Author's Note: Well, I posted this earlier than I thought I was going to. I guess I just really got in the zone with this chapter. If it's terrible then blame my cracked-out behavior over the past few days. (Not literally. It's the caffeine.)

Just kidding. If it's terrible, blame me. Coffee is my friend.

To WildfireDreams: Here you go :)

To garnet86: That's what I was going for, though I hope it wasn't too fast-paced. I mean, the climax of a story is almost always either fast-paced or slower moving compared to the rest of it, but I hope I do this one justice. And yes, Lana did get the short end of the stick in this one. Hopefully there will be some improvement in her situation.

To version15: Yes, yes she is, unfortunately. This is indeed the beginning of the end! I can't wait to post the ending. I really hope you guys like it!

RaspberryDiamonds: WHAAAT? How could you wish for such a horrible thing? That would be so tragic. (Though admittedly not so much more tragic than anything that's happened so far, lol.)

Warnings: Violence, Blood/Gore, Profanity.

Chapter 36: Unplanned Rendezvous

Soichiro pedaled faster down the street, his heart racing all the while. His surroundings whipped by him, every building blending into a mishmash of bleached colors with little clarity by which to tell them apart. His breath came in short bursts, but he still forced himself to increase his speed.

Come on, he thought, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. He desperately pumped his legs harder, as though he were trying to outrun time itself.

In a way, that was literally what he was doing; he didn't consider the possible futility of his actions, however. He was far too focused on his current goal.

Just a little bit faster, he told himself. I have no time to waste. I have to get to the others before it's too late…

Soichiro comforted himself with these thoughts, however morbid they might be; they took his mind off of the bleak atmosphere, away from the very real possibility that if he were to falter in his resolve it would only be another mark added to his copious list of failures. He didn't want to have to add another to the list; at this point in his life, it would only be adding insult to injury—and it would cost the lives of several innocent others, no less. In a way, this endeavor was selfish, but in the same vein Soichiro also shuddered to think that another young person would lose their life to save others.

Saving the lives of civilians was supposed to be his job. That was why he had stayed behind in the first place, and that was why he continued to train Sayu in his profession after Light had left. How could he, a grown man with a lifetime of experience behind him, allow a young man like Ryuuzaki, as well as everyone else, to throw their lives away? Even if it was to save Lana's and stop a deranged man, he would never be able to sleep well again—not that he did anyway—if even one of them were to die.

It just didn't sit right with him.

As he passed them by, even the rows of houses and miscellaneous buildings looked the same; he was going far too fast to see them clearly, but at the same time the scientist stayed hyper-vigilant, always trying to spot any abnormalities or objects that stood out in one way or another. He knew that this was what Ryuuzaki would have done, and that in order to find out where he and the others had went he would need to locate any clues as to their whereabouts.

Right now, all he needed was a sign; anything would do, even if it were a message hastily scrawled on the street or a blank wall. At the very least, he should be able to track them to wherever they had gone.

Yet the prospect of that happening was beginning to look impossible to the older man. All he had seen so far were a dead body and several large bloodstains on a collapsed building; nothing particularly interesting.

Still, Soichiro knew he couldn't complain, nor did he have the right to. He had been fairly lucky on his journey thus far, and had come close to death a few times. This happened when he passed by some infected people—a cluster of them had been grouped in a back alley—but he had ultimately managed to evade them. They had come at him with less than friendly intentions, and the older man knew that he had no choice but to run.

He was extremely fortunate to have found the bike. When he had stumbled upon it in his haste to escape from the infected victims, he had taken full advantage of the opportunity. It had been a snap decision to pull it out of the rubble of a collapsed building, and had the bike been nonfunctional he surely would have been killed.

But it hadn't been; the bike was fine, and as soon as he righted himself Soichiro had hightailed it out of there. He felt terrible for doing so—in many ways, he felt as though he were abandoning the victims, even though he knew there was nothing to be done for them at this point.

