We are a party of innovation. We do not reject our traditions, but we are willing to adapt to changing circumstances, when change we must. We are willing to suffer the discomfort of change in order to achieve a better future.

~Barbara Jordan

A moment of silence passed, and Light braced for everything to wash over in a gruesome, bloody forty seconds. Trembling had overtaken his pinned form, and he could only help but grimace as his heart pounded in the thick of his chest.

The man flipped through the pages, flicking through them in a rather loud display of consideration. The covers slammed shut, much to Light's surprise. He dared to raise his head off the ground, turning it ever-so-slightly to see the man's red eyes zero onto his own.

"Well," the man jeered nonchalantly, pressing his foot deeper into Light's back while eliciting a groan from the teenager. Light barely noticed the man sliding the notebook into his pocket through the tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes, "There's another toy for my collection. Never enough, you know?"

The masked stranger lifted his foot ever so slightly, almost as if he were giving Light a chance to speak. Light, out of his own judgment, remained silent; he feared what his words would stoke in the psychopath who held him hostage.

A loud crack resounded in the alleyway, and Light's back all but snapped at the newfound force that the man was putting on his back. Even through the haze of searing pain, Light had enough know-how to tell that his hip was absolutely not at the right angle. Panic flooded through him, and he could barely pull together a coherent thought.

I'm going to die– I'm going to die–

The hockey-masked man twisted his grimy foot between Light's vertebrae, threatening to split him apart with the very strike, "You're a bit quiet. Too quiet for my liking."

The man kneeled down beside Light, lifting up his head so that honey brown irises met crimson red ones through the mask's round eyeholes. Even without a clear view of his face, Light just knew that the man was wearing a condescending smirk on his face; his tone was enough to tell, and Light shrunk in on himself further.

"Aren't you just something?" the masked man shook Light's head around whilst chuckling, and he eventually began to cough on his own saliva, amidst even greater laughter, in a disgusting display of insanity. Light's head was pressed against the ground once more as the man leaned in close, "I won't break you yet. No, I'll just have a snack before I leave to drop off the goods; you'll do just fine."

The man stood up higher, sharply craning his head whilst the moonlight made his demonic eyes seem to gleam with anger. Something dangerous danced in those black pits that sat still behind the man's blood-red irises.

The man's foot forced Light's head to the ground, effectively slamming his brain into his skull and causing severe disorientation.

"Just think about it this way, kid," the man grunted, bending down and thrusting his hand into Light's back, piercing into his unprotected organs and rupturing his rib cage while barely avoiding his spine. Light scarcely heard the man as he felt his insides being rummaged through, and the shock of the matter left him completely unresponsive. His world began to darken as the man continued to speak casually, "You'll probably be better off after this. Hell, maybe you'll even thank me afterward. Who wouldn't take the chance to become…"

Light's mind completely shut down in that second, and everything left his sights in a single, instantaneous second.

Light wondered if this was the afterlife:

A field of white roses, slowly dancing in a light wind that never seemed to cease.

A sun that gleamed in the sky, unendingly delivering its warmth to the flowers that begged for its energy.

A plethora of perfect, fluffy clouds that drifted lazily through the bluest sky.

He sat on a blindingly white bed with perfectly clean satin sheets, wearing nothing but a clean white shirt and snowy pants that blew loosely with the wind. He had no idea of how long he had been here, and he wasn't even sure if any time had passed at all. The only things that he was sure of were that he was breathing, despite the fact that he should be dead, and that he felt a sickening pain in both his head and his gut.

The pain in his chest felt like knives stabbing into him; the pain would weave in and out, fluctuating with his breaths, but it never faded. The situation with his head was the same story, but it was even more irritating with the pressure it put against his skull. Altogether, he felt as though he would burst at any second.

Despite this, he was determined to get up and investigate. While still sat up, Light twisted around, feeling the sharp pang of pain in his lower body, and let his legs hang over the side of the bed. He flexed them around and was quietly delighted to see them respond quite well despite the pain in his back.

Sucking in a deep breath and bracing himself for the next painful step, Light hoisted himself off of the mattress and landed on his feet. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't as bad as turning, but it was still another blow to his senses. He stifled a noise as the pain jolted through his back, making him freeze in place in hopes of the sensation going away.

