Death Note

Summary: It's Japans regional tournament, and the bladebreakers are expected to take the title yet again. But, strange disappearances, murders and unusual rumours are being spread. And who's the new kid with haunting eyes that doesn't talk…

Pairings: None

Rating: M

Warnings: Some swearing, lots of violence and horrific deaths, some themes that some people may find disturbing.

Disclaimer: Beyblade and all its characters and products are copyright of Takao Aoki. No copyright is intended, this story was written for entertainment purposes only.

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It was getting really boring, really quickly. The bladebreakers (now re-named BBA Elemental) had been waiting in the lobby of the BBA building for quit some time. They had been called that morning by a worker of Mr Dickenson claming his name was Mr Igarashi.

When questioned about it, Hiro claimed that the very young sounding boy had just recently started working there and that Mr Dickenson requested their presence at eleven o'clock that morning. It was 12 o'clock and none of the team was at all impressed.

"Where's Mr Dickenson?" He was supposed to be here an hour ago!" Tyson groaned, living up to his impatient attitude. Hiro sighed. He was the fortunate one to have inherited their mother's patience and calmness…sadly, Tyson hadn't gotten any of it, in fact he'd inherited everything Hiro didn't; the ability to smile through thick and thin, to be a friend to everyone, to be carefree and to fight constantly against the rising odds. The sensitivity, the dependant-ness and the attitude.

Though, Hiro had to admit; both of them had shared the same eyes as their mother. The same stubbornness and the same will to carry on. But Hiro envied his little brother…for having his mothers smile. Even if it was just a quick quirk of the lips, it was Yoshie Kinomiyas smile and it lit up the whole room…

A scrap of the chair. It broke everyone out of any daydreams or thoughts and all looked up to see Max walking away. The American blonde called over his shoulder. "I'm gonna go look for Mr Dickenson, there has to be some reason he's late!"

The others either shrugged or nodded and watched after Max before going back to discussion.

After a few seconds from the departure of Max, Tyson stood.

"Just need the bathroom…" He muttered before walking down a corridor to where the bathrooms were stationed. The others watched after him, then turned back to daydreaming.

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A simple sigh and a whine. "I thought Mr Ds office was this way." He groaned and threw his head back as he walked through the halls. His legs felt like jelly from the amount of stairs he had to take (The elevator just had to break) and plus, he hadn't had anything to eat or drink all morning. All in all, he was tired, hungry and exhausted.

Suring his whining though, he hadn't noticed that as he was walking up the stairs, the doorway was dark as the lights on the top floor where Mr Dickensons office was built, were off. The switch was off or a fuse had blown, Max didn't care. He could pretty much see through the windows and-

The windows were shut. The top floor was completely dark and it made the blonde feel…uneasy. It wasn't like the jolly old chairman to keep in the dark and Max knew he liked things light.

"My eyes aren't exactly what they used to be boys." Max chuckled at his impression of the jolly man. He was a very likeable character. Though not exactly what one would call 'Worlds Most Intelligent' or 'Worlds Most Hip' old man, (Max shuddered at the thought; he was still trying to block out the real memory of grandpa Kinomiya in the shower sing 'Elvis: You ain't nothing but a hound dog' when he'd walked in with his headphones on. But the Mental image Max could conjure of Mr Dickenson, no offence, made him want to be sick. Old naked geezers creeped him out…) but, he was really nice. He always put on a nice jolly façade and always made you feel at home and if you were nervous, he'd let you take your time.

Max was feeling his way along the corridor in the darkness. His fingers wrapped round a light switch and he pushed it up…nothing. Okay, down…nothing. Over and over again, he tried, but there was nothing. He groaned; there was no way in hell he would be able to find Mr Dickensons room now.

Turning on his heel, he gripped the doorknob to the stairs and twisted it, pushed. It didn't budge. Max tried pulling it, and then afterwards he went from annoyed to panicked. He tried everything, but after almost ten minutes of pulling, nothing. Annoying, he tried once more and pushed all his weight on the doorknob, only to pull back in shock. The little nook in the centre of the knob was turned. It had been locked from the outside. The blonde American snarled and pounded on the door.

