Author's Note: I feel kind of bad leaving you with that cliffhanger last chapter. I hope this one makes up for it! Holy shit, we are really nearing the end of this story now!

To WildfireDreams: I make no promises! You'll just have to wait and see who makes it through :)

To garnet86: Thanks a lot :) I tried to make the different POVs as intense as possible under the circumstances, and it was actually quite difficult. I wanted to add more to the chapter but had to stop myself for the sake of plot efficiency! Hope you like this one too!

To version15: I'm a bit evil when it comes to cliffhangers, haha. I'm glad you liked the last chapter, and that you felt it wasn't too cramped or anything. It's easy to make a story feel rushed when you have a lot of things going on at the same time.

Warnings: Violence, Blood/Gore, Profanity, Mature Content.

Chapter 37: Deadlock

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

The man slumped against her, his body now mostly dead weight. She heard him gasping for air, so she knew he wasn't dead; he was probably in shock. It was no wonder, she thought cynically; being stabbed in the throat no doubt took a toll on him.

What do I do? Time seemed to slow down as she eyed the wound with increasing terror. The chaos around her paled in comparison to what she was looking at, and she dimly realized that there really wasn't much that could be done. She stared in horror as blood bloomed across the collar of his shirt like a morbid flower, but tried her best to keep herself from collapsing beneath his weight. Her mistakes wouldn't do anybody good.

The world sped up once more when Itzel saw Mogi dive in front of her, slicing across the eyes of one of the infected whom had been about to attack her. She momentarily cursed her stupidity as she jolted back into awareness, and began to drag him backwards. As she did so, she couldn't help but ask him a question.

"Mr. Yagami…" she whispered, speaking more to herself than him, "what were you thinking…?" Why did you try to save me…?

The indisposed scientist didn't answer her, nor did she expect him to in his state. Itzel almost lost what little food there was in her stomach when a bead of blood bubbled up out of his lips.

Thankfully, Matt hadn't made it in time to become a target for the infected; instead, he guarded the both of them from any stragglers that Mogi missed as the Hispanic woman dragged Soichiro into the alley and away from the fray. But even with the brunette frantically waving his knife around and staving off most of them, it wasn't anywhere near enough. No matter how hard he tried, Matt's determination couldn't change the fact that he was still injured and unable to keep up the same stamina that Mogi possessed. If they had been having a difficult time before Soichiro had been stabbed, now the situation seemed all but impossible. With both the Surgeon General and Itzel now indisposed, the burden of driving away their attackers fell mostly on the shoulders of the ex-police officer. There was no way in hell Mogi could keep up that pace for long enough to get rid of all of them…

We're so fucked…

As Itzel meandered back towards the window, stumbling with Soichiro's added weight, she felt air whoosh by her; she did a double take as a familiar man flew past her and Matt, not missing a step as he all but dove into battle.

Matsuda barely glanced her way as he rushed to join Mogi in the fight, but she heard him call back to her and Matt.

"You guys hang tight! Help them, Misa—Mogi and I got this!"

Damn…Itzel thought, allowing herself to be briefly amazed by the unexpected turn in events. And here I was hopin' that he'd be safe somewhere else…that kid's got guts.

The large woman sighed in relief as some of Soichiro's dead weight was alleviated by the unprecedented arrival of Misa, who smiled at her as though they weren't in the middle of what amounted to a war zone.

"Hey, guys!" she said, casting glances at both Itzel and Matt. "Misa-Misa's here to help you! We heard the screams and came to help as fast as we could!"

Matt stood guard in front of them as Misa and Itzel sat Soichiro down against the wall. The Hispanic woman removed his backpack so as to ease his discomfort, though the thought that this would make a difference nearly caused her to burst out laughing. Oh, well—it was the least she could do at this point. There was no real way to repay him for saving her skin back there unless she somehow got the ability to sew up jugular wounds without the use of sterilized equipment—or equipment in general.