The pain ebbed away as he stood still, silently observing the restless flowers swaying around him. His spine stiffened as he tried to take a step, and he audibly gasped when his foot hesitantly hovered forward. When it landed, he let out a grunt and his hands darted to his back.

Without a doubt, the source of his pain was most definitely coming from his back, and scarily close to the spine. His hands smoothed across his backbone, and he shuddered when his fingers ran over a thin line that ran across the left side of his shoulder to the middle of his spine.

He pressed in a bit, and his arm flinched forward when the pain hit him. His head throbbed as he doubled over in agony. He sat there unflinchingly for a few moments until he mustered enough gall to try to stand up again.

His knees trembled as he pushed his body off the ground with his hands, and his feet felt the slight tickle of the roses, somehow completely free of their thorns. He groaned as his back ached, but he continued to push forward despite the excruciating pain.

"Hey, just stop," an annoyed voice murmured from close by, "It's getting annoying."

Light's head whipped around out of instinct, but he immediately regretted the action when his head pounded with another pang of seething pain.

"See," the voice grumbled again, a youthful edge to their tone. Light glanced through clenched eyes to find a small child with unnaturally blue-purplish hair in front of him, sitting in a small patch of purple flowers that had seemingly apparated out of nowhere; the boy couldn't have been older than ten years old, but his blue-indigo eyes had experienced steel to them. The boy continued to scold him, keeping his eyes away from Light's and pointed at the ground, "You're hurting yourself, stupid."

The kid lifted himself from his seat on the flowers and brushed the dirt off his pants, which were already filthy despite their obviously white color, and approached Light with a lazy gait. Light noted that the purple flowers, which smelled oddly of herbs, followed the boy wherever he stood. The result was a trail of purple, almost violet flowers leading to Light. The kid allowed himself to slump onto the ground, crushing the flowers below him without much care, and tugged on Light's pant leg impatiently.

Frustrated and unable to do much more, Light conformed to the boy's demands without much of a fight. He bent his knees slowly, wary of the newfound injury on his back, and sat himself down without too much overbearing pain. Blinking out the fogginess in his eyes, Light looked down at the child with a nonchalant expression.

"Kirishima Ayato, and don't bother calling me by my last name," the newfound Ayato said with a bit of spite to him. The boy didn't bother extending a hand nor bowing, opting to ball his hands into fists in his lap in a strange display of reclusiveness.

"Yagami Light, and it's nice to meet you, Ayato," Light said in his normal, "perfect student" fashion. He wondered if he was going to have to make up an act for the child, but he really didn't want to bother with that given the situation.

"Of course," Ayato grumbled, snorting in irritation, "I'm stuck with a kiss-ass in heaven. Or hell. Whatever the fuck this is."

A moment of awkward silence passed between the two, and Light finally spoke up, "I don't think either of us is dead. I have stitches on my back, so someone must have found my body. What about you?"

"No," Ayato immediately shrugged off the notion, "I'm sure that I couldn't have lived through what happened to me. This is probably the place between the afterlife and life or some shit like that. I'm dead, you're almost dead. That would explain why it's only me and you; not many of us die, or come close to it, at the same time anyways."

"Wait," Light caught him before the topic could come to a rest, "What do you mean by 'us'? Is there something I'm missing here?"

"What?" Ayato deadpanned, looking at him incredulously. The boy's eyes darted to Light's right, as if scrutinizing him, and back to make eye contact, "You can't be shitting me right now. Your eye? Even if you're one-eyed you're still one of us."

Light said absolutely nothing in response, and his lack of anything was enough to set Ayato off.

"Goddamn!" Ayato spat out at him, pinching the bridge of his nose with a small hand, "Maybe your head was fucked with or something. You have a headache or something?"

"Yes, but I remember my head being bashed into the ground by this masked man," Ayato blanched, and Light continued, "He was wearing a mask, I believe it was a hockey mask, and his eyes were black and red, maybe out of drug use. He had white hair too. Does that sound familiar?"

"There's no way you're that dense," Ayato murmured through the fingers that covered his face. He lifted his head up and stared Light straight in the eyes, "That was Jason. You know, the S-rated ghoul that's in charge of that big ghoul organization? One of the most infamous human killers out there?"

"Ghoul?" Light asked dryly, feeling a bit of prickling in his right eye. Strange.

