Author's Note: Good God. There's a theatre right outside where I live and a lot of concerts are held there, so I have been kept awake at night constantly by the sound of loud music. At least it's good music most of the time. It softens the blow afforded to me by a lack of sleep.

My apologies for the ridiculous amount of tension that has been in these last few chapters. I love to torture the readers, but even I have my limit! Please enjoy this chapter :)

To WildfireDreams: No promises! You know how this story goes…though I agree, I wouldn't want to see Matt die a second time either.

To RaspberryDiamonds: You're welcome! I tend to respond to all the reviews I get just to make it fair. I'm happy you like this story :) And a meeting between B and Light would be very tension-fueled, wouldn't it? They are both highly intelligent, and extremely backhanded and intimidating people. (Though Light is probably more backhanded.)

To version15: I planned to kill off Mikami from the start, I'll admit. We can't have Light win so easily, can we? I won't answer your question about Matt, though…leave some mystery to the story and all that…

To CainToYourAbel: Lol. I actually have kicked a table over in my frustration with Death Note. It's nice to know that this frustration translates over to the fanfiction world as well! Speaking of…well, nothing, really, did you like Mello's backstory so far?

I'm glad you liked B's monologue, haha. It took me a while to go over it and correct everything!

To garnet86: I know! I'M SORRY! I trust that this chapter should resolve most of the tension from the last few.

And you're welcome :)

Warnings: Violence, Profanity, Mature Content, Angst.

Chapter 25: Weaker in Numbers

People will often tell you that when something really awful happens, something that you could have potentially avoided—a car crash, a robbery, someone you care for getting hurt—time will slow down. It sounds ludicrous, but they will say that things move in slow motion, and you'll be able to see everything happening around you as clearly as if it were a tape being rewound again and again. But no matter how slow things seem to be, you won't be able to move. Your body will freeze up, too distracted by the horror it's witnessing to do anything to stop it. That last part may have some truth to it, actually. Your body does freeze up—at least, mine does.

But I don't think time ever slows down, not in the real world. My experience has always been of time speeding up when something bad happens. That would make more sense, wouldn't it? When someone you love gets hurt, it isn't like getting in a fight, where things look slow because you're moving so fast. I moved fast; I could find someone's weak spot, an opening in their defense, and exploit it. That was my specialty. Anyway, I don't count fights as something horrible. They're a fact of life.

But when someone else gets hurt…it isn't like that. It just isn't. I used to think it was, before I knew anything about anything. Time and experience showed me what an idiot I was. (Still am.)

Things speed up when a person you care for is in trouble. Time moves so fast that you think it's impossible for you to have done anything in the first place. And because of that hesitation, that disbelief in what's happening, you do nothing.

Time moves fast. And anyone who tells you otherwise doesn't know what the hell they're talking about.

Trust me on that.

There was a strange smell in the air. It was faint at first, just barely noticeable amid the suffocating bubble of stagnant air that had been trapped inside the room for God knows how long. The stale environment overrode the odor for a while; however, as time passed, it began to tickle Light's nostrils, irritating the man and causing his throat to fall prey to an insufferable itch.

The sensation was all too familiar to the bronze-haired man, seeing as it had not been too long ago that his own building had reeked of a strikingly similar stench. He knew what the smell was. It was smoke, and surely the tickle in his throat must have been incited by ash that had managed to sneak into the room through the cracks under the door and window.

This should not have been surprising. Fires were not uncommon in the Los Angeles region, particularly now that there were no longer any firemen to control them should they break out, but Light did not believe for a second that this was just the byproduct of a far-off brushfire in the hills. Call it paranoia, call it intuition, but Light had a suspicious feeling that this was somehow related to the incident at Waterfront.

He was proven correct not long after this thought occurred to him, though this hardly surprised the man; he was accustomed to being right about most things he set his mind to.

"Light!" Takada called from the window, where she stood with her head obscured behind the curtains. "You should come see this."

