A/N: Who would've thought that my reviews were as sicked and twisted as I am? D'aww, I love you guys. No, seriously.

Oh, and I have written another Death Note story (is not shamelessly promoting it). It's L and Light and Mello and Matt and Watari, except with drugs and addiction and music. Whaaat?

But, really, thank you all for the wondrous ideas you've all given me. Nubial Sheep is officially somewhat of an unofficial muse. And I am telling you (not asking) to read her wondrous story entitiles "In Another's Shoes." It's a tale of Light, L, and Misa-Misa switching bodies. It's quite hilarious, and I verily recommend it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, man, seriously. DON'T HATE.

How many days to hours it had been since the great detective had last closed his eyes to dream, L was unsure. Time had become relevant to his enslavement, and he hadn't an obscure idea to how many days he'd been lying in his own feces—he was beginning to rash up, as it were.

The piteous sobbing had ceased several hours after they'd started. His navel would heal with time, and for the moment he just felt apathy; at least, that was what he hoped to feel.

The walls were closing in. He had assumed that the headaches were from a lack of sleep, and his bitter rage was also a benefactor of that. There were numerous times where he just wanted to scream at whoever entered the room, mainly B and that damned phone he waved around.

Light and the Boys (which pissed him off that they were even there) had tried to tell him some "good news" but all he had done was tell them, with unsurmountable rage, that they were giving him a headache, and that they should make haste to quiet themselves, lest he shut them up himself.

Paranoia had long since set in, due mostly in part to the visual and auditory hallucinations he was experiencing. He'd long since laid eyes upon movement sweeping across his body, and forms manifesting themselves in the window. Many hours had passed since then, and now all he could do was try to stop himself from incessant trembling and throwing up of his own bile—his throat was sore and burning, the hot acid also taking toll on his once-pearly teeth.

He was trying hard not to lose his mind and rampage against everyone as though he were a rampant lunatic. But it was so damn difficult to not do so. Every little thing, or breath, or anything anyone did caused him to fly into a state of psychosis and scream his top off.

Even Beyond had become wary of the sleep-deprived detective. The deranged man had known the effects to such an act were destructive and negative, but even a captive was slipping into a steady flow of rage.

L hadn't minded in the least that Beyond, in a fit of anger at the prey's anarchy, had torn out chunks of hair and flesh. Of course it was obligatory that he writhed and moaned in pain, but L had thereafter told him to never touch his bodice again, or Beyond would suffer the utmost pain when the detective was free.

L had even gone so much as to attempt to tear his way through the piano wire that cut into his flesh. When pulling did not work, he began to try to gnaw away at it with his teeth, grinding them together in an all together gruesome and inhumane manner. Blood had begun to pool around and stain every ounce of living, breathing flesh. L did not seem to mind, the dizziness and exhaustion were too much a strain. He welcomed the light-headedness with eager arms, a manic look on his face as he continued his vain attempt to break free.

His face, neigh, his entire torso had become reddened as he did not stop. It was a futile, desperate attempt at freedome, but even that sensible, reasoning voice in the back of his mind was telling him to break free.

It would be Beyond that saved him from killing himself with a blunt object to the back of the head. It would be the lunatic that let out a sigh of relief as his toy's eyes fluttered shut in shock, only to sit beside L and stare with a gaping mouth.

There had never been a time in which B would actually want the pain to end. Even when it was thrust upon himself, he welcomed it with a crooked, humorless smile.

But this, this, this act upon which L had been doing to himself, he'd be a liar to say he'd seen it before. Beyond had never tested the strenuous account of sleep deprivation—case being that his usual victims never lasted that long.

The results were a success: L had temporarily lost his mind. But it had turned him into an animal, and Beyond wanted to take a human, not a beast.

Thus was the motif behind the operation, and for now, B would let him rest.

There would be a whole new realm of tests for when he would dare awake.

It had been seven days since the fateful warning call, meaning that the team had but six days to locate the exact location in which Beyond was holding their detective.

The clue of the train station was vital, but given the numerous and plentiful stations which situated themselves within the city it was hard to deduce the exact where. Too much time and effort would be put into tracking down stations and tearing them down limb by limb until they won.

