True Elision Chapter 9: L'egoiste fait droit, a death note fanfic

Hello people! I'm sorry it's been so long, but I promise that it's never going to happen again! I'll have the next chapter updated next week, and I'll definitely keep my promise…because I've already written it!! That's right: I've written many more chapters. So sit back and enjoy the cool weekly updates! Actually, if I get twenty reviews in this chapter, I'll update the next one immediately!

Ok, I hope people like this new edition!

Warnings: inexplicit sexual content, weirdness…yada yada yada…if you're less than sixteen and/or are easily offended, then just don't read this and we'll all be happy!

Also, I got some feedback from people telling me that, even though they like the fic, the just don't understand the whole 'point' of this torture drill. I totally understand, guys. I know that stuff like this can get tiring after a while – character development isn't always our favourite part of a fic. However, all I'm asking is that you stick with me – just wait until the eleventh chapter, and everything will become crystal clear: why this is happening, how Raito is changing, etc., etc.

I'm going to revise it as soon as I can, and the betaed version will soon be updated! I hope everyone likes it and…enjoy!

L'egoiste fait droit

That kid's eyes were so black that it was just creepy. With the way he kept looking at everyone, it was as though he went asking for trouble.

A few yelling sounds echoed from the direction of the left. One of the novices of the orphanage, who was standing a few feet away, did not bother to resolve the dispute. They were just kids, anyway – let them knock themselves out.

Instead she just stood there, feeling ridiculous. Here she was, twenty-odd years old, about to become a Nun in the orphanage…and she was feeling ashamed when a little kid looked at her. That little black eyed kid, whose name no one ever seemed to remember. At times, truly involuntarily, she found herself wishing that the older ones would choose to pick on him. At least, if he were bullied, he'd stop looking at her with those wide, unblinking eyes.

But even the older bullies didn't want to approach him…there was something about him, as he stayed there, huddled in the corner of the room biting his nails…something decidedly unsettling about the way he looked at things. As though he could see right through your thoughts. People didn't want to approach him, not even for bullying.

The novice shrugged imperceptibly, trying to ignore the tightening of her gut. She turned around quickly, deciding that she'd go dissolve their fight after all. At least that would make her stop thinking about that one freaky little kid…

After a few hours, they rounded up all the children, made them recite their prayers, and put them to bed as usual. That was the schedule: church service and classes in the morning, homework and recreation in the evening, recitation of prayers and then back to sleep. Of course the younger ones, like that black-eyed kid, did not go to school yet…he mustn't be more than five years old, the novice thought.

And so the night came, and all lights were shut. Covered in this strict, overpowering darkness, the orphanage seemed like a giant tomb. In the morning, the bells would clang, signaling the commencement of the morning service. Then, they'd have to gather the children to the courtyard and into the temple for their morning prayer.

But until the bells rung, the young novice still had some time. She lay on her bed, in her small bedroom, and waited a few hours until she was sure that the others were all asleep.

Then, a few minutes after midnight, she stood and exited the room, as usual.

"Uh…a-ah…Pi…erre…"

They'd made sure to choose a very remote, small storage room. It was located on the far end of the west wing, in a place rarely frequented by nocturnal wardens, despite being relatively near the belfry.

No one would ever think to search in there, especially at one o'clock in the morning. It wouldn't take long, anyway – thirty minutes were enough for them to do their business.

Pierre, the rather attractive – despite older than her – janitor, was the only relatively young male in the vicinity. And since she had been raised in the abbey, without even having a choice in the matter of becoming a Nun, it was rather inevitable that she'd end up having a rebellious streak.

"…I'm…uh…ah!"

These things are always a bit uncomfortable. She was trying to hold her voice in, but it was impossible not to make any sounds at all. Especially since dear Pierre, with his blond hair shining auburn in the candlelight was rather intent on slamming her against the nearby cupboards.

It would only take a few more minutes, and it would be over…just a few more-

"…ah!…"

She opened her eyes in ecstasy, intent on tightening her arms around the man. However, the minute her eyes focused, she saw a shape, like a small dark relief, on the opposite corridor wall. She froze, realizing that apparently they'd left the storage room door slightly open, and…

The only thing she could see in those soulless black mirrors was herself, with her legs wrapped around a man's hips, and her novice's habit hitched up around her waist. Pierre pinioned into her, unaware.

The next day, the bells rung. Only now did she realize, as if through a haze, that that kid had never prayed along with the others. Of course, if the nuns detected a child who refused to pray, they would punish austerely. So the boy, in order to avoid being blamed, would open and close his mouth in accordance to the words of the prayer. But no sounds would ever come out. Perhaps he too had realized the universal truth, despite his young age: God will never help you unless you help yourself, the novice thought cynically.

The day that came after that night, the novice wouldn't dare look at that child. Those black eyes, sharp and fathomless, torturous in their indifference, would bore into her soul. Surely, she thought guiltily, that boy was too young to have developed traumas much worse than the one she'd offered him last night. But, amazingly, he didn't seem fazed, frightened or embarrassed of her at all.

Had he realized what he'd witnessed, or was he too young to understand what they'd been doing…?

The novice hoped so…but, for some reason, when thinking of those black eyes, she was sure that…that that kid had known very well what he was seeing.

Apparently, the boy was one of those people…those special people, who are just…born with the intrinsic power of perception. A creature more of the psychic than the physical realm.

What else could he see, with those piercing eyes of his? Could he see what kinds of disgusting things every other person in this orphanage was up to, after the lights went out and the doors were shut? Did he know? Probably, yes. Did he look scarred or traumatized after knowing? On the contrary.

When he'd seen her last night, a novice fucking Pierre against a slimy wall, that boy had even had a glint of triumph in his eyes. As though he'd verified his suspicion, by catching them red-handed.

The novice finally realized why that kid liked to roam around the halls of the orphanage so much. Like a hunched ghost, he contented himself with looking at others for hours on end, as though watching a reality show, trying to decipher peoples' actions and uncover their darkest secrets.

'Sick creature, which doesn't belong in the social formation. Why can't he leave well enough alone?' the novice thought with spite and shame. And he hadn't even seemed shocked to see her doing it – he'd suspected her all along. His placated visage had been, perhaps, the worst reaction of all.

That kid…he was a born jackal. A ghost. Unseen by other people – sniffing out sins and bringing them to the open. Able to invoke shame and humiliation just by looking at another human. As though he were showing to you, with his big black mirror-eyes, the deepest truth about yourself. As though all your dark secrets were not your own…he knew them as well.

The day after that, the novice was nowhere to be found. She'd left the orphanage, not even asking for forgiveness. Not ever speaking to Pierre again.

A few months after that, the Nuns called that child – bless him, no matter what his name was – at the office. They'd recognized his extreme intelligence from early on. For goodness sake, that child had been able to solve algebraic functions before even attending first grade! And so they'd thought it would be a waste if they didn't call someone. That child had never found a proper home here, in any case.

"Salut, L" the elderly gentleman with moon-shaped spectacles and salt-and-pepper hair said. The boy focused on him, obviously unaccustomed to being addressed by name.

They'd called that man and given him the child's information files a while ago. The kid had been left in the orphanage's doorstep exactly five years and three months ago – his parents were unknown, as was the case with most other kids here. He looked slightly mongoloid in appearance – stark black-blue hair, distinctively shaped eyes and sallow skin – but not enough to be ascertained of Asian decent. Most likely a part-European, part-Asian hybrid of some sort.

The parents had not revealed a full name, obviously not wanting their identities to be traced by their surname. So the only thing they'd left, along with the black-haired fruit of their loins, was a small paper upon which was written a single name. And since the boy needed a surname as well, the nuns did the most obvious thing they could think of: they made his surname start with the same letter as his first name. Who cares what he'd be called, anyway? He could always change it when he got older.

And classifying these kids in the records was real trouble to begin with.

Whammy was delighted. The child's eyes were just as sharp as they'd told him – no, even sharper. The senior man lowered his spectacles kindly, digging his hand in his right pocket and producing a silver-wrapped bar of chocolate, extending it and letting it hover in front of the boy's face.

"C'est pour toi." he almost laughed out loud when he saw the piercing black pupils instantly adhere on the object, looking at it with intense concentration, as though trying to mentally penetrate it.

Of course the child would have never tasted candy before. The nuns did not like to treat their disciples to sweets, in an effort to discourage gluttony. However, it was all right to treat him to a sweet now. Whammy had already decided that this child would not need to remain in France for much longer.

"You're a very lucky boy." He said in his rusty French accent, and meant it.

After all, not many people in the world are privileged enough to be considered possible scions of the Great Detective.

'I…I wasn't…wrong…'

L woke up.

As usual, the first thing he did when he realized his eyes were closed was to berate himself for having closed them in the first place. How was the investigation supposed to progress if he kept slee-

'Yagami!'

Like ice, the memory of that familiar face, etched in a maniacal, paranoid sneer, attacked his senses. Envisioning that dark derisive mask, L thought he could almost feel the suffocating pain in his coronary arteries begin all over again.

At the sheer memory of that horrible feeling, he shot his eyes open with an inaudible gasp, temporarily surprised when he didn't meet the sight of Yagami's face, but just plain darkness. Unconsciously, without really seeing anything despite his open eyes, he raised his right hand to his chest to grip the place over his heart, glad that his limbs were obeying him again.

His breathing was echoing in loud, harsh pants in his own ears, and, for once, his clothes felt extremely heavy instead of soft. The fingers that were clutched on his chest were convulsing uncontrollably, neurotically, as he tried to convince himself that he was not in pain anymore, and that his lungs were ventilating again.

There were a few moments of extreme confusion, as L realized that he was alive, or else he wouldn't be able to think, or breathe for that matter. He could have sworn that he acutely remembered leaving his last breath….had he…? He…

…Hadn't died after all?

But he was quite certain that…at least…

Thoughts and opinions about himself were always jumbled and disorganized in L's mind, but at least one thing had always remained very clear: he didn't sleep very often, and when he did, he did not dream. It was unlikely that he'd been seeing a long nightmare of being murdered by Yagami.

He'd been certain that every occurrence he remembered was valid. Yagami really had killed him…L had not dreamt anything up, as much as he privately wished he had. And since L had always been too much of a pragmatist to believe in the afterlife, he was reluctant to accept the possibility of experiencing it. However, he'd been just as reluctant to accept the existence of the Shinigami, only to be proven terribly wrong in the end…

Since the riddle of his own life and death was too complex and multi-layered for him to solve at first inspection, he contented himself with temporarily resolving the Death Note case in his mind.

'It was definitely Yagami...there's no question of it after that grin he kindly flashed me...' L thought, looking at the wall on his right 'When the deaths of criminals resumed after Higashi's capture, that must have been Amane at work. The rule of the thirteen days was untrue after all, just as I'd suspected...the Shinigami lied to me at that time, probably under Yagami's influence. In fact, Yagami probably instructed the Shinigami to act the way it did. Self-absorbed and a sore loser...he used Amane's interrogation to his advantage and used her to divert my attention...'

And yet, as the panic slowly subsided and he fought to calm himself, he found he could recall, as if through a dream, a feeling of inner peace. At the end of his life, despite Yagami's cold sneer, L had felt…content. The pain had indeed been overpowering, but, for a few crucial seconds as he'd fallen there in his Yagami-shaped deathbed, he'd been able to think again.