"Take it easy," she whispered, leaning his head back against the brick wall; guilt seared through her at the obvious grimace on the man's face. "I gotta take a look, Mr. Yagami…"

She almost wished she hadn't. As soon as she saw the wound, Itzel cursed out loud. The glass shard that had pierced him protruded grotesquely from his neck; it was even somewhat difficult for her to see, for it was all but soaked in his blood. Though the object stemmed most of the blood flow from the wound, she knew that this wasn't much help. Judging by the significant and growing stain on his shirt, she figured that even if they could leave the shard in he wouldn't be able to make it.

If he didn't get proper medical attention, he was going to die—and all because he had saved her.

"Dammit," she hissed, hating the feeling of utter helplessness that possessed her. "What do I do?"

Even the perpetually cheerful Misa was at a loss for encouraging words. All that remained on her face was a heavy frown, just like Matt's.

As Itzel began to drive herself into a panicked corner, Soichiro's eyes fluttered open. He grit his teeth against the pain, and opened his mouth as if to speak. When he did, his throat flexed, and a heavy gush of blood flowed from his wound.

"You shouldn't talk, sir—"

"Don't do anything for me, young woman," the man told her, his voice raspy and weak. Itzel flinched as he coughed up a handful of blood.

"Please, stop talking…"

"Listen," he forced out, ignoring the obvious agony he was putting himself in by doing so. "Forget about me. I'm an old man…I know a lost cause when I see one. You have to…take my bag…there are syringes and a full vial inside…"

"What are you talkin' about?"

The scientist paused for a moment; his words seemed to be caught in his throat, and Itzel felt her stomach sink as he started to cough up more blood.

"I…" he began, his voice now but a dry wheeze. "I found a…a cure. For the virus…it's in my bag…please, take it…"

The woman's eyes widened, as did both Misa and Matt's. "A cure? You can't be serious…"

Soichiro nodded, gritting his teeth in pain. "You all must inject yourselves with it. Sayu…Sayu has the formula. I left it with her…please, do it now. Save yourselves…and make sure you all get another chance at life…"

His eyes slid closed again, but this time, they didn't open. His features relaxed, and his pained grimace became an impassive one.

"Mr. Yagami?" Itzel tried to rouse him by shaking his shoulders, but all to no avail; he didn't respond to her attempts, though she could clearly see the rise and fall of his chest. "Dammit! Don't you die on us now! What about yer daughter, eh? What about her? Mr. Yagami!"

As he stood before B, L could not help but to wonder what the other man was going to do this time. He knew him well enough to understand that he always had a trick up his sleeve in one way or another; he was the same as him in that regard, no matter how much he didn't want to admit it. Would he throw another tear gas grenade at them, inciting another wild chase down the hallways? Or would he use the opportunity to catch them off guard, even if it meant hurting himself as well?

Or, L thought, would B continue to stare at him and Mello with the same look a lion would give his prey, as though he would like nothing better than to kill them and feast on their primal fear? Did he want them to make a move, to strike out at him first so that he could use a hidden maneuver on them?

It could be any one of those scenarios, but L reasoned that this was no time to become paranoid of B's intentions. It was obvious that the serial killer wanted him dead, so there was really nothing else he could learn at this point that would unhinge him more than he already was. Instead of backing away, he raised his head high and stared down his former successor.

"Are you going to face me this time, B? I assumed you would want to confront me as an equal. I am the one you want, correct? If so, then there is no need for all the theatrics."

B sported a genuine smile at that, and the sight of it made the detective's skin crawl. "I was never not going to face you. Contrary to what the British government may have told you, you were always my main motivation from the beginning. Or...perhaps not my motivation, but at least my catalyst. You allowed me to see the world for what it really was. Even before I knew that you came here, I thought about you every day…about how you would pay dearly when my plans finally unfolded."

"About that…" L interrupted. "It seems a bit difficult to carry through with your so-called plans, don't you think? If I am correct in my assessment, then it seems as though you wish to spread the virus. At least, that was Naomi Misora's belief, and I echo her sentiment. How do you plan on getting back to civilization?"