"You, you dumbass!" Ayato finally shouted, waving his arms in the air. He pointed dramatically at Light and hissed, "You're a ghoul. Even with your fucked eye, you're still a ghoul! You can't be telling me that you forgot what you are."

"Ayato," Light breathed a deep breath and noticed the way Ayato was glaring daggers at him. He unconsciously rubbed the wound on his back and continued speaking in a calm, in-control tone, "I am not lying to you when I say that I am not a ghoul and I have absolutely no idea what a ghoul is. I have no idea what is wrong with my eye, and I'm not even sure why we're here. Just explain from your end, and start with the subject of ghouls."

"Ugh," Ayato groaned under his breath. He regained that sharp edge glare and spat at Light, "Don't you dare talk down to me. I'm not a little kid, and– and fine, I'll start with ghouls."

Ayato made a point to look at Light with his unique indigo eyes. The boy covered them with his right palm and waited a second. The moment the boy pulled his hand away, those same demonic eyes that put Light in this purgatory met his once more.

Light, with a beat of fight or flight instinct coursing through him, attempted to stumble back out of fear, but his injured back left him blind with pain. He covered his face with his hands and laid down on his side, waiting for the pangs of hurt to ebb away. He reluctantly shrank into himself, letting his arms drop down to his sides.

Ayato scooted into his field of vision, dragging his purple flowers with him into the sea of white roses. The boy looked almost disappointed, still wearing those red pupils that danced in a sea of darkness.

"You're like a human," Ayato grumbled, crouching with his hands on his knees while facing Light, "I'm a ghoul, and you're one too, ignoring the fact that you have no memory of it. One of your eyes is like mine, and you smell like one too."

"That's impossible," Light flustered a bit, trying to rationalize the child's words, "I know that I'm human and not– not a ghoul. I don't have those eyes, and you haven't even explained what a ghoul is yet, and– and smell?"

"I'm gonna have to really explain this to you?" Ayato decried, running a hand through his scalp. Ayato pointed to himself, "Ghoul." Ayato pointed at Light, "Ghoul." Ayato pointed to himself again, gesturing towards his eyes and then the area between his shoulders, slightly towards the left, "Kakugan and kakuhou."

Ayato hissed a bit and Light flinched again as something large emerged from the boy's shoulders. They took on a sharp, crystalline form as Ayato forced them out, and the shard-like objects began to shape themselves into a silhouette of wings, still attached to the young child's back. Light, despite his passive expression, was undergoing an internal mental breakdown. His fingers rubbed his brow in frustration, unfortunately adding to the headache he was experiencing.

"Kagune," Ayato deadpanned, gesturing behind him. Light took a sharp breath and waited for Ayato to continue despite the many questions he had. Ayato, with reluctance, continued speaking when Light's face still showed his blatant confusion, "You know this, come on! The apex predator? King of the food chain? I heard the CCG even calls us 'wolves in sheep's clothing', whatever the fuck that means. Wolves are cool."

Light pondered the last statement, focusing on the 'wolves in sheep's clothing' analogy and ignoring the liberal use of expletives. Did that mean ghouls were only human-like on the outside? Ayato had also mentioned a few words that were more or less foreign to Light, piquing at his intrigue.

"So," Light started slowly, tapping his chin, "Ghouls are not human?"

"Yes, yes. Yeah," Ayato rushed, trying to force the so-called kagune back into his back with desperate hands, "We're a different spec-eyes. Ghouls can only eat people, humans don't eat people. Most of the time."

"Species," Light offhandedly corrected, dwelling on the fact that ghouls are not only predators, but they're predators specifically to humans. His face blanched at the implication that he was a ghoul; he knew he was human, and it should be impossible for him to suddenly turn into a ghoul.

Ayato grunted at the correction but otherwise stayed relatively calm for a kid. Light held his face in his palms, now sitting up, considering his options. Should he ask about himself being a ghoul? The kid said there was proof of it, but Light wasn't willing to bet that anything in this place was physically real.

Was Ayato even real?

If that were true, then he could completely ignore the thing that blasted out of Ayato's shoulders. If anything, this could have been a drug-fueled nightmare during his recovery in the hospital, yes–

But you know that's not what's happening, don't you?

