It wasn't like falling asleep, like everybody always says it is. It was more like waking up from an ill-fated nap, taken in the middle of the day with little regard given to any other plans one may have. The kind of nap you wake up from at six in the evening and think, "Great, there goes the rest of my afternoon." The kind of nap that leaves you feeling like you've inhaled molasses, like you're living at the bottom of the sea. It gives you a migraine just to think of it, doesn't it? Is your throat filled with gum? Are your sinuses melted together like welded steel?

When I opened my eyes, I didn't realize at first that I had died. I could tell that something was wrong, of course; I was watching everyone crowd around something, screaming their heads off. I tried to step closer to investigate, but I felt locked in place. My limbs were made of concrete. My eyes were on fire. A red light pulsed rhythmically, distinctly out of time with the racing heartbeat I was still half-convinced I might have. It made the nausea creeping up my throat all the more pungent. I forced one of my legs forward, and then the other, and the other, and the other… I trudged onward, through the dreamlike haze, towards the small party of men all huddled around something precious and horrific.

"What's going on? Why are you all shouting?" I rasped in vain.

I tried to get their attention again, this time by grabbing one of them by the shoulder. I watched in horror as my hand slipped right through. In the split second it took for my fingers to pass through him, I felt the threads of his suit-jacket lace themselves between my tendons, and I felt his bone marrow slipping into and then out of my fingernails. It was, perhaps, the third or fourth most disgusting sensation I've ever felt in life or death. My head felt hot, like every one of my hairs was emitting microwave radiation. All at once, I knew what was happening, and also, I didn't even know where I was, much less who all these people were. The world spun me so violently, I was knocked to my knees and left to beg for mercy.

It didn't click in my mind until I mustered the strength to plant my feet on the ground and stand again. I pushed my way through their arms and tried to ignore the gut-wrenching feeling of their bones and tissues meshing into mine, both internal and external. I looked down slowly, worried I might faint should I move my head too fast. The sight before me, too horrific to process. I liken it to the body of a lamb going onto the fire.

Light Yagami holding my corpse.

A vision of his face, twisted into a grin as nauseating as the sound of bones cracking under a cinderblock, beamed itself directly into what remained of my frontal cortex. A shotgun shell of information resounded in my skull. For perhaps the first time ever, I screamed in outrage.

I felt sheen of sweat forming over my skin surface, but when I tried to wipe my clammy hands on my jeans, it made no difference. I couldn't even see the sweat, I realized. Maybe it wasn't even there to begin with; maybe this is just another part of dying.

My panic continued to spiral its way into my skull, throbbing deeper and deeper, like a corkscrew. There wasn't anything I could do to take it back, to help myself or anyone else. Death is the one circumstance under which you're truly helpless. I wanted to bargain, to plead, to cry out, "Somebody, do something!" But my throat had become sandpaper and my tongue had all but melted into a lidocaine slush.

Like a sledgehammer to my temples, Light's voice struck my ears.

"Hey, Ryuzaki… C'mon, snap out of it!"

I could have killed him.

"Don't play dumb."

Having come-to from his dumbfounded stupor, Chief Yagami stuttered, "What happened?"

"What's going on?"

Of course, Light had to go and make the confusion all the worse, and started screaming.

"We're gonna die! Watari, Ryuzaki… it'll be us next!"

In another fit of raw emotion, I, too, started screaming. I wailed at the top of my lungs, with every inch of breath I could heave out of me. If my fists could have properly collided with the floor I'm convinced I would have broken the linoleum, or my hand. If I had any blood left in me it would be seeping out through my knuckles.

My words echoed in my ears louder than anyone else's.

"Don't you play dumb with me."

I knew it wouldn't work, but in that moment, I hadn't the faculties to stop myself. For my own sense of satisfaction, I lunged at Light, hoping to knock him to the ground. Instead, I felt his grey matter slide past mine. I could see the back of his eyeballs. I would have vomited, had I access to any organs which could accommodate such an act. Instead I managed only a limp dry-heave.

Landing on the other side of him, slick with "sweat" (or at least, the sensation of it), I turned and aimed a right hook at his head. I felt my knuckle slip past the crown on one of his molars. No use.