"A trivial concern, L. I'm surprised at you. Anyone with half a functioning brain can use a raft or even an intact boat. All I need is to get to South America. From there, the virus should spread quite beautifully…"

"But why even bother, when the object of your hatred is me?"

B smiled brokenly, the humor in his dark eyes now underlain by what the detective recognized as, to his shock, sadness.

"It's such a shame, isn't it…" he whispers, his eyes possessing a distant sheen, "…when your entire world crumbles around you?"

L raised an eyebrow.

"As I said before, I thought about you every day. I knew that, even if you didn't come here yourself, someone else would be sent to stop me. That's the kind of person you are. Even if the odds were that I would die if left to my own devices, you couldn't bear to allow me a chance to succeed. But never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that the famous L would put himself in harm's way just to catch me—to correct his biggest failure. Because that's what I am, aren't I? Just another failure. I hoped, of course, that you would come to stop me, but I never actually thought it would happen. It even made me angry at first, to see you with the woman I had been planning to kill. After all…"

B stepped forward, and Mello immediately tensed.

"…You never did like putting yourself in harm's way, did you? No, you much prefer to watch things unfold from the sidelines, like a grand puppet master. But what happens when the strings are cut? What happens when the man who has lost his humanity once again finds himself among these most desperate and emotional of creatures? As time went by, and the anger at you for following me dissipated, I began to want to find out."

"What are you getting at, B?"

Said man sighed dramatically and spread his arms wide. "I'm telling you what the result is. A desperate man…that's what you've become. I can see it when I look at you. That's what being here has turned you into. Why else would you be so bold as to confront me directly and save the woman who loves you?"

The detective flinched at the second mention of Lana, and his eyes narrowed. "Perhaps because your senseless killing has gone on long enough."

B guffawed loudly. "Senseless? You think what I'm doing is senseless? Have you ever looked in a mirror, L? How many pointless deaths have you allowed to happen due to your ceaseless need for more proof? While you sat in your hotel rooms, safe in the comfort of sugary sweets and waiting for more pictures of a murderer's heinous crimes, more people were becoming victims. Not only that, but so many others were allowed to die merely because you didn't deem their suffering interesting enough. A real vigilante—a real crusader for justice—would have killed the suspect before he could do any more damage, before he could take any more lives. But instead, what you did time and time again was wait until the evidence was irrefutable, and then, when you finally gave the okay to apprehend the suspect, even more police officers were killed in the ensuing battle. Do you remember?"

Indeed he did—but only because it rang true for multiple cases he had solved over the years. B knew this, and was capitalizing on the fact that he would make L realize it too.

But there was no need. Even to this day, the thought that he could have potentially solved certain cases with more efficiency and less bloodshed bothered him, but now…now B brought it up as though he had been the perpetrator, as though he were the sole one at fault for allowing the killings to continue.

"But what about you?" he asked. "How do you justify all of the people you've killed? What makes you think that this situation is any different, and that you are not one of those faceless murderers I helped put away?"

The serial killer shrugged as though being called a murderer was hardly an insult. "Simple: because I'm me, and I have a purpose. All of those people who died by my hand were, to me, characters, mere stepping-stones on the way to the climax. If all goes as planned, then they will die anyway. Their deaths served my goal in one way or another, even if only to keep my boredom at ease. They were not entirely without meaning or purpose, as so many others are. Besides, what I did was merciful. I took them out of a world that was no good for them. But you…you say that you want to save people's lives. You have allowed for the deaths of hundreds, maybe thousands, to continue, despite the fact that you claim to be determined to put an end to what you call brutality. But in doing so, you only reveal yourself as a liar. A better question to ask would be this: Given your own set of beliefs, how do you justify all the people you've allowed to die?"

L knew that B was only trying to rile him up, but his words still rang with relevance. He himself had wondered many a time what would have happened if he had taken different actions—but only briefly. But this…

"What kind of question is that?"

The detective was somewhat surprised when Mello finally spoke up. The blonde had been quiet up until this point, but at B's provocation he seemed to lose what little composure he had to begin with.

