A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed! I love you guys lots!

Chapter Three

Light walked through the threshold of his one bedroom apartment, the clock on the wall reading one in the morning, as was customary. He had caffeine to thank for the hours he kept. Not that he was paid overtime, as low down on the ladder he was. Dropping the keys onto the coffee table that also served as his dining room, he moved through the cramped space. He didn't bother to turn the lights on, his eyes already having adjusted to the minimal light of a single computer screen. With a heavy sigh, Light just stood there in the dark, collecting his thoughts.

According to Naomi, he was set to become L's shiny new pawn. The news couldn't have come at a more inconvenient time. If the great L was asking after him, he was also researching him, maybe even following him, though the latter thought made him scoff. He was arrogant, not delusional. And he'd just gotten comfortable with his current residence. Now it seemed as if everything were coming at him, two different semi-trucks, one an oil tanker the other purified oxygen, both moving for him at sixty miles an hour. The result of this, no matter how he looked at it, would be flames.

He settled into his desk; mind heavy as lead, his feet lightly knocking against the computer which sat on the floor beneath him as he faced the monitor. Slowly, he removed a ball point pen from the pencil holder to his left and disassembled the writing utensil with practiced ease. Pulling open his desk side drawer he removed the contents, case files, receipts, and scrap pages, he then took the pen'd ink cartridge and inserted it through the tiny hole he'd drilled into the bottom of the drawer. The false bottom perked upwards smoothly, despite the years it had been since he actually looked in the drawer. Removing the plywood, he glared at the innocent envelope that smiled up at him.

Gingerly, he picked up the cursed thing. It'd been sitting inside the hidden compartment of his desk for almost five years now. Bidding it's time for the opportune moment, which apparently was now. Light didn't know how he felt about that. Time had flown by, that was for sure.

Despite his constant grumbling, Light enjoyed what he was doing. Though Naomi refused to let him in on the chase, his work still filled him with elation. The trembling he felt as he entered the frigid, unyielding clarity of the criminal mind was beyond comparison. It was like a drug. To place himself in the very soles these monsters had run ragged, to trace their mental steps, piece together the puzzle of insanity that had no definitive edges. Light was pretty sure that the only reason he himself hadn't gone over the metaphorical edge was because he had been granted to opportunity to pick at the minds of those that had taken a flying leap over it.

But he'd known it was only temporary, it wouldn't last. Nothing in his life ever did. The monotony, that's what would kill him in the end. Once he found that piece of satisfaction, contentment, that's when he'd go over the edge. That's when he'd feel useless.

There was too much filth in the world for him to sit idly by and just watch the sun rise. The air would still be polluted, infested with the smog of lies, treachery, and murder. The sun rise was red, tinted by the blood of innocents that had died. There were too many people the world would be better off without. But he wasn't so naïve to think that killing them was all it would take. He'd seen into too many of their dirty minds to know that it was rooted there, a stubborn tree that could either flourish or wither. What shaped the tree was the nurturing that sapling was provided, how often it was watered, weeded, and what is was taught.

He didn't know if he could've taken it. Cleansing the world on his own, Light didn't even want to begin contemplating the methods he would've used. Again, it all came down to nurture, the way a person's life was lived. He'd see too many lunatics, crazy from the guilt and the theory that what they were doing was in the right. Despite his superior mental capacities in comparison to the masses, he wasn't sure if his mind was sound enough to keep sight of the long term mission in face of the moral sacrifice.

What Light did know was that, if he accepted the envelope's contents he could kiss his career as a criminal psychologist and profiler goodbye. He'd been with the Bureau for less than a year, and no matter how many connections Naomi had, she was still a woman in law enforcement. And too damn trusting for her own good. No, if he opened that envelope he was done here. No more case files, no more salty air, no more Indian food.

With an exhausted sigh Light fell back into his desk chair, reclining it so he could glare at the ceiling of his apartment. He could just ignore it. That particular option wasn't unavailable to him. But it also wasn't as desirable. That would end badly. He shook his head, hitting himself lightly against the head for even considering such a foolish notion. He was Light Yagami, and he'd decided a long time ago that running was not something he would do. He was committed to his vision, to their vision.

Spinning swiftly in his chair, he flipped open his laptop and logged on. In the upper left corner of his desktop was a Word Document labeled "resignation." Double clicking on the icon he fluidly opened his email account and drew up his boss's address. Attaching the document, he hit send and let the little devil fly off into cyberspace. There was nothing else to be written. By tomorrow morning he'd be getting a nasty call from Naomi, but by then there was little she could do.