'I was right!!'

'Yagami is Kira!'

Seeing Yagami's sadistic face poised above him, L's inner feeling of accomplishment and triumph had overridden the pain in his chest, enabling him to become calm at his very last moments. At least, even though Yagami had physically defeated him, L had been right all along.

'I wasn't wrong…despite what they were all trying to tell me…of course I'm not paranoid! I know the eyes of a man who can kill!'

And so L died on good terms with himself, internally congratulating himself for correctly solving the case and identifying the suspect. His last moments had been calm, peaceful. At first he'd been fighting it, trying to shout to the world what he was seeing. He'd been angry at Yagami, who'd had the audacity to display right in front of L's eyes the full-blown capacity of his deranged paranoia, when L was completely incapacitated. That was the greatest insult of all, and at first L had been irate.

But slowly, as the critical seconds had gone by and L had realized that he soon would be completely unable to breathe, let alone be irate about anything, he focused on the personal, accomplished, happy aspects of his rapidly disintegrating life: namely, on the fact that he was proven superior. There was a wild, animalistic elation that threatened to surface in L's nerves at the realization that his assumptions had been correct all along and that Yagami had indeed been Kira. Upon death, L had been content with himself...and that's really what matters to someone who is dying.

L might have been defeated in physical form, but never in spirit or intelligence. His suspicions had always been correct. In the end, he'd been proven the smartest of the both of them. He'd detected and suspected Yagami even with the disadvantage of not having knowledge of the Death Note. Yagami, on the other hand, was never able to track L's identity down, not even with Amane's eyes, his police connections and all his other resources. L was willing to bet that it hadn't even been Yagami who had killed him in the end – it was probably the Shinigami.

Paradoxically, even though Yagami had killed him and smirked down at him…in L's own unspoken, private judgment, L had been the real victor. The sensation that he'd felt during his last moments was neither pain nor panic: it was glee at having been proven right, finally. Now he could only aspire that Near and Mello would complete the task and follow the clues L had left in their disposal. Still, he wondered what had happened with the Kira case, and what he'd missed…Despite knowing it was childish of him, L felt a tad wronged at the thought that Near would reap what L had sowed.

Temporarily setting these reflections aside, he unclasped his hand from his chest and tried to calm his breath, knowing that he'd have to focus on the present, sooner or later. He let his black eyes move around in their sockets without moving his head, trying to observe his new environment without making his presence known. Perhaps the new surroundings would serve as an indication of his current status quo as well – alive, dead or… something in between?

He looked around, expecting to see some sort of room, or at least some indication of light, shadow and objects. Perhaps he unconsciously expected to find himself in the main room of the HQ building, which was the last place he remembered ever seeing.

But something was not right.

'What?'

The word echoed in the chaotic depths of his brain as he stared around, finally realizing what he was seeing. Alarm bells started ringing in his mind.

Well he wasn't in a room; that much was for sure.

He was located in some extremely closed space, and everything around him was black. As a reflex to danger, his entire body froze, including his eyes.

'Coffin!' was the first thought that attacked him, unbidden and crippling in its suddenness. 'I'm buried alive!!' the frantic panic gripped his blood, and his heart started hammering in his chest, in blind fear. All signs of clear judgment were rapidly evaporating, leaving in their stead a trembling bundle of high-strung nerves. The man started scratching at his expressionless face with his half-bitten nails, frantic in his panic and unaware of what he was doing. In fact, L was too distracted to realize that it was impossible for him to be in a casket, since he was curled in his trademark position and he wasn't lying down.

Some may have considered it uncharacteristic of the usually expressionless L to show his fear so openly. However, the one thing that must be understood about the detective's personality was that, unlike Yagami who had trained himself to be expressionless under any social circumstance, L's neutrality was more of a natural tendency than a conscious effort. In other words, showing a neutral face came naturally to L. Of course, most of the time he used this to his advantage.

But there was one thing, only one thing, capable of shaking L's emotionless mask: illogic. When faced with logical inconsistencies, for some reason, L collapsed – at least until he could reprogram his mentality to incorporate the new illogical information. Just as when he'd been surprised to hear of the existence of 'Shinigami' for the first time, but eventually learned to accept the possibility. And now he was shaken once again: he considered it illogical to be trapped in here, obviously alive, when he clearly remembered dying.

It took a few moments of wheezing and panting for him to come back to his senses. There was no way he was in a coffer, he reasoned with himself; it was impossible. He wasn't lying supine and, despite feeling claustrophobic, he was willing to bet that there was no silky cloth under his body.

Blindly, he stretched his left hand in all directions, expecting – and hoping – his palm would not come in contact with some wooden barrier representative of a coffin. But instead of wood, his fingertips grazed a cold, metallic surface. His heart started beating faster upon the realization that, despite not being in a coffin, he was still trapped in a black hole. He gritted his teeth as he tried to calm himself, realizing that if he kept being so tense, then his elevated heart beat would increase his breathing rate, which was not good in an enclosed space with a small oxygen reserve.

Gingerly, he stretched both his hands over his head and started outlining the contours of his new residence. There were four metallic walls around him on every side. It was as though he were sitting in the middle of a human-sized metallic box, with steel walls. It felt more like a hole than anything else, which was perhaps more worrying than any other factor. It could barely fit his body when he had his knees pulled against his chest, let alone with his limbs stretched. Normally, this would not be a problem, since he always remained in a curled position anyway. But now, the actual restriction of movement was an inconvenience, as though someone wanted him to remain hunched.

And L had never liked the idea of doing what he was told.

He turned his head forward and let his palm slide over the lean material directly in front of his chest. The composition of the cold substance underneath his fingers was different than that of the other walls. L started suspecting that perhaps one of the walls was a glass surface, not metal. In any case, he could only see blackness beyond it. He started tapping his finger against different walls, trying to test the material of the surfaces.

If it truly were glass, then the whole situation would turn out quite different than L had initially imagined. If there was glass on the one side, that would seem more like an interrogation chamber and less like a hole buried in the ground…if the glass was transparent from the other side, then it was possible that L was being watched right now!

Possibilities started traversing through his exceptional brain with extravagant speed. Had he survived after all? Had he not died of a heart attack? Had one of his enemies managed to acquire his real name? Had he been kidnapped? Was he under surveillance?

If this truly were an interrogation process, then it would definitely not succeed with him. Unless they tortured his body extremely, they could never make him confess to being L, he thought. Confessing his identity and risking the possibility of murderous attacks was much more torturous than anything they could ever imagine doing to him.

Was 'Yagami Kira' behind this? Had Kira used the Death Note to sentence L to death by suffocation? It sounded neither as intelligent nor as efficient as Yagami: Yagami was the type of killer who was interested in the result, not the process. He'd get rid of you as quickly as possible if he wanted you dead, with the least repercussions to his own person. Let's not forget, L thought sourly, that despite wanting to kill people, Yagami, unlike Amane, had never gained the 'eyes of the Shinigami'. There must be some reason for that, and L was willing to bet that the 'eyes of the Shinigami' incorporated a hidden, dangerous clause, which he didn't know about.

In fact…this situation…the darkness, the isolation…when regarded from a cold, indifferent eye, it was less reminiscent of Yagami's tactics and more characteristic of L's own interrogation techniques.

He actually remembered doing the very same thing to a Portuguese murderer he'd convicted some years ago. He'd trapped the man in an interrogation chamber just like this one – perhaps a bit bigger – and waited for the man to confess. Needless to say, L had won, and the perpetrator had ended up in prison a few months later. However…

…however…

L told himself this was different. He clearly remembered having died of heart failure. What was happening? With Kira's metaphysical powers, one can never be certain…On the other hand, maybe he hadn't really died, and just been made to believe he was dying. In that case, if he was still alive on Earth, was this some sort of revenge? And if it was, how had they gotten hold of L's real identity? How had they trapped him?

If L actually had not died and had simply been drugged, the most probable solution was that Yagami had somehow revealed L's identity and arranged for him to be put in this interrogation or torture chamber…

Everything was jumbled up, the clues and possibilities scattered everywhere…and L did not like it. He wanted things clean and organized. He wanted files, folders and programs. He wanted electronic speed and efficiency, not this disorganized human, metaphysical mess.

Yagami might be behind everything, after all, and L wouldn't put anything beyond him.

It was possible that this situation had been created by the Death Note, as a morbid way to kill L…but L felt completely in control of his own thoughts and actions. He considered it unlikely that he was being controlled by the Death Note at this time. A small voice inside his head reminded him that he wouldn't be able to realize it, even if he was being controlled by the Death Note….but even so, L opted to ignore that small fact for the sake of his sanity.

When he'd thought he was dying, at least, he'd been content at the fact that he'd finally escape this loop of having no solid proof against Yagami. Yagami's guilt was so utterly obvious to L that, in his eyes, seeing Yagami be treated as innocent was just like having a pink elephant in the middle of a room, which no one talked about.

But this time...this time, since he had so miraculously remained alive, he'd definitely win. No longer would he allow himself to be obstructed by the judgment of his human weaknesses. Time and experience had taught him that, when employing logic – even in metaphysical situations – everything can be solved. Life all comes down to mathematics, in the end. Who was where, and at what time. And this perilous situation was just a new problem to solve – nothing more, nothing less. He was alive and well, probably according to one of Yagami's plans…and he should be grateful for that….

But still…when he'd felt he was dying…it had felt so…real…

Unconsciously, L let his right hand ghost over his chest, clutching the white fabric of his shirt a bit and trying to stop the urge to rub his palm over his heart. So real…the pain had been so sudden and crippling…how could everything be a lie?

L steeled himself, shaking the irritating black fringe out of his eyes, even though he was unable to discern anything in the utter darkness anyway. He berated himself: if he wanted to come out of this – whatever this was – unscathed, then he would have to become much more aware of his current situation. Sooner or later, he'd have to ascertain whether he was dead or not. And if he wasn't...then where was he, and who had brought him here?

Shuffling helplessly in the narrow chamber, trying to find a way to make his long folded bones comfortable, he finally resulted in his classic position of sitting with his knees drawn to his chest.

A quick kinesthetic analysis of the walls around him verified that there were no cameras around…or at least no touchable cameras. But that glass plane in front of him was suspicious. Perhaps it was some form of window, or mirror? Perhaps he was being monitored…? In that case, he'd best not do or say anything suspicious. Let them believe he's less aware than he actually is.

L sunk his body backwards, burying his mind in musings. Questions started multiplying in his brain at the speed of light, and for once, there were absolutely no answers available.

Why keep him in such a claustrophobic place? If not Yagami, then who could have done this to him, and why? Had he died or had he not? Where was he?

In a flare of logic, he decided that his best course of action would be to attempt an escape via the glass surface. Never one to squander his time, he attempted to hit and break the glass in front of him. Aiming a kick in such close quarters was out of the question, so instead he settled for a manual karate slice.

However, just as he'd expected, his hand bounced back immediately, as though coming in contact with synthetic plastic instead of glass. There was no way he could escape by this route – this glass was untouchable, probably bulletproof by the sound of it.

