an early period, but it continued on for weeks, so, I decided I would retrace my steps until I found the true purpose, and soon came to remember the butcher shop. I thought the blood was what made me sick, but soon came to find, it is what makes me better." And that is how the question game ended, and while the taskforce were gaping at me, I was sitting there wondering if I should have told them the one little part I left out. No, Why bother? I had a case to continue.

FLASHBACK

He . . . he just died. How did this happen? What is happening?! It does not matter; I did not care for him. He could die. He could die a hundred times over, each time as painful as the last, I would not care. He killed my parents! He deserves to die–

I was cut off mid thought by something falling onto my head. What the . . . ? A book? It was black, and had white writing, but it was written in a different language, so I could not read it. I hardly know English, so how could I read it? But maybe . . . one day I would. Yes, YES! One day, I will know every language the world has, and I will read from the book that fell from the sky! But for now, I will hide it, until that day comes.