Moving out of the chair he set off down the hall, prepping to pack.

3B

Watari had said that he shouldn't blame himself, but despite the old man's reassuring words, L couldn't help but feel responsible. Then again, the guilt he felt was nothing compared to that of his caretaker's. He hadn't been the one in charge of Beyond after all. What did that mean then, L wondered, if he could tell Watari not to blame himself yet would still feel a shred of responsibility for the deranged child's actions.

Beyond had been out to get him. Taunting him, calling for him, like some dark siren whose call was as shrill as a banshee's and just as un-ignorable. Beyond had wanted to beat him, L, not Watari, L. Sometimes there was more to that title than the public realized. And sometimes he wished he could just shake it all off. At least that would take care of the guilt.

A minor bout of turbulence shook the cabin of the private jet. L clutched his knees tighter to his chest. He'd been all for hijacking a 747, his calculations showed that doing so would've been quicker than waiting the three hours it took for Watari to arrange a private flight. But Watari put his foot down, something about remaining as inconspicuous as possible in face of L's new case.

It was a nightmare come to life. But worse than that, it was a horror from the past, one he thought he'd locked away eight years ago. If there was one thing about B L didn't take credit for with a guilty conscience it was his insanity. L knew perfectly well that Beyond wasn't insane, twisted and sadistic maybe, but his doppelganger most certainly wasn't lacking in clarity. In fact, the man viewed things in a frighteningly lucid manner, disregarding the grey areas and seeing the world in a brilliant contrast of rainbow. There was no black or white in B's color spectrum, only the blood he could drown one in, the blue of a flesh wound, and the yellow-tinge of embalming fluid. It came from the man's eyes, and those L knew he'd been born with.

Twenty four hour surveillance, four stories of earth piled over the cell, and concrete walls three feet thick, the man still managed to escape. At least it wasn't a mistake to have considered the boy a potential successor L acknowledged bitterly.

Staring out the plane's window, L watched the American landscape move beneath him sullenly, not being able to help the memories that had only begun to resurface in the past hours. He recalled the surprise, the offense he'd taken, feeling it a personal insult to have one of his successors – at that point the only one – run away. Despite being a legend in the underworld, L was still human, and a proud one at that. Most of all though, L had committed his past feelings of elation and determination, in face of Beyond's running, to memory. The sour bile of disgust made L cringe in his seat, the tarnished emotions, the very things he strived for, he remembered those the best.

He'd been happy to hear that B had ran away, for the first time in his career as a detective he felt as if he'd have a decent opponent. B was someone from his level, a runaway teenager, but hopefully the challenge L had been searching for. And then B had killed someone. It only served to make the game that much sweeter. B had been wrong in thinking that he had to work that hard to gain L's attention, the boy's existence and running had been enough. But L recalled the glee he felt when Watari handed the pictures of Believe Bridesmaid's corpse.

B had had an influence on L beyond that of any other criminal he'd gone up against. B made L feel lost, yet dangerous at the same time. B made L feel as if he was standing in the pitch black of nothingness, gun in his pale hands, not knowing if that weapon was pointed at himself or someone else. And when B had been caught, the disappointment L had expected to come with an easy victory, it never appeared. L remained awash in a sea of excitement, his own flavor of insanity.

"L!" The Detective jumped at the sudden shout. Cursing himself for letting his guard down, L turned to see Watari come rushing into the cabin from the cockpit, dismay evident across the old man's wrinkles. It was rare to see Quillish Wammy as anything other than grandfatherly, even when he was touting a Parker Hale M85 from the open door of a helicopter. Staring quizzically at his caretaker, L nodded for the man to continue.

"L," the elder man gasped, "B's taken Mello."

Their game wasn't over.

3B

He smelled coffee, and strawberry. There was a lot of strawberry. Even the leather his face was currently pressed up against held the sickeningly sweet scent of preserved fruit. Mello scowled into the cushion, his stomach turning in protest to the awkward mix of cowhide and jam, or maybe that was the concussion talking.

He attempted to push himself upwards, but it proved to be a rather difficult endeavor given that his hands were tied behind his back with what felt like duct tape. How original. The blond squirmed, turning his body over until he rolled off the couch and onto the marble floor. His head let out a painful smack as it was once more abused, tiny fireworks exploding in bursts of light before his eyes, but at least he could breath freely now.

