Hm? Stop lazily using nightmare sequences to pad out chapters? They're a very good way to show Shinichi's mental state. Between the content of the nightmare and how he reacts when he wakes up you can get a good grasp on what he's currently most concerned about.

Fair warning, the chapter does have content in it that may be disturbing to some.

Chapter 12: Myself

There's darkness around me… Where am I?

It smells awful.

I try to move but it feels tight around me. In fact now that I'm focusing on it there's a feeling of pressure on my chest.

I try to cry out but my throat hurts and no sound comes out.

I keep trying to resist and the tightness around me rips. Daylight streams in through the tears, it's almost blinding compared to the darkness from before.

Upon closer inspection it seems that I was inside a black back made of thin plastic. A garbage bag... I can't help but feel a little offended.

Aren't you supposed to wrap people in a sheet or a burlap sack if you're kidnapping them? I could have suffocated in that. No, that's the wrong way to think about it, this isn't a kidnapping, someone's tried to kill me.

A moment passes as my eyes adjust to the light, I look around. I'm surrounded by a sea of bags similar to the one I was in and It's a landfill.

I climb out of the bag and end up stumbling down the hill of trash. Ugh, disgusting… I want to go home but I should try to at least get some information first.

My body feels strange but that's not important right now, I need to find out who's done this to me and why, as soon as I know that I need to get out of here.

Out of the corner of my eyes I catch sight of one of my hands. Its…. so small. That's weird.

I look down, I guess my legs are pretty short too.

Why am I so small?

Suddenly the festering stench of the landfill is replaced by a scent of grass and blood. I feel my clothes practically hanging off of me as several flashlights are turned my way. The light is blinding but at least it doesn't smell anymore.

"Who's there!?"

Wait, wasn't it just day time? How is it already night?

"He's bleeding!"

Ah... the blood I was smelling was mine. That must be why I'm feeling a bit strange too.

"A young boy? Are you okay?"

They crowd around me as I try to protest, "I'm not a young boy, I'm sixteen, I'm Shinichi Kudo, the famous detective!"

They laugh.

Then jarringly my perspective shifts again.

I'm now sitting on a bed in a dark room. I don't even notice that there's someone under me until I hear their weak voice cry out.

That voice… a girl? No, a young boy. I've heard this voice many times.

I want to move off of him but my body isn't listening to me. Suddenly I become acutely aware that there's a knife in my hand and I'm sickened as I'm hit with the understanding of what I'm about to do... what I must do.

My hand is shaking but my grip is firm. I don't want to do this.

A conflict swirls in my mind, quickly shifting between a cold sense of duty, an oppressive feeling of guilt, and what's left of a tattered sense of justice.

Don't do it. Don't do it. Please, don't make me do it. I have to do it.

What's the right thing to do? Am I making the right decision?

My heart is pounding so hard I fear it'll escape my chest as I bring the knife down, making my best guess as to the location of his vitals in the darkness.

I feel a stinging pain in my chest.

Best make it a quick death at least. I pull the knife out and stab again, then again and again. All the while trying to calculate where the best places to stab are to ensure that he can't get up. He should already be dead by now, but I have to make sure. Each stab I feel that same pain in my chest again, the sharp piecing cold of steel then a jarring shift to the warm wet sensation of blood draining away.

He shouldn't be able to feel it anymore…

Hopefully I suffer for it more than he does.

I wake up.

A dream? What a mess… What's my subconscious trying to tell me?

It's left a bad taste in my mouth, but like most dreams the memory of it quickly fades, leaving behind a fuzzy sense of confused emotions in its wake.

I start my daily routine, reading over the note I'd written months ago and checking it for changes.

'I am Kudo Shinichi, the 16 year old ace detective.

I got involved with a case 3 months ago and ended up taking care of a child named Edogawa Conan who's life was in danger due to his parents connections with a shady company. The shady company makes dangerous drugs and hires criminal mercenaries. Conan is actually 16 like me but he was made younger thanks to a strange drug produced by the company.

2 months ago Conan disappeared- I suspect that the company was involved.

1 month later another de-aged teen appeared, her previous name was Miyano Shiho, I'll leave her current name out of this note in case it falls into the wrong hands, she was a medical engineer hired by the company but she ran away from them and is now under my protection.

I walk a fine line, the company is dangerous, if I make any wrong moves everyone I care about could be put at risk.

I must be careful.

Check regularly, if anything written here doesn't match your memory, remind yourself which one is real. Don't forget the truth.'

I can't remember why I started doing this daily, it's not like it would change, I wrote it all myself.

And yet for some reason it feels extremely important to check it.

Why would there ever be a discrepancy between what's written and my memory? Did I find out that the company was experimenting with memory altering drugs? Why didn't I write that part then? Why did I leave out whatever part will make this an understandable precaution to take?

Everything written on it matches up with what I remember. If one of them is incorrect then they both are. If my memory is wrong that means that someone not only altered my memory in a subtle enough way so as not to arouse suspicion, but also found this note and copied my handwriting and tone of writing to rewrite it on an identical scrap of paper.

It's certainly not impossible, but it seems a bit far-fetched even after all the elaborate cases I've witnessed. They can make age changing drugs, so it's not unbelievable that they could make something that can seamlessly alter memories. The issue isn't so much the method but the motive in this case.

What purpose would altering my memory like this serve? The best I can think is perhaps I knew something that the culprit didn't want me knowing, so they changed my memory in order to hide the information, but if someone could do that then it'd be easier for them to just kill me.

It's highly unlikely that my memory has been changed.

So why is it that when I look at that note I feel that there's something horribly wrong? Why do I feel that something important is missing?

I shake my head.

It's all in my head. Nothing is wrong, my memories are correct. Whether it's the truth or not I just have to keep telling myself that. I need to trust my own memory or I don't think I'll be able to continue as I have.