But since L had submerged his mind in a sea of calculations about the velocity and force needed to dislodge a Plexiglas, he failed to notice a small green glow, which gingerly twinkled in the darkness behind the glass surface in front of him, like a barely discernible light. After a few seconds, the distant lime-coloured beacon came to his attention. It was shining from beyond what L had supposed was the plastic glass wall. His thoughts froze, and he just sat there completely motionless, trying not to even breathe too loudly. With bated breath and wide, unblinking eyes, he morbidly waited – for what he didn't know.

He only got two small flickers as a warning, before an explosion of light occurred in front of his eyes. The entire glass in front of him was set on fire, filled with a white shine so strong that it jerked tears out of his unprepared eyes. His dilated black pupils constricted helplessly, revealing his generally concealed dark graphite irises. He swiftly brought his forearms in front of his face, to protect himself from the sudden glow.

His heart was thundering and leaping in his chest, and if that weren't obvious on the outside by his barely responsive face, it was surely audible in the blood pumping in his ears. What was happening all of a sudden-? The radiation was so strong that it felt as though he couldn't open his eyes without feeling uncontrollable tears slide down his cheeks. And even then, he was forced to close them again, and press his palms against his eyelids in an effort to recreate an impression of darkness.

Long minutes passed before he could finally see again. Slowly, careful to wipe the wetness off his eyes, he eventually poked one black orb open, expecting to be attacked by a new harsh shine of light.

However, he wasn't blinded at all – his eyes had finally adjusted. There was natural lighting in front of him and all around him now, and he could finally clearly discern the walls of the small room he was sitting in. The white and green light that had appeared around him was seemingly coming out of nowhere, since all the walls and floor were made of solid metal. Perhaps there were light bulbs somewhere he couldn't see. Just as he had guessed, all the walls around him were steel except for one, which was made of glass. Curiously enough, the glass was transparent as a window and not silver as a mirror – this was strange in itself for an interrogation chamber.

But the strangest of all, perhaps, was the thing behind the glass. L opened both his eyes, careful to wipe the residual tears away. He blinked once.

Then he blinked again, looking straight ahead.

He saw a mousetrap, lying on a blue velvet carpet.

Nothing very fancy, mind you, just a completely nondescript, rather old-fashioned mousetrap, like the ones featured in children's' cartoons. Strangely enough, even though there was no piece of cheese on it, it was armed and ready to ensnare a greedy rat. L stared at the image of the small object, lying solidly in front of him. As though the glass surface was a window, which allowed L to see the world beyond his small metal box. And, apparently, judging on what his kidnappers wanted him to believe, the world beyond was comprised of a mousetrap.

L was never a person to dismiss even the smallest and most insignificant piece of information, since it could be crucial for solving a problem. Therefore, he granted the small mousetrap his full attention, resolving to decipher the hidden message he was being shown. There must be some reason why he was being presented with this object after all.

He stayed there patiently, staring straight at it, as though expecting it to do something at any moment. It wasn't difficult for him to memorize every small detail about it, from the ancient-looking plank of wood to the rusty, simplistic trap mechanism.

Entire hours passed, and nothing happened. L allowed himself to repose his vigilance slightly. Yet more time passed, and he stayed there, motionless and patient.

Vaguely, he considered it strange that he was not yet feeling hungry, or tired. Also, judging from the minimalist volume of the space he was located in, he should already be having difficulty in breathing. However, it was quite the contrary – his lungs couldn't be fuller, and the air couldn't have felt clearer. Perhaps there were vents somewhere around him that he couldn't see...but still...where would they be hidden? Everything around him was made out of pure smooth metal – not even a small bump which would indicate a hidden camera, a ridged vent or a white spotlight...nothing.

Inevitably, his mind started to roam as he stared at the silent trap. While part of his brain was still devoted to observing the object, another – greater – part of his mind started deliberating his current situation. If he was still alive – and all indications proved that he seemed to be alive enough – then some scheme was at work. Someone had brought him in this isolated room…someone who had known his identity. So L started evaluating all the people who knew him as L during the latest period of his life and who could have arranged to harm him in any way.

'Yagami' his thoughts hissed immediately 'Always dangerously idealistic. His egocentric tendencies have been reinforced by the Shinigami power to kill effortlessly, and, combined with his solid convictions about justice, have created a megalomaniac murderer, prepared to dispose of anyone who opposes him.' After a mental flash of Yagami's shiny auburn hair and paranoid sneer, L continued his thoughts with elevated heartbeat.

'Is Yagami trying to reduce me to insanity?' he pondered, letting his thumb comfortably find its way between his lips. His mind slipped, once again, to that time he had spoken to Yagami on the roof of the HQ building, in the middle of a raging storm. What a hypocrite. 'I'd have thought Raito's biggest priority was to kill me, not probe me for information. What would he want me to confess? My true identity...? He already knows it. Perhaps the identity of my successors? I didn't officially select one, after all, but Near most probably...'

And then, as L had grown unfocused when thinking of the multiple ways Yagami could have been benefited by discovering 'Ryuuzaki's' true identity, he wondered if perhaps, with the presence of Near and Mello, L could become more dangerous to Yagami dead than alive. It was unquestionable that Near, despite his reluctance to compromise himself and take risks, would immediately narrow down the suspects for L's murder...

'If he didn't want me dead, he'd definitely be able to construct a plot as complicated as this against me … although I'm not yet certain how he could have used the Death Note to stage my death…and Watari-'

He stopped his thinking process immediately, neutralizing all his thoughts.

The old man's face kept coming back, though, and L was forced to grit his teeth. The old man…he didn't have to die.

…he didn't have to…

If only he hadn't been so dependant on Watari for the last few years…But when the panic in L's mind started growing again at the realization of his current absolute isolation, he knew he had to stop thinking about it, or else he wouldn't manage to focus on the situation at hand. With its characteristic disciplined stubbornness, L's brain skipped to the next prominent suspect, ignoring all other sentiments that may be worrying him.

'Amane' The word echoed in his mind, and he prepared to unleash a full-fledged tirade on her disadvantages and shortcomings, as well as the ways in which she could have served as a pawn in Yagami's schemes to destroy L. 'It's possible that, while my death was being staged in the HQ, Amane was actively preparing this interrogation room for me. Amane has always been Yagami's puppet after all...' L thought, but didn't feel a sense of accomplishment at this realization, since he thought it too simple of an explanation. In any case, could she really have had any part to play in L's current predi- SNAP

The detective felt his blood freeze as he turned to stare forward.

SNAP

The trap had come to life in front of him. It was snapping in two with the characteristic clacking sound. However, L could see no mice around. The trap was...closing and opening on its own volition. As though some invisible mouse was triggering it.

Was this some sort of visual trick – a hologram? Was there a string connected to the mousetrap? Was someone pulling it from somewhere...? But L could see nothing in the background of the image – the only featured and discernible object was the mousetrap in the forefront.

SNAP

SNAP

The more time passed, the more rhythmic the tapping was becoming, as though the mousetrap had a mind of its own, and was extremely eager to destroy its immaterial enemy. L stared at it, feeling a chill rise up his spine for no particular reason.

Berating himself for having let his attention slip, he resolved to dedicate himself in watching it more closely from now on, to find out what had made it start working on its own. And he did just that. He observed it as it kept snapping more and more loudly and frequently as time went by. At some point, L thought that it would destroy itself.

In any case, L kept watching it with newfound wariness. He lost his precise sense of time, but did not fail to notice that it had been more than a few hours since it had first started going off on its own. However, since nothing crucially important was taking place immediately and since the snapping sound was becoming much too repetitive, L's supreme need to analyze and penetrate the situation resurfaced. This was one of his more distinctive, age-old habits: sooner or later, under any circumstances and when faced with no immediate threat, his mind would inevitably slip back to its cogitations, eager to evaluate the current events once more. Thus, he now resumed his search of suspects, who may be held responsible for his entrapment.

'Mogi' the ever-present sibilant voice whispered in his mind, weighing the name up and down 'He has always been searching for excuses to defy my orders…not to mention that he used to be an alcoholic before he joined the force. And he was having problems with his family lately… Why was he having problems? Mogi is dull and unimaginative…not to mention easily motivated by material goods. But he was typically conscientious enough to remain in the Kira case when all others in the Japanese police had abandoned the investigation…Still….would he be brave enough to betray L for great sums of money?'

Immediately after reaching a standstill with Mogi, his mind skipped to the next likely candidate. He was experiencing the familiar excitation, which always accompanied the analysis of suspects' motives.

'Aizawa' after a quick consideration of the reasons why Aizawa would betray him after having left L's service, L decided that, next to Yagami and Amane, Aizawa may have the greatest probability of establishing ties with L's various enemies. After all, after Aizawa had left L's service, he'd been very hos -

SNAP-SNAP-SNAP

No sooner had he managed to finish his last thoughts than a loud noise was heard, echoing from the distance. He raised his head hoarsely, only now realizing that, in his inner musings, he'd let his attention slip an iota, and he hadn't been watching the mousetrap as carefully as he should have. This place was taking a toll on his concentration after all...

But now, when he raised his eyes, he saw not one snapping mousetrap, but two.

Unwilling to accept that he'd been caught a bit unawares; he started finding reasons to justify the sudden appearance of the second object. This was a visual trick, he kept reminding himself, but found his concentration falling more than once because of the continuous snapping noises.

This must be some sort of illusion, he pondered: nothing but a canny way to intimidate him. He started thinking about ways a three-dimensional hallucination like this could be constructed. But just as he had found a theoretical way to create an image like this using computers, a new invasive sound rung around him, and, amazed, he witnessed the materialization of a new, snapping, mousetrap.

There! The sudden appearance of the third trap only served to verify his suspicion of this system being an application of-

SNAP

If anyone had done this, it must be Raito's extraordinarily resourceful brain. L was now almost sure of it. And if Yagami had indeed done this, then he-

SNAP

Before he knew it, there were not two, not three, but dozens of them, snapping as though possessed by some evil force, maniacally killing invisible mice. And the more time passed, the more frantic the snaps were becoming, the more triggers appeared, splitting harshly in two.

Perhaps then-

SNAP

SNAP

Or if-

SNAP

'Let me think, damn you!'

L's teeth had started gritting harshly against each other, and his eyes were growing hoarse. He couldn't think effectively under these circumstances! The insistent, repetitive sounds were always growing stronger and more distracting, and they couldn't serve as a calm buffer to his thoughts anymore.

Trying to focus on something else, he turned to look at the mousetraps themselves. But the sudden motions, sharp and lethal, seemed too harsh and barbaric to help him contemplate. Resting his palms against his face, he hunched forward and tried his new method: to patiently wait for it to stop.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes later, it still wasn't stopping. L gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes.

This was all probably some ornate technique to drive him to insanity, he wagered, a scheme arranged as revenge by one of his enemies; an enemy who knew his intolerance to irrationality. Just as the thought was formed in his mind, he saw a new mousetrap materialize right in front of his eyes, as if to taunt him with its presence.

L stared at it, unwilling to accept that perhaps he was glaring at it. He did consider bringing his fist against the glass, but soon dismissed the possibility, remembering that his hand would bounce backwards from the plastic see-through surface. And L was never a man to engage in fruitless and illogical pursuits.