Slowly he let his eye lids rise, closing them every once in a while, adjusting to the harsh light. 'Chandeliers,' he thought. 'The room is filled with chandeliers.' Gradually his eyes came fully open and took in the sight above him.

Thousands of crystals glimmered down at him in tinkling, warm light, like raindrops frozen in time. The marble floor beneath him was cold, and he shivered as a light breeze blew through the room and across his face. Turning his head to the right he took in what more of the room he could see from his position on the floor. It was a ballroom he realized, surprise adding itself generously to the mix of pain and disorienting shock that already occupied his mind. Golden marble stretched out into an endless sea, stopping only as a wall of gilded banisters and white stained glass rose towards the ceiling in an intricate swirl of light and shadow.

With a grunt Mello pulled himself upwards into a sitting position, leaning his back against the black, leather couch.

Glancing around, Mello's head snapped up as he registered the quiet opening of a door. A light shuffle rose across the empty space, growing louder as the individual drew closer to where Mello sat.

Stilling, Mello ceased to breathe, all of his focus centered on the individual. There was no doubt in Mello's mind that this was his kidnapper. The only thing that was keeping the blonde upright was the adrenaline, coursing so fast through his bloodstream that it acted as a stilt. He felt more the heard the figure stop just behind the couch, staring down at him with a gaze that possessed all the intensity of a bolt of lightning. It set the hairs across his body on edge, sizzling with electricity and the desire to never look at what stood behind him in the eye.

Sadly, Mello didn't have that luxury.

He felt the couch tilt backwards behind him, the individual seeming to be against just walking around the piece of furniture and instead was climbing over it. The figure moved slowly, with the practiced ease of a predator, yet there was something dainty in the dips Mello felt in the couch. It was almost as if his assailant was moving tentatively, childlike in curiosity, yet fearful of moving too quickly and setting him off. It reminded Mello of the toddlers at the orphanage that would crawl over him when he passed out in the living room.

A set of legs straddled his head, the figures body coming to rest on the directly behind where he sat. One spindly leg leaned itself against his left arm, the other against his right, effectively pinning the bound boy to where he sat. Long fingers combed through his hair and Mello had to fight the urge to flinch in disgust at the touch. The fingers clenched around his hair and roughly pulled his head back. The assailant then leaned over him, bringing their faces less than an inch from each other, thin lips, curled in a leering smirk of victory, almost kissing his forehead.

Blood red eyes pierced Mello's, and the blood that ran through his own veins froze over, the adrenaline that had been keeping him conscious becoming no better that molasses.

His mind supplied the name, though every fiber of him wished it hadn't, and it came out from his mouth in a whispered hush. "Beyond Birthday."

Now there was nothing but fear.

3B

Matt drummed his fingers furiously against the arm rest of the chair Roger had situated him in. Two feet away sat Near, absentmindedly twirling his hair around his finger. For some reason the action pissed Matt off to no end. Near always twirled his hair, it was a normal thing for the freak do. But how the hell could he act so natural when everything was so wrong.

'There's no proof Mello was kidnapped,' Matt reminded himself. 'He could just as well be hiding somewhere.' If there was one thing Matt was absolutely good at, it was lying to himself when it came to his best friend.

The door behind the two boys opened and Roger stepped into the office.

Matt was on his feet in an instant. "What's going on!" he demanded.

"Matt, sit down," Roger commanded.

"But - "

"Sit."

The boy complied reluctantly and returned to his seat. As Roger sat behind his desk, the expression the older man directed towards the boys was all Matt needed to know.

'Shit,' he thought. Matt knew this was Mello's fault. The blonde was too damned reckless, never thinking things through, just trying to prove himself. Internally Matt berated himself for leaving his foolish friend's side. He could've prevented this, done something to stop it, knocked some sense into the thick skull he sometimes suspected didn't even contain a brain. That or he could've been taken too, thrown into the trunk of that white sports car along with Mello. God knew it'd be better than sitting in this office with a condescending old man and an albino teenager that possessed no human emotions whatsoever.

"Matt," Roger spoke finally, looking sternly over at the teen. "I know what you're thinking, and this is not your fault."

Matt laughed snidely. "Oh I know that, it's that leather wearing bitches fault is what it is!"

"Language!" Roger admonished. "That is no way to talk about your friend Matt."

