Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own "Death Note"

Authors Note: Thanks so much to everyone who follow the progress of this story. It really makes me happy that someone actually read what I write. Seriously. Again, please review, and tell me if you think something in this story is getting somewhere you find bad og ridiculous, or if there simply is something you don't like. I would really like to hear whatever you have to say.

Oops, and please note that something in my documents is screwed up, because I can't seem to figure out how to separate one unit form another. I'm deeply sorry. Just assume that when the "scene" or "narrator" changes (for example from a dungeon to a palace or from Mikami or Light all of a sudden) it's because there is a change of unit. Sorry for any inconvenience.

Also, even more thanks to the people who reviewed. You give me the courage to continue. (And here starts a new unit):

"Mikami!" Light said harshly as he marched alone down the rows of beds in the little hospital. He quickly came to a halt by Mikami's bed. "Mikami!"

The man was sleeping, but it looked like he already had a bit more color in his face than in the morning. Outside night was falling. "Mikami!"

Then the squeaky doctor hurried out of his office across the room when he heard the voice of God. As soon as he reached the bed he fell to his knees. "Lord…"

"Be quiet and get out!" Light barked. Then he stretched out his hand and gave the sleeping man a hard pat on the cheek, although not hard enough to be a slap in the face. Mikami opened his eyes immediately, looking wildly around the room as though waking from a nightmare, but the little color completely disappeared. Then he saw Light.

"God…"

"Yes, yes," Light said impatiently, taking out the cell-phone. He clicked it so the picture of Sniper came forth on the screen. "Who is this man?"

"Lord," the doctor lifted his head, "I really must insist…"

"I told you to GET OUT!" Light screamed. The doctor flinched, stood up, bowed quickly to Light before fleeing the room.

"So?" Light once more turned to Mikami. "Who is it?"

But everything seemed to be too hard on Mikami. His eyes were rolling, the eyelids quietly closing.

"No!" Light yelled. He could not let the sniper live any longer. If he told someone… He grabbed the glass of water on the bedside table, turning it upside down so all the liquid poured down upon the pale face of the black haired man. Mikami opened his eyes at the very instant, spluttering and coughing.

"WHO IS IT?!" Light howled, his hands trembling with anger and desperation.

Mikami looked up at him. "I… apologize…"

"No, just answer the damn question! WHO – IS – HE?!"

Mikami's eyes gleamed red for a moment. "Geor… George Clemens, God…" Then he passed out.

Light relievedly let the cell-phone sink. Then he stepped back while starting to smile again. He took a page of his Death Note, one he always kept in his inner-pocket. George Clemens. After that he wrote the names of his four bodyguards. In exactly two hours, they would all die in the same traffic accident.

Light massaged his temples with his fingertips. It had been a rough day compared to the ones he used to have these days. Normally he was not forced to kill.

In his bedroom with the square furniture was a gray sort of darkness hanging with a thick chill like wavy smoke. He did not care for the light right now. Rain was splattering his windows, every drop hitting the clean glass made him even more tired. His black jacket was thrown carelessly on the bed on which he sat, looking sad and lonely as though a murder had just taken place, and the police any minute would come and draw a line of chalk around it.

It was not until now he started realizing the true meaning of George Clemens's appearance. A sniper, talking about his boss telling him how to kill Mikami? But who was this boss? It was clear to Light that even under torture Clemens would not have given up anything. It was best if he just died right away. But still. A paranoid feeling had hung heavily around Light ever since he had killed the man. Were there more of them? There had to be, there was no other way. The question was where they were. Here in Tokyo? In the palace? Maybe even someone he saw every day. Someone he trusted was perhaps really trying to have him killed and to destroy everything he had struggled build. But no, because Light was not foolish enough to trust anyone. But of there actually were an insider, clearly they would have come to Clemens's aid. So it seemed very unlikely a traitor was within his walls. He must double Mikami's bodyguards and triple his own. And there was no way not he could move without having them and his personal physician around all the time. In fact he could not even eat anything without having it tested first for poison. Oh, this was bad. He must clearly find this boss of Clemens's, but how? He had no other clues than the sniper saying there actually was such a person.

And as though that was not enough, he also had to find a solution to another problem soon. He desperately needed those Eyes of Mikami's, but clearly he could not keep acting like a madman and storm into the hospital every time someone unknown had to die. He supposed he could always make the Eye-deal himself. But no, he would never stoop that low. As God, he could not shorten his own lifespan, it was absurd. Besides, he had not seen Ryuk around for some time now. He had always found a way to get around making the Eye-deal in the past, so why not now? He simply needed to find Ryuk and someone who was as loyal to him as Mikami was, until Mikami had recovered. Then he could dispose of the substitute, or simply of Mikami, depending on who had done the job best. He could just make another sniper appear and kill one of them, that would seem realistic. But who should be Mikami's successor?

A throbbing headache started crawling sneakily from his temples to end up sitting right above the eyes. He moaned, loosened his tie a little more and dialed a number on his cell-phone.

"Segan, get me some aspirin," he said irritably and hung up. What a day.

And yet, in spite of this whole catastrophe, he could not help feeling excited just a little bit. He smiled. The headache seemed to fade. This seemed so very familiar. He remembered the day many, many years ago when Lind L. Tailor had appeared on TV, telling Light that he was evil. Then Light had killed him. It was the same kind of joyful sensation he had felt when killing Near and L. But then it had turned out that Lind L. Tailor was not in fact the real L. He smiled more broadly. As bad as everything looked, he still felt excited to finally have something to do. The years in his life which had been most fun was trying to find out L's true identity based simply on nothing more than a British accent and...