"I understand what you say you are, but I don't support your… eating habits," Light started off slowly, eliciting a scowl from Ayato, "I just don't get why you think I'm a ghoul, and you didn't answer about the smelling question."

"One," Ayato raised a finger, "I know you're a ghoul because you have a kakugan like me, just in one of your eyes."

Before Light could interrupt, Ayato raised a second finger, "Two: ghouls have better senses than humans, so I know what you are just by being around you." Ayato slid a finger over his lip and looked down in concern, worry slipping into his tone, "This is like explaining the internet to Uncle Renji. Are you sure you remember being human?"

"Ayato, I can't take you seriously about that. How do I know that you're not lying about my eye? What if this place isn't even real and I'm just hallucinating? Ghouls don't exist; I've never heard of anything like this," Light said exasperatedly, trying to reason with the child and ignoring that inner voice of doubt, "I know I'm human; I remember being human and I've never been anything else. You have my word on that."

"You're delusional," Ayato fumed, inflamed by Light's insistence, "You said you saw Jason, right? If you saw him, then that should be proof enough that ghouls exist. And you think you can just imagine me up, idiot!? I'm a person too, and for whatever reasons we're stuck here. Together."

"Look, kid," Light started diplomatically before feeling a pang of drowsiness hit him completely off guard. It was so disorienting that he lost his train of thought completely, almost slumping over in the exhaustion that had slammed into him like a truck.

Ayato's angered expression quickly melted away, shifting into alarm almost instantaneously. He opened his mouth to speak before he slumped over in a similar motion. The wind stopped blowing against Light's skin, and the flowers ceased in their dancing, and the clouds paused in their lazy drifting.

Light blacked out before he could even register Ayato's motionless form.

"Wait, maybe that shock was a bit too strong. It startled him awake," a voice echoed in Light's ears, making his eardrums ache with their volume. It was… strange; maybe his headache was making things seem louder than usual. He tried to lift himself up, but the pain from his back was amplified from when he was asleep, so he was left essentially paralyzed wherever he was.

But–then, what about that dream?

"Shh," another voice jumped in, sounding a great deal concerned, "Don't startle him. The last thing we need is for him to work up an elevated heart rate and start bleeding like that again. Just leave the room; the wound's clean now. Not a word"

"Right, boss," the first voice complied as heavy footsteps faded away and a nearby door clicked shut, again making him flinch slightly. Why was he so sensitive to sound right now? The pounding in his head ought to answer that question, but he couldn't help but question the peculiar way that the hospital sounded and– yes– smelled like.

The screech of metal assaulted Light's ears, getting louder and louder as something pushed up against him, arousing a dull ache in his back. Finally, the shrill noise stopped and a face popped into his vision. An elder man, seemingly in his forties or fifties, with overhanging greying hair, fair brown eyes, and an ordinary amount of wrinkles in the forehead for his age.

"Ah, Yagami-san, are you okay? Is it alright if we drop the formalities?" the man queried, fiddling around with the bed controls to elevate Light ever so slightly. The man found the perfect spot between upright and laid down just to prevent more pain to Light's newfound injury, currying enough favor within the teenager to win his time, just not his trust.

The man continued despite not receiving an answer to the question, "For the time being, I am your physician: Kanou-Sensei. Don't feel the need to bow, shake hands, or even move an inch. Half of your ribs were shattered from behind, and we had to replace a couple of organs with the damage that was done. Though, you're lucky that your spine wasn't touched; that would have put you in a bed like this for life."

Light blanched and a bit of pain cascaded through his body as he unconsciously shifted. There must have been visible anguish on his face because Kanou took it upon himself to speak up again.

"Not to mention, you seemed to have suffered a severe concussion, so we also took it upon ourselves to ensure you were not permanently damaged from whatever caused it," Kanou pulled a clipboard off of the side of Light's hospital bed, quickly checking on the many monitors that were hooked up to Light's side. He pulled a few black sheets of plastic with x-rays imposed on them and faced them towards Light, tracing a pencil over the skull area. "There was a fracture right here," Kanou circled the front of the skull which showed a visible, yet almost undetectable, jagged line in it, "The frontal lobe was barely touched, though you may have experienced some minor trauma in that region. I wouldn't be surprised if you have, say, minor headaches, some mood swings, maybe even the occasional random sound in your head for the next few months. We'll just want to examine whatever symptoms happen and nip them in the bud if it becomes necessary, so feel free to contact me in the future if anything does happen. Now that the basics are covered, do you have any questions?"