Minutes passed, and the small snapping objects were filling his vision. Despite not keen on using his imagination, L fancied that each mousetrap, as it snapped and opened, resembled a cackling, snake-like smile. Somehow, for no obvious reason, even though technically he should not be disturbed by all this, he had started feeling extremely uncomfortable. As if the mousetraps, which were snapping without any trigger, reminded him of something he'd rather keep forgotten.

He stared at one trap in particular, and, in an attempt to preserve his reasoning ability at the face of such an unreasonable situation, started evaluating its motions. The metallic handles of the trap were snapping almost with malice, as though they were insistently trying to crush an invisible enemy. For some reason, it was extremely...unnerving to watch.

Eager for a solution, L decided to solve the problem with logic. He started tracing all his actions ever since the first mousetrap appeared. But, ad it turned out, the more he thought about something he might have done that may have triggered such a response, the more he could not find any solution.

He hadn't touched the glass surface again, since that one time he'd banged his hand on it...ever since the mousetrap had appeared he'd just...sat there...doing nothing...watching and thinking. In fact, he hadn't even been thinking about the mousetrap itself, just generally analyzing the current situation and thinking about possible suspects...

After a long time of excruciating analysis, L could only conclude that, indeed, he had done nothing to provoke this response. The most likely probability was that someone, either his kidnappers or Yagami, had locked him in this room, and were presenting him with maddening hallucinations in an attempt to renegade his reasoning ability. This was all a grand scheme...a plot...some kind of revenge against-

A new mousetrap appeared, snapping into thin air.

L stopped thinking for a moment and stared at it. There were more than two hundred of them now, and they were filling his entire vision. Some of them were pressed up against the glass, snapping their wares right in front of his nose. The claustrophobic space kept provoking the visual illusion that they would lunge right at his face at any time.

The detective raised his hand to his head, smoothing his fringe down – an unconscious nervous gesture he had not indulged in since early childhood, and a sure sign of discomfort. His eyes were still fixed on the latest mousetrap that had appeared. Automatically, his mind started trying to associate the appearance of the trap with another occurrence.

He had noticed, despite himself, that it had appeared at the same time he had started thinking about...suspects.

Experimentally, L tried to think about suspects again. Yagami's snake-like face, complete with slit eyes, immediately came to the detective's mind. The next person he thought about was Amane, Yagami's infamous blood-drenched doll. L was very vigilant, careful to keep track of all his thoughts – becoming aware of his thoughts was the first stage.

However, even though he intentionally kept thinking about suspects and their schemes, he could see no new mousetraps appear whatsoever. This idea was ineffective, he concluded. He knew that it had been a slightly unorthodox idea when he assumed the mousetraps were appearing according to his thoughts... but, then again, so were the Shinigami and the Death Note. Anything with a substantial percentage of probability was worth a try, L reminded himself.

SNAP SNAP

SNAP

Absently, and still trying to ignore the constant noise, which was making his pulse race, L tried to think clearly once more. A mousetrap was an everyday item...nothing extravagant or unusual. So why was he being presented with it? What part of a mousetrap was he supposed to pay attention to? Was there something about the nature of a trap that they wanted him to notice?

Perhaps one of the crooks L had condemned to prison wanted to take revenge and was trying to show that he did not appreciate a 'trap'? A revenge plot was indeed the most likely scenario...perhaps it was Jacob Merlock, that murderer who had been -

A new mousetrap appeared and started snapping, rolling its harsh iron extremities in the corner of L's vision. He was now certain that that object had appeared at the exact moment he'd started thinking about a new suspect. There was just no other way to explain it: obviously, a trap would only appear if he was thinking unconsciously, not intentionally, about a suspect.

And if that was the case, L thought with a small element of surprise, judging from the extreme proliferation of these mousetraps, he must have been unconsciously thinking about new suspects approximately every fifty-seven seconds for the last few hours. In other words, if a mousetrap appeared every time L considered a new possibility of a scheme...

...then he'd considered at least two-hundred and twenty suspects in the last few hours.

SNAP

Well...he hadn't really realized that evaluating suspects had consumed so much of his thoughts, when he didn't have anything else to think about...

Now a bit wary, L tried to wrap his mind around the idea of a trap snapping by itself. Like a machine that's longing to work even without a programmer. A trap that snaps so manically on its own volition is trying to complete its function: to crush a mouse, even when the mouse does not exist. After all, what use is a mousetrap without a mouse to capture?

SNAP SNAP

But the very fact that the mouse does not exist serves to indicate...that there is no real threat?

SNAP

For some reason, the notion made L uncomfortable. His wide eyes, which were fixed on the occurrences in front of him, started moving from one flailing object to the next. These mousetraps were snapping on their own...as though trying to catch invisible enemies. And since the appearance of a mousetrap was positively associated with the time L spent thinking about suspects or schemes...

...was there a hidden message?

Were L thoughts being associated with a snapping mousetrap?

Unconsciously, L turned his face away, willing the image to disappear and allow him to ponder in peace. But the vicious snapping, like the jaws of the barbaric piranha, continued pelting the very sanity off his mind.

An incongruous idea then installed itself in his thoughts, and he could not make himself stop thinking about it. This was much like when he'd had a great revelation about his personal will to prove Yagami Raito guilty: he couldn't stop thinking about his new discovery. But this time...he didn't like where his thoughts were going.

SNAP

L wasn't like a 'mousetrap', he told himself. His situation was completely different.

He wasn't snapping away on thin air, trying to find schemes and suspects where there were none. Not trusting people was not only a natural part of his character – it was a necessity for his job. His circumstances were completely different than those of a mousetrap. He never started suspecting people and 'snapping' without a good trigger.

It was true that he had never been zealous in his work...but it was a bit exaggerated to say that he was obsessed with suspicion...wasn't it? He may be more interested in the mechanics of a suspect hunt than the actual reasons for the hunt...but that did not imply that his mind was like a 'snapping mousetrap', trying to detect non-existent threats...was it?

And yet, despite his affirmations, the doubts inside him could not help but grow: perhaps he was being short-sighted? Was he ignoring some logical clause? Was he being too dogged? Was he being too compliant?

SNAP

SNAP

He buried his face in his knees, and covered his head with his hands, squeezing his skull. If only the bloody noises would stop, he'd finally manage to start thinking clearly about who could have done this to him! Whoever it was, they were-

As though trying to mock him, a new mousetrap appeared in front of him, crushing its invisible mouse with rabid fervour.

The mousetrap had appeared when he'd started thinking that someone had trapped him in here...so did this mean that...was the mousetrap a clue? Was he being indirectly told that he was trying to catch a nonexistent enemy? Was he being told that...no one was guilty? There really was no suspect?

But if it was indeed true that this was not someone's gaudy scheme...if Yagami had truly not used the Death Note to-

-then how was L-?

Was he-?

L's wide eyes started to falter as he stared forward, unable to stay unblinking for very long.

No suspect?

He felt as though his mind was under siege, as though he was locked in a fortress with barbarians all around. Minutes passed, frantically. The noises weren't calming, but becoming louder instead. His eyes were starting to blink more often, and stay closed for longer periods.

Even though his logic informed him it would be fruitless – not to mention dangerous – to try hitting the glass with all those hostile objects on the other end, the sensation of claustrophobia and suffocation had inevitably started to prevail. The entire glass window was covered with traps, from top to bottom. L had been subjected to the awfully loud snapping noises for so long that they'd started reverberating in his brain. A quick mental survey of his current situation reassured him that he now had 34 probability of going insane within twenty four hours, if he did not escape this situation as soon as possible.

There were two ways to stop the noises and relieve himself: the first solution was to attempt an escape, which was clearly not a real, applicable option, under the circumstances. Even if he somehow did manage to break the glass, the piranha-like objects on the other side would most likely destroy him before he'd even get the chance to walk.

The second solution was to try and indirectly make the mousetraps disappear. If they were indeed a hallucination, produced by some schemer – a new mousetrap appeared at this thought – then there was no way they would disappear on their own. However, if L's speculations were correct and the appearance of the traps really did depend on L's own thoughts...then perhaps he could reverse the process and start making them disappear. Just as he could make them appear by thinking the 'wrong' thing, perhaps he could make them disappear by thinking something 'right'.

For all its irrationality, this notion struck L as having a strangely logical undercurrent. As the Bard says, 'though this be madness, yet there is method in't! Seeing as there was no other solution openly available at this time, perhaps this was worth a try no matter how remote the possibility of it working. In order to make a mousetrap disappear with his mind alone, he would have to reverse his mentality. As his former experiments had proved, it was not enough to try and consciously think about something...he had to believe in what he was thinking, which was the most difficult element of all. Since, generally speaking, L was not very good at changing his beliefs. When something got stuck in his mind, it was very difficult for the notion to be dislodged – as proved by his borderline obsession with Yagami. In more plebeian wording, L was awfully stubborn.

Still, he was also resilient, decisive ad able to keep his calm. What he had to do was start thinking the exact opposite of what he'd been thinking until now: that there was no one doing this to him, that no one had kidnapped him, that Yagami was not capable of creating this elaborate scheme, that this situation was much too elaborate for any scheme produced by a human...and, finally, that there was a great probability that L was...not alive anymore.

Even though L thought all of this, he could not see any visible mousetrap disappear. This was to be expected, he sourly thought, since he was just thinking these things without believing them. But he was not yet prepared to give up. His thoughts were the only weapon he had against this avalanche, this onslaught of panic, and he was willing to adapt them as necessary.

Therefore, not only did he have to think about these things and try to affirm himself: he had to find arguments in order to make himself believe these notions. So, faced with the threat of torrential insanity, L immediately initiated the process of trying to analyze the situation all over again but this time reach a different conclusion and reject the possibility of some human enemy working against him.

It was indeed possible that there was no scheme at work here, he thought, and tried to suppress the seemingly intrinsic need to reject this suggestion. What if he had indeed died, and was now experiencing some form of afterlife? Thinking back to the last time he had ever seen a human being, and the fact that he'd honestly been unable to respond at all during that moment...he could have sworn that what he'd experienced was death. And if he had indeed died, then it was simply not possible for someone to have kidnapped him, or brought him here.

And if L wanted to be completely realistic and pragmatic, it was more likely that Kira had killed him than locked him in some remote place. Not to mention that L was astutely familiar with every piece of the latest technology, and there was simply no way that holographic representation had advanced to the extent he was seeing with these mousetraps.

Minutes passed, and L kept his inner monologue progressing.

And then, finally, when L had become too involved in his mental arguments to notice the perilous outside world, a mousetrap disappeared.

His eyes zeroed in on the spot the object had previously occupied, and he almost allowed a feral grin to appear on his face. 'I'll defeat you! Whoever you are, you're clearly not capable of restraining my intelligence!'

The mousetrap reappeared, snapping more angrily than before. L stopped thinking immediately, but the damage had already been done. He'd let himself be distracted, and now he had to start all over again.

His fingers tightened on his knees. Well at least now he knew it could be done. He'd better get to work.