Then something occurred to Light. Clemens too had had a British accent. Certainly not someone had escaped Whammy's House…? No, it was impossible. Or was it? He had not bothered searching for survivors afterwards, for who could have escaped? Maybe he should have searched. If someone had escaped… then maybe, after all this time, he was fighting a new Near, a new Mello… a new L? Well. How interesting. Interesting indeed.

Someone knocked on the door. Light told them to come in.

Adéle Segan stood in the doorway. She was tall and fit, had a slim, pretty face and was in the beginning of her twenties. Her hair was shoulder long, waveringly thick and in a yellow color, almost as if it was spin of thin thread, golden, but too light to be real gold. Her startling eyes were the same color of thunder and stormy clouds. Light thought her pretty.

She was one of those infant prodigies who graduated form Medical School as a twenty-year-old with top marks all over. Light's personal physician. No better one could be found. She brought a glass of water and a bottle of aspirins, kneeling as she entered. Her white coat almost lit up the room. Her face was expressing nothing more than worshiping kindness. Any other doctor in her league would have been bored of just bringing aspirins to her patient. But not Adéle. She worshiped Kira. He told her to arise.

"Anything else, Lord?" she asked as she set the glass and put the pill on his bedside table. You could hardly hear the French accent.

"No," he said. "In fact you can take it all with you when you leave. I don't need it anymore."

She bowed deeply. Light knew this would have annoyed any normal doctor.

"Oh, and Adéle?" She stopped dead as she put her hand on the door handle. He had never addressed her with her first name before.

"Yes, Lord?" She turned around and knelt.

"Arise. You do know that I'll need you around me at all times after today's incident, don't you?"

"Yes, Lord, you told me earlier today."

"I barely know you, Adéle."

She turned her head to look at him, a little puzzled. "Lord…?"

"I mean, Adéle, you're my personal physician, I really should know who is behind the white coat." He grinned cheerfully and smiled warmly at her as he got up.

"Behind the pretty name. And speaking of pretty," he took a few steps to stand next to Adéle, and changed his voice into a whisper, "has anybody ever told you," he lifted his hand and brushed away one of the golden curls, fallen a bit out of place, "how beautiful you are?"

Adéle blushed. "Th-thank you, Lord." She made a movement to kneel in gratitude, but Light stopped her.

"You don't have to kneel before me anymore, Adéle." He let the hand which he had brushed away the curl with caress her cheek. "I'd really like to have dinner with you. Privately. Just the two of us. How's tomorrow evening?" He new perfectly well that tomorrow evening was fine - you could not say no to God.

"Yes, tha-that's perfect, Lord." She smiled excitedly. "I'm looking forward to it."

"That's excellent. I'll see you tomorrow."

She half bowed, half nodded I flurry and backed out of the room.

When the door was closed behind her, Light's smile broke out in a broad grin. But this one was contemptuous rather than cheerful. Oh, yes, he had been right to choose Adéle.

Two Months Earlier

Will sat comfortably in his worn out armchair with a cigarette and a Coke on the little table next to him. The little room in the two-bedroom apartment was only lit by a yellowish light from a lamp on the table. The room was not very big, but still you could not even make out it's corners in the dim light, most of the furniture in a dark brown and greenish color. The curtains were covering the small windows, outside which night hung thick and dusty in the streets of Tokyo. If the streetlights had not been turned on, and the sky was not so polluted, one would have been able to see several stars. Now all that was viewable was the yellowish moon between a torn blanket of black clouds.

Will's GP 35 handgun was soon as clean and as perfect as it was possible for it to be, but he kept on polishing it anyway. It calmed him to take care of his weapons. They all lay neatly on the table, fully loaded and ready for use. He was not sure why he cared so much for the weapons, he just always felt the need to polish them whenever he had the time.

He sucked the last bit of smoke out of the cigarette, which was actually more of a fag end than a cigarette, and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the table.

The young woman who sat on the other side of the table making out her reckonings almost seemed not to be present. They had sat like that for what seemed like an eternity, but then the girl put down her ball pen and looked up at him with her very significant gray eyes, tearing Will away from the monotonous cleaning of the gun.

He looked up at her, taking a sip of the coke now that he was taking break anyway. "What's up, A? All that math-stuff too hard for ya?"

"No." She started up the reckoning again, the golden hair, which was actually too light to be real gold, falling down into her face.

"What is it, then?" Will said. He was used to A not being all that precise.

"I need you to stop calling me A, William," she said thoughtfully. One could hardly make out the French accent.

He raised his eyebrows. "Because...?"

"Because I think I have to stop calling myself that. We have to use my real name."

"Because…?"

"Because I have to go away for some time. We can't just rely on George completely to get rid of Mikami – in case it goes wrong."

"What have you thought of doing?" Will returned expressionlessly to the GP 35.

"I'm going undercover in Kira's palace to find the notebooks and destroy them, and if I don't die after doing or in attempt to do so, I'll concentrate on having Kira himself killed."

"Is there anything I can do to talk you out of it?" Will sighed. But he already knew the answer.

"No, there isn't, William. It needs to be done, and I don't see any other person than myself fit for the job."

"So you're just gonna walk into Kira's palace and tell him your real name in the job-interview?"

"Yes. With Mikami around it would be foolish to use an alias, clearly Kira will have everyone checked before he even let them in. You must lead the men now, start fighting for real, you know, sabotage certain buildings, shoot somewhere and blow things up. You will know what to do. To keep Kira's attention off the fact that there might be an insider in his palace."

"How could he possibly know that?"

"Kira is not stupid, he is considered as smart a Near, L, Mello and myself. Maybe even smarter. That is not entirely impossible since he killed three of us."

"So I'm gonna have to address you as 'Adéle Segan' from now on?"

"No, just Adéle is fine, thank you."

"Right."