With narrowed eyes, he did as she requested, ignoring the fact that the young woman was scantily clad in a paper-thin robe that she had found in one of the drawers. She wore nothing else, courtesy of their brief tryst a few hours ago, despite the fact that he had redressed himself almost immediately after.

She turned to glance worriedly at him as he approached.

"Look outside," she told him, backing away so as to let him see the view from her perspective.

As he took her place at the window, Light allowed his eyes to scrutinize the building across the street. It took him a moment to pinpoint what the brunette was talking about, but when he did, he bit his tongue in order to avoid whispering a curse under his breath.

It was faint, and anyone else most likely would have ignored it, but Light did not have the luxury of indifference in this situation. There was smoke wafting from behind the radio station, climbing in great pillars toward the sky. Even from this distance, it was plain to see that there was far too much smoke spilling from behind the structure for the building to be considered safe.

What was going on? Surely, neither Emerson nor Ryuuzaki would have voluntarily set fire to the building; it must have been an accident. But how could an accidental fire have gotten so out of control? Had they not realized that a fire had broken out? If a candle had fallen and ignited a curtain or the carpet, one of them would have noticed…

A light-bulb suddenly went off in Light's head. If there were an electrical power source there, then it was entirely possible that a freak accident or short could have occurred while they were not watching. Light's eyes widened. A radio station…an electrical power source…a blonde man whom he did not know, one who had been seen with Emerson and Ryuuzaki…

Could it be that Stripes lived there? Was that who the blonde man was, the one who Mikami had reportedly seen them with? That would explain the electricity theory; Stripes had to be well-versed in technology in order to keep a radio station up and running.

And speaking of Mikami…if he was somehow involved in this faux pas, he would pay even more dearly by Light's hand. Or, as he had originally planned, by Takada's. This fire had the potential to send all of Light's plans into ruin. Thankfully, the bronze-haired man was confident that Emerson—and if not, it would be no great loss—and Ryuuzaki would be able to escape, since the smoke appeared to be concentrated at the back of the building. There must have been an emergency exit somewhere inside as well, so it was likely that the pair and the blonde man would make it out alive.

Until then, Light had no choice but to wait patiently for them to come out. There was no way that he was going to rush inside with the pretense of saving them, not after everything that had happened. For all they knew, he was the one who had started the fire, provided that they didn't do it themselves and were not keeping watch over the building's entrances and exits.

"What should we do, Light?" Takada asked, clutching her chest with a clenched fist.

"Nothing," he told her. "We will wait for them to come out. Until then, we do nothing."

To Takada, the young man radiated an aura of confidence. Yet on the inside, Light could not help but feel that something about this situation felt off…and at the same time, disturbingly familiar.

It seemed to Lana that whenever someone she cared about was in danger, she could never move quite fast enough to help them. Repeated failures, building up over a span of years, had taught her that. Her parents, her little brother, and even Itzel had suffered as a result of her inability to save others.

Now was no different.

As the scarred woman glanced at Matt out of the corner of her eye, she saw his telltale movements, the stiffening of his limbs, the tension in his back—all of which informed Lana of what he was about to do. She saw the shotgun at the same moment the brunette lunged for it, but of course, she did not manage to stop him.

She stood frozen as Matt dived towards the weapon, unable to even voice the young man's name as a cry of warning…

Just as the tips of Matt's fingers touched the gun, B was on him. Before the brunette could even properly aim the weapon, Lana saw an inhumanely fast glint of silver. An awful squishing sound pierced the woman's ears, sending currents of nausea roiling through her stomach. A scream built up at the back of her throat.

"Matt!"

As she watched in horror, B stood nose-to-nose with Matt, but she was unable to see anything beyond the pained expression on the latter's face…and the twist of anger in his eyes.

At that moment, a deafening boom nearly blew out her eardrums. A large amount of wooden shards was blown out of Matt's desk, and B backed off immediately.

Matt had fired.

When the gun went off, the brunette cried out, the arm that was holding up the weapon dropping a bit.

"How interesting," B observed, his black eyes staring intently at Matt. "I did not think that he would be able to remain standing. The knife was quite long; his spastic movements must have set my aim off."