Yet, at the same time, he knew that he had no choice. If he didn't leave and go find the others, then they would perish—or at least some of them would. Whether it would be due to PHD infection or attacks by B, Soichiro was unable to predict; but if he were able to prevent at least one of those outcomes entirely, he would give it his all.

And this was, of course, why he refused to complain as he pedaled with increasing fury in his attempt to pick up speed. He had finally been granted an opportunity to do something that was more than futile; if his concoction worked, it had the potential to turn this whole hopeless situation around. Everyone who was still living here, who was still trapped in a monotonous cycle of misery, could be saved.

Indeed, the entire world could be saved.

And then, if this were the case, perhaps he would feel that he had accomplished his goal of making the world a better place. Perhaps then, he would no longer feel the need to atone for all his past mistakes.

Perhaps then…his daughter would finally be able to live the rest of her life in relative peace. After everything that had happened, it was far less than what she deserved, but Soichiro knew he couldn't turn back time no matter how much he wanted to spare her the pain. This was the closest thing to it.

That was why he needed to find Ryuuzaki. If he did, he could inject him and all the others. If he did, he might be able to contact the outside world and tell them of his discovery. If he did, Soichiro had faith that everything would turn out all right. Their lives had been uprooted beyond easy repair, but this was a positive start.

Now all he had to do was search for a sign.

The pair took off their surgical masks as soon as they went inside, and L immediately understood that doing so was a mistake.

The stench became particularly nauseating when they left the office, and L knew why the instant they did. It was hard not to know or recognize the smell, having grown increasingly accustomed to all varieties of human-produced scents over the course of the last few months. This one was just more…personal than most, most likely because of its ill connotation.

Indeed, L thought, there was nothing quite like the scent of humans that could make another human sick to his or her stomach.

Mello obviously noticed the stench as well, because the blonde man's nose scrunched up with blatant distaste. Had someone with a weaker stomach been in here, he or she might have vomited all over the floor—and, in all honesty, the detective would have preferred that smell.

Mello covered his mouth and nose on instinct, a move that L saw no need to mimic given the sheer pervasiveness of said stench. It would hardly get rid of the smell if he were to attempt to smother it, so he did nothing but stare at the hallway ahead of them. The blonde was wise not to say anything out loud, but the detective already knew what he was thinking; he was sure that it was the same thought he had.

A deceased corpse—or several—is located somewhere in this building, probably on this floor or the one below. They must have been here for a long time, or at the very least put out in the sun for a few days. The thought of B keeping dead bodies nearby was certainly unnerving, but L took a morbid degree of comfort in the fact that one of the bodies could not be Lana. He had heard her scream only minutes ago, after all, and had not seen or heard anyone moving downstairs since that time. Had B been carrying another person, his presence should have been obvious.

L's ears perked up as a distant noise sounded above him, breaking through the endless clatter brought upon them by Matsuda and Misa. It was a dull thud, one that was accompanied by a string of annoyed murmurs. The detective's eyes widened as he heard them, and hope crested in his heart.

Could that be her? Yes, but it's too quiet to tell if that is Lana's voice. Given the circumstances, I would say that there is a high probability that it is her. If so, then she is at least healthy enough to speak—though this doesn't mean she is not in danger. We will have to find B quickly.

He nudged Mello with his elbow in a silent bid to get the man's attention; the blonde turned to look at him with questioning blue eyes, raising his eyebrows as though asking what was going on. Without making a sound, L pointed his finger towards the ceiling, and then redirected it towards his ear so as to mimic the act of listening. In the distance, he could still hear someone moving around upstairs, and he fervently hoped that Mello could hear it too; though the detective trusted his own instincts, he would prefer to have verification from the other man. At this point he was wary of trusting himself; given recent events, L understood that he might be emotionally compromised and simply hearing what he wanted to hear.

However, there was no need to worry; the blonde's eyes widened as more aimless muttering followed. Mello mouthed a single word at him.

Lana?

L narrowed his eyes, nodding grimly as the person above let out a low-pitched moan. Even so, they continued on their way.