Everyone in the room was busy cowering for fear of their own lives, when Light cried out again.

"Damn it! Where are you, Shinigami!? Come out! You know something about this, don't you? Come out!"

He handed me off to Aizawa, and stormed off. I couldn't help but follow him. In that moment, I felt as though I had an obligation to. I realized, as I followed him through the building, that I was out of breath. No matter how intensely and deeply I gasped I couldn't seem to draw anything into my lungs, nor could I expel anything. In retrospect, this makes perfect sense. At the time, though, it sent me into even more of a panic. It felt like being crushed under a tonne of sand.

I followed Light up several floors, always staying as close behind him as I could. Were I not so out of breath, I may have had words for him. He just wouldn't stop giggling to himself the whole time…

I could have killed him. I've never been angered to thinking that I may be capable of killing someone, but after what he's done, all the lives he's claimed… Forget me for a moment. I don't care about me. He can kill me all he likes. But I could never excuse the damage he's done to the entire world, the bigoted attitudes he upholds. The way he puts stock into biased laws, and then, much like the police, kills his political opponents without a second thought as to the value of any given life.

Selfishly, the thing that truly sent me into such a rage, I think, was that only in death could I finally have irrefutable proof that Light Yagami is Kira. The bastard managed to make himself so likeable to everyone else that, even with all of my very reasonable suspicions and deductions, they never once suspected him. I have to hand it to him, that was a very smart move. It never mattered how far ahead I was; so long as nobody was willing to believe that Light is a murderer, nothing I said or did would ever get through to them. Not even dying at their feet.

We finally came to the observation room, where Watari was stationed for much of every day, keeping a careful watch over the goings-on of the Kira Investigation Headquarters. I hesitated to follow Light into the room, unsure if my already weary heart could handle seeing my father's body. But I needed to know why he came all the way up here. He had left in such a rush, like he was trying to get to something. So, I had no choice but to investigate.

Just as I thought. I saw him pick something up off the ground… another notebook? He kicked at the ground, dispersing a cloud of dust. He tucked the notebook into his shirt, and just in time; the remainder of the investigation team had just caught up with him. Feeling claustrophobic, I backed out of the doorway as quickly as I could, and stumbled into the opposing wall. The steel wall felt colder than anything I've ever felt, in stark contrast to the fever that continued to cloud my head.

I couldn't bear to be there anymore. I no longer felt as lucid as I had a moment ago, and in a daze I wandered back to the primary investigation lobby. I arrived in time to watch the EMTs carry my body away. A private emergency response team had been created at the same time that we began using the headquarters, should I or anyone else on the investigation team fall ill or die suddenly. Another pair of EMTs were heading upstairs with a gurney, likely to retrieve Watari.

I collapsed on one of the plush white couches, and ran my fingers over the fabric. It felt almost like suede, but much softer. Whatever the material, it was very high-quality. Watari had certainly spared no expense on the furnishings, knowing that we would be spending the vast majority of our time here. It almost brought me to tears, remembering how he cared for me. I began to wonder, was he still somewhere out there, too? If I'm still on Earth, despite my lack of connection to the Third Dimension, perhaps he is, too. But, I hadn't seen him in the building at all. Could he have left already? Why wouldn't he wait for me?

I stared vacantly at the EMT who lifted my body from the ground. He handled me as one handles a loaf of bread; that is to say, too fragile to throw around, but too inanimate to care if it's manhandled a bit. I became, I admit, very fixated on him. I stared at his shoulders while he zipped me up into a bodybag, and I lingered on his hands while he pushed the gurney out of the building. The red light glared on. All too suddenly, I realized that I was alone.

I don't know how long I stayed on that couch. Eventually, the investigation team came back to the lobby. I was beginning to find it difficult to linger there any longer. I felt sick, looking at the chair I'd been sitting in, alive, mere hours before. So, when the rest of the team left, I chose to follow them out of the building, into the cold November evening, more alone than I'd ever been before despite my lifelong habit of near-total solitude.

There was only one thing left to do. I directed myself eastward, and began walking to Haneda Airport.