Lana's heart hammered against her sternum. What was he talking about?

What had he done to Matt?

Right then, the dark-haired woman realized that the knife in B's hand had disappeared. Or, more accurately, Lana thought as she stared in horror at the hilt protruding from Matt's side, he had given it to the brunette.

Matt breathed heavily, but his green eyes remained fierce. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here," he said, his voice raspy and strained with the effort it must have taken to remain on his feet rather than grasping his torso in agony. Blood ran down his side, soaking through his shirt and causing the young man to sway on his feet. He gripped the gun harder in response, his arms shaking as he tried to keep the weapon positioned properly.

B smiled, countering Matt's glare. "Are you going to shoot me?" he asked the brunette, almost sounding interested by the possibility.

Lana's jaw fell open. Did…did this guy want to get shot? Or did he just think that Matt wouldn't be able to do it? She glanced over at L, whose impassive expression remained unchanged throughout the encounter.

Why weren't they doing anything?

Matt grunted as he hefted the gun upwards and tried to aim it at the serial killer. B just stood in the doorway with an intrigued mien, not looking bothered in the least by Matt's efforts to take him out. Both Lana and L were silent, watching with baited breath (or at least she was) as Matt and B stared at each other. Both of them seemed to be waiting for the other to make a move.

Lana didn't know what to do. If she took the gun from Matt and tried to shoot B herself, the maniac might charge her while she was vulnerable. But if Matt didn't shoot soon, then he would just end up collapsing or passing out.

What should we do, L? If you don't tell me, I'll have to do something myself…

All of a sudden, she knew what she had to do. L would probably berate her later for it, provided they lived until then, but she didn't really give a damn right now.

"Matt," she said calmly. "Give me the gun."

He ignored her. Instead, his breathing picked up, and he growled under his breath as he lifted the gun with all of his strength.

"Goddammit, Matt—give me the gun! You aren't able to—"

"Yes I am." He aimed it shakily at B's head, but the serial killer appeared unconcerned.

"Matt!"

The brunette cocked the gun with shaking fingers, and with a rebounding force that sent him stumbling a few feet backwards, he fired.

B didn't even have to try to move. He merely stepped out of the way at the last second, and plaster shards rained from the large chunk that the bullet took out of the doorframe.

Matt cursed under his breath, discarding the used shell quickly.

Click.

Boom.

He missed again.

Lana clenched her fists, nearly breaking her teeth with the force applied to her jaw. Was B…playing with him?

That…that bastard. Does he think this is funny?

The third time he missed, Matt's grip on the gun loosened, and it fell toward the ground. A hand came around to grab at his wound, which now resembled a large, angry red plume on the man's side. He was breathing heavily, his legs almost unable to support his frame. Even so, he tried to raise the gun again, squeezing more scarlet out of his wound as he did so.

"Please stop, Matt," Lana told him softly.

Again, he ignored her.

As B watched the man struggle, he observed him calmly.

"This is unfortunate," he said as the brunette fought to aim the gun towards him again. "I no longer have my weapon, so it seems there isn't much I can do here at the moment. I have to say I am impressed with your resilience…Matt, isn't it?"

The compliment only earned him a harsh glare.

B pointedly ignored him, turning his gaze toward L and Lana. "I'll be leaving now. I'll see you both again soon…very soon, I suspect…though I'm not certain I can say the same about him." He inclined his head towards Matt. "Infection is a high risk these days, if you can manage to stop the flow of blood."

With that, B turned around and walked out. The maniac's sudden disappearance seemed to return the feeling to Lana's legs, and she dashed after him.

When she ran out of the room, the woman glanced down the hallway in both directions, but B was nowhere in sight. It was as though he were never even here.

Something occurred to her in that moment, something that she had forgotten about in the heat of the moment but which now made her blood run cold.

"Near! Itzel!" she called, desperation lacing her voice as the scent of burnt hair drifted to her on the wind. "Where are you? Near—" A coughing fit seized her then, courtesy of the smoke and ash in the air, as well as the toxic gases produced by the hungry flames she had seen on the camera screen.