"Have you contacted my family?" Light asked, the dryness in his throat catching him by surprise. In a rare bout of concern and slight foolishness, Light sincerely hoped that his father wasn't preoccupied with this; the man was already stressed to the bone with the never-ending stream of cases, and he couldn't imagine the mental and physical toll it would put on him to know his son was in the hospital because of something he missed or could have prevented.

"Yes, both of your guardians have been informed of your condition. Though, for your health, I advised them to give you at least a month of recovery without major distractions," Kanou, with an almost deceptive smirk, continued, "Of course, we cannot have one of our patients exerting himself socially when he is recovering from an organ transplant; you will have to take certain drugs to accommodate for the new organ and as a result, your immune system will be weak for quite a while. It's imperative that you be slowly reintroduced into a public setting so that your body has time to adjust. Homeschooling, or at least remote learning, will have to be done for now. Anything else?"

Kanou, despite his overbearingly kind disposition, was obviously fascinated with him. What with, Light was unsure, but he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable around the man. The mix of chemicals in the air with their pungent smell, the artificial lighting, and the white-tiled room did not sit well with Light, and something deep in the back of his mind agreed with the discomfort and fostered it, letting it fester into paranoia.

"I have more questions," Light said slowly, examining Kanou for a reaction of some sort. Once he found none, he finally gave into his fears and made his request, "But I think I want to be alone for a while."

"Of course," Kanou shot back, continuously wearing his patient smile without missing a beat, "Just buzz me in if you need assistance or you're hungry. Try not to sleep though, you were nearly on the verge of flatlining earlier. Losing consciousness is a bit of a risk, especially given your concussion."

"Okay, Sensei," Light replied, eager to have the room to himself, even if it meant enduring the pain in his chest and skull on his own. The longer he spent in the presence of Kanou, the more off-centered he felt. The man had the same effect as an alarm clock: he rattled your senses, forced you into a different state of mind, and made you want him to leave within seconds of his arrival.

The doctor walked out of his field of vision and the door squealed open before clicking shut. Light let his hands rise to his face, cradling his cheeks as he let all the information sink in. With a resigned sigh, Light held his hands to his chest and wriggled them around half-heartedly and rested back onto the impossibly white hospital bed.

That is until a voice spoke up.

"H–Hello?" the voice questioned hesitantly, sounding much like the boy Light had encountered in his dream-like state, "Can you hear me?"

"Ayato?" Light asked compulsively before realizing that he had absolutely no clue where the voice had originated from. He was in a room with another empty bed, but he still craned his head to look for the child in question.

What was he, a ghost?

"I–I don't think… I'm not… ugh," Ayato scrambled for words, and Light was left at a loss. There were no visible tics to lean off of, but Light could tell that the boy was thinking, wherever he was. Something akin to a sigh sounded and Ayato spoke again, "Alright, this is happening. This is real fucked up, but it's my life now."

Light blinked, wondering where Ayato was going with this. He then proceeded to outstretch his arm and flex his fingers around loosely, feeling the exhaustion of having to sit in bed for days roll over him.

"Holy shit," Ayato hissed and something akin to a sob or a cough hit Light by surprise. Ayato sniffed, seemingly pulling himself together, and said in a shaky voice, "This is really happening."

Ayato made a noise that sounded much like clearing one's throat, and Light let it click that the voice was indeed coming from his head and nowhere else.

You've gone insane, Light. Curiosity killed the cat~

A sharp breath passed, and Light barely took the time to register the headache that was growing in the back of his head.

No. He refused to scream and refute reality like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Light was a clever person, he always was. Adaptability was his strong suit.

What was one more challenge?

A new thought came along, and he wondered if he could talk to Ayato without sounding like he belonged in a mental hospital. Though, considering where he was…

No, think.

Could he direct thoughts? Was there a boundary between thinking about things and speaking inside your mind?

With a bit of an experimental attitude, Light tentatively thought about speaking to Ayato, and something fit like puzzle pieces in his mind. It just clicked.

"There seems to be a distinction between an inner monologue and 'speaking'," Light observed, still somewhat shocked by the revelation that there was someone living in his head. He directed his thoughts again, finding it to be an almost instantaneous connection, "Can you hear this?"

