IV. Technology
It was incredible, the capacity of the zoom on the surveillance cameras. L could count Misa Amane's every eyelash, the freckles on her doll-like face, the ridges on the flesh of her drowsy lips and the ten seashell fingernails. Closer, and there were the pores of her glowing cheeks, each bursting with an iota of life that cameras couldn't capture. A small, secret, covetous part of L wondered what it would be like to touch her.
He reached a beseeching hand, hungry for the texture and warmth. The battered fingertips bumped against only a flat, blue screen, a faint tap to match the pixilated sighs of her breathing.