"People can't go around blaming themselves for everything they've done wrong," Mello continued. "It's no different with detective work. No matter what you do, people are always going to get killed in the line of duty and a lot of the time for no reason—but torturing yourself over it isn't what a good detective does. It's what a coward does."

"Mello," L said in warning.

"A coward?" B said curiously, tilting his head to the side as he scrutinized Mello. "How do you figure?"

The blonde drew himself up to his full height and glared daggers at the man before him. "A detective who constantly blames himself for the deaths of others is weak. Sure, he might be a good person, but what it really means is that he isn't brave enough to face the fact that sometimes, people die—and there isn't always something he can do about it. Facing this means that he'll come out stronger; he'll be able to solve cases that anyone else would run from. But if he's a coward, he'll take all of the responsibility onto his own shoulders. Do you think anyone can handle that sort of pressure? He'll crack sooner or later. Once he starts blaming himself for every death that happens on his watch, he stops being a good detective."

For the first time, L saw Mello in a whole new light. He never would have guessed it to be true, but the blonde understood. This was the exact line of reasoning that he himself had repeated over the years. When those working beneath him died, and even when the criminals he was trying to catch claimed more innocent victims, L had repeatedly told himself that it had been not a question of his competence, but a question of his resolve. The longer he could hold out against adversity in his cases, the more likely he was to solve them. Mello was aware of this subtle truth, and though the blonde had spoken up at an inopportune time, L could not help but to appreciate his effort.

He would make a good detective as well, though his passion poses a problem.

"Is that so?" B asked, placing his chin between two fingers. "If it makes you feel any better to think of things that way, then be my guest. But it's a flawed perception. Claiming that no matter what, you are never the one to blame? That doesn't sound like logic—that sounds like escapism. No one in this world can claim that they haven't victimized someone else. It just isn't true. What about you, L? Are you really telling me that you're the exception? Will you continue to deny what happened all those years ago? Or will you finally be honest with both me and yourself?"

"Listen—"

"It is fine, Mello."

L stared at B with renewed understanding. His line of questioning now made perfect sense, as did the series of clues he had left behind—and, he realized with some degree of guilt, so did Lana's kidnapping. It had never been about mere revenge and his wish to destroy the world, at least not entirely. If it had, B would have killed Lana already and displayed her body for him to see, killed him, and carried on with his plans. It had also not only been about killing him face-to-face, on B's own terms. This conversation was a testament to that.

It was also about closure. Closure for what had happened all those years ago; closure that B had never gotten.

So, for old time's sake, L decided to finally be honest with his former successor.

"It was my fault," he said, and B's ears perked up.

"What was your fault?"

L swallowed dryly. "A's death…his suicide. It was my failure as a mentor and role model that placed him under such intense pressure. I didn't hold the knife, but I gave him the incentive to do it. I take full responsibility. I pushed all of that pressure onto all of you—but especially him—and then I turned my back because, as you said, I did not feel it was as important as solving cases. I am not a criminal, as you have claimed…but I am also not a good person. I never was, and the fact that I have changed since coming here…since meeting the others, and especially Lana…will not change that."

Total silence rang through the hallway, and L could not smother the eerie sensation that a bomb was about to go off.

"So you finally admitted it," B whispered, his eyes replete with minimal satisfaction. "Unfortunately, that isn't enough to undo what you've done. I appreciate the effort…but it hasn't changed my mind about anything."

"I did not expect it to."

B smiled as he pulled two knives out of his pockets. "You've still got some repenting to do, L." With that, he charged at them.

He's fast.

Both L and Mello barely moved fast enough to avoid getting cut. They split apart as B charged at them, bordering their opponent on both sides. But the fight wouldn't be over so soon.

B spun around quickly and parried both men's knives before diving beneath the blades. He emerged uninjured on the other side, and once again resorted to defending himself against their blows. He didn't try to strike out at them offensively, and even allowed himself to be forced ever backwards.

What is he doing? Is he toying with us again? Or is he seriously defending himself?