It was difficult. Extremely difficult. More than once, his concentration had wavered because of the atmosphere, and he'd slipped back to his old habits, thinking that all this talk about afterlife and lack of suspects was complete nonsense. At those moments, a few mousetraps would re-spawn to ensnare some invisible mice, and L would have to redo some work.

But thankfully, the detective was a very adaptable and methodical person. He was fast to learn and assimilate a new method, and always eager to win. In this way, he scholastically kept his mental inner arguments in check. More than once, he felt as though he were trying to swim up a streaming current, since at times it seemed impossible for him to reject his basic way of thinking. The suggestions of resurrection, afterlife or lack of scheming just sounded completely implausible in his mental ears.

Even so, L's main characteristic had always been his ability to adapt to different viewpoints – empathy the basic prerequisite for any good detective. As such, he eventually adjusted himself to this new angle of mentality, at least temporarily until the struggle with the mousetraps was over.

After what felt like approximately two hours, he had narrowed it down to five traps. With enough mental insistence, he managed to make the four of them disappear. Now he was left alone with his old, initial foe, and he almost could not believe that the view had cleared in front of him and he could see the blue carpet again. With a sense of decisive finality, he unleashed a particularly strong mental argument, which said he had unquestionably been killed by Kira.

The last mousetrap disappeared, its last snapping sound echoing like the song of a swan. And finally, for the first time in hours, L was left alone, in quiet, blissful peace, seeing nothing but a blank blue-grey floor, which had nothing on it.

Letting an imperceptible sigh escape his lips, L let his head fall forwards, resting his forehead on his knees and closing his eyes. On the one hand he knew that he should keep himself alert now more than ever, but on the other he simply could not muster the strength anymore, since the constant strain of mental control had taken a toll on his endurance. Now that they had all disappeared, he just wanted to sit there, in the silence, without thinking. He was unsure of what would happen if he started thinking about suspects again, so he wasn't willing to risk it for the time being.

At least he felt calmer, now that it was finally silent. Of course, the snapping sounds were still ringing in his ears, but hopefully they would quiet down soon, and he'd once again be able to evaluate the situation. Longing to scratch his stiff back, he shuffled around a bit, trying to rub his body against the metal wall. However, since the wall was made of smooth metal, L couldn't find the proper roughness he needed to relieve the horrible itch. He reduced himself to trying to scratch his back with his shirt.

Oh how the mighty have fallen, he thought cynically, as he realized he was behaving exactly as a common bear.

However, he ceased his motion immediately, when he saw something moving beyond the glass surface. It was a vague, distant shape, but it was coming closer by the second. His unwillingness to focus disappear within moments, and he widened his black eyes once more, in his trademark stare.

L waited with bated breath, feeling intimidated but not knowing exactly why, as he watched the thing – whatever it was – approach.

He was preparing to see another mousetrap...perhaps even a mouse. But slowly, as he managed to observe the thing better, he managed to discern a blue-green shape. Then, finally, a very familiar white colour appeared.

L felt his fingers pause in their position over his knees. A few seconds passed, and he caught sight of a black-haired head. The person on the other side of the glass sat down, covering most of L's view. Even if he wasn't sitting so close, he still would have drawn all of L's attention.

Because, quite simply, that person looked exactly like L himself.

Time passed.

L was moving his right hand up and down, watching the person on the other side of the glass mirror his movements impeccably, just like a reflection would. However, the person on the other side seemed three-dimensional enough to be real and not like a reflection at all. Not to mention that a reflection does not walk away and towards a mirror on its own volition and that the glass in front of L did not have the silvery colour and fragile composition of a mirror.

This situation uncannily resembled the one with the mousetraps. Initially nothing was happening, but there was a sense of an impending storm in the atmosphere, as though, by making one wrong move, L would cause something to start 'snapping'? The idea gave L a chill, even though he didn't understand exactly why.

He looked at the wide black eyes of his reflection, which were focused completely on his own, and could not help but wonder if that was really how he looked like – so tired. Then, after a few minutes, he blinked, watching the person opposite him blink as well.

Ironically, he'd always found mirrors incredibly boring, because he was sure nothing unexpected or intriguing would happen when watching one. Even so, who would have thought that he'd be so alert when observing 'himself' one day?

Letting his fingers clutch and unclench his knees in the smallest display of nervousness he would allow in front of potential observers, he started pondering, and his eyes periodically slipped in and out of focus, albeit always staying alert in relation to the surroundings.

At some point, L looked at his reflection; narrowing his eyes at it and watching it narrow its eyes at him. Somehow, the image of his own face seemed a bit disturbing, so he moved his eyes away and focused on the reflection's hands instead, watching the long fingers flex and twist above a pair of denim-clad jeans. Annoyed for no reason, L stopped moving his hands, and the reflection's hands stopped as well.

'Definitely not a mirror, but perhaps a clone, or an actor?' L thought, immediately feeling slightly more comforted by the fact that he still had some realistic solutions for this situation. Unable to prevent his mind from roaming in its familiar way, L once again started thinking about the credibility of the current events, and to what extent he was prepared to believe that what was happening was not a hallucination. Perhaps that person who looked exactly like him was a trained actor that someone had hired to behave exactly like-

Out of nowhere, and entirely unexpectedly, a mousetrap appeared, starting to snap on its own accord. The only difference with before was that, this time, it hadn't appeared beyond the glass. It had materialized right next to L's foot. And seeing as there was not much space around L to begin with, the trap was coming dangerously close to hurting him.

The detective lunged backwards immediately, going as far away from it as he could and staring at the retched thing as it started snapping. Immediately upon seeing it, he couldn't help but think that he wanted to touch it, to ascertain that it was not a hologram or something of the sort.

But he didn't even manage to complete that thought, before another mousetrap spawned. This time, one of his toes fell victim to the snapping trap. Unable to help himself, he let out a minor yelp of combined surprise and pain. At least now he realized that these mousetraps were completely, and painfully, real. When he realized that, sooner or later, if he wasn't careful, the small hole may become filled to the brim with the death-traps, he started panicking internally. He forced himself to stay as far from them as humanly possible in the constricted hole, and immediately started trying to bring his mind under control.

It was difficult to become aware of his thoughts under the current circumstances and it took a few minutes of conscious deliberation to make the traps disappear. But the real trouble was doomed to start only after the possessed objects had disappeared. L had now become completely aware that, from now on, if he ever let his thoughts slide toward the wrong direction, the mousetraps would obviously appear next to him. And he internally shuddered to think of what would happen if he found himself locked in a small space with hundreds of rabid metallic triggers pinching his flesh.

Only now, that he finally managed to calm down a little, did he notice the person on the other side of the glass. The reflection was copying L's exact stance and movements. It had a face as ghastly as a white sheet, and two completely black eyes.

Seeing his own face, unexplainably, L blanched even more. But there was nothing he could say now...nowhere to go. Nothing to do, except mentally summon an army of dangerous mousetraps to keep him company...

So L settled down quietly, looking at himself; careful, for once, not to think of anything.

Anything at all.

L blinked again, watching his reflection blink back at him.

Then he raised his wrists to the level of chin and pathetically tried to scratch the ridge of his nose. This was the closest he could come to stretching, squeezed as he was between the narrow walls.

Nothing had happened for what felt like an eternity. Entire months must have passed ever since that sudden burst of light and the appearance of his reflection. Months, during which his hair and nails had not grown, he had not felt hungry or sleepy, months of living in a suspended state. L had reduced himself to calculating meaningless percentages and thinking the same things over and over again.

L didn't want to die – this was a fact. But his mental health couldn't properly survive without mental food either – this was also a fact. When the bottom line probably was that none of this seemed to matter anyway: he was already dead, wasn't he? How else was it possible that he hadn't been even remotely hungry, thirsty or unable to breathe all this time?

He stared at his reflection, and saw only a lost stare that he didn't recognize.

Technically, he should have died by now, he assessed with deliberately detached objectiveness.

His reflection blinked, and he saw white fingers scratching on denim-clad knees, for the umpteenth time.

And yet, even though he had no problem with breathing, he felt completely suffocated, forced as he was to endure existence in this claustrophobic dark cage, forced not to think of anything – forced not to exercise his power – unless he wanted to be ripped apart by the metallic jaws of a hundred vicious – and very real – mousetraps. Forced not to receive any mental stimulation or see anything except his own face.

At some point, days ago, he'd grown so weary that, contrary to all his inner inhibitions and judgmental logical restrictions, he'd started banging on the walls, hearing the unsatisfying sounds of unmovable metal growling back at him – they were all solid steel, without even a hollow spot he could use as an escape route. He'd seen the jerky movements of his reflection, and then he'd stopped moving.

He'd considered speaking, or shouting at his supposed interrogators, but he felt unsure even thinking something of the sort – much less saying it – lest the traps start appearing around him. If only he had more information, he could at least stage a performance or say a few well calculated words. But now...he simply had to wait.

There was obviously some purpose to this entire ordeal. There had to be, or else he wouldn't be here.

...wherever 'here' was...

It was a bit startling – and he had to admit, unexplainably bizarre – that he was now located in some place where Whammy, or even Yagami for that matter, could not reach him. As time went by and the attrition became more and more unbearable, the image of his own face became something despicable.

And what was the meaning of that reflection, anyway? To irritate him. Mirrors bored him extremely, since he knew exactly what the next action would be. Every small gesture he saw himself make, every single blink and unsteady expression, every subtle glance of uncertainty – he had begun to detest it all. And this was worrying in itself, since L had never been partial about the things he was seeing or saying. He was an observer, an investigator. A methodical machine, not a philosopher. A chess player, not a chess critic.

He wasn't supposed to work with opinions, but with logic. And now that he was being given absolutely no mental nutrients, his own extreme disinterest was taking a toll on him. If he wasn't allowed to think about what he wanted, and wasn't allowed to see something more interesting...how on earth was he supposed to find the solution to this 'riddle'?

Because there was no question in L's mind now. This must be a riddle – a test of character or perception. Much like the solution he had found to the problem with the mousetraps, he was obviously being asked to find a way out of this plateau as well.

By now, he'd almost – almost – started to despair, his previous overconfidence becoming slightly shredded at the edges. But, seeing as L's solid willpower could only ever crack if his body was put under true strain – hunger, pain, deprivation, etc – he privately resolved not to give up yet. He would eventually find the solution and progress to the next stage of this little game.

Days passed, and then more days.

And then more days.

In all his twenty five years of life, it was questionable if L had looked at himself in the mirror for more than five minutes at a time. This was ironic, considering he spent most of his time monitoring the private actions of other people. But when it came to other people, things were always different, he thought: it was his job to look at them. He had things to analyze about their psychological profiles, personality motifs to outline.

And now, he had absolutely nothing to see except his own toes scratching each other. Gritting his teeth and not bothering to restrain his annoyance, he promptly shuffled around the narrow room.

After a short while, he shuffled again, realizing he was being juvenile. He stared back at his reflection, scanning the person behind the glass. If he wanted to be completely honest with himself, after being surrounded by Souichirou Yagami's men and spending so much time watching Raito, it was rather bizarre to actually see a tall, grown male curled in a foetal position. Sure, L had always assumed this position, but he'd never looked at himself for long periods of time. In any case, this information was of absolutely no use and no interest.

