"Many think 'murder' cannot be a written cause of death within the Note..."

Yoji leaves his office ten minutes early. "Where are you going?" the secretary asks at the lobby. He blows right past her and heads for the car. He doesn't know if what he's about to do is right or wrong, he just knows it feels right. He turns the key in the ignition, takes off down the road.

He comes to the quiet suburban neighborhood outside the home of the woman he's been lusting for, for so long. He's been in this exact spot many times before, sweating, without the nerve to work his way in. He reaches into his wallet to check for condoms, then wiping the sweat from his brow, heads to the door before he even remembers leaving his car. Yoji tries to open the door first: nothing. He knocks loudly.

The door opens and there stands the object of his desire Miyu... several feet from it. A broad gloved hand yanks him inside, a medium sized, well built man in a suit, tie and ski mask holds a gun up to his face. "Who the hell are you, huh?"

Yoji has his hands up, "I was - I was"

"You 'were'? 'Were'?' Were what? Come on spit it out." the intruder looks at their hands, "Put your hands down." Yoji does, the intruder continues, "You got a ring... She doesn't." he puts all four fingers to his forehead, as if to think really hard, then shakes his head vigorously "Oh, I get it, this is a little tryst right? The two of you? So I guess she's not your wife, then?"

Miyu, looks at Yoji, "Of all the days you could have picked to..."

The masked stranger extends his forearms out at waist level in mock surprise "Woah, this is your first meeting. Pointing the barrel down, he waves the gun around in circles between them, "Come on, don't let me stop you. Do what you gotta do."

Miyu, calm and collected and showing no shred of concern says, "My money is upstairs in the-"

The masked man raises his weapon at her, "SHUT UP! If you speak again I won't be responsible for - whatever - happens - NEXT!"

Yoji extends a hand in frustration, "Come on, just take her money!" he insists.

"I didn't come here for her money." the intruder looks her up and down, "I came here for roughly the same thing you did..."

The tone of the room changes. A single breath tears away from Miyu's lungs, she can't manage a second, even as she tries desperately, heaving, her shoulders drop, tears pour, her face reddens and she can no longer look at the world beyond her feet. In a moment, she has wilted, "Please, I - ha-ve."

*BANG* a bullet rip open Yoji's head and his blood splashes against the wall. Miyu's scream would stress any soul, so it has zero effect on the killer. He grabs her by the wrist, and pulling a knife from his belt, drags her into the next room, the skin of her feet screeching against her immaculate wood floors. "I know." He says calmly grabbing her around the waist "Let's go."

Entering his apartment the killer steps on something soft but firm, he clicks the light on dropping his keys on the dresser. Grabbing at his neck he realizes he's still wearing the ski mask, removing it, he looks down at his feet. Akira is his name, 23 years old and at his feet is a thin book that reads "Death Note."

Mace, a Shinigami with a human sized skull in the shape of a cat's, minus the jawbone stands front and center of the apartment glaring at Akira. He has long hair or fur that appears to flow into his clothing like a hood, hardening into spikes down the length of his spine. In the space where eyes should be, rotating red orbs, slightly dull. He wears a long leather coat with dingy patchwork white stitching, and two fancy 'lion's' fur shoulder pads, held in place by a very old looking patterned bead necklace. Like something you'd find in a Native American hobby shop. Under the jacket a rather plain red and white striped shirt, he's dressed a bit more Celtic and medieval from the waist down. Leather pants.

Picking up the book, Akira walks calmly to his couch and sits down, setting it aside, his head scans energetically around; looking for... the remote.

Mace turns his head slowly to Akira, his bones scraping all the way, "Hey, human. Aren't you surprised?"

"Sure, maybe a little. You're 'death' or something, like in all those western movies. So my name is probably written in that book, and now you've come to collect my soul." he shakes his head, a wry smirk on his face, "You know, I knew to do the stuff I've done I'd have to be really messed up, but I never would have guessed I was this messed up."

"You're more messed up than that. But I'm no hallucination. I'm a true Shinigami - You don't have a soul to collect either, by the way. Not in the way you humans look at it. Also I can tell you, if your name was written in that book you'd sure be dead by now. I'm not here to use it on you, I'm giving it to you."

Akira holds it over his head with his left hand, waving it, like he's talking to a roommate "This? Why?"

"It's a Death Note. If you write a name within the Note, the named will die in forty seconds - of a heart attack."

"Really?" Akira looks inside. "Just looks like some regular paper..." his head bolts upright "Wait? Heart attack?"

"Correct. When writing an alternate cause of death it must be written within four hundred seconds of writing the name."

Akira stares off into his television, into space really, pulling a pretzel from the bowl on his coffee table he bites into it. "Heart attack. Forty seconds. Heart attack... killer, shinigami, Death Note: Kira." Akira munches away "Four hundred seconds... Are there other rules?"

"The Death Note has many rules."

"Do you know them all?"

The Shinigami positions himself in front of Akira now, being quite tall anyway, and floating, he towers over him "No one knows them all? Not even the Shinigami King."

Akira coughs, spraying flakes all around "You have a king?..." he waves his hand "Nevermind. How many do you know?"

"I have studied them extensively, more than most of my brethren, and so I know as many rules as there are known to our realm, the Shinigami Realm. Where the note originates."

"This kind of thing..." Akira flops the book, tapping it against his fingers, "I don't know. I really prefer to use my hands for my kind of work..."

"It matters not. It is yours now, you do with it as you will. Besides..." Mace holds a long gangly finger up to Akira's forehead, in typical ghostly fashion it passes right through it, "If I ever want it back; all I have to do is write your name down."

Akira decides it's time to get back to the point "Why are you giving me this?"

"Many think 'murder' cannot be a written cause of death within the Note. Not so. In my boredom and anxiety I have written murder into my Note many times. And in every instance the victim died of a heart attack. Without fail. However, I have written four times recently, 'murder' into my Death Note. And each of these times the victim of my Note was murdered, just as written, and by a single individual. And each time this man murdered... my life was extended. You have taught me something about the Note I never knew. That alone is invaluable to me."

Akira glares at him, "You've been controlling me?"

"Incorrect. I cannot make you do anything. I wrote a person's name, and the word 'murder' next to it, then you decided to kill them. You are a rolling stone, a bolt of lightning, a force of nature. Somebody would have died by your hand regardless, my pen only guided it. You wanted to kill someone - anyone - and I wanted them dead. Had you not been around they may simply have died of heart attacks, and all I'd have left is disappointment. - As a final example: if I had written 'drowns in a lake'... you would be the water."

"I extended your life? If you are trying to thank me... this is a - very - good way to do it," he laughs "even just by the revelation it inspires. You taught me something equally invaluable. But I can't promise I'll use this. Not even once. Still. There are some things I want to know... so tell me every rule you know.