Basic instinct (and a convenient sign) told the detective that the staircase was located at the end of the hallway. Both men were mindful of their footsteps and the noises around them as they made their way towards the stairwell, and they tried to keep as silent and stealthy as possible.

But for as silent as they were and had been, there was someone else who was even stealthier.

As the pair approached the stairs, a man stepped out in front of them. Both L and Mello froze in their tracks, and their bodies immediately tensed as they saw who it was. Hands dove for the scalpels hidden in their sleeves, and they waited with bated breath for him to make the first move.

It was strange, L thought. Even now, as he laid eyes upon the man, he almost felt as though he were looking into a mirror. He was calm and relaxed, completely at ease with his surroundings. It was as though he didn't have a care in the world, as though he could see everything for what it was just by looking at it.

And the shaggy hair didn't offset the resemblance much, either—it did quite the opposite.

I did not expect him to approach us so calmly…what is he doing?

Meanwhile, as L pondered, Beyond Birthday stood passively in front of them; for all that the detective could see, he was clearly unbothered by the whole situation. Running across his proclaimed enemy did nothing to outwardly alarm him. His hands rested comfortably in his pockets, and it took a moment for an alarm bell to go off in his head.

No, he thought, he must have something on him. A weapon, maybe—perhaps it's a knife. Either way, we cannot get too close to him unless we are willing to risk injury. We shouldn't underestimate him after last time…

"You bastard!"

L thrust his arm out as Mello lunged forward, using the other hand to pull him back harshly; the blonde looked ready to fight the serial killer, his teeth bared and weapon at the ready.

Without needing to think it through, the detective knew this was a bad idea.

"Stop, Mello."

Though said man looked irate, he did as L asked. He didn't look too happy about it, not that the detective could blame him.

In the meantime, L stared intensely at his previous successor, trying to overcome the onslaught of memories that ran through his mind as he did so. Just like the last time he had seen him, it felt as though he were staring at a ghost. Though B had changed in appearance quite a lot, his current state rang true to what L had expected from him after he left Wammy's.

It was awful. It was as though B was still B, but at the same time, he wasn't quite...human. It was difficult to describe, and he wondered if the serial killer was able to see the change in himself as well. L doubted that B saw anything negative about how he had changed; if he had, he would not be here, staring at his mentor with eyes that had seen death far too many times to care any longer. His eyes…they were hollow and dark, filled with worldly misery that had been present ever since A's death. He had been too young then—even now, he was still too young.

They all were.

He had tried not to think about it too much, about the inevitable result of his life's work consisting of nothing but death and crime, for he knew that it would only speed up the demise of his career. But now, seeing B brought that all back—it reminded him of what happened, of the worst-case scenario involved in L's profession. B was only in his twenties, after all, and already his life had taken a turn he could not come back from.

And L found that, now that he thought about it…it hurt. It hurt to remember what had once been, though once upon a time A's death and B's defection had seemed to be little more than a nuisance.

How wrong he had been.

Though it pained him to admit it now, hindsight was twenty-twenty.

"B," he said, his calm tone not betraying his internal conflict. Goosebumps raised on his arms as B smiled, his grin slowly overtaking his face. It was an unnerving expression, to say the least.

"Hello, L." His voice was empty. His hand flexed in his pocket, and L's eyes grew to ungodly proportions as he realized what he was doing.

He grabbed Mello's arm and pulled the other man backwards—but the action was pointless. It was already too late to get away.

The can from B's pocket flew towards them in what felt like slow motion, but the pair still couldn't get away fast enough. It landed on the ground beside their feet, bouncing once before settling on the linoleum.

Not even seconds later, it went off, and the hall filled rapidly with gas. L's vision was obscured, and his senses were nearly overwhelmed as the smoke spread everywhere. He stumbled backwards, realizing too late what it was.

It was tear gas.

Matt looked worried. This came as no surprise to Itzel, since his best friend and crush was inside the school with a damn serial killer.

Anyone would be freaked out right now.

