"Hello there, Mikami. Is it alright if I call you Mikami?"
Mikami raised his head from the table to look at the whoever was interrupting his reminiscing. It was a plump, cheery woman, with a smile so fake it looked like it had been plastered on.
Mikami just looked at her.
"You can call me anything."
The woman sat down at the table across from him in the cell, appearing not to mind the squalor of the jail. Mikami put his head back down on the table, intent on ignoring her.
"So, Mikami, do you know why I'm here?"
Mikami turned to look at her incredulously. Did she think him an idiot?
"Yes," he said shortly.
"Why am I here, then?" she prompted.
Mikami sat up and to stare her down, his eyes narrowed.
"You're a psychologist. You're here to examine and then to testify about your conclusions of my sanity or insanity at my trial," Mikami said flatly.
"You seem to know a lot about this," the woman remarked, withdrawing a tablet from her bag.
Mikami raised an eyebrow. "I used to be a prosecutor. I know how the system works."
"So, what do you think I'll find?" she asked, clicking a pen open and putting it to the paper.
Mikami's eye twitched.
"I believe you are the psychiatrist, Miss," he told her. "I have no desire to speculate about my sanity. I shall leave that to you."
"That may be so," the woman said, smiling slightly, "but we all have a slight idea of how our own brain is working. What do you think about your mind?"
A vein in Mikami's temple pulsed slightly.
"My mind is my mind, Miss," he said curtly. "You are free to examine it and psychoanalyze it as you wish, but I will not."
"Oh, come on," the woman teased slightly. "You're a smart guy. I bet you could psychoanalyze yourself if you tried." She pushed the pad of paper and the pen across the table to him, tempting him.
Mikami's blank gaze met her own sparkling one, before he picked up the pen, clicked it, and began to write.
It didn't take long; he only wrote a few kanji, the bold strokes standing out against the pale yellow of the page, before turned the tablet around and slid it back to the woman.
Atsune Makimasa
The woman looked up in horror, fear and terror growing visibly on her face as her comprehension dawned.
"Now," Mikami said calmly, sitting back in his chair, twirling the pen idly between his fingers. "Atsune, if I may call you Atsune?" The joke fell flat in front of her, most likely because she was starting to panic, but Mikami continued on nonetheless.
"Now, Atsune, I clearly know your name, which I clearly should have no way of knowing," Mikami said. "So, clearly, there is something very strange afoot, which you have no way of understanding."
The psychiatrist just looked at him in stark terror.
"Now, as you are a smart woman, you should know when strange things are happening which you have no way of understanding, it is likely that there are other very strange things occurring simultaneously that you also do not understand," Mikami continued.
"A fact, for you, Atsune," Mikami said mildly. "Did you know that if I were anywhere but in this cell and I had written your name down just as you see it here, you would be dead from cardiac arrest within forty seconds?"
The woman screamed and toppled backwards out of her chair, terrified. Mikami stood up, looking down at her coldly.
"Now, had I chosen to actually bother myself with killing you, I could have also gone about it in a more painful way," Mikami elaborated, moving closer. "I could have had you run over, I could have made you kill yourself, I could have had you dropped into a vat of acid, I could have had you clawed to death by a cat, or anything that caught my fancy."
She whimpered.
"I don't like to kill the innocent, Atsune. It doesn't bode well with me. I'm all for the creation of a perfect society and killing criminals, not for the elimination of obnoxious psychologists. However-"
He fixed her with a cold, piercing look.
"-I am willing to make exceptions, Atsune."
She gulped.
"I trust my meaning is clear?"
She nodded.
Mikami regarded her for a moment longer, before turning away.
"You may go."
Not needing a second bidding, the woman scurried to her feet, hurriedly swept her things into her bag, quickly called for a guard to open the door, and scampered out of the cell, never once looking back. The guard shot him an odd look but led Mikami back to his cell. They walked along the prison, before reaching his cell, and the guard slammed the bars to his cell shut, snapping the lock back into place, and Mikami reclined on his cot, looking up at the stone ceiling.
Mikami smirked to himself. Her testimony at trial would be interesting, to say the least.
It was amusing, really, how she was the professional, and he, the convict; yet, somehow, he had managed to gain control of the situation and come out on top.
Perhaps he wasn't so different from Kira after all.
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