"But it's true." A mechanical voice flooded the office with white light as the overhead projector flickered to life, casting the far wall of Roger's office with a large, gothic L.

"L, it's nice to hear from you," Near said politely, turning to face the projector screen.

"Near, Matt," the letter acknowledged. "I've just received a scan of the note Beyond left - "

"Note?" Mat interrupted the detective. "What Note?"

"The note left in Near's room," L replied simply.

Matt turned to face the boy in question, fire exploding in his eyes. "There was a note? YOU HAD A NOTE AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?"

Nonplussed by Matt's shouting, Near answered without moving his eyes from the L on the screen. "I already showed it to Roger, there was no need for me to inform you of it as well."

"THE HELL THERE WASN'T! MY BESY FRIEND JUST GOT FUCKING KIDNAPPED!"

"Excuse me, but I have very little time for your uninspired language Matt. Near took the appropriate measures. The note was tossed through his window an estimated three minutes after Mello was assaulted. Knowing what I do of the boy, Beyond would have needed to assault him in order to take him as effectively as he did," L continued, brushing Matt's outburst aside.

The screen flashed and the L was replaced by the image of a crumpled piece of paper. On it were the words, written in what looked to be a green crayon, 'I took the boy for Jam, he looked like he could use some.'

"As you can see, there is little we can actually gain from the note, other than the fact that it actually was Beyond who kidnapped Mello, and that the man is taunting us."

"What makes you so sure?" Matt inquired. Beyond Birthday was a legend amongst the children of Wammy's house, and something of a cautionary tale. From what he knew the man had ran from Wammy's after the first in line, A, had committed suicide. Weather it was because of A's suicide or not, no one actually knew, some went so far as to think that Beyond had actually killed A himself. So far there was no proof to that claim. L had caught Beyond sometime in 2002, Matt remembered, same year the LABB case had begun.

"While Beyond was frolicking through the streets of Los Angeles, he disguised himself as me and went by the name Rue Ryuzaki. He also ate a lot of Jam," L admitted after considering Matt's question for a moment. "I have no doubt in the security of Wammy's House, nor do I believe that there was a leak of information to anyone outside of the orphanage. I've also asked the authorities to keep Beyond's escape from the public, which means that there's little chance of someone framing B. "

"Why are you telling us this?"

"Why?" L asked as if he'd thought the reason was obvious. "Because I'd like you to assist me in capturing Beyond."

3B

L wasn't sure if he'd made the best decision in bringing Near and Matt into his game with Beyond. But the rules had changed. Beyond was using his and L's past to get at something, and this time L was certain B's goal wasn't him. Out of ever Wammy resident, B knew the best that L did not affiliate himself with the establishment, for the safety of the children and himself. It had been what set B off from the beginning. No, if B were to go after L again he'd do something different, something that would get L's attention, and only L's attention. Kidnapping one of his successors, that message was intended for someone else. L already had a vague idea who.

If, however, B was going to use his successor against him, then L was going to use his successors against B.

He didn't doubt that the two teenagers had the minds to manage it. What they did lack though was discipline. They existed in a comfort zone, each of them, even Mello –though he refused to admit it, had grown complacent with the order of succession. Near was coasting through his subjects, just doing enough to maintain his position. Mello had grown more concerned with pranking the top student rather than actually beating him to be first in line. And Matt, L could tell that Matt just didn't care.

This just might be the push the three of them needed to reach their full potential. L just hoped it didn't end up being too hard of a push. They were children, inexperienced in life, and had no idea how the mind of a criminal really worked, never mind all the past cases and crime simulations the orphanage had had them go through. They'd spent their life behind an iron fence, sheltered from what lay outside of it.

L had briefly entertained the notion of bringing Light Yagami into the fold as well. The boy's background and knowledge of B was paralleled only by L's own, and that was because L had watched the murderer grow up. But L had quickly scratched the plan, the last thing he needed was a mediocre investigator endangering the lives of his successors more than he already was. There was a time and place for things and this was a Wammy matter, not Light Yagami's place or time.

Yes, L thought certainly. Yagami could wait for a later case. This was about him, B, and his next successor. Whoever the hell that would be.

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A/N: As I write this, my friend is trying to build a rope swing in an abandoned oil pipe. This can only end in tears…

I really wanted to get further with Beyond and Mello, but the two of them were being difficult. XP Plus, I need to go pack….

Again, thanks for reading, please review!