Title: Trials of an Analytic Cure

Summary: Imagine that your next breath is your last. Imagine that your next move could save your life, or end another. Don't lose focus. And don't trust anyone. There are no friends here, and allies are only temporary.

Disclaimer: Idea is far from original and I have no ownership ties to DN.

Author's Note: Nothing spectacular here. Just introducing characters, but the upcoming chapters are guaranteed to be more interesting.
Also: You'll notice that this chapter is titled Cure One. All chapters will be titled Cure (chapter number).
WARNING: If you were expecting more of Beyond, you may find yourself disappointed. He's not a primary character.
Personal Thanks: to all my readers, reviewers, followers, and fav'ers.

...


CURE ONE


It was late in the evening, or early morn: no clock to tell time and the only clue was the darkening sky outside seen through a caged window. Disheartening and almost foreshadowing, the lights in the room seemed to flicker, the bulb wanting to die but still holding onto life.

A lone figure occupied the room, hair reminiscent of a raven's frock and eyes gleaming a soulless black. This man, known better as a letter than a name, sat wide awake with his knees drawn to his chest. From a short distance, he stole a glance at the sheet of paper on a nearby stand.

On regular notebook paper, written in plain blue ink... as harmless as a shopping list but far more sinister... were the Rules.

WELCOME, OCCUPANT!
FOR THE NEXT THREE DAYS, THIS IS YOUR HOME.

YOU MAY EAT, SLEEP, AND BATHE AS YOU CHOOSE.
BUT YOU ARE NOT ALONE. 7 OTHERS WILL JOIN YOU SHORTLY AND YOU'LL SEPARATE INTO YOUR DESIGNATED TEAMS.
8 OF YOU HAVE ENTERED THIS HOUSE, BUT ONLY 1 MAY LEAVE.

REVOLVER / LOW AMMUNITION, LIMIT ONE PER TEAM.
KNIFE, LIMIT ONE PER TEAM.
ONE PERSON ON EACH TEAM MUST BE UNARMED AT ALL TIMES. NO EXCEPTIONS.

BEDROOMS AND BATHROOMS ARE NO-KILL CENTERS / SAFE ZONES.

BREAK RULES AND SUFFER DIRE CONSEQUENCES. YOU ARE BEING WATCHED.
FAILURE TO ELIMINATE ALL OTHER OCCUPANTS IN 3 DAYS RESULTS IN MASS TERMINATION.

Staring at the ominous print, he found himself lost in thought about the isolation at hand. Cut off from his own world and thrust into another, the air seemed stale. His fingers chilled, his wrist weighed down by a foreign device, he was trapped... not just behind these walls, but between his morals and ability to discern and adapt- his will to live: an unwavering force tucked behind an acute structure of veiling pacifism.

Stealing himself from that particular line of thinking, L averted his eyes from the paper and buried his face against his knees. He had no idea what force had brought him to this awful place. Last he recalled, he was studying for an upcoming college exam. Then he simply woke up in this unfamiliar bed. Sure, he'd looked around, careful and quiet, discreet; he'd unsuccessfully tried all the doors and windows. And upon realizing that every bedroom was occupied by an unconscious occupant, he'd retreated to the safety of this room where he could contemplate the whys and hows of the world mid-warp.

...

Dug up from the harshness of his own reality, a blonde teen's angst could be seen through the tossing and turning in the bed as he slept. An unconscious tantrum.

A restless soul caught in an earth-bound body. His real name as forgotten as the family he didn't have. The nickname Mello, a curse to be reckoned with; he bore the name and allowed nothing to hold him back.

Nails painted black and hair mussed about like addled straw, he scratched at the unfamiliar surface of flannel sheets. Blue eyes fluttered, long lashes scraping an ill-scented pillow as awareness slowly bled through his system.

Mello was groggy and tired and reaching to turn off an alarm clock that was not present. Groaning and scrunching his nose against the pillow, he kicked off a blanket and forced himself up. Once his eyes were open, he willed them to adjust to his surroundings; a surge of confusion flooded him upon finding himself in a strange environment. "Fucking hell," he murmured, tossing his legs over the side of the bed and getting to his feet. He looked around wildly, fighting to recall what event could have led him to such a predicament.