L got his answer when, as Mello swiped at B's head, the serial killer dove beneath the blade. He then spun around with practiced fluidity, and landed a heavy kick to the blonde's stomach.

Mello stumbled backwards and caught his breath, and B took the opportunity to lunge for L. The detective blocked one of B's knives with his own, and at the last moment used his free hand to grab onto his other wrist. The knife stopped a mere inch from his face.

"Well, well, well," B cooed. "This should be fun."

She heard. From the other side of the door, Lana heard it all: the heated debate between L and B, the serial killer's twisted accusation, and even—to her absolute shock—L's confession.

The last part was the one that struck her the most; as she heard the detective say those fateful words—It was my fault—she felt her heart slow in her chest, with an ache that was subtle but torturous.

So…so all of it's true? The story that B told me about L's old successor? About how…how L didn't care? How could it be true? L isn't…he isn't a monster…

But then again, she remembered hating him with a passion on several occasions for being insensitive in regards to death, so it only made sense that he would have done something similar in the case of a child.

But he was a child! How would you feel if he reacted that way about your brother?

She knew the answer without any doubt. She would hate him, much like B did. Not enough to want to kill him, but enough to cut off all ties. Could this really be the man she had fallen in love with?

Lana wasn't so sure anymore.

But then she heard L's next words.

"I am not a criminal, as you have claimed…but I am also not a good person. I never was, and the fact that I have changed since coming here…since meeting the others, and especially Lana…will not change that."

I am also not a good person. That one sentence held all the clarity she had been lacking.

Did I…did I really change him that much? Her heart swelled with—not quite happiness, but a mixture of relief and guilt. That's right, she reminded herself. I didn't fall in love with him because he's a good person, or even because he was trying to save the world. None of that matters to me, at least not in the broad sense. I fell in love with L because of him—along with all of his quirks and flaws. I fell in love with him at the same time he began to change. His personality's the same, but he's more open, more willing to invest himself in the welfare of others for no other reason than the fact that he wants to.

Lana recalled the hours he had spent sitting with her while she was quarantined, and a smile crept over her face.

That's right, she thought again. That's him—not the person B's talking about. None of that's him anymore. He's the L who pulled me out of Waterfront that day, even if his intentions are different now…

And I'll be damned if I let B take that away.

The scarred woman sprang back to life when she heard the fight commence. She clutched the switchblade in her hand, holding it firm as she felt out the crack between the door and its frame. She cheered inside her head when she found it.

This should be right below where the lock is…

With practiced hands, Lana aligned the tip of the knife with the crack and began to jimmy it.

If you think I'm just gonna sit here like a captive, you've got another thing coming.

This isn't good…

Matt stood firm as Matsuda and Mogi continued to fight off all the infected people who came their way, but on the inside he was fighting a losing battle. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was afraid. He knew that the others were too. If even one of them slipped up it could mean all of their deaths, and without them L, Mello, and Lana would be out of luck for escaping.

But what else was he supposed to do? He didn't want to leave Itzel and Misa alone to take care of Soichiro; right now they were occupied with trying to take care of his wound. They couldn't fight effectively and treat a dying man at the same time, and if he tried to go and help the others he might end up being killed for his lack of stamina. Matt knew that he had to stay here and cover them while they were distracted.

Yet no matter how he tried to justify his actions, it was still glaringly obvious to the brunette that neither Matsuda nor Mogi, for all of their painstaking efforts, could hold out much longer. The noise and chaos of the ongoing battle inevitably attracted more infected people to the area, and the two men could only keep up with the sheer number of them for so long. Even now it was clear that they were becoming overwhelmed; their movements weren't as speedy, and they didn't pack as much strength in their blows. The slash of scalpels was punctuated with weakened punches and kicks, and Matt flinched as Matsuda barely managed to avoid getting clawed.

The two men were being forced ever backwards by the ceaseless tide; if they didn't do something else soon, they would lose and have no choice but to retreat. What would L, Mello, and Lana do then?

