Yet another QMFM: Well, I got my third review. That's two in just one month, which means things must be going okay I guess. Alexis Vance said:

The memes are strong in this one...

Also nice work, this is the best death note fanfiction I've read since Stalin.

Based on this I have not the slightest idea how much Alexis read, or exactly which memes he is referring to, but hey, vague comments are better than no comments! Now without further ado, let's begin.

(Chris' POV)

After two hours, I think we're finally almost here. I must say, this outback heatwave really isn't my kind of thing, but I should really be glad this facility even exists in the first place.

'Look around, Chris... At all these big-ass trees.'

'Yes, Rugo, there are trees. Now I just need to find a place to park up.'

Such a place turns out to be the side of one of the many Eucalyptuses that keep the abandoned mafia base hidden from anyone who didn't know what they were looking for. After turning off the engine I jump off and begin unloading everything from the back of the motorcycle, which is technically Indy's but she let me borrow it.

'This is what were we've been going for the last two hours? All I see is an abandoned warehouse, a weirdly-shaped building and a cleared-out strip of flat-'

'Don't judge a book by its cover. After all, my math textbook has a picture of someone enjoying themselves on it and I have never gotten any enjoyment out of it.'

'So, Chris, now that we're in a really sketchy-looking area in the middle of nowhere, what's your plan for getting these "diplomatic payloads" around the world?'

'Everything we need is in here' I reply as I put my hand on the scanner at the entrance of the warehouse. Luckily they don't seem to have removed me from their databases after my defection last year, so I should be granted access to everything without raising any alarm bells.

'… Could you expand on that?'

'In the mafia, they realized long ago that transporting extremely valuable or highly classified items by land or sea is impractical, due to the ever-growing risk of said items being intercepted. So, with equipment purchased and stolen from their allies in the greater Middle East region, they developed a new system, which uses two vehicles to transport a payload to any location on Earth from any of the mafia's dozens of scattered bases like this one.' I explain, leaning into the eye scanner.

'So then why is this all abandoned?'

'Following my ascension to Kira, the mafia has seen significant losses in both manpower and finances. This base was abandoned following their recent budget cuts, and they can't risk thinning themselves out too much by having someone watch guard over every single base they abandon.' I finally type in the universal entry password, and the door opens.

'Then why hasn't anyone else taken over this place?'

'There are very few people outside the mafia who know about these locations, and even if they did, they need membership in order to pass all the security systems. Even I wouldn't have been allowed in if they had simply updated their databases.'

Entering the warehouse, I can't see anything inside as the only light entering the massive space is that coming through the doorway. I immediately search the wall to try and find the light switch.

'So, how does this transportation system work?'

Identifying the switch, I answer, 'There are two main elements to it, here's the first.'

After a few seconds of flickering, the first set of lights illuminate half of the warehouse.

'…Rockets?'

'The smaller a missile is, the harder it is to detect, let alone intercept. After countless hours of trial, error, simulations and engineering mishaps, this is what they came up with. Each of these is 260 centimeters long, 50 centimeters wide and has a total mass of 140.5 kilograms once a 4 kilogram payload is added. There is one drawback, though. These use engines fueled by Liquid Hydrogen and Liquid Oxygen, so while they perform brilliantly at high altitudes, they're almost useless if launched from the ground. Even if we launched it from the highest mountain in Australia, its range would still be rather limited. That's where the other half of the system comes in.' I flip the second switch, and the lights on the other side reveal two large iconic aircraft.

'Wow, are these drones? I didn't think they'd be so big!'

'The MQ-9, codename "Reaper". Originally designed by the United States military for combat operations, one of these can carry 12 of the aforementioned missiles to a distance of 1850 kilometers and an altitude of eight, before releasing them and letting their own propulsion systems carry them the rest of the way. From that altitude, the missiles have a range of fifteen thousand kilometers, so the global coverage from the system as a whole is almost total. Of course, this is all very expensive. Depending on who you ask, the cost of a single drone can range from fifteen to thirty-seven million dollars, and despite being the most powerful organized crime faction in history and having connections to every major terrorist group in the world, the mafia as a whole has less than fifty of them. And while I do not know how much the missiles cost, I imagine it is well over a hundred thousand dollars each.'

'But since this facility is abandoned and all the stuff is already here, we can do it for free, right?'

'Of course. My plan is actually rather simple. We fly the first drone with its payload of twelve missiles, each carrying a message in physical form, then as that drone is refueling and those missiles are on their way to our target nations, we launch the second with a second load of missiles.'