Feeling magnanimous, and growing tired of the lack of mental excitation, he decided to throw all caution to the wind in hopes of keeping his mind alert.

«Aren't you sick of yourself? » he asked in his trademark neutral inflection, the voice gritty and unused in his larynx. At first, no voice could come out. But he kept reiterating the phrase until it was clearly audible. He knew, of course, that speaking to oneself was considered a preliminary sign of insanity. In this case, it could be taken quite literally.

L was preparing to go back to looking at his toes, so he pulled his eyes away from the bored-looking face of his reflection.

«I thought I'd never ask. » a voice suddenly echoed, a bit alien and a bit familiar at the same time.

He jerked upwards so violently that he misjudged the distance and ended up banging his head against the metallic ceiling. The resounding thud echoed around him as he wordlessly grabbed his head and started rocking it back and forth in a primitive effort to nurse it.

Still, he didn't procrastinate, turning to watch the face of his reflection. His breath caught in his throat, and he didn't even manage to start choking, when he saw a set of completely independent, aware black eyes looking back at him.

His reflection was there all right...it was moving fluidly in front of his eyes. But it wasn't moving in accordance to his own motions. Somehow, he mustn't be so surprised by this. But by now, he'd been so used to the idea of this person beyond the glass acting as his reflection, that it seemed entirely abnormal to see it uncoordinated with his own movements.

L unconsciously slid backwards, adhering his back on the wall of his steel cage and trying to stay as far away from the glass as possible, as though fighting to push himself out of his prison. Staying alarmed, he kept his face trained in a mask of complete indifference, and was a bit aggravated to see the person beyond the glass grant him an equally neutral expression, as though he were copying L's trademark eccentricity.

The detective was aware that he should keep a leash on his thoughts, and not think of this entire situation as a scheme. He shouldn't think of the person behind the glass as an impostor, an actor, or a cheat, lest multiple mousetraps appear around him. The problem for L was that, if he didn't think of that person as neither an impostor nor an actor...what was he supposed to think?

If this person was obviously willing to have a conversation, then L had a thousand things he wanted to say, and questions he wanted to ask. However, as he reviewed all his questions in his mind – 'you can speak?', 'where am I?', 'who are you?', 'why do you look like me?', and so on – each seemed more unintelligent than the other. Finally, he decided on not saying a single word, and waiting for the other to make the first move.

However, he was to be sorely disappointed. And hour passed and nothing had happened. Sure, L wasn't looking at a reflection anymore, but at an independent person who looked exactly like himself...but that person was not willing to speak, obviously, unless L spoke first.

So, after a meticulous study of all the possible outcomes of this situation, and the decision that taking this risk was necessary for at least his mental health if not for his progress, the detective spoke again.

«Am I dead? » he asked simply, feeling his heartbeat hammer against his chest. Despite everything his logic told him, there was some distinctly human element, some kind of extreme melancholy deep inside him that still retained some hope.

«Yes, I am. » the other lost no time in answering with a completely neutral voice, strangely using the first singular when talking to a second person. However, L was much too fixated on what he'd heard.

There was something breaking inside; that small warm sliver of hope that he had buried in his gut, along with the memory of his dying heart. Even though he'd known it all along, it was just as hard to accept it now then before. A fleeting thought coursed through his mind: the thought that this so-called 'reflection' may be lying to him, trying to make him believe he was dead so as to-

A mousetrap appeared, and L shouted loudly as he felt his ear being pinched painfully between iron claws – like the crippling sting of a scorpion. He immediately started reversing his previous thoughts, mentally repeating that this was not a scheme, and that the 'reflection' was not lying. Finally, the mousetrap disappeared, and L was now left with new awareness.

His death.

«I'm...sad. » he said by way of an assessment, to no one in particular. He had no time to think about his current predicament, or the fact that he might ignite the response of a hundred angry mousetraps if he thought the wrong thing. «I had wished that, against all odds, I'd... survived. »

No response came from the other, and L immediately shut his mouth. He considered asking about Whammy, but realized that if the detective himself was dead, then Watari had surely not survived. Asking about it would not change anything.

Then, finally, he decided to ask a new question. Perhaps the other person would only converse if L spoke in the format of questions, not statements.

«Is this the afterlife? » he asked, not really wishing to know the answer, since his mind seemed to be extremely negatively conditioned when it came to the subject of the afterlife. However, he did not receive an answer. The person beyond the glass just kept staring straight at him, as though he hadn't heard L speak. The detective remembered the last few answers he had received: they had always been answers in relation to L's person. So L decided to try again, with a new question.

«Where am I? » he asked, widening his eyes.

«I am inside myself. » the other answered, with a tone of a tutor, as though establishing a cosmic knowledge. L felt a chill run up his spine at the answer. He didn't completely understand, so he decided to specify, always careful of how to phrase his question.

«Where exactly inside myself am I? » he interrogated. Questioning was one thing he was good at.

«I'm in my mind. » the simulacrum spoke. L kept silent for a few moments.

«And how can I escape my mind? » he queried, feeling the hair on his nape stand on end. For some reason, hearing the person on the other end speak on the first person was extremely unsettling. L looked at the other person and noticed something rather strange. When he looked into those black eyes, he could see himself. They were like black mirrors, and they made him more uncomfortable than anyone's eyes – even Yagami's competitive ones – ever had. He felt simultaneously annoyed and strangely smug, not having known such a crucial detail about his own body.

«I must work. » the clone answered, with the same patronizing tone.

But, still...'work'? Work in what sense? L decided to ask for explanations, since he realized that he had just hit a vein of information. This simulacrum could give him the answer to his predicament! Apparently, there really was a way to escape this. How very ironic, that he'd just spent a month trapped in this place, when he could have been speaking to his reflection all along. Was this the solution...? Just...speaking? Just because L had been reluctant to speak to another – even when that other was himself – he'd almost spent an eternity locked in here?

«How can I 'work'? » he inquired, with rapidly widening and focusing eyes.

«By fulfilling the duties of a good detective. » the other answered, and L felt reassured. After all, he was the best detective that had ever passed the face of the Earth, capable of solving every single case he'd ever undertaken and capable of uncovering the Death Note, the best well-kept secret in the world. Even so, L was starting to become frustrated by the extremely evasive answers, but he steeled himself and called upon all his reserves of patience. He tried a different approach.

«But aren't I already acting as a detective, by interrogating you? » L asked, referring to the fact that he was seeing and talking to himself in the third person at that very moment.

However, the shadow clone shook his head.

«So then how can I fulfil my duties as a detective? » L asked, keeping his voice completely toneless.

«I must learn to observe. » the other answered, nodding his head in that way that was becoming rapidly annoying. It was a mannerism that did not belong to the real L.

«What must I observe? » L asked solidly, letting his mouth hang slightly open and feeling he was reaching the core of the answer.

«I must observe how to observe. » the simulacrum answered, and L shut his mouth and pulled back. A few seconds passed, as he looked at the other. Obviously, he should have used different phrasing, since under certain circumstances, the world 'observe' could be treated as the word 'learn'. He expanded the question.

«How will I learn how to observe? »

«I will teach myself. » L narrowed his eyes. Something was not being revealed here. Some elision of truth in this dialogue – some crucial information was either being concealed or distorted.

«By myself, do you mean you? » L asked and the clone looked at him, making L see his own face mirrored in the reflection's black eyes.

«I mean me. » the clone answered. However, hearing his answer, L realized that he couldn't solidly trust what he'd just heard, since it could be interpreted in a number of different ways. The reflection kept using the first person adjectives in a very contradictory way, and it was now unclear whether he agreed with L or not. L decided to bypass this particular element and skip to something new.

«When will I be able to observe myself – how will I understand when the time comes? »

The clone looked at him, unblinking, and then allowed a small, jovial smile grace his lips. L was slightly alarmed by the image, thinking that a smile looked most awkward on that face, as though the facial muscles were not used to the motions. It was a good thing that he smiled so rarely. Of course. He'd always known what was good for himself.

«I'll start learning when I stop talking to myself. »

When he heard this, on the one hand he became eager to end the conversation immediately and see this whole ordeal to the end, but on the other he became slightly nervous at the prospect of what was expecting him.

«Why are you helping me? Do you want me to escape? » He'd tried to suppress this question, not wanting to portray himself as needy. However, in the end he decided that he may gain some useful information from this question after all.

A small pause followed. Then, the simulacrum spoke again.

«At first I didn't really care about the escape...but then I realized that if I didn't help myself, I would just put my own life in danger. »

So basically...this person wanted to save his own skin? Fair enough...L could understand the motive, and considered it logical. However, there was something about the lethargic, toneless way in which the other spoke about his own survival...something about the way this person so openly admitted his not so noble motives...L's eyes narrowed. Perhaps this was why Yagami had always been infuriated whenever L expressed his will to keep himself out of danger?

But of course Yagami would be unable to understand the subtleties of detached thinking: he was much to infatuated with his ideals and his self-image to understand the acceptance of human nature. At times, L felt as though he didn't understand how a brain as complex and advanced as Yagami's could be so obsessive and with such narrow-horizons.

«What will happen to me if I escape from here? » l went ahead and asked the question he'd been considering ever since the beginning of this conversation.

«I will escape myself. » the other answered, and L thought that an answer like this had been obvious enough from the start. He wished he could have gotten something more objective – something he could pragmatically understand.

But still, he could only assume that he was lucky to have someone – even someone as unhelpful as his own reflection – explain some things to him. Of course, he had not forgotten the possibility that this was an impostor – a mousetrap appeared, and L swiftly made it disappear – but even if he was, then at least L would have some kind of indication – a stash of information, that would either be proven true or false.

If he didn't have anyone to tell him anything at all, he was willing to bet that the entire process would be entirely more painful.

L didn't really realize that the conversation had ended until he felt something change in the atmosphere. The shadowy, simulacrum L on the other side of the glass spectrum had not disappeared. He'd just stopped speaking, stopped moving, stopped doing anything. He had just sat there, like a soulless doll.

The detective had stayed quiet, trying to see what would happen next. He wasn't disappointed. A few moments later, the lights behind the glass surface started flickering. Soon enough, the grey and black hues covering his vision could only be compared with the static of a human-sized television screen. L waited, gulping unconsciously. He tried to keep a careful check of his thoughts and at the same time re-evaluate everything he was seeing.

Then, with a solid flicker, the lights of the glass screen flickered again, like the dying embers of a fire. And then, the grainy image of a huge surveillance video appeared. Right in front of L's eyes was situated an exact representation of L's own body. It was as though the simulacrum L-clone had never left, with the exception that, right now, the real L was seeing everything through a television video screen.

Unconsciously, at the sight of his own face again, the detective moved backwards in alert. Truth be told, the L in the surveillance video was doing nothing threatening. He was just sitting on an armchair, curled in the real L's characteristic position. On the background behind him there were various shadows of objects, as well as the easily recognizable tapestry of a hotel suite. He was holding something in his hands – something that looked like the log files of the Los Angeles BB murder case – and was studying it.

Then, suddenly, the sound of a voice in the video, stark, sudden and completely foreign in L's unaccustomed ears, echoed all around him, as though it were coming from the very walls of the metal cage he was trapped in.