Where are the others? Did they get out already? Were they caught too close to the flames like Mello? Mello…

"Lana."

The dark-haired woman whipped around at the sound of her name and almost collided with Near. The boy stood directly behind her, his usual brand of stoicism for the first time causing her to feel more thankful than anything else.

"Near," she said breathlessly, some of her anxiety blending into minor relief. "Are you okay?"

The white-haired boy nodded, looking no worse for wear aside from the ash that tainted his hair.

"Don't forget about us too, girly!"

The scarred woman could have cried when she saw Itzel sauntering up behind Near. However, relief turned quickly to confusion when she took note of who accompanied the Hispanic woman: a man who she hadn't seen in a long time, who for all she knew was long dead, was helping Itzel carry someone.

Lana's jaw dropped. "Mogi?"

The bulky ex-cop nodded towards her in greeting, but remained focused on the body he was carrying. The woman's attention was drawn to the unconscious person as well; she narrowed her eyes at the limp form, searching for a clue as to identity despite the fact that she knew it could only be one person.

She just didn't want to believe it.

Black clothing was criss-crossed with patches of angry red skin, some of it charred. The stench of burnt flesh and hair reached her nostrils at the same time that she caught a glimpse of blonde hair poking out from behind Itzel's torso. She couldn't see his face, but that hair and the boots that housed his feet were a dead giveaway.

"Mello," Lana choked out, horror dawning on her when she realized who it was. "Is he…dead?"

"Nope," Itzel said. "Found 'im in the hallway. He ain't doin' so good, though. He's burned pretty bad." The large woman grunted as she hefted the blonde's shoulders higher, causing his limp arms to wave morbidly toward the ground.

Lana almost threw up as the stench continued its assault on her nostrils. "Jesus," she said softly, covering her mouth and nose. She hated that smell with a passion.

"Where's everyone else?" Itzel asked. "We gotta get outta here before this place gets burnt through." The woman's eyes lingered towards the door, as did Mogi's and Near's, and her face tightened when she caught sight of the chaos inside the studio.

A pained groan issued from inside the room, pulling Lana back to reality.

"Matt!" she exclaimed, turning tail and running back into the studio. She narrowly avoided stepping on Mikami's body, which was lying halfway in front of the empty doorway. Once again, she felt sick to her stomach, and clenched her eyes shut as she nudged his corpse out of the way with her foot.

Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the brunette, who was trying unsuccessfully to stand. Mello's shotgun was lying on the ground a few feet away. Matt was on his knees beside the weapon; he must have collapsed right after she left the room.

With L's assistance, Matt had managed to get one foot planted on the ground, but he was balanced precariously on his knee. L had wrapped the other man's arm around his neck, and was trying without success to get him to his feet. Lana understood the hardship. Putting any sort of strain on Matt's upper body or abdomen—as standing up required—would undoubtedly jostle the knife that was embedded in his side. Any sort of movement probably hurt like hell. On the other hand, removing the knife would be suicide.

As she stared down at the pathetic scene, Matt glanced up at Lana with the most pained expression she had ever seen on a man's face—and she was sure that her horrified one was not doing anything to boost his morale. Shaking off her momentary paralysis, the scarred woman ran over to Matt's other side and knelt beside him. She propped his left arm around her neck, and wrapped her right one around his waist. Matt grunted in pain as her hand skimmed his ribcage, but gave not one word of protest.

"Near," L called out. The boy stepped into the room. "Grab as many bags of rations as you can carry. We must have food to survive on."

Completely ignoring Mikami's still body, Near did as he was told.

Lana took a deep breath. "Ready?" she said to L, who nodded back at her. The two stood up slowly, ignoring Matt's strained moans as they forced him to his feet.

"Sorry, Matt," Lana told him.

"It's fine," he gasped. "S'long as it's you helping me. Where…where's Mello?" He sounded disoriented when he spoke.

Lana's stomach sank. "He's…he's okay. Itzel found him. He's going to be okay." Saying such a thing made the woman feel like a liar, even if the blonde was still alive. She wasn't a doctor; she couldn't say for sure if he would pull through.

