Hello.

This is a revised version of a story I started a few years ago, Habeas Corpus. I'm older now, and a better writer, so I thought I'd revisit it as an exercise. Hope you enjoy.


Rachel didn't normally hail cabs, but today was an exception. The cabbie must have sensed as much because he asked just one question before speeding down the avenue.

"Where to?"

"The Met," she gasped. "Fifth Avenue."

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket—for the seventh time in the last two minutes. No doubt it was Bethany, her friend and classmate, wondering where the hell she was.

Nowhere near the Metropolitan Museum of Art, that's where.

She'd be at least another twenty minutes, thanks to the traffic.

Got held up. On my way.

Rachel typed out a quick message before snapping her phone shut in frustration. Of all the days to oversleep, it had to be today, for the one class where attendance actually counted. Just her luck.

But it could be worse, she thought, watching the bundled-up pedestrians shuffle along the icy sidewalk. At least she wasn't freezing her ass off out there anymore.

Her phone buzzed again. This time, Bethany was calling. Rachel considered ignoring it out of sheer embarrassment but gave in on the third ring.

"-Hello?"

"Dude, where are you?! We're about to go inside. This place is PACKED."

Judging by the background noise blaring through the speaker, that wasn't an exaggeration.

"I'm in a cab," Rachel said. "Just tell Professor Diaz I'm on my way. I'm—" she glanced out the window at the sluggish traffic, "—twenty minutes out. I'll text you when I get there."

"Fine," Bethany sighed. Or at least, it sounded like she did—the call quality was awful. "I'll sign you in for attendance."

"You're the best."

"I know."

As the call ended, Rachel exhaled and slumped into the seat. One crisis averted. Now she could relax for a few minutes—something she hadn't done all morning.

First, she'd slept through her alarm. Then, in a rush out of her dorm, she'd spilled coffee all over herself, leaving three ugly brown stains on her sweater. That might have been fine if, moments later, her metro stop hadn't blared an announcement that her train was delayed for "maintenance."

And now here she was: tired (despite the extra sleep), uncaffeinated, and thoroughly stressed.

But hey. The day could only get better… right?


Twenty-six minutes and ten potholes later, the imposing façade of the Metropolitan Museum of Art came into view. So did the sea of people gathered outside.

Tourist groups swarmed the front staircase, packed together like a tin of multicolored sardines.

Bethany wasn't kidding.

Rachel cursed under her breath, squeezing through the throng. I feel like I'm at a concert.

If she didn't know better, she'd think she was outside Madison Square Garden instead of an art museum. But this wasn't for any band or celebrity. No, this was for someone—something—else entirely.

Kira.

The once-obscure Japanese legend turned internet conspiracy had upended the entire world.

Kira was nowhere and everywhere. He was the law. A god. A brand.

And now, an exhibit.

The New York Times had called the temporary Kira Exhibition a "hit." Judging by the crowd, that was an understatement.

Rachel first heard the name Kira from her father after a defendant in one of his trials died—mysteriously—of a heart attack. As a New Jersey District Judge, he had been obsessed with justice before, but the so-called "First American Kira Killing" had turned his passion into an outright crusade.

News networks ran 24-hour cycles on the phenomenon, attributing more and more deaths to the enigmatic figure. Kira became a staple of dinner conversations, her father disappearing further into his own theories. He joined task forces, think tanks, wrote countless essays, and gave speeches.

In the past five years, Rachel could count the number of meaningful interactions she'd had with him on one hand.

In some ways, she felt like Kira had killed her father too—even though he was still alive.

If it were up to her, she'd skip the museum altogether. But Contemporary Issues was a class she couldn't afford to fail. It was her father's one condition for supporting her Illustration degree, and she wasn't about to mess that up.

"Now, where's the entrance…?"

Ten minutes later, Rachel finally pushed through the group entrance, clutching an exhibit map. The layout was chronological—starting with the first media reports of Kira and ending with an ethics forum.

According to Bethany's texts, their class was somewhere in the middle.