Itzel understood perfectly well what the brunette was going through; she felt much the same. Her best friend was also trapped in there, after all—this time intentionally. She rightly figured that it was L who had told Matt to close the window. Only he would ask him to do something so royally fucked up; the guy was probably feeling guilty as hell.

So, on another level, the Hispanic woman really didn't understand what Matt was feeling. She had felt guilt and shame several times, to be certain, but she had never intentionally done anything to harm those she cared about…at least not in such a direct way. She hadn't been the one to close the damn window; Matt had. She wasn't the one who had been asked to trap two people whom she cared deeply for in a building with a complete psychopath inside.

"Matt," she said, "you okay?"

The brunette looked over at her, his forlorn gaze shifting from the window to her; he was probably surprised that she had called him by his name for a change. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I'm fine. Thanks." He promptly went back to ignoring her.

Itzel sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "Well that's good, cause you look like yer gonna burn a hole in that window if you keep starin' at it."

Sarcasm aside, the brunette seemed to genuinely appreciate her attempt to distract him. He faced her again, this time with a snarky gleam in his eye. "I get what you're trying to do, but I don't need it. You always act like you can solve everyone's problems, but sometimes you can't. Talking about it doesn't always help. Our friends are trapped in that school with a monster, a guy who's been doing God knows what to Lana for a few days. You can try to make me feel better, but it's not working. Thanks for trying, though. It was worth a shot, I guess."

Matt's eyes softened as he looked back at the window, and she could tell he was smiling even beneath the mask. Itzel knew it was a nervous smile, though—not a happy one.

"You know, Itzel…" he said, his green eyes gleaming, "you're really—what the hell?"

His abrupt change in tone was alarming, and Itzel followed his eyes back to the window. Sure enough, what she saw made her jaw drop.

"What is that?" Mogi asked. "Is it what I think it is?"

A gaseous white cloud flared up inside the building; it was visible through the window, and completely obscured the objects inside. Though it couldn't fully get through the glass, there were several small puffs of smoke that managed to make it through. They slipped through the miniscule cracks between the window and the frame, and filtered into the outside air. Most of it floated upwards, dissipating not far from the top of the building, but some of it floated down to Itzel.

This doesn't look good… She hesitantly reached up and pulled away part of her mask. With little more than a whiff of the smoke, Itzel violently sneezed, and she put the mask back on as fast as she could. Her throat itched and her eyes burned as she inhaled the smoke, and she coughed repeatedly in an attempt to get rid of the sensation.

"Dammit," Mogi cursed.

"Itzel?" Matt asked worriedly. "What is that stuff?"

"Tear gas," she choked out, tightening the surgical mask over her mouth and nose. "Make sure yer mouths and noses are fully covered. You don't want this shit in your lungs."

"Tear gas?" Matt exclaimed, his eyes wild with panic. "He used tear gas on them? We have to do something!"

"Do what? You wanna open the window and let all of it out here?"

The brunette was at a loss for words, and the Hispanic woman didn't blame him. This situation was truly shitty.

"Listen, Matt, I know you want to save those guys, but L gave us a job to do. I wanna bust in there as badly as the next guy, but I can't. It'd only cause more trouble, and fer all we know doin' that would be as good as suicide. We just hafta sit here and trust them with the rest." She sent Matt a comforting grin, one that was only visible due to the crinkles around her eyes. "I'm sure they'll be fine, ya know. They'll bounce back."

If it hadn't been for the smoke, Soichiro was certain that he would have missed them.

In hindsight it was remarkably unwise for him to leave his laboratory in search of the others without even knowing where they were. Leaving without sufficient supplies was bad enough, but he reasoned that he probably wouldn't be stopping anyway. With the added speed of the bike, he would surely be able to catch up to them with little trouble.

Still, leaving was far too impulsive for his taste, but at the same time it seemed logical—or, if not logical, then necessary. In any case, as he pedaled down the street, Soichiro saw something that caught his attention.