'Wait, don't drones need two pilots?'

'On this mission it'll only need one, myself, but I might want your help when the missiles are deployed from the drone halfway through each flight.'

'But I don't know anything about any of that!'

'If there's something you don't understand, learn to understand it. I can teach you how to do your part. If you don't get the hang of it quickly enough, I can do it all myself, it'll just be a bit harder. All in all, this whole operation should only take about… twenty-four hours. I have already convinced my mum that I'll be at a sleepover at a friend's house, and we can use the control tower's sleeping quarters, plus I've brought all the food, games, manga and anime we'll need.'

'Are you sure about this? I mean, you could end up kidnapped. Or worse, the night could be really awkward.'

'Stop worrying, it'll be fine. Well then, let's get started. First, we need to clear up the airstrip. I'll go find some brooms.'

(Ivan's POV)

(Note: All the dialogue in this next scene is in Russian, but for convenience and because I don't know the language myself, I've written it all out in English)

I'm usually the most unruffled of men, but these weekly meetings always put me on edge. In line with my training in the former KGB I'm systematic, pay careful attention to detail, and take nothing for granted. Clutching my briefing papers and notebook to my chest, I knock twice on the ornate, gilded double doors of the Russian president's office. The doors are opened soundlessly by two soldiers in the ceremonial uniform of the Kremlin honor guard. Imposing, chosen for their impeccable Slavonic looks and almost as tall as myself, they are the men of the 154th Preobrazhensky Independent Commandant's Regiment, the men who protect the Russian president.

I enter the room, pause momentarily to dip my head in salute and walk forward. The room is Spartan, minimalist, the only concession to extravagance being the green curtains edged in gold and tied in black ropes. Behind the president's chair there is only one decoration, the gold double-headed eagle on a red shield. The desk is huge but empty of any papers, except what looks like a report from defense minister Shoygu. A long conference table juts out at right angles from the desk towards the door.

Behind the desk sits the president, Vladimir Putin. As his chief of staff and regular judo partner I know him well, to the point where his blank, emotionless stare isn't even very intimidating to me.

'Vladimir Putin, before we start the meeting there's something I should let you know of.' I say as I place my papers on the table in front of my chair.

'And that is?'

'About twelve hours ago, a missile impacted the Ural Mountains within eyeshot of one of our military bases there.'

The president says nothing, which means he is still assessing how to react.

'It was too small to be picked up on radar or any of our other missile detection systems,' I continue. 'In fact, no-one even knew it was coming until they saw its reentry flame as it bursted back into the Earth's atmosphere.'

'…Which direction was it coming from? If this is some NATO operation then we must-'

'Actually, from what I've seen in the preliminary reports, it wasn't coming from the direction of Europe or North America at all. A team has been sent to try and locate the crash site, and one of my assistants is currently watching the situation live. He'll report back as soon as there are any updates.'

'I see. A single missile, too small to be detected, launched away from any NATO member state, and it just hit the mountain without exploding in a fireball or anything. Am I hearing that right?'

'Yes.'

'Hmm, sounds interesting. NATO or not, I doubt it was launched as an attack by any of our enemies since there was only one, and I know for a fact that's not how they'd make their opening move. So it must be something else. Well, I suppose we'll find out later. So, Ivan Komarov, before we begin... What are your plans for New Year's?'

'Well, I'm planning to spend the day with my family out in the east. You?'

'To be honest I haven't put much thought into it yet. I've been too preoccupied with the amount of work I have to do to really think that far ahead. It's been one difficult year, I must say.'

'…May I now call the meeting?' I request as I pass him an agenda and an updated brief, and he nods in agreement.

The double doors are again opened by the guards and Putin's Deputy, Foreign minister, Finance minister, Interior minister, Defense minister and Chief of the Russian General Staff enter. The president himself remains seated.

'Sit.' He commands, and I take my habitual seat as note taker at the foot of the table. From here I can see Putin and the others directly. The others take their usual places at the table, and we all eagerly wait for the president to speak, wondering who would be his first target for today. We don't have to wait long, and he first turns to the Defense Minister.

'Sergey Shoygu, I've already read the report on the situation in Eastern Ukraine and am content that it remains relatively quiet.'

Moving swiftly on he turns his laser-like stare to the Finance Minister. 'You next, please.'