Matt glanced back at the others who were behind him, and grimaced at Soichiro's sorry state. The man was bleeding heavily even though he was unconscious, and the brunette could not shake the feeling that he was knocking on death's door at this point. He didn't want to think about it.

But to die in a place like this… It made him shiver with distaste. It wasn't a fate he would wish upon anyone. But, he reminded himself, that could very well be today's result.

As Itzel and Misa continued to try to staunch the flow of blood with the large woman's hoodie, Matt finally decided.

If I can't do anything else, I can at least warn them. Even if I can't fight or protect them, I can do this much…

He just hoped that it would be enough.

With quivering fingers the brunette pulled the as-of-yet unused walkie-talkie out of his pocket and pressed the button to connect to L's.

"Hello?" He practically yelled into the speaker; his desperation bled through in his tone, and he was certain that the others could hear it. "L, are you there? Can you hear me?"

To Matt's dismay, nothing but empty static answered him—that, and the background noise of metal clanging against metal. If he strained his ears, the brunette also thought he could hear distant voices, but he supposed that could be in his head—or he could just be hearing the shouts that emanated from the crowd of infected people behind him. He was surprised that he could even hear himself think.

But still, even though there was no response to his pleas, Matt was not deterred in the slightest.

"L, Mello, listen to me," he continued. "I don't know what the hell's going on in there, or if you even still have your walkie-talkie, but if you guys can hear me, listen. Whatever you do, don't come outside. Right now all of us are being swarmed by infected people. Soichiro's here with us…he must have led them here. Everyone's still alive…" For now, he thought as he chanced another look at Soichiro.

There was still no response. Matt closed his eyes. "Just…just don't come outside, okay? Mogi and Matsuda are trying to ward them off right now, but it's not going so great, man…just be careful; all three of you, if Lana's there. Mello…I'll be fine. We'll hold out for as long as possible. And…I'm sorry."

L barely succeeded in dodging the knife that came his way, and flew backwards to evade it.

B charged forward to finish the job, but Mello mercifully stopped him when he dove at him from the side. The two men crashed into a wall, and Mello immediately went for his throat with the knife. He had barely swung the blade when B knocked it out of his hand, and in desperation the blonde grabbed ahold of the other man's wrists.

Over the grunts that came from both of them, L heard a rattling noise behind him that stopped him in his tracks. He glanced backwards for barely a second, but it was still enough time for the tables to turn.

A heavy grunt reached his ears, and as the detective turned back around he was greeted by the sight of B running straight for him, his knives drawn. Mello kneeled on the ground, clutching his stomach with one hand.

No—B didn't stab him, did he?

L clashed blades with B, and moved as fast as possible in order to evade the two that were aiming for him. The other man's face was an inch away from his, so close that their noses were almost touching. His smirk was almost palpable.

"Don't get distracted, L. You wouldn't want the fight to end too early, would you?"

The detective glared, but chose to ignore his jibe. "Mello, are you okay?" he called out, hoping that the blonde man wasn't seriously injured.

He got his answer when said man rejoined the fray, aiming his blade for B's throat. His attack was easily dodged, and the serial killer even managed to back-roll out of stabbing distance, but Mello succeeded in taking some of the pressure off of L.

"I'm fine," the blonde said cheekily. "He only made a shallow wound." L glanced at his abdomen and saw a thin line of blood blooming across his shirt. The detective nodded back at him.

Once again, everything came to a standstill, with all three of them staring at each other. L tried to quickly assess how to take down B without getting stabbed in the process.

It doesn't look promising. B is far more skilled with a blade than either Mello or I. He is accustomed to using this weapon, whereas I am more attuned to hand-to-hand combat. Mello, on the other hand, is used to guns, though I am sure he would be a formidable fighter as well. However, he cannot afford to gain another wound…

Suddenly, a woman's voice cut through the quiet.

"L! Mello! What's going on out there?!" There was harsh banging from the other side of the door; Lana sounded almost frantic. The long lapse of silence could only mean something horrible had happened, at least from her perspective.

