A/N Hello young people! I'm back with chapter 2! Hopefully this isn't as bad as the first chapter, it did take me over a week to write this haha.

Marshall, 17, lived with both his parents. His farther and mother were both workaholics. His mother worked at a pretty prestigious tech company working on some kind of biological implant tech, while his father was a freelance graphic designer who worked from home. While the former was never around, always leaving early and arriving home late, Marshall's father was almost always home and only left to get groceries and drive Marshall to and from school.

Marshall has no real friends, either. At school, there are people who will invite him to join their dodgeball team and will meet his eyes when the teachers announce a group project, but there weren't anyone he would invite home and confess his deepest feelings to.

Marshall also has a little sister, Leta, who was six years younger than him and and goes to elementary school. Marshall has no beef to pick with her, but Leta was always very introverted and tends to a void human interaction as much as possible.

It was March. Five fifty in the morning. The rain was pouring down. Marshall was sleeping.

Suddenly, he felt something cold on his forehead as what felt like icy water drizzled down his face and on to his nightshirt. He woke with a start. Marshall woke with a start to see his mom, who was already fully dressed in her work clothes, carefully placing ice cubes on Marshall's head. "Time to wake up. Don't you have that essay you need to finish?"

At the mention of the word "essay", all signs of sleepiness were completely flushed out of Marshall's head as adrenaline ran through his veins. Marshall jumped awake as his mother left the room. He changed into school clothes as fast as he possibly could, booted up his PC, gotten the essay organizer worksheet that he had filled out from his backpack, and began to type on a frenzy.

About five minutes later, Marshall's father woke up. He came into Marshall's room announcing that his mother already left for work a brought him a cup of coffee. The initial adrenaline rush was already dying down and the coffee completely rejunervated him.

After about two hours of meticulously copying down everything he wrote in his essay organizer word for word, Marshall was finally done. He hit the command to print the word document, got up, and crashed on to his still unmade bed, and checked his phone.

Seven twenty-three. Marshall wasn't going to be late today, but he's not going to be able to make anyone food this morning. should already have woken Leta up.

Marshall chugged the rest of his now cold coffee and went to the living room. The bathroom were occupied, no doubt, by Leta, the only one who showered in the morning. His dad was lying on the couch, beard still unshaven, looking at his phone with casual clothes on. "Are you going to make food today?" He asked Marshall.

Marshall makes breakfast for his father, himself, and Leta every day, while his mother leaves at six and eats at work. This might sound impressive, but all he actually does is just heat leftovers that his mother left in there for him or a bottle of Costco clam chowder. Cereal might be easier to prepare, but fuck cereal, so...

"I can't." For Marshall, school begins at seven fifty, and it takes about a fifteen minute drive for Marshall to get there, with the morning traffic and all. Leta just bikes to her elementary school. "Dad, we have to leave now. Me and Leta eat brunch at out schools. You make yourself something," Marshall said, putting his jacket and backpack on.

In response, Marshall's father yawned, and put his phone back into his pocket, and stood up. "Yup. I'll call her later." He went to the kitchen and grabbed the car keys on the counter while Marshall fidgeted with his clothes.

Although it was only seven in the morning (which wasn't that early when Marshall really thought about it), the streets of San Francisco was filled with the sounds of urbanized civilization. Normally, it would take about thirty minutes to get to his school, plus the early morning commute. Fortunately, his dad discovered an alternate route to his school that halved that time.

During that time, Marshall checked his essay for no reason. He'd usually just be on his phone the whole time, but it was on 20% and he doesn't currently have a charger. After his second reading of the essay, the car - an old Ford Focus - jerked to a stop. He heard the chattering of teenagers.

"We're here." Marshall's father told him.

He checked the phone. Seven thirty-seven. 18% left of battery.

Marshall shut his phone down, exchanged some less than heartfelt goodbyes with his father, and ran as fast as possible to his first period classroom conveniently located on the other side of the campus.

Nothing notable happened at school except the pride Marshall felt at English when he slapped the completed essay onto the essay turn-in bin. His backpack felt much lighter with the spiritual weight of that essay gone.

After the bell dismissed everyone from the final period of the day - math - Marshall booted his phone up again to call his father that class was over and that he was walking home when he realized that he in fact had over a hundred missed calls all from an unknown number in a period of two hours - 1pm to 3pm.

What.

Marshall's fellow classmates were already clearning up their school supplies and papers and leaving the classroom. Very soon after Marshall was alone with only the teacher, who was wiping the trigonometry diagrams off of the blackboard and seems to have not noticed him.

As Marshall stared at his unlocked phone screen, the stranger... or a spam bot, whatever... called him again. Their phone number was displayed as 000-000-00XX.

Instinctively, Marshall picked up. "Who is this?"

"Are you in public now?"

"What... what?" Marshall jumped. The voice on the other line were too oddly accented, monotone, and consistent to be human. Marshall identified it as a stereotypical iTunes voiceover bot.

"Are you in public now?" The exact same voice, but louder. The words sounded identically prenounced as last time. Obviously a voiceover bot.

"No, I'm at school. Why did you..?"

"To understanding." the bot interrupted before Marshall could complain about the fact that they had called him one hundred and fifty-three times. "Please call me once no one is around."

"What?" Marshall frowned, puzzled.

"Please call me once no one is around." Then the caller hung up on him.

Marshall walked home but had his dad drive him to school because of the particular contours of San Francisco.