From my position at the back of the table I see the sweat on the back of the minister's half-bald head. 'Vladimir Putin, it pains me to tell you that our economic position is getting increasingly difficult. Western sanctions continue to have a deeply negative effect on the economy-'

Putin interrupts, 'See this room that you're sitting in? It's a bullshit free zone. These are old excuses, Anton Siluanov. EU sanctions have become toothless since the Italians, Greeks, Hungarians and Cypriots vetoed them at the EU summit in June. The union remains deeply divided. Heh, the western strategy of increasing the flow of refugees out of Syria by bombing civilian targets seems to be backfiring, it seems.'

'Of course, Vladimir Putin', continues the minister, 'Nevertheless, the price of oil remains a problem. You will remember that my budget was based on a price of one hundred dollars per barrel, but the price has been consistently lower than that. There's still a glut of oil on the market following the easing in sanctions against Iran after the nuclear negotiations in Lausanne last year, and this Iranian oil is pushing prices even further. That means we're losing around forty billion dollars a year because of the sanctions and around ninety to one hundred billion dollars a year because of the low oil price. On top of all that, the increase in defense spending has put a huge strain on the budget. Vladimir Putin, there is no other way to describe the economic situation than very difficult.'

'So what can we do about it?'

'Well, I think we have several options. They're all terrible, but they're options. Unless the price of oil goes back up, which no economist believes it will in the near future, we either have to cut spending or raise taxes to keep the deficit down to our projected 0.6% of GDP. And if we don't do that, we have no option but to borrow at increasingly expensive rates, which will only make the situation worse. The ruble is losing value, the forecast for growth from the central bank is zero and GDP is static at best.'

'…Well, fuck. Vladimir Kolokoltsev, what impact is this having on public opinion?'

The Interior minister answers, 'Vladimir Putin, you know better than anyone the resilience of the Russian people, and how we know how to suffer and even take pride in being able to endure the hardest conditions. But even the most resilient are beginning to tire of high prices, the shortage of consumer goods in shops… people just aren't as tough as in Soviet days. And on top of that we have increasing unemployment and increased levels of poverty among the jobless.'

The president waves a hand in dismissal. '…Well, as much as I hate to say it, this is a fact of Russian life. It sets us apart from the softness and excesses of the west. But what about the so-called opposition? They can hardly call themselves credible if, nearly two years later, no-one has yet emerged to take that agitator's place.'

'I regret, Vladimir Putin, that his death last year created a martyr and a focus for our opposition, which has flamed up in some places since our last meeting.'

'It had to be done,' Putin snaps back, 'He was a dangerous and destabilizing figure.'

'Of course, but his name still poses a threat. The memorial to him where he was killed is regularly removed by the police, but someone keeps putting it back.'

…

…

'… At this point, I think our only option is to give the people pride in Russian power, as we did when we liberated Crimea two years ago. That is the way to restore morale and to reduce the opposition.'

'But how? NATO continues to pose a danger to Russia, it continues to encroach on our borders and its long-term strategy of encirclement of the motherland is plain to see.' Points out the president's Deputy.

'We are all agreed that they are an existential threat, but what about its capabilities?' Putin responds as he subtly takes a small bottle of vodka out of his desk.

'Well, as discussed in our previous meetings, NATO could, at any time, pose a real and present danger to Russia. And just as worrying, the Baltics and Norway could offer them a convenient launch pad for an attack on us, and we aren't the slightest bit prep-'

At that moment the doors burst open, and my assistant proclaims:

'You're all really gonna want to see this! The recovery team found the missile, and inside it was a message from Kira! He's offering us an alliance!'

Putin spits out his vodka in shock, and the rest of us just stare in surprise, unsure of how to respond.

'…Oh, and I'm sorry about interrupting your meeting, by the way.'

'Wait, what's this "missile" you're talking about?' Asks the interior minister.

'I'll tell you later,' I answer. 'So… what exactly was the message? Has its origin and sender been confirmed?'

'Well, we managed to trace back the missiles position, and we've found its most likely launch point as being located in inland Australia, not far from Sydney where Kira is rumored to live!'

'How soon can we see it ourselves?' Demands the president.

'The whole message, including all the terms of the agreement, is written inside a briefcase with strict instructions not to open it until it's in the Kremlin. We can probably get it to Moscow within a few days, although depending on how rough the weather is out in the Urals, it could take a lot longer. On the bright side, the message says we can take as long as we want before responding, so long as it's within a few months.'