All she could do was lie and hope that she ended up being right.

The trio made it out the door behind Near, whose smaller form was almost swamped by the sheer amount of bags he had draped across his person. Lana nodded to Itzel, who kept a steady pace behind them as they shuffled hurriedly down the hall.

"Where's the emergency exit?" Lana asked of Matt, whose eyelids were already starting to droop.

"Down the hall…to the right. It's a flight of stairs…"

Dammit. He's already losing too much blood.

"Stay awake, idiot!" the woman snapped, her nerves eating away at her patience. "You can't afford to fall into a coma. Who else is going to rein in Mello when he goes apeshit, huh?" Her joke seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"He'll…be fine without me," Matt said, his voice growing fainter. "You'll be fine…"

Lana shook her head fiercely. "No! No I won't! Listen to me, Matt—I want you to stay alive. You aren't nearly old enough to be this goddamn cynical, all right? Do you hear me? Stay awake!"

L listened in absolute silence as the large group approached the staircase Matt had indicated—though, as she stared across the void at the brunette, willing him to remain conscious with mere words, Lana could not help but to notice the twinkle of emotion in his eye.

The journey downstairs was taxing on all of them and felt as though it took forever, especially considering the build-up of carbon monoxide in the air. Lana couldn't smell it, but she recognized the heavy feeling in her limbs and the dizzying sensation in her addled brain. She dimly recalled that most people who die in fires die because of smoke inhalation rather than the actual flames. The smoke gets you first, and the fire cleans up the mess afterwards…like a symbiotic relationship of death, the two worked hand in hand.

Don't panic, she told herself. Don't panic. Panicking leads to heavy breathing, heavy breathing leads to inhaling more air, and that leads to dying quicker…

Matt's weight seemed to double by the time they all made it downstairs. The dark-haired woman mentally thanked Near when the boy ran ahead of them and grabbed the heaviest object that he could lift—a small TV that sat unused on the front desk of the lobby. He hurled it through the window, taking out nearly the whole front of the building while he was at it. All of them, especially Itzel and Mogi, had to be extremely careful when walking through the gaping hole in order to avoid slicing themselves on the sharp glass.

When they were all outside, the group took a moment to stare forlornly up at the once-proud radio station. By this point, pillars of smoke were pouring from every second-floor window, and even some of the third-floor ones.

"I don't think a fire extinguisher woulda taken care a that," Itzel commented dryly.

"Don't have any," Matt said, his eyes lolling closed. "Cleared out by the time we got here."

"So there's nothing we can do," Mogi concluded.

"This is the end of Stripes," Near added, and L hummed thoughtfully.

"It appears so," the detective agreed.

The group took a moment of silence for the death of the station, a somber air hovering around all of them.

"So…" Lana said after a few seconds, "where are we gonna go now? I'm drawing a big fucking blank, and we need to get Mello and Matt some medical treatment." She shot a glance at the bloody hole in Matt's side, internally grimacing at the grisly wound.

"Don't worry," Mogi chimed in, meeting the young woman's gaze with a reassuring glance. "I know a safe place."

The group walked until the scorching sun settled overhead, and even then they did not stop. Intense heat seemed to slow their progress even further, as did the burden of carrying two severely injured men.

Sweat leaked from every pore on Lana's body—including areas that she didn't even know could sweat—and she had to fight just to keep Matt from sliding out of her grip. She grunted as the brunette stumbled over his own feet, nearly bringing both Lana and L down with him.

"Sorry," he said, his voice cracking on the apology. It reminded Lana of her own desperate need for water.

"Don't mention it," she replied.

As they walked, she felt shade roll over her body as someone stepped into line beside her. She glanced to the left to see Itzel, who had apparently switched the position of Mello's body. She had hooked her arms in the crook of his elbows, and his back was leaning on her own. His feet were still being held up by Mogi.

The scarred woman glanced away before she could catch a thorough glimpse of the blonde's face.

"How ya doin', girly?" the Hispanic woman asked.