Frustrated and coming up empty, he combed a hand through his hair and growled when something caught and tugged at his locks. After tugging uselessly for a moment, he yanked hard, gritting his teeth as several strings of hair were pulled from his head, follicles attached. Growling irritably, he caught sight of the culprit: a strange bracelet of sorts wrapped tightly around his wrist and now holding captive precious strands of gold.

Fighting off his own ill temper, he tried to remove the strange bracelet to no avail; it had no latch or clasp and was firmly attached.

Eventually giving up on the device's removal, he stormed out of the room, only to bump into a wide-eyed redhead who stood with poor posture and trembling legs.

"Watch where the fuck you're going, you fuckin' ginger!" Mello spat, raging first and considering his actions afterwards.

The redhead seemed to shrink away, intimidated. "Sorry," he murmured before holding up a sheet of paper and nervously stammering "D-Did you get one of these?"

Snatching the paper, Mello read the Rules.

WELCOME, OCCUPANT...

Golmore green eyes closed tightly as a hesitant breath was drawn. "M-My name's Matt. I-I was just-" the redhead stammered in a quiet breath, only to be interrupted by the domineering blonde.

"Well, Matt," Mello said, crumpling the paper and tossing it aside, "lets figure this shit out. I'm smart, and I doubt you're a complete idiot, so let's go." Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the redhead's hand -mentally taking note that the redhead also sported a strange bracelet- and proceeded down the corridor.

The two of them, hand in hand like long lost friends, perused passed a bedroom and peeked in, catching sight of a dark haired young man perched oddly on the bed. Mello waved his hand in greeting. "Coming or not?" His tone was crisp and non-threatening, but also sudden and unexpected by the lone occupant in the room.

L was startled from his thoughts as his eyes darted to the intruding speaker; then after a moment of careful consideration, he nodded, got to his feet and followed with his shoulders hunched and senses alert. The three walked together down the hall and then down a flight of stairs, soon coming to a sparsely furnished living room already occupied by four others.

A blonde female, scantily clad with hands on her hips and too much lacquer on her lips.

Two well dressed adults with dark hair: one female with a face that could inspire Picasso, and one male with a stony expression and thick-rimmed glasses.

Lastly, a small boy in the corner playing with an old toy that he'd probably found somewhere in the house.

And the introductions began.

"Misa was wondering where the others would be! She woke up alone with an ugly bracelet and a scary note too!" The blonde woman squealed and flailed her arms dramatically. "So glad to meet everyone!"

"Kiyomi Takada, I'm a reporter for Channel-"

"Everybody knows who you are Miss Takada. The only shame of you being here is that if you make it out, you'll spam the media with your incessant bullshit." The man who said this cast a steely glare at the aforementioned woman before adjusting his glasses and formally greeting "Hello, I am Mikami Ter-"

"We're not here to make friends," came a soft monotonous voice, drawing the attention to a small figure in the corner sporting white hair, matching pajamas, and paler (if possible) skin. "Introductions are hardly necessary. Better if we just divide, conquer, and exit as quickly and calmly as possible. There is no need to make a spectacle of the situation at hand."

"And that little sad sack of flour is Near," Misa sputtered before offering a rather exuberant smile. "Misa thinks, if we work together, there's a way to get out of here. If we just..."

"Wait," L said suddenly, all eyes falling upon him in that instant. "We've all read the letter, right?" He watched his audience give a chorus of nods and affirmatives. "There's supposed to be eight of us, but I'm only counting seven."

...


Well, the 'Rules' have been disclosed and we've met most of our characters. Stay tuned for upcoming anarchy. (Because, really, did you expect anything less?)

-Also, to inspire and mislead my readers/reviewers, here's a line from the middle of the next chapter!

Mello shrugged and grabbed the zipper of his vest between his index finger and thumb before slowly pulling it down, making a sensual reveal of the flesh beneath. "Shirts off, gentlemen."