It was barely a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. It was just a passing puff of white smoke that rose above the building to his left and quickly dissipated. If it were any other day, he would have ignored it, but today this puff of smoke was all he had to go by. It was the only abnormal sight he had seen all day, and was therefore the only clue he had as to the others' whereabouts. On top of this, Soichiro knew that smoke could be caused by a scant few things in this day and age; it could be created by a fire, an explosion, and not much else—and both of these occurrences, he reasoned, were almost always instigated by humans.

Without another moment of thought, the older man turned the corner up ahead in pursuit of the elusive smoke.

But when he did, he ran into another host of problems.

Whether by coincidence or not, the street he turned onto was crowded with the infected. They loitered on the sidewalks and in the street; some of them were heading towards the building that was leaking gas, but most instead opted to stay and quarrel amongst themselves. Furious backtalk, screams, and the occasional string of curses fell from their mouths as they stood off against one another, but Soichiro's arrival distracted them.

Several pairs of crazed eyes turned towards him as he road into the street, and the older man slammed down on the brakes as fast as he could. Evidently, if the looks on their faces were a reliable judge, they saw him as either a more threatening or fruitful target than others like them.

"Hey, old man!" one of them yelled, his greasy hair causing Soichiro to mentally recoil. "Get the fuck outta here!"

A few others seemed to agree with him, though most continued on with what they were doing.

"Did you hear me?"

"—tear your fucking limbs off—"

Dammit. Soichiro hesitated as he continued to look on in horror at the commotion. The remaining aspects of humanity he saw in them unnerved him. Even if they were filthy, gaunt, and aggressive, they were still alive; they were still humans. The disease had not progressed very far; they still retained most of their awareness, though some of them were clearly past the point of logical reason. None of them appeared to be coughing too violently—though admittedly the coughing was more of a prelude to mental deterioration. It tended to lay dormant for a while before total lung failure set in. Even so, he could not help but wonder…

If I injected them, could they be saved?

Unfortunately, he didn't have a chance to find out.

The first man who had addressed him started walking towards him, and others soon followed in his wake. Some of them stumbled, while others moved disconcertingly fast—and, against his conscience, Soichiro bolted.

He plowed through the crowd at full speed, flinching as he registered the cries of pain and fury that followed. He just kept pedaling forward, ignoring the guilt that gnawed at him for leaving them behind; he knew that he had no choice in the matter.

Yet, to his utter horror, he was unable to completely shake them off. Several of them began following him, their cries of outrage causing sweat to bead on his brow. He tried in vain to pedal faster, hoping that he would be able to shake them off his tail eventually.

He didn't look back.

"What the fuck?"

L ignored Mello's profane language; he was too focused on the immediate threat—the tear gas that B had just unleashed upon them. As the smoke engulfed them, the blonde devolved into a coughing fit.

"Mello," the detective said. "Your mask."

The other man nodded, and the two hurriedly placed their surgical masks back over their faces. It helped a bit, but not by much; not enough to get rid of the horrible burning sensation. The gas still stung their eyes, nose, and throats to a near-unbearable degree, and it was even able to seep through the mask somewhat. It was reminiscent of the many times he had been exposed to the substance, when it had been used by the police to barbarically drive civilians away during political demonstrations. However, during those times he had been far enough away to only receive a mild itching in his throat.

This was far beyond that. It was horrible. Even so, having the masks on was better than nothing.

Where is B? Did he run away? L was having a difficult time getting his thoughts straight. The tear gas was an effective distraction, if that was what B was going for. He was certain that it was. Though this substance could kill if inhaled for a long period of time or if the victim's body was unequipped to deal with it, B would not rely on such a hit-or-miss way of killing him—nor would it satisfy him to do so. Was he just playing another game?

If so, they had better play along.

L tugged on Mello's arm and made a motion to pull him farther into the spreading cloud.

"Are you crazy?" the blonde yelled back, searching the detective's eyes. Mello shook his head in disbelief when he saw that he was dead serious, but did as L instructed.