'Well... this changes everything.'

(Barack's POV)

'Let's be eating burritos when he shows up, and wear massive sombreros…'

'…This is the part where I say "maybe" but I definitely mean "No".'

'And how about orange face paint?'

'Joe, we're not-'

*BEEP* *BEEP*

'Oh, that reminds me! You know he needs an official government phone, right? I'll give him a Note 7.'

'But Joe, don't those…'

'Exactly.'

-Beep-

'Hello?'

'Mr President, we've just intercepted and destroyed a missile over Hawaii. Its size and dimensions don't match that of any known weapon, at least none currently in use in any of the world's militaries.'

'Wait, where-'

'Can I put whoopee cushions under all the chairs before he gets here?'

'Joe, I'm on the phone.'

'Well you didn't say no, so…'

'Where was the missile coming from? This may very well be-'

'Based on its trajectory it seems to have been launched from eastern Australia.'

'Oh. So it's not an attack from one of our enemies?'

'No, sir, it can't be.'

…Dammit, I was really hoping this would give me one last chance to push the button.

'So, what did it contain?'

'No idea. We completely destroyed it before anyone thought to check.'

'Does anyone know who could've launched it?'

'Not yet. I'll keep you updated on any new developments.'

'Okay. Bye.'

-Beep-

'Joe… what did you do over there?'

'I've superglued a drawer shut then left a post-it note on it saying "secret Muslim agenda". It'll kill him.'

With a disappointed sigh I try to change the topic. 'You know, I didn't think he'd be late.'

'I gave him the wrong address.'

'Joe, he's the president-elect.'

'Idgaf what they call him. If I'm ever questioned about it I'll just say fuck you. Also, while you were talking on the phone I left a fake Kenyan birth certificate on your bed in an envelope labeled "SECRET", just to fuck with him.'

'Joe…'

'Oh, and I put a prayer rug in your bedroom. He's gonna fuckin' lose it!'

'Dammit Joe.'

If it was only one missile, and no harm was done, then why was I informed about it so quickly? He said it was coming from the direction of Australia, isn't that were "Kira" is from? At this point, I can't think of any other way this could-

'So during your monologue I've reprogrammed all the TV's in the White House for when he arrives.'

'Joe, I'm trying to think.'

'All channels now speak Spanish with Arabic subtitles.'

I mean, right now no-one even knows much about Kira, let alone how he's become so powerful is such a short amount of time. To think that he didn't even exist until just two months ago… but if there is one thing he has made clear it's that he is a threat to us, perhaps greater than any we have faced in modern history. And he not only knows but has publicly mentioned topics such as our civilian disarmament goals, our terrorist alliances, the genocides, media control and human rights abuses of our allies, our enemies' pacifism, police brutality, cancer cure suppression, MLK's assassination, the rigged elections, the Bilderberg's and god knows what else. And, as the man himself said back in his debut broadcast:

'Off the top of my head I can name three kinds of people that are going to oppose me: Those who think any killing is wrong under any circumstances, those who think the law – which, to simplify, says any killing is wrong under any circumstances – must always be followed and is never wrong, and those who don't want power to lie in the hands of an uncorruptable force they can't negotiate with, or even identify. That last group will probably include all the world's richest and most powerful people, and I'm very glad this power wasn't given to one of them.'

Dammit, he knew exactly what we were going to think, and now we can't even overflow his defenses by sending in more agents to help with the case! We are literally-

'So I saran wrapped all of the toilet seats and put Nair in his shampoo bottle.'

'Joe, please, no. Just no.'

'You're right, it's a toupee. Nair won't work.'

And what about this "L" person? I have met him before, and I know his father like the back of my hand, and I know that he's a good detective with an excellent record of successes. But whether or not he is the world's most capable one or not is debatable, and I know for a fact that he wouldn't have been chosen for this had he been an ordinary detective with and ordinary background and-

Looking out the oval office's window, Joe adds, 'I also just changed the White House Wi-Fi password to "ILoveMexicans" so he'll never have service.'

'…Okay, I will admit that's a good one, Joe.'

'I also hid all the pens in the White House.'

'Why?'

'Because he's bringing his own.'

'… I don't get it.'

'HE'S BRINGING HIS OWN PENCE.'

'Joe, you are the most ridiculous Vice President I have ever had.'

'I'm the only Vice President you've ever had… Oh boy, his car is here, quick let's all hide.'