"Mhmm," Ayato hummed, observably quieter than he had been the first time Light had met him. He stopped there, making Light wonder if this was all a nightmare and that he had truly gone insane.

Light subconsciously shivered at the notion of becoming an acute schizophrenic, but he furrowed his brow in concentration as well. For better or worse, he and Ayato were stuck together in some way. To what extent, Light didn't know, but he was determined to find out before either one of them did something rash.

Light mentally reviewed the conversation they had had earlier, and a few key points stuck out like a sore thumb: the existence of ghouls, him being a ghoul despite knowing he wasn't one, and that Ayato himself was a ghoul. There was the added fact that he was attacked by one, and conclusively Light had to assume that he was, for his current state's sake, in a world inhabited by man-eating monsters in human skin.

Great, he summarized.

"Ayato, is there any way that we can disprove that I'm a ghoul?" Light questioned, eager to strike out the most controversial topic that had been brought out earlier. He cleared his throat, acutely aware of the gravity that being a ghoul had.

"I guess I can't know since I'm not looking at you," Ayato went quiet for a bit, and Light let himself close his eyes in deep thought. The pain was nearly gone despite the fact that his body had been fixed up recently, and that alarmed him somewhat, especially given the possibility that he was now less than human. Ayato spoke again, more certain, "If you can eat human food, then you're not a ghoul. That's the only way to prove it."

Light, without batting an eye, pressed the button on the side of the bed with a resigned sigh. The speaker buzzed for a few seconds, and footsteps approached from outside the hospital room door. Light was left at odds at how he was able to hear them(it fed into that voice in the back of his head, doubting doubting doubting), but he chose to focus on getting through Ayato's request for his own sanity.

A knock sounded, and then the door opened without much hesitation.

"Hello again," Kanou walked in with a lopsided smile and faced Light. The man's face brightened considerably before quickly checking the monitor and taking a seat beside Light once more. He spoke, "Now what seems to be the trouble?"

"Yes, well," Light started with a tired edge to his voice. He went on with much care for the personal image he wanted to maintain, an innocent façade that screamed helpless and naïve ad nauseum, "I've realized I haven't eaten since I was checked in, and I've been getting a bit peckish. I would like to have something if I'm even allowed to, that is."

"Kiss ass," Ayato grumbled in the back of his mind. Light paid no attention to this. He simply knew better.

Acting like a fool gets you what you want, so who's to say it matters if you look bad for a second?

"It's perfectly fine, Yagami," Kanou waved whatever doubts Light had off and got up abruptly, hands on his hips, "Surgery might have traumatized your digestive system, so I'd prefer that I observe and check for any abnormalities such as pain or general discomfort. I trust that won't be a problem?"

Kanou shot his words back with the same level of overly sweet kindness, and it felt like complete crap to Light. Here they were: two people who wore masks to please the other despite neither side caring about the other's impression, just the results.

What irony.

"Of course not," Light replied, a bit of dry humor still tasted on the back of his tongue. He swept the top of his palate and swallowed what little saliva he had in his mouth, vividly aware of the lack of taste it had.

"Alright, I'll be right back, then."

The door screeched again, and Light was left with nothing but the sound of incandescent lights buzzing steadily. Ayato took this gap to speak again.

"Why do you do that?" he whined indignantly, and Light could almost imagine the facial expression Ayato would have worn: hunched in on himself while wearing a scowl.

"Do what?" Light responded without missing a beat, but he knew that the charade could only go on for so long with someone else glued to him 24/7. That was going to be tiring, having a proverbial angel on his shoulder judging his every move.

No, Ayato would be onto him after watching him for a day, or a few weeks if he was really dense. Not that Light cared; Ayato was a little boy in his head, and he couldn't tell other people what he was or what he wasn't. They would go on thinking he was the model student that he was, and perhaps someone other than himself would know that he hated it all.

It was all boring. Maybe this is a change he needed…

Some excitement, any. Not welcome, but not completely unwelcome.

Just accepted.

Yes, that was it. Just barely contained chaos in his life, all there for him to fix. Something interesting to hone in on and divert his mind from his trouble's for a minute, if just a minute.

Another thought bubbled up, and it was something that he had almost forgotten about that night after the haze of pain and imminent death. The reason he went searching for someone, but– what?