The pair barged through the thick cloud, and began to cough uncontrollably. Their eyes burned and watered, and their throats and sinuses itched relentlessly. Mello released a sneeze from beside him, and distantly L felt his skin begin to throb in irritation. It was a struggle just to breathe, and both of them tried valiantly to hold their breath. Doing so only incited another round of coughing, anyway.

They made it to the staircase after what seemed like forever; Mello slammed the door shut violently, cutting off most of the gas and providing partial instant relief. A persistent itch remained in their eyes and throats, and the both of them rubbed their eyes before opening them. L's vision was blurry at first, and he idly remembered that exposure to tear gas could cause temporary blindness. He supposed this could be worse.

And all the while, B was nowhere to be found.

The two made it upstairs in record time; they bypassed the third floor, as per L's instructions not to waste time, and emerged onto the fourth level with fresh paranoia and in a more bearable physical state. Being gassed was certainly an experience he could have done without.

Mello left the stairwell before the detective, casting a suspicious glance in both directions before making a safe motion with one hand. L joined him, noting with some appreciation that the stench of decomposing corpses was not prevalent here. It made the experience more tolerable.

The detective chewed on his thumbnail as he looked around at all of the doors. The subtle noises he had heard earlier had halted for the moment, but he wanted to avoid checking all of the rooms. Yet aside from asking aloud if anyone was there, listening for a hint as to the person's presence seemed to be the only option.

This time, the sounds were much closer. Frustrated mutters issued from the door at the end of the hall, and written on the wood was the title:

CHEM LAB A

L nudged Mello, who nodded stiffly. The pair kept their eyes and ears open, and headed slowly towards the door.

As the trio continued to wait in ever-increasing tension, Itzel heard something in the distance that made her stomach churn with unease. Remote shouts reached her ears, most of which were burdened with audible rage. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she reasoned that it wasn't anything good. This much she knew; in this world, quiet was equivalent to safety.

And of course, screaming could only mean one thing.

"They're coming," she said out loud as she got to her feet, brandishing her scalpel.

"Who?" Matt asked.

"The infected—probably a lot of them. I can hear them coming this way."

Both Mogi and Matt tensed, and they too got their scalpels out.

"How did they find us?"

"Fuck if I know. We made sure to steer clear of 'em on our way here. Somethin' else must be drawing 'em closer. Maybe the gas."

"Damn."

"Tell me about it."

Their group fell silent, and in the absence of any other choice they did the only thing they could.

They waited.

The voices grew progressively louder and more menacing as their owners drew closer, and Itzel mentally prepared herself. Where the infected went, unspeakable horrors usually followed, regardless of whether the victims were healthy or not.

But nothing could have prepared the large woman for this.

She almost couldn't believe her eyes as Soichiro blasted full-speed onto the street; the bike he was riding came to a screeching halt when he saw them in the alley. Itzel didn't even have time to wonder where he had gotten it.

She merely stared in shocked disbelief at the veritable horde that was following him; they lagged behind a bit, but it was obvious that they had been following him all this way. And, to her horror, one of them possessed remarkable stamina. Before either her or Mogi could gather their wits, an infected man sprinted over to the scientist. His eyes and yellowing teeth yawned wide as he bore down on the unsuspecting man.

Itzel had never seen Mogi move faster in all her life. The ex-police officer bolted over to Soichiro in record time and kicked away the infected man with one heavy foot. But soon enough, more took his place, and Itzel stared in stark horror as Mogi began to hack mercilessly at the ones who approached them.

To his credit, Soichiro tried to help; though he hesitated at first, he retrieved two scalpels from the small pocket on his backpack, and began tearing through those who tried to attack him and Mogi. They aimed for eyes and throats, and the ones who were hit tended to fall back immediately. Despite their small size, the scalpels weren't totally ineffective; when the crazies saw the sharp objects, they hesitated, maintaining a reasonably safe distance but still refusing to back down. A few of the braver ones even swiped at them with long-nailed fingers.

"Dammit," Itzel hissed, looking down at Matt with concern. He couldn't fight effectively in his condition; he would probably only get himself either hurt worse or killed. She was staunchly opposed to letting him stay here by himself, however, where he would only be a sitting duck. If some of the infected people saw him, he was all but dead—and then, so was everyone else. Idly, she hoped that Matsuda and Misa were on the other side of the building right now.