And, of course, doing so could induce mass hysteria if word were to get out that the world's three top detective were kidnapped by one of the most cunning and insane murderers this century.

So, again, the troupe found themselves in a quandary—to search, or not to search, that is the question.

Light twirled his pen around with a solemn, melancholic look on his face. The teenage god had been unnerved by their recent call from B, in which Ryuuzaki had screamed and, rather vehemently, told them that he would either kill them all, or kill himself if they don't shut up. He'd never heard such a maniacal tone in his life, even from Rue!

He knew he was not the only soul disturbed by the outburst—he'd seen those faces his peers made.

But for some reason this affected Yagami more than he would like. He was empathizing with the victim, and that was no good. To feel one man's pain will only add onto his own; he was a god and gods do not feel for mere mortals.

Sadly enough, he'd attempted to pacify L's rage, and consequentially, Mello's rage

That damn brat had more emotional problems than a Vietnam veteran. After Rue had hung up on the Force (with a shout of surprise as he did so) Mello had pulled out another of his plethora of guns, and had shot a computer with a look of utter loathing.

Luckily, Light had stepped in and, quite calmly, punched the teen in the face and told him that this investigation was hectic enough without his sporadic, passionate outbursts and if he were to continue doing so, Light would forcefully eject him.

Oh, if Light Yagami had ever laid eyes upon such a malevolent, malicious face as Mello's. Though, there was not time for dilly-dallying.

Matsuda, Mogi and Aizawa had begun listening to the subliminals within the current tape, as Matt was busy trying to comfort Mello. Near was staring at a Japanese map and, probably so, trying to discern the general vicinity of the detective.

"You see," the pale child began in a monotone when Light inquired. "I believe that Beyond could not have taken L too far, seeing as it is quite difficult to travel with an unconscious person in your arms without raising alarms. What I am doing is merely attempting to hew down the many numerous stations to a rare handful. From there, it's a matter of mere location identification."

Light was impressed; the child was fairly logical in all of his decisions. It was odd how emotionless he was, however, because it seemed as though he held more apathy than L.

Completely put-off, Light struggled to keep focused, though he did keep wondering about the detective. Was he okay?--though that was a dumb question, given the circumstances, he found himself more concerned than normal.

"I'm going to bed," he then announced, standing from his chair and exiting post-haste; he had made sure to leave no room for questions.

When L had awoken, he felt, if it were to be true, pleasant. It seemed as though his body had been washed, and that his resting spot was tidied up somewhat. He wasn't sure how long he had slept, but only knew that whatever little it had been had invigorated him; he was pleased to find that all ill-will toward society had dissipated.

And then: "They're coming for you."

L blinked, bewildered, and looked around for the owner of the then disembodied voice. His eyes settled on B, who had a rather angered expression on his face.

"Beg pardon?" He wasn't quite sure if he had heard right (B had previously bitten off a good portion of an earlobe), so it was prevalent he was sure, lest he get his hopes up.

The killer looked murderous, but answered again anyway. "I said, they're coming for you." His voice was strained, grainy. L loved it, reveling in the moment.

Tears threatened to fall, and L could not care less. The defeat look on B's face, coupled by the sheer fact that he was going to be freed from his prison, made L want to scream and cry with joy. It felt as though he could sing, laugh, and do everything all at once.

So he began to laugh—not the odd, crazed laugh of a victim, but the relieved, convivial chuckle of someone relieved. His head drooped back somewhat as his chuckles intensified, but he didn't mind. Hell, it got him to look away from the mag that was Beyond Birthday.

But he was well unaware that B was also laughing, as well.

Of course, he had lied. Maybe it was out of the goodness of his heart, at first, to make his beaten toy happy, if but for a moment so that he could crush it with his bare hands. Or, of course, it might've been to test out another game: L's trust and determination.

And so it began, B thought, sitting down cross-legged in front of L and staring him tranquilly in the eye. Even the act made the detective quiver, he laughed to himself. This was his golden opportunity:

Was he going to break him?

A/N: Blah! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, seeing as I didn't so much. It was too plain and nondescript to me. But, hell, this chapter moves it along, so it needed to be done.

Oh, and do so check out Nubial Sheep's profile. Pweet pwease?

And review.