«Walter, bring me the information sheet from Agent Richards if you please. »

It took a few seconds for L to realize what was happening. 'Walter' had been Whammy's code name for the BB murder case, just as 'Watari' was his alias for the Kira case. And Agent Richards was one of the FBI officers who had partaken in the capture of the Basic Believer. L remembered that case – it had been easy to unravel but difficult to execute. Agents like Misora, Richards, Soraya and Penber had been indispensable parts of the assault team that L had assembled.

This was all very nice and well...but why was he watching this footage now? L observed the person beyond the glass surface in front of him: the L-clone on screen, who was behaving as though he could not see the real L at all.

Unexpectedly, from the background around the L on the screen, the shadow of a man stepped forth, with his hand stretched toward the L-clone, holding a piece of paper.

«Here you go, Lumiere. » Whammy's voice answered, using L's alias for the BB case. The L-clone grabbed the page without a second glance, and the faceless hand retreated.

But L had recognized the calloused quality of that palm immediately, and noticed the slim silver ring around the fourth finger. Whammy. Whammy's hand. The extreme wave of nostalgia that overcame L's senses was only compared to his simultaneous feeling of extreme unsettlement.

He could accept that they'd found a clone to replicate L...but Whammy? How could anyone copy Whammy's hands to such excruciating detail? If there was a person on Earth who could recognize Whammy's exact bone structure, that was L and no one else – at least that's what L thought...

Overall, based on the strange angles and slightly discordant voices he was hearing, L was tempted to think that he really was watching one of his own surveillance videos. Only this time, he was watching himself instead of someone else. Was this what he had to do to escape this prison? 'Learn to observe' himself in this video, like he had observed other people?

He quickly scanned his memory, trying to remember if there was any possibility that he had really been monitored at the time of the BB investigation. But he was certain that there was no way a camera could have been installed in his hotel room, since he never let anyone except Whammy in the room on the first place.

So he'd never been under surveillance – there was simply no chance that he was watching a real surveillance video. He was now becoming more and more accustomed to believing that this situation was indeed not a human-driven scheme.

It was...something else...

In any case, L settled down, keen on detecting any hidden, encrypted messages in what he was seeing. It was strange to view a human-sized video of himself, especially when the L-clone on the other side of the glass appeared so very realistic. But still, L narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on any detail of the image he was seeing, any minor inconsistency that could inform him of what was happening.

There must be some logical, rational explanation to this, he thought almost stubbornly. L was a creature of pure logic – without it, he could not function. Whenever he found himself in a situation that was not associated with logic – like the sudden revelation of the existence of Shinigami – he started floundering and eventually adjusted. Fortunately for him, he had managed to connect the existence of the Gods of Death with logical cause and effect – this was how he had managed to function with the Death Note all along.

Unfortunately, however, this sullen place he was trapped in possessed the same atmosphere as that of the Kira case: dark, silent and slightly otherworldly. It was as though, somehow, he had walked in a plane which was much too silent and private to exist in the real word. L's heart started beating faster as he realized that, once again, he was now trying to work analogically in a digital world, by trying to use logic where it did not apply.

He watched the figure in the 'video'; watched and waited for some kind of clue, some indication concerning the reason why all this was happening, and what being 'trapped in oneself' was all about. Thankfully, watching and assessing people from afar was the greatest of L's assets. He had possessed the rare gift of instinctual perception since birth, to the extent that he was able to understand a person's psychology just by studying their temporary behaviour.

Perhaps the entire goal of this situation was exactly to test his reasoning ability: test the level his ability to assess other people – even himself.

Despite being focused on his thoughts, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye and turned to observe the figure beyond the glass barrier. The L-clone had jerked his hand in a sudden movement and grabbed an object from the side, pulling it forward and bringing it to the light to reveal a bowl filled to the brim with chocolate tarts.

L froze.

He'd seen those strawberry-decorated tarts before...Thankfully; his elephantine memory granted him the ability to recall a detail such as this. However, he distinctly remembered eating those exact tarts on one of the latest days of the BB investigation in the States.

In fact, the room in which the L-clone seemed to be located was an exact replica of the room L had temporarily occupied in America. Now that L thought about it, the video in front of him seemed like a window to the past – a window to the real world. The things he was seeing...had really happened. He really had eaten those tarts and asked Whammy for those documents.

He narrowed his eyes and watched with new interest. He was expecting something in the representation of his past to go awry, so he could detect an error and prove his mental ability.

However, nothing of the drastic sort ever took place. The L-clone simply sunk his hand in the bowl of tarts, submerging his fingers in an ocean of brown icing. The real L could feel his mouth salivating rather pathetically as he stared at the massive concentration of sweet substance in front of his eyes. Even though he wasn't hungry, he felt an old gluttonous friend knock on his stomach's door. However, he was never one to be distracted when observing a subject, so he suppressed whatever envy he may be feeling.

He watched carefully as the L in the 'surveillance video' shuffled his hand around the bowl of tarts, making rather disgusting squelching sounds as he tried to select one. The L-clone kept staring forward, apparently mesmerized by something. At first, the real L got the impression that the clone was looking straight at him through the glass, but he soon realized that the clone was in fact acting as though he was looking at a computer screen...as though the real L was a computer screen.

Then, slowly, the real L watched his clone finally raise his hand out of the bowl of tarts. He was now squeezing a particularly juicy strawberry between his chocolate-stained thumb and index. Then, without moving his eyes away from the 'computer screen', he shoved the small fruit roughly in his mouth, chewing haphazardly and swallowing.

The real L just sat there, watching, for once not sure what he was supposed to be evaluating. The hours went by, and he kept observing the simulacrum creature devour one nutrient after the other.

At some point, the L-clone buried a piece of chocolate tart in his mouth, licking at the tips of his fingers and then chewing with an open mouth, his eyes still not leaving the 'computer screen'. The real L couldn't really suppress a small flinch as he watched the display. He acutely remembered eating and enjoying those tarts...had he really looked like this when he...?

Suddenly, just as the L-clone was selecting a new sweet, a loud voice erupted from somewhere, filling the real detective's ears with it's resounding echo.

«Lumiere, the chief of the FBI is on the phone and wishes to talk to you. He says they may have uncovered some crucial information about the case. »

'I already know it' the real L could not help but think. And then felt his blood freeze within his veins as he heard the words be spoken aloud:

«I already know» the L-clone said, chewing carelessly on his last bit of chocolate and displaying rather disgusting cocoa-stained teeth «about Guy Marlane.»

It was an exact copy of the thing the real L remembered saying back then...

...was this really an absolute representation of the past? Was he actually expected to observe and assess his real self?

The twenty-two year-old L-clone, 'Lumiere', gratuitively licked the tip of his index finger, and then finally moved, setting the now-empty bowl of tarts aside and extending his hand to some direction out of the frame. Whammy's calloused hand appeared from somewhere out of the observer's vision, giving the L-clone a silvery Panasonic mobile phone. The L-clone took the phone carefully in his hand, holding it in the usual way he held all pieces of evidence. The simulacrum did not yet speak in the receiver, taking care to adjust some controls in the phone so as to ensure that his voice would be distorted when he'd start talking to the chief of the FBI.

«Chief Callaway» he began, letting his black hair drop downwards to cover his eyes «This is L. »

And so the real L observed carefully, trying to understand exactly which element of this entire display he was supposed to pay attention to. Moments went by, and L's past seemed to be unfolding right in front of his eyes, just as he remembered it.

Eventually, entire hours passed since the initiation of this ordeal. The real L was swiftly growing weary of this game, which was entirely uncharacteristic of him. Usually, he enjoyed the art of observation and analysis. But watching himself...somehow, it wasn't the same. Truth be told, he didn't really want to-

He focused his attention back to what was happening in front of him, seeing as something had drawn his attention.

«We must employ all the leverage available to us, and if that means using his own victims against him, then so be it. » the L-clone was saying to the chief officers of the CIA on the phone.

«But, Lumiere...perhaps you should consider... -» a voice echoed from the speaker phone.

«I understand your concerns, chief. » the detective said solidly «But I assure you that my people have everything under control. I suggest you do what I tell you» L saw himself saying, with eyes a bit too blank for comfort «and you shall prove him guilty. Follow not my advice and you shall fail. »

A vane egotist, who was always right. However, L had always known this about himself, it's not as though he had ever been in denial about his own personality. Unlike Yagami, L knew himself. This was nothing new.

Nevertheless, L watched as, 'Lumiere' devoted himself to the surveillance of the main suspect of the BB investigation.

Basically, the real L just sat there in his cage, watching his past self watch other people. He decided that perhaps he should do his job and try to create the psychological profile of the person he was seeing – himself.

He watched the L-clone look at surveillance videos with wide eyes. L could openly admit that, from a social viewpoint, there was almost something miserable, about the way that twenty-two year old man sat there in the dark, when everyone else was asleep, biting his nails and waiting for the suspect to commit a crime.

Entire days passed – days and nights – and then, twenty nine days, during which the real L could do nothing except simply sit there, considering and evaluating what he was seeing. In all the time he had observed himself work on the BB murder case, he'd seen himself do four primary things: consume dozens of different varieties of candy, speak on a microphone, do Internet research and watch surveillance videos. L could count the times he'd heard the L-clone speak to Walter on his one hand.

Eating, watching. Blinking. Eating some more. The L-clone rarely stood up, going to the bathroom to relieve himself or take a shower. At those times, L would watch himself in the bathtub, noting the awkward rushed movements and the pronounced disinterest at self grooming, as well as the notable, rather sad absence of any pectoral hair. When the L-clone in the video started scrubbing his chest, he heaved a sigh, which the real L noticed a bit uncomfortably. Without realizing it, as he watched the display, the real L felt himself sigh as well, even though he kept his eyes fixed on the image.

Unbidden, L's logic addiction reared its head. His well-trained detective instincts began viewing and analyzing the information with alarming precision. He didn't even need to 'learn how to observe', since he was already used to evaluation other people's psychology – even that of himself.

And now, presented with this view for more than nine days at a time, L had a very good grip of the type of psychological profile he could create for the person he was observing: He was dealing with a subject who was antisocial, reluctant to engage in personal interaction with other humans and not at all interested in his body or appearance, except when forced to look at it. It was the attitude of a natural-born genius, an egoistic person who hates to lose and an entirely ambitious person in matters of mental superiority, but at the same time a recluse of society, suffering from severely misplaced social skills and inhibitions. His obsession with judging and watching other people was bordering on the point of vicariousness.

But still, this was nothing that L hadn't already known about himself, although it annoyed him slightly that he was being forced to think about it.

There was no need to make him spend nine days of looking at himself. He could readily offer all this information about himself without being forced to 'observe'.

Nevertheless, L pursed his lips, staying silent. He just kept watching the luminous black eyes of the L-clone, as they bored into some surveillance screen, like those of a sloth.

Then, suddenly, L heard a phone ring and turned to watch his on-screen self shuffle around in the hotel room, reaching for the mobile receiver.

«This is L» he spoke, and the real L noticed the grandiose way which the L-clone pronounced the letter «L». Well of course, the letter 'L' was the cornerstone of this person's existence, L thought. The moniker was the only way for this person, who was forced by his profession to remain unseen and unidentified, to find a way to defeat his opponents and prove his mental power.