The city were literally built on a mountain. And from where his house was located in relation to the school, it meant that walking to school was going straight uphill while walking back home was completely downhill the whole way. Imagine hiking up twenty minutes every day to get to school.

As his muscle memory carried him back to his house, Marshall had given thought to the spam caller. Actually, looking at the facts, they probably weren't a spam caller at all, obviously, since after the caller didn't make anymore calls after they hung up on him.

But what? Judging from the fact that they asked whether he was in public or not, maybe a covert government operation or something? Or maybe your long lost uncle who became a Nigerian prince trying to estabish drama? Either way, Marshall was calling them back when he get home.

It took about twenty minutes for Marshall to get home. Oddly, neither Leta or his dad were home yet, but Marshall didn't think much of it as he laid down on his bed called the spam caller back. There were no way to dial 000-0000-00XX, so he had to go to the call history and called them that way. Almost immediately, they answered.

"Is there anyone around you now?" the voiceover bot said in that same monotone, strangely accented voice.

"No." Marshall simply said. "What do you want to tell me?"

There was a pause. Through the speaker, Marshall could hear a someone punching from a computer keyboard and a trackpad clicking. Judging by the sound, the person was probably using a macbook.

"Please listen carefully to what I want to tell you. Do not interrupt me."

The voiceover bot kept the same monotone deadpan. But on the other end, Marshall could hear some hint of a muffled sobbing.

"Are... are you ok?" Marshall asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

There was a pause. More sounds of a keyboard being punched. Trackpad clicking.

"Yes. I am fine."

That word wasn't spoken by a voiceover bot. It was spoken by what sounded by a sobbing teenage girl. Even though there were only a simple phrase, she sounded like she had a strong Asian accent; the "s" sound on "yes" was more pronounced then it should have been, the "n" in "fine" sounded like a "ng" sound. She was probably also using a translator software, which explains the lapses in grammar that she had, like "To understanding", et cetera... she was probably using a translator software, and the voiceover bot was to mask her accent.

She was also crying. She was not fine.

Marshall shook his head. "Listen, where are you right now? I'll call the police." Marshall jumped up, grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil from his desks and prepared to write an address done.

There was a pause.

"No!" she screamed. "No police! Please no police! Listen to me! Please!"

At this point, Marshall didn't know what to do. This chick was clearly in danger.

"Why?" Sweat pooled down Marshall's back. "Why can't you tell me..."

Pause.

"If you know where I am, he kill me. He kill you." the girl's voice shook. The voice was became barely decernible.

"Who?"

No pause this time. Instead of the girl's voice, the voiceover bot answered.

"Kira."

"Kira?"

Years of barely repressed rage surged through Marshall's veins, filling him with adrenaline and anger. He was 10 again, watching his grandma suddenly gasp and drop dead on the floor while watching TV. He was 13, smashing the family PC's keyboard after he realized that L was dead. He was 16, realizing in horror the Kira had started killing again a month the FBI announced to the world that Kira was dead.

"Kira is holding you hostage right now?"

Pause.

"He will kill me." Sob. "He will kill you. Please don't interrupt again." Sob.

This was probably just a fucking prank. This was obviously just a fucking prank. But Marshall, was, again, at a loss of words. There had to be some way to save this girl. But it was a prank, obviously, so there probably won't be of any consequence if Marshall just hangs off right now...

But then again... people can't just fake an Asian accent and the sobbing like that.

He will kill me. He will kill you. Please don't interrupt again.

Marshall was not going test theory out.

There was another pause. More keyboard punching, more trackpad clicking.

"Marshall Zhou."

A different voiceover bot from last time. This one was much deeper and more masculine. In fact, it didn't sound like a voiceover bot at all.

"The person who just talked to you was A. You don't need to know her real name."

There were inconsistencies in the sentence. This wasn't a bot. Someone else was talking to him. Plus, excellent grammar and choices of wods. There was no way that the girl, or A, her alias, could have wrote something like this. This was a native English speaker.

"A had been killing criminals for about a month. Unfortunately, she could no longer be trusted."

The sobbing grew louder. A whispered silently in a foreign langauge.

"As you must know, Kira is able to kill with a name. And I know yours, Marshall Zhou. I also know the name of your whole family: Leta, your sister, Michael, your father, Harriet Gutenburg, your mother. I can kill anyone I want to. And there was no way you can ever trace it back to me."

Marshall's eyes widened. This was Kira. He was talking to Kira.

"As you also must know, Kira is able to manipulate someone's actions bofore death. I also know where you live: San Franscisco. I wouldn't be hard for me to make your president nuke the place before killing himself."

Somehow, Kira also knows his name, his entire family's names, and his address.

"I will call you tomorrow afternoon. Do you have an iPhone or an Android?"

There was a pause, before Marshall realized that Kira had just talked to him and was waiting for him to respond.

Marshall swallowed bile. "I use an iPhone."

"I see. Please destroy your phone before I call you tomorrow and purchase an Android phone. Use the same phone card. A, please disconnect the call."

Immediately, the line disconnected, leaving Marshall with his heart pounding with adrenaline still in his veins.

Aia Sakaki (A), was found on 9:04 a.m. Japanese time to have killed herself in a public park near her house. She seems to have slit her wrist. Strangely, she appeared to have brought her personal laptop with her as well as with her phone. She destroyed both before she commited suicide.

A/N I hope you've enjoyed. Thanks for all of you who have favorited and stuff, also comment for three pieces of imaginary cookies. Bye uwu