Lana sighed. "How do you think?"

"Well ain't you a peach."

"Shut up."

Itzel cackled good-naturedly, but her mood grew somber when the laughter died down. "I was just askin'. You saw Mikami bite it, didn't ya?"

"...Yeah."

The older woman whistled. "That sucks. Shame we had to leave 'im behind."

"What was I supposed to do?" Lana snapped, her calm exterior bursting for a moment.

Itzel stared passively back at her. "Nothin'. That's all ya can do sometimes. But I know what you are, and I know yer gonna find a way to beat yourself up about it. Just know it ain't yer fault." The robust woman fell back behind her, resuming her pace from before.
Lana stared ahead, her mind stuck on Itzel's words.

Don't beat myself up about it? Like some nice words are going to do anything. Mikami died because none of us warned him. None of us even tried to stop B, except for Matt and Mello. Even when he didn't have a weapon, I still didn't do anything! Why? Why did L not want us to do anything? It was a perfect opportunity! And now, because we just stood there and did nothing while Matt and Mello risked their lives, Mikami is dead, and both of them got horribly injured. Don't beat myself up? I deserve more than that…I should be in Matt's place right now. I should've just grabbed the gun…all he did was try to help us from the very beginning, and now he and his best friend are suffering because of it.

The young woman glanced at L out of the corner of her eye, trying to glean any semblance of remorse from his orbs. Against her fervent hopes, she found nothing, only a cool, analytical pair of black irises that stayed rigidly on the path ahead.

How do you feel, L? Do you care about what happened? You say that you want to save the world, but what about us? Do you care that Matt and Mello might die? Or are they just pawns to you?

Is that what I am, too?

"Turn right onto the block up ahead," Mogi called from behind them, his booming voice snapping Lana out of her thoughts.

The group did as he said, and upon entering the block, the scarred woman had a strange feeling… This place felt familiar somehow, even though she was certain that she had never been here before. Every building was tall and elegant, with clinical appearances that gave off the same vibes as a hospital. Though the signs outside were old and depreciated, with overgrown weeds and dead grass concealing most of the words, Lana could not shake the impression that this place was important.

Then, as they wandered past one of the more prominent buildings, it occurred to her.

"I've seen this place before," she said breathlessly. "On TV…this is where all the scientists and forensic pathologists did their research when the virus broke out! It was all over the news—there were vans lined up all down the street just to talk to the Surgeon General!" Soichiro Yagami, she remembered. Light's father. Their family had been very popular with the public. She wondered if the great Surgeon General would be happy with his son if he had known what Light would become.

"Yes," Mogi responded. "It was the center of all the P.H.D. research. I was assigned to guard it on several occasions. Not exactly what you would think to be the safest place, but the security was tight."

"So these are all laboratories?" L asked, his eyes now taking on an interested gleam.

"Most of them," the bulky man said. "Some of them were quarantine facilities in the early days, and housed several infected people for research purposes. Now they're mostly empty, but I know for a fact that—"

"Mogi?!"

A few buildings down, Lana saw a man lingering outside. Upon catching sight of their group, his jaw went slack, and he ran toward them with reckless abandon. The dark-haired woman tensed, but her suspicion gave way to surprise when the young man's features came into view.

"Mogi!" he exclaimed again as he ran up to them. "It's you! I can't believe it! Aizawa told me that you were alive, but I never thought I—Emerson?" He caught sight of the scarred woman in the middle of his sentence. "What are you—and is that Ryuuzaki? Who are all these people? What's going on?"

Lana grinned at the man's obvious confusion. "Hey there, Matsuda…you fucking idiot."

And so now everyone meets up! Well, at least the good guys. This story ain't over yet! There are still more things that have to be addressed. It kind of sucks that the radio station is gone, isn't it? But hey, at least they got to meet up with Matsuda and the others because of it!

So what did you guys think of this chapter? Too fast? Too slow? Are you disappointed that we didn't get to see more crazy action from B? Well, don't be. His time will come. :)

—Vicious Ventriloquist