"Everything is fine," he told her, not taking his eyes off of B. "Just hold firm for a while longer, Lana."

B guffawed. "Confident words, L. But are you sure you can back them up?"

Finally, it occurred to him what he had to do—and he would need Mello's help to do it. L steeled his nerves and focused all his energy on B's left hand.

"Mello, when I give the word, go for his right hand."

"What?"

"Do it."

B grinned devilishly as he ran towards them, and both Mello and L did the same.

Clang.

B held off both of their weapons with his, and his wrists shook with the sheer force of doing so. He jumped backwards, brandishing his knives in front of him as a form of defense.

"Go!"

Mello did as he was told, and charged for B with his eyes set on the man's left hand.

B grinned and made to catch the blonde off guard; he aimed the knife in his right hand, and as he did, Mello did something that even impressed L.

At the last second, Mello twisted his body around to face the incoming weapon, and with no hesitation used his own to hit the blade out of B's hand. The serial killer's eyes widened as one of his weapons clattered to the floor, but he didn't allow Mello an opportunity to retaliate. His now-empty hand grabbed ahold of the blonde's wrist; with seemingly little effort, B plunged his knee into the other man's stomach, and a dull thud reached L's ears.

Immediately Mello's body curled in on itself, and he coughed harshly. Before he had a chance to recover, B reared back and kicked him. The blonde hit the wall hard, and the echo of his knife falling to the floor rang throughout the building. Thinking quickly, B kicked the fallen weapon to the end of the hallway; it came to a stop right outside the room Lana was trapped in, far beyond either L or Mello's reach.

All was still as the three men tried to recuperate, Mello in particular. He appeared to be struggling to breathe. B turned to face L again, paying no mind to the agonized blonde. Mello, now weaponless, hesitated as he glared at the serial killer. L didn't blame him.

And then, in the quiet of the hallway, the walkie-talkie in the detective's pocket began to crackle with static—and shortly thereafter, he heard Matt's voice coming from the other side.

"Hello? L, are you there? Can you hear me?" Matt paused momentarily and waited for L to respond. He didn't. "L, Mello, listen to me. I don't know what the hell's going on in there, or if you even still have your walkie-talkie, but if you guys can hear me, listen. Whatever you do, don't come outside. Right now all of us are being swarmed by infected people. Soichiro's here with us…he must have led them here. Everyone's still alive…"

Soichiro…what was he thinking, jeopardizing our mission like this? What is so important that he had to come all the way here to find us?

"Just…just don't come outside, okay? Mogi and Matsuda are trying to ward them off right now, but it's not going so great, man…just be careful. All three of you, if Lana's there. Mello…I'll be fine. We'll hold out for as long as possible. And…I'm sorry."

With that, the conversation was cut off.

A swarm of infected people…this is extraordinarily bad timing…or is it?

"Matt…" Mello whispered from his prone position against the wall. "Dammit…"

"That didn't sound good, L," B teased. "It seems that your pawns aren't quite up to the task this time around."

"Shut the fuck up!" Mello spat. "You have no idea what you're talking about!"

"You're right."

Both men eyed the detective strangely, though Mello appeared to be more livid than curious. "What the fuck? What's wrong with you?"

"Mello," L said flatly. "Take this walkie-talkie and go open the front doors."

"What?"

"Use it to call the others, and tell Itzel to remove the barrier she and Mogi put up at the front doors."

L threw the contraption in the blonde's direction, and said man scrambled to catch it. He looked skeptical, however. "L, what are you—?"

"Just do it. By coming with me you've made it clear that you do not fear death. Is that still true?"

Mello still seemed unsure, but without a word of complaint he got up and ran back towards the stairwell. B watched him leave with an impassive expression, then turned back to face his enemy with a goofy grin on his face.

"I see what you're doing," he observed. "Well…I didn't expect that out of you. This just became even more interesting…"

And shit is going to hit the fan next chapter, as you can probably already tell. Oh, I can't wait!

As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you all liked this chapter!

—Vicious Ventriloquist