Before he could fully consider that, Ayato interrupted his thoughts.

"You know!" Ayato screeched, demonstrating a temper that was exceedingly shorter than Light's own. That was okay, Light surmised. He was thick-skinned; calm and collected, he reassured himself without much effort. Ayato continued his rant without any hesitation, "You're like a robot! Fuckin' kissing ass here and there while being completely weird to other people. You did it to me and that Kanou shithead, so open–"

"Yagami, I have an omelet on rice, is that okay?" a voice cut in. Soft, gentle breathing emanated from the door, and Light knew that Kanou was at the door despite the fact that he shouldn't.

"–up!" Ayato finished after the voice had spoken. Light craned his neck to the side and hushed Ayato down, despite the child's retorts. Kanou walked into Light's peripheral vision, and the man had a tray in his arms with a soft smile.

The same mask-like smile.

Light, despite the angered screaming that was still reverberating through his aching head, nodded without so much as a word. He even mustered a dry smile, but he knew that his eyes were void of any real joy.

"Alright," Kanou set the tray tentatively over Light's lap, quietly taking a seat next to the teenager and speaking with the same soft, controlled tone as before, "I'll just stay here to make sure you don't have any peripheral damage. Of course, with me here, you're safe if you happen to choke." Kanou nodded firmly and displayed the contents of the tray by lifting the lids off of one of the two bowls there, "This is a simple omelet on rice, I personally asked for foods that wouldn't be hard on the digestive system, and I have another dish that should be fine if this one isn't to your liking."

Light took a second to register the double meaning to the man's sentence, but he paid little heed to his words because the stench of the food was almost unbearable to be around. The eggs were somehow rancid despite their perfect golden appearance, and the rice was void of scent altogether. Even Ayato was suppressing gags in the back of his mind, and Light couldn't help but agree with the boy's sentiments.

Is he right? Could I really be–

Light was absolutely certain that he couldn't consume it, and he was concerned as to whether or not the Doctor himself was completely nose-blind (the more likely scenario than being… one of them), but he cautiously lifted the fork, hiding his disgusted expression behind a trained mask, and shoved a bite of omelet with a bit of rice into his mouth.

The gag was almost instantaneous, and Kanou suppressed a smile in the corner of Light's peripheral vision. Bastard.

It dawned upon Light that he couldn't, in fact, do this and that maybe the egg itself was rotten after all; it tasted like how raw sewage smelled. Ayato griped about denial in the back of his head, but Light wasn't ready to resign his humanity quite yet.

Light waved urgently for a napkin, and Kanou helpfully supplied a cheap, paper-thin napkin for Light to spit out the bits of food. His tongue wriggled around desperately within his mouth to rub the taste off, but he knew that he would have to bear with it until the flavor ebbed away on its own.

"Are you sure that egg wasn't rotten?" Light asked cautiously, very much aware that the man had known something about this. Kanou continued to wear that little grin of his, and it only reinforced Light's adamance on playing his cards right.

Wise men can look like fools, they only need to know they're wise, not act like it, he reminded himself quite astutely.

"Hmm," the man supplied ever so helpfully, even tapping his chin in mock suspicion. The man's face shifted as if he had undergone a revelation, and he spoke again, "Well, it's hospital policy to check the expiration dates and freshness of the supplies and food stock regularly, but the rice should be perfectly fine since it's a staple."

The ceramic dish scraped towards Light, and the teenager gave a skeptical look at the Doctor and then the plate in front of him. Light hesitantly stole another forkful of food, exclusively rice this time, and directly placed it on his tongue to spite Ayato's claims.

Still, Light visibly sickened. The taste resembled the smell of burnt cigarettes, and he could closely link the aftertaste akin to something like the scent of cardboard or even paper.

Rice could not be botched; it was simply impossible to ruin something as simple to make as rice.

It would take an absolute imbecile to destroy rice.

His confidence was dwindling and there really wasn't much more he could say in his defense. Oddly enough, he was finding Ayato's hypothesis to be more and more likely by the second. It felt like the floor was collapsing beneath him.

Right, he breathed. A little more chaos, but nothing he couldn't handle.

Yes, perfectly acceptable chaos that he could manage. He could still act fine, he could still fulfill others' expectations, he could still fit in.