"TYSON! If this is your idea of a joke, it's not funny! Now let me out and I promise I won't set Draciel on you!" No reply, which only agitated him further.

"Tyson! I mean it, if you keep this up, every single pair of underwear and that picture of you singing Grow Up in boxers is going straight to eBay!" Still nothing. Max groaned and leant his forehead against the door when he realised something. He had a shadow.

It was way to dark in that hall, almost pitch black. But he could faintly make out his hand, the doorknob (which he could now confirm was locked) and his shadow. Looking down the direction of the glow, he saw that dimly, one of the ceiling lights was lit above a door. Squinting a bit, the words 'Mr Dickensons office' were made out.

Max sighed but something felt…like he was dreading the fact he had no other choice but to go the office. Like a sense of danger. Shrugging it off, he carried on towards it shaking from the feeling, annoyed and scared. It was just Mr Dickensons office so what the hell was he so worried about. He ran all the thoughts over and over in his head, giving himself a headache when he stumbled and his shoe came off and he landed on the floor, his hands out on instinct stopping his face from hitting the floor. His ankle was twisted and hurt, but he couldn't care less.

He was staring into maroon. As he looked back, he could see the carpet along the halls was a blue colour. Shifting onto his haunches, Max lifted his hands up to find them wet and sticky. His blue eyes widened considerably and he felt like he was going to be sick.

"Is…" He started off, speaking only to himself. "Is that blood?" A quick sniff of the air and he knew. It was the thick, dreadful but addiction smell of blood which put the taste vaguely in the back of your throat. Max wrenched hard then stood (stumbling and limping just that little bit) and reached for the lock to the door. He flinched back. It was ice cold but when he inspected his hand under the light it was red raw, like he'd gripped a hot iron or a just burnt out light bulb, and it sure stung like it.

Swallowing pain, fear and nauseating feelings, he grabbed the knob, twisted it hard and threw himself in the room, his hand burning hot and his arm numb from where he landed. After a few seconds to compose himself, he looked around the room to find it dark and groaned. HE really had hoped Mr D was going to be in here, and why the heck was it so damn dark? Was it a sick prank? No, Mr Dickenson wouldn't do that!

Would he?

Max had no time to think as a loud squeaking came from the desk and he stumbled up towards it. The wheelie leather chair in the dark was rocking back and forth.

"Mr Dickenson?"

The chair froze.

"Uh…listen, if this is a bad time I can go…sorry for disturbing you sir."

Waiting, he watched the chair as it turned round…then wished he himself had turned round and gotten out of there. Mr Dickenson was in the chair alright…well, what one could guess was Mr Dickenson. He entire face had been taken off so there was a large, thick fleshy outline around a perfectly clean face skull, as if it was drawn by an artist or polished by a perfectionist. The head was on the mans lap, but the whole front of him, probably even the genitals, were carved in the same was as the face and the organs were visible, some cut in half.

Max let out a high pitched scream, almost like a girls and ran out the room, tears pricking his eyes. The door had shut itself as he ran towards it, so gripping the knob, he tugged and slammed and pushed with all his might, smoke coming off from under his hands as hot blood dripped onto the floor, his own blood. He didn't care. He wanted out of that room, he wanted to run out and never look back.

Without warning, a hand gripped the back of his neck and he struggled, his head tiled right back as if to try and get it off. Max was roughly pulled round and he stopped, stiff and shaking as a pair of glassy hazel eyes stared into his. They were dead, but Max would recognise them anywhere. They were the eyes of his very best friend.

Opening his mouth to scream, he was silenced as a fist went into his gut and blood dribbled past his lips. He stood, choked, unable to breath, unable to double over with the figure holding him up. Not able to keep it in, he wrenched before he threw up all over the floor, blood in the mix. Sucking in as much breath as he could, he screamed again before a fist met his face and the world went black.