As she continued to watch Mogi and Soichiro take on what amounted to a small militia by themselves, her guilt and idleness began to weigh on her. She had to just sit here and do nothing because it was her job to protect Matt, just as she had told him earlier. Right now, she had to place all her trust in both him and herself, and hope that the two men would be able to hold off the horde.

But even she was susceptible to hypocrisy.

Without a word to the brunette, Itzel sprinted towards the fray.

"Itzel! What the hell are you doing?!"

She dove into the chaos scalpel-first, hacking, sawing, and kicking at everything in her path that wasn't her two allies. She closed her eyes as blood sprayed her, and thanked her lucky stars that she was wearing a mask.

But no matter what they did, it seemed to be of no use. No matter how many people the three of them cut down, more just came up to take their place. It was, by all appearances, a hopeless situation.

Itzel started when she saw Matt pull himself to his feet out of the corner of her eye. He held his scalpel up in a defensive posture, and began to walk towards them. The Hispanic woman spun around to face him, fury etched on her features.

"You damn idiot! Stay there!"

"Itzel! Watch out!"

Her eyes widened as she turned back around only to see a haggard young woman bearing down on her; she held a large shard of glass in her hand, and judging by the way she gripped it she was aiming to pierce Itzel's throat.

Is this it?

He moved too fast for her to see. All she saw at first was the sickening spray of arterial blood as the man jumped in front of her. Itzel caught him as he fell back against her, and her hands shook as she saw the wide gash in the side of his throat.

"Oh God…" she said, her voice shaking. "No!"

It took her forever to find the door. It wasn't that she was totally blind, but she was certainly having a difficult time trying to find a door that practically matched the shade of the walls around it. Only being able to see prominent shapes and silhouettes posed more of a problem than she cared to admit.

Suffice it to say, Lana was not amused by her disability. She supposed it might be comical for others to watch her feel her way unsuccessfully around a room, but being on the receiving end was humiliating.

But finally, after a few minutes of searching, the scarred woman managed to find it—and promptly released a string of curses when she realized that it was locked from the outside. Someone else would have to open it for her, and she knew without a doubt that B had the key. How else would he have gotten inside in the first place?

"Dammit," she said, jiggling the doorknob in frustration. "This is such bullshit…" Lana trailed off as she heard a noise outside the door; her ears pricked up when she registered what sounded like footsteps just down the hall. Maybe she was being biased, but the dark-haired woman swore that her hearing was more acute without the benefit of sight. She could be mistaken, though; was it true that people who go blind gain better hearing? If so, wouldn't that take some time to develop?

She didn't really feel like pondering it at the moment but, just to be safe, she decided to take a chance and trust her senses.
"Hello?" she called, pressing her ear to the door. "Is someone there?" Besides B…

"Lana?"

Said woman found herself lightheaded from relief when she recognized the voice that answered her, and she drew in a sharp breath. "M-Mello?" she gasped, pressing herself as close to the door as possible. "What the hell are you doing here? Why would you—"

"Lana."

She froze when someone else addressed her, and her stomach churned. She would know that voice anywhere. A sad smile settled upon her lips. "L…"

He had actually come for her; she almost couldn't believe it, despite the assurances she had given herself before. Right now, B's warnings about the detective seemed too distant for her to care.

L—and Mello—was here. That was all that mattered.

But then, Lana's blood froze over when she heard another voice outside the door.

"Why, look at that. Isn't it generous of me to reunite you? I'm not completely heartless, after all."

The woman inwardly cursed as B's voice drifted closer, but she knew she didn't have the right to be surprised at this point. Today's outcome would decide all of their fates, she realized.

This was it.

That seems like a good place to end it, right? I don't know how much longer this story will be. Let me take a guess; including the epilogue, I'll say that this story will be around four or five more chapters.

Thanks for reading!

—Vicious Ventriloquist