Yes.

Much to Light's utter chagrin, he used the same napkin to spit out the rice bits and sent a low, harsh glare towards the Doctor. The man continued to smile, undeterred.

"Let's assume," Light mentally started while cleaning his mouth, "–that your theory is correct, Ayato. How did I get this way, then?"

"I honestly don't have an answer," Ayato admitted begrudgingly. The boy hushed down completely in the face of a new plate being presented to Light and him.

The man lifted the lid, and a bloody mess laid before them.

"That's human meat."

Ayato's words rang out in the room, echoing in the wake of that nuclear realization.

Light breathed a solemn, shaky breath before refusing the plate completely, claiming he was not really that hungry anymore.

Kanou walked out the door silently, and Light was left to lament what fragments were left of his humanity.

He could never admit, to anyone, that the plate smelled delicious.

Jason didn't touch the notebook, not for a few days.

There was something… unpleasant about the concept of a clean, untraceable way to kill someone.

Perhaps it was the lack of thrill.

The way that screams got the blood pumping and the endorphins rushing; well, there was something to be said about the way twisting a bone in its socket made even the toughest men sing in his arms.

But it was also the lack of risk, in his eyes, that diminished the value of the book greatly.

After all, what fun is there to hunting when the prey can't at least make an attempt to claw and bite and curse?

Half the game was toying with his victims, watching them slowly lose hope over the long stretches of time where it was just him, his bucket, and his tools.

That, he thought, was the best part of the game.

The other half went to their feeble attempts in escaping or hurting Jason, which most often ended in a sharp knock to the stomach that made that defeated look in their eyes look all the better.

So, no. The Death Note didn't seem like a nice thing.

It was too quick, it was too painless, and, if he was reading the rules correctly, those who died from it didn't really have true consciousness after their names are written. There was no question of life or death after a name was written, only certainty.

They wandered to their deaths like lost sheep by a cruel, omnipotent shepherd.

It lacked the intimacy of his usual work.

And to boot, it wasn't usable on ghouls.

Now, he didn't discriminate between guests of human and ghoulish nature, but there was more to be said about his little friends who were able to grow back a limb or two rather than the ones that broke apart like wet paper.

Jason found himself at a loss with what to do with it, quite honestly.

Using it on his guests wasn't an option.

If there was no risk and no fun to the game, then there was no point in playing.

He could toss it to the other executives, let them have their fun, but then the whole struggle with the humans would be ruined and if there was something Jason hated, it was finding an easy way out of a problem.

Ghouls were like cornered dogs, and Jason took great pleasure in seeing his people claw their way out of the worst situations out of pure desperation. Hunger, competition, threats– whatever. His people were a goldmine for ingenuity.

He couldn't do that to them because it would be a waste.

So when he finally found himself face to face with the book, hidden away in an office room that he had claimed for himself within the depths of Aogiri territory, he was truly unsure what to do.

He'd had a week to think about it, and he was none the closer to finding a good use for his new toy.

A shame.

At the very least, he was getting a new playmate out of the deal.

The Yagami boy. Now there was a steal. Top student in the country, accomplished athlete, cherished son of police chief Soichiro Yagami, and, as of now, a ghoul.

He hummed to himself, tapping the Death Note against the desk within his quarters.

He was impatient.

The boy wouldn't be here for him to work with for a good while, not until he had fully adjusted and, more importantly, toughened up a bit.

Let it be known that Yakumo Oomori did not like his prey weak.

The initial hunt was all part of the game.

Jason cracked a knuckle and returned to the present, ceasing to knock the book against the wood and flipping open to the first page again. As his eyes passed over the rules in the same way he did many times before, he was struck by an errant thought that made him straighten in his seat.

The hunt.

Yes, the chase could be more interesting this time. Just him, his prey–

–and this notebook.

His eyes surveyed the table for a pen, and he snatched the first one in his sights.

It was going to be difficult, luring in the boy using a notebook that could only kill humans, but the payoff would likely be better than any other hunt he's done before. As he chuckled to himself, absorbed in his desire to tenderize his prey for the upcoming trials he would put it through, he could only think one thought:

This is going to be fun.

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Questions

What kind of person would Light be without the Death Note? With ghoul abilities?

What does Kanou want? What game is Jason playing? How will this affect Light?