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Downstairs, the guys jumped out of their skins. Tyson, who had only just arrived back from the bathroom, was the first to react to what they heard. A high pitched scream.

"MAX!" He bolted past the other and swung round corridors, gripping the banisters to stop himself literally flying past the stairwell and ran full pace up the metal cased steps, occasionally slipping and smashing his shins on the steps, feeling the blood and pain but not caring; his friend was in danger.

He ran to the door, only to be thrown back from the lock. He snarled, and (with a frustrated mutter of 'I don't have time for this!') threw himself harder at the door and it fell open with a bang against the wall. His sneakers hitting the carpeted floor, he raced into the room and bent beside his unconscious friend's side, feeling tears prick his eyes at the sight.

Max was alive, but unconscious. One of his legs was broken and his wrist dislocated, his nose broken. A bloody, lip split and a black eye stood out against his pale freckled face. There was a deep gash on his forehead with blood from it slowly trickling down his face.

Tyson pulled the boy onto his lap then used his jacket to stem the blood flow. Looking around for any sign of the attacker, he found none. Then, his eyes landed on the destroyed 'art' (as the killer would most possibly say it was) that was once Mr Dickenson. His gut wrenched and lying his friend down gently ran to the corner and was sick in a potted plant, crying silently.

"Mr Dickenson…he…he's…" Behind him, he heard Hilary scream and Ray's cry of "MAXIE!" He heard two pairs of footsteps approach him and looked up wearily and tearfully to see Hiro and Kai beside him, both looking shocked and (Tyson would have to double check that later in Kais case) concerned. But more than anything, he saw sadness and rage…rage their best friend had been attacked and the jolly old man who'd treated them like grandkids was dead. Sadness that someone could be so evil…and worry for the person who was currently bent over the yucca plant puking.

"I…I'm okay…worry about Max…" Tyson barely got the words out before he struggled to stand. At first he stumbled, his eyes glassy as he faded in and out of consciousness, but with the aid of Kai and Hiro he got himself upright. Clutching his head, he turned to Hilary, Ray and Kenny, all of which were treating Max's wounds best they could do, with the exception of Kenny who was calling an ambulance. There was a sharp crack as Ray pulled Max's wrist back into place at which the blonde whimpered in his state. The neko simply ran his fingers through the blonde tuft of hair to calm his friend, but it was more of a silent apology. Apologising he couldn't get there in time and that he'd let the most childlike of the group get hurt.

Tyson watched them, still crying silently before something which sounded like a snap resounded at the back of his head and he collapsed. Before he did, over the fuzzy voices of Hiro and Kai, once again he heard that haunting voice.

"Be careful Kinomiya…you wouldn't want to lose anyone else important to you…now would you?"

Tyson got a flash of his family (well, what was left of it before his mothers passing) and landed hard on the floor before everything dimmed and faded into an almost bliss like state.

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The hospital reeked of death and despair. And Hiro hated it; he just hated it so much. It brought back bad memories, so hard it was as if it was happening all over again. The night they were called in, his father and grand-father included, because Yoshie Kinomiya collapsed and was brought here. What made it even more real was that Tyson was now curled up, partly on his lap, fast asleep or still unconscious; exactly as he was when he was barely walking; tired from crying and struggling he drifted off on Hiros lap.

The hospital aura had obviously gotten to the kid too, because he had his elders shirt in a vice grip between his fingers, occasionally whimpering softly. At one point Hiro tried to remove Tyson from him only to have to pull him back when Tyson was visibly terrified and muttering their mothers name over and over. He was calm, for now at least and pretty much peaceful. He'd admit, Hiro found it agitating, but he figured it was about time to do the whole 'Big Brother job description crap' and just be there for him. What he found hard to believe was Tyson was sixteen coming up seventeen, almost graduation, but he acted like a five year old. He was so (for want of a better word) Happy-Go-Lucky.