«I see» the L-clone spoke, scratching one big toe with the other. «Then it appears we have no choice. »

L froze, intent on listening. He...didn't remember the specific phone conversation...There was something about this phone call...something...

«...for the good of the many, we must end this investigation...regardless of the costs...»

A small pause. There was complete silence for a few crucial seconds, as L watched himself on the screen. A small, spastic tic seemed to have developed on the L-clone's face.

L's heart was beating hard as he watched. The image he was seeing seemed to have turned dark blue, filled with grey hues, reflecting his thoughts.

«...make sure to allow the events to unfold. Do not provoke or resist anything. Follow my instructions, and I assure you the perpetrator shall be brought to justice...»

And then the L-clone shut the phone.

In the end, as the real L recalled, his suspicions had been completely valid, of course. He had won the case and defeated – no, pulverised – the Basic Believer. The man was a child-molester, and a top-class butcher to boot.

Seeing no other option, and having been driven to a corner... L had decided to take extreme measures at that time...

«But Lumiere...» Whammy's voice resounded around L, as he listened to the conversation playing out in front of him, and saw Whammy's hands fisted in restrained rage. «We could have saved them! »

«It was either that or to cancel the operation. And if we'd cancelled this operation we might have never gotten a new chance. Even as it was we only had a 47 chance to-« the L-clone started saying, but Whammy's voice interrupted.

«Lumiere» in the video, Whammy slowly walked forward, extending his hands, and set his palms of the L-clone's shoulders. And the L-clone just stood there, unmoving, looking at Walter with uncomprehending, owlish eyes.

«Oh, L...» the voice echoed again, with the characteristic tone which signifies exasperation. Whammy raised his palms, clasping the sides of the L-clone's neck and patting them, shaking his head the whole time «...they were children. »

The L-clone just kept staring forward, not ignorant of the unusually turbulent situation but still entirely neutral. After a few minutes, he spoke, with a completely blank voice «It was a difficult decision to make. But I standby my choice...this sacrifice had to be made, so that not any more people will be hurt. »

Whammy lowered his hands from the L-clone's neck, letting them fall heavily to his sides. With an air of resignation, he asked « You're so intelligent...why do you not understand what I'm telling you? »

«I understand perfectly. » the L-clone calmly said, in a completely neutral tone. «You consider this action immoral, yet, from your own moral viewpoint, you fail to see that by allowing a lesser evil, we succeed in restraining a greater one. » This was the only time L could remember that Whammy had ever spoken to him in this way. «What would you prefer? That we save them now and leave a psychotic serial killer roaming the streets, free to kill some more? » Reliving the memory was...unpleasant.

Whammy was supposed to be his assistant and mentor...he didn't have the capacity to advise the Great Detective on what to do about an investigation. He'd technically been more of a helper, a subordinate than an advisor. But even so...even though he knew that...sometimes, he'd turn and say something, completely unexpectedly. Normally, L wouldn't care about any of these words...the only thing he cared about was that the words were coming from Watari, and so he sensed he had an obligation to listen and converse.

«It's not about my moral viewpoint, but yours. » Whammy's scratchy voice echoed again, more quiet than before, obviously discouraged «The Great Detective must have the moral viewpoint. »

«I do have it. » the L-clone answered, and the real L could not help but detect an undercurrent of stubbornness in that tone «I solved the case and set a murderer behind bars. The world is now safer, and this institution is more respected than ever. » he said, motioning toward the computer screensaver, which had the letter «L» etched upon it in black relief. «Can you deny this? »

Whammy's voice was not heard again. A few minutes later, the only thing that could be heard were a few muted footsteps on a carpet floor. L was left staring at the L-clone, watching himself return to the computers and pluck himself down in front of one, as though the discussion had never occurred.

The L-clone seemed rather mesmerized by the electronic screens: reading data, making calculations and watching suspects – anything to keep himself from thinking about the present. Closed in a dark hotel room and making phone calls through a Macintosh, out of fear he'd be lynched or killed when he set foot out of the building.

And L watched himself, a bundle of sharp bones and syrup-stained jeans, curled like a foetus and glancing around silently, trying to pass unnoticed in the world and succeeding, even though he kept trying to prove himself. The paradoxical nature of a man who wishes to erase himself and immortalize himself at the same time. And even as he watched himself, expecting to feel some sort of melancholy or remorse for his clearly problematic behaviour, he could feel was a mixture of accomplishment and unfulfillment: elation because, once more, he recognized the ingeniousness of his superiority, and discontent because, in the moral aspect of a good detective...he seemed to be lacking in Watari's eyes.

Now he was watching the L-clone speak on the microphone, proclaiming things to the entire FBI force.

«We execute justice. » Lumiere said, trying to motivate the FBI agents. But now that he thought about it, L realized something new about himself: he personally wasn't interested in the correct idea of justice at all...Whenever he used the word 'justice'; he only employed it to appeal to someone else, never in relation to himself.

This superior genius in front of his eyes possessed neither Yagami's fiery, idealistic obsession, nor Whammy's careful hopefulness and compassion. He supposed that, in terms of...interest about the moral aspects of his work...L was inferior. And that idea did not appeal to him at all. But it was undeniable that he'd always executed his work flawlessly and logically.

The sacrifices he'd been forced to make...he'd make them all over again, if that meant he could successfully complete the pursuit of a killer. When it came to success at his work, it was probably better for L that he wasn't emotional and affected by ideals about justice. There was no one on Earth, not even the cunning Yagami, who could be a better L than L could be, because they simply did not process L's power of detachment.

It was true that he'd always viewed his work as challenging. For him, detective work was a question of winning a pursuit, not an ideal. And to win this pursuit, he was prepared to employ all available means...even if they went against the conventional idea of 'justice'...

Somehow, the fact that the L-clone had no expression as he talked about justice made everything worse. Like a rock, Aizawa's past words hit L's memory with force: 'I hate the fact that you can say things like that with such a straight expression!' Aizawa had shouted, and L had understood then, but not to the extent that he now did.

There was no ideal in these actions. There was no motive. Even though L could not deny to himself that his own mind was, indeed, the most ingenious and mentally flexible mind he had ever seen – even more so than that of Yagami – there was an underlying sense of...carelessness in all his actions. As though he didn't really bother thinking about anything except winning the game.

Perhaps, however...his disinterest was the very thing that was now aggravating him, making him aware that there was something missing in his personality, especially when compared to that of Yagami – L's greatest rival. And now that he watched himself in the surveillance videos, he realized that his disregard about morality, even though helpful to his work, may have been a deciding factor in his isolation: it may have served to deprive him of the much-needed human contact that he now pined for, after having been killed and trapped in an isolated place for so long.

However, L comforted himself, if his own lack of morality was bad, then what could be said about the other end of the spectrum, and Yagami's seemingly bottomless reserves of self-righteous tirades? At least L had been aware of the world, able to understand the inevitability of crime and unattainable nature of absolute justice. Yagami had always been much too obstinate – a child with minimal social experience, save for the situations he encountered in his prep school.

Unlike L, who'd been forced to hunt killers at thirteen years of age – ever since the death of his predecessor – Yagami had most probably woken up one day, received the Death Note, and decided he was smart enough in college entrance exams to be able to change the world.

L took comfort. If Whammy believed him to be immoral, then he should have seen Yagami during the last few moments of L's life. Yagami had always been as arrogant and obsessive as L, but on different aspects. Whammy should have seen the satanic light that the power to kill can give a man. Even though L could have easily used his position to deem himself a saviour of the world and kill all murderers, he had done nothing of the sort, but respected the true sense of justice: the idea of a system of laws, however inconclusive.

And was it so wrong for him, as a human being, to enjoy his work? He enjoyed catching criminals...no strings attached. He didn't like to think about why he liked it – just that he liked it. It gave him a sense of self.

Why? L thought, as he watched the L-clone silently chew on some chocolate covered lollipops in front of a computer monitor. Why must he evaluate? What must he evaluate? His own attitude about justice – if such a thing even exists? Or just his attitude in general? Was this situation some sort of mandatory self-evaluation time, where L would have to start feeling remorseful about everything he'd ever done, before he could be allowed to rest in peace?

And then, L thought about his current position: perched on the balls of his feet, curled around himself, eyes wide and observing another person.

Was this what he was supposed to evaluate?

Why was he...?

And Whammy was just...

L fisted both his hands in his nest of black hair, twisting the black strands in his fingers. The illogic of it was almost driving him insane. At least before, he'd had something to look forward to – the next difficult puzzle to solve, the next case to undertake, the next suspect to pursue. Now what did he have? Nothing. No reason to do anything. He was already dead, wasn't he?

What was the point, anymore? Yagami wasn't around to have a contest of wits. Near wasn't around to tell him what had happened with the Kira case. Not even Whammy was around – Whammy, who had always been around – to give him some chocolate.

And oh...even if he wasn't technically hungry...how he wanted some chocolate! For how much longer would he have to endure this? He couldn't stand looking at his own face for another second, let alone until he 'learned how to observe', whatever that meant!

And then he remembered the words he'd been told. He'd been told he was trapped in his own mind. Trapped in his own mind...did this mean that everything he was experiencing was a self-produced hallucination? Were all these things...his own private thoughts?

A mousetrap appeared immediately, and he sighed, rejecting the thought that he was hallucinating.

'Learn how to observe', not just 'observe'... The choice of words was unusual...but did it mean that he'd have to start observing the situation in a new way...? Did it...

How much longer? What would he be forced to learn? Why?

One month of sleepless, non-stop surveillance.

How much longer?

«...that hurts...» he muttered suddenly, feeling a sudden sharp pain on his skull. Immediately, he moved his hands away, looking at the thing clasped in them.

Without realizing it, he seemed to have used a bit too much force when pulling at his hair, and plucked a few strands out. There was a small wad of black tresses in his hand. Disinterested, he threw it away to the side.

Then he turned back to the screen, seeing himself eating ice cream from a large carton. He looked at his own, computer-mesmerized black eyes through the screen, and wagered that this was probably how he looked at the current moment as well. Unresponsive, monotonous. Uncaring about morality and unwilling to change.

There was nothing to observe, here. He'd already seen everything there was to know. The man he was watching – himself – was a computer, not a human. He knew his own life perfectly well and there was absolutely nothing he'd ever done that could be observed or evaluated to consider something of interest. L's personality had never had any impact on anyone, and, likewise, no one had ever had any impact on him.

And he was sick of seeing his own fact. Sick of it! The only part of himself that he liked anymore was the sound of his own voice, because that signified that at least something marginally interesting was happening on the screen.

He wondered if the fact that he liked the sound of his own voice served to signify something, and if this was the thing that he was supposed to evaluate, or observe.

'Escaping yourself', he thought; as he watched himself chewing on his thumb nail 'Easier said than done'.

And then, he sunk his face in his palms.

The egotist is right

a/n: MWAHAHAHA!!!... HA! I hope you were pleasantly surprised to see this chapter.

Looks like, while Raito is struggling to escape certain doom, out own little detective is coping with his own bad karma!

I'm REALLY nervous about this, so, if you can, please give me some feedback!

Thank you for everything, guys!