Hiros thoughts were shattered as he felt Tyson shift and looked down into eyes identical to his except Tyson's were more naive in that cute innocent way and drowsy. The younger looked up, shaking slightly.

"Hiro…what happened..?" He (Tyson) watched his brother sigh.

"You saw Tyson." Hiro spoke calmly but gravely. "Mr Dickensons death and the attack on Max..." Feeling tears prick his eyes, Tyson simply shifted off of Hiros lap and hugged his knees to his chest. The guys knew Tyson wanted to talk but he needed a moment to calm himself. They waited, watching.

"I just hoped…it was going to be another one of my nightmares…" Ray, sitting in the chair beside Tyson, sighed.

"You and me both pal…you and me both."

"Ahem?"

They looked up to receive details from the awaiting and slightly impatient looking doctor.

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Max looked so small in that large white bed. His freckles stood out against his pale skin while bandages and stitching underneath them were around his arms and his head. He was sound asleep. For now at least, whilst the others watched him shock.

They hadn't expected to hear he was so badly hurt. He wouldn't be out of bed for at least two months, a few weeks if he was really lucky.

But what was worse, the guilt that had crushed them all since they heard his scream. They vowed to be friends forever, to do things together, they'd made a silent vow that they would protect and be there for one another. They'd broken that promise, and as a consequence, Max was lying in a hospital bed, no longer able to take part in any upcoming tournaments such as Japans tournament. Sadly, that was going to be put on hold until the murderer was caught and with no clues at all, they might have just as well called it off.

Bt what really shook them was that unless a new BBA head chairman could be hired and found appropriate, if not soon, the sport of beyblading could be ruined. Even taken away.

Sure, they were just spinning tops. Sure, it was a big load of crap when looked at it threw some peoples eyes and to be honest, there was no need to scream in battles, just concentrate. But each one of the bladebreakers and some other bladders had been forced into it, sometimes by cause of religion and myth, some just because their parents or people who hired them/ cared for them wanted the fame and its riches. For the bladebreakers, it was a game that had been taught to them at an early age and in the end they were pushed into it by relics passed down and monuments and to make their passed loved ones proud, they continued the game. Besides, it could be seen as fun from their point of view.

Some beybladers (even though Tyson would never admit it, the Bladebreakers too) would go way over the top with the game. But they couldn't help being so attached. In fact, to them, it was no longer a game.

A groan startled them and all eyes turned on the bed to see tired blue eyes open. Tyson and Ray approached first.

"Hey…Max. You okay?" Tyson frowned then looked shocked at the confused them angry and terrified look in Max's eyes. He opened his mouth but everyone lept back in shock when Max became to scream and sob.

"DON'T YOU DARE COME NEAR ME TYSON! DON'T YOU DARE! YOU DISGUSTING PERSON! YOU SICK, TWISTED EVIL BASTARD! YOU DID THIS! IT WAS YOU TYSON! YOU DID THIS! YOU'RE THE MURDERER!"

Police (who were there for later questioning) and nurses ran into the room, getting a sedation needle ready. Slowly, they injected the boy and his struggles lessened until he fell asleep. Everyone's eyes turned to Tyson, who was shaking, pale and his eyes filled with tears. Everyone in that room didn't want to believe it, but for all they knew, they were looking at a viscous murderer. They had a suspect.

But Tyson knew and didn't need anyone to say a word as he fled. The guys were starting to suspect him. They didn't trust him.

They thought he was the killer…

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To Be Continued…

(A: N: Man…that was a bit rushed. I think that ending was bad but I can't find a way to make it longer or more suspency. And sorry for the slightly late update guys, I was out all day, my bad. Also, sorry for the Maxie-Chan OOC-ness. Hope you enjoyed this chappy.)

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Preview

"Tyson can't be the murderer! He's not like that and you know it!"

"TYSON STOP!"

"Oh my God…Ty, what happened…"

"I didn't do it…" A sob. "I couldn't"

"Oh, don't worry Mr Granger…I'll put you out of your misery soon enough…but first, I have two more targets in mind…"