Thankfully, Rachel didn't have to search long.

"The first killings attributed to Kira were in 2003," Professor Diaz announced in his thick Staten Island accent. He stood in front of a large photograph. If he noticed Rachel slip into the group, he didn't acknowledge it. Good.

"This man, Kurou Otoharada—also known as the Shinjuku Killer—is considered the first victim."

He stepped aside, revealing the mugshot of a scowling man with beady eyes and brown hair.

"I don't think I need to tell you how he died."

Heart attack. Naturally. Everyone knew Kira's M.O.

The group moved to another display: fifty mugshots of Japanese criminals.

"These forty-six criminals died shortly after, twenty-three of them one after another, every hour on the hour. This is when the world began to take event also ignited the events that formed the Kira Task force. Does anyone know what the Kira task force is?"

Rachel barely listened. She already knew all of this—she'd lived it through her father. Another boy from their class, Jared, eagerly supplied the answer.

"They're the group searching for Kira. The FBI, NPA, and L, right?"

"Yes and no," Professor Diaz replied with a small smile. "Most of the NPA withdrew from the investigation once Kira's supernatural abilities became apparent. Now, it's primarily the FBI and L, along with Interpol and a few other agencies."

Rachel could practically hear her father's voice in her head. Cowards. Spineless, pathetic cowards.

The group moved to the next display—this one featuring a framed image of a silhouetted figure with a bold question mark in the center. The title above it read: Who is L?

"L has been called the greatest detective in the world," Diaz continued, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "He's been leading the Kira investigation from the beginning, though no concrete leads have surfaced in the past five years. His identity has always remained anonymous, and some speculate that L isn't a single person, but an organization."

He glanced at the group. "Others believe he—or they—have abandoned the case entirely. But no official statement has ever been released, nor is there any record of him taking on another investigation."

"That's a long time to work on one case," someone murmured.

Rachel scoffed internally. Agreed.

"More like a long time to fail at solving it," another student joked. A few snickers followed.

"Perhaps," Diaz said evenly as he led them to the next section. "But Kira isn't just any criminal. No one knows how he—or it—kills. Maybe Kira isn't even human."

"Some people think Kira is God," Jared interjected.

As if on cue, they entered what looked like a makeshift chapel. But instead of traditional Judeo-Christian iconography, the stained glass windows depicted symbols of demons, death gods, and legal scales.

At the front of the room, where an altar would typically stand, was a striking painting—one eerily reminiscent of The Fall of Man.

But instead of Adam and Eve, two figures in bright orange prison jumpsuits stood beneath a gnarled, rotting Tree of Life. Their hands clutched at their chests, faces twisted in horror and agony. Flames licked at their feet, consuming them in what was unmistakably a descent into hell.

Above the altar, the bold, imposing title read:

KIRA: THE ICON.

Disgusting.

Here's your revised section with improved flow, natural phrasing, and a stronger atmospheric tone:


Disgusting.

Rachel shifted uncomfortably, her arms crossing over her chest. A quick glance around the group confirmed what she already suspected—some of her classmates looked completely at ease. Others, disturbingly reverent.

Not surprising. She'd been invited to places like this before.

"The Church of Kira began in Japan and has since gained international recognition," Professor Diaz explained. "Last year, it was officially recognized as a religion by the State Department. Is anyone here a member?"

Two hands shot up.

Jared. And Maria.

Jared was unexpected, but in hindsight, his enthusiasm throughout the tour made more sense. Maria, though? No surprise there. Everything about her aesthetic screamed morbid fascination with death.

Rachel barely stifled an eye-roll.

She tuned out the rest of the conversation, not caring to hear the justifications of zealots. As the group moved through the remaining exhibits, she remained on autopilot. Nothing here was new to her—she had practically grown up with this information, thanks to her father.

The only section that almost held her attention was Kira in Media. As an artist, seeing the various Kira-inspired works was kind of cool—albeit unsettling.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally reached the last section:

Finding Kira?

"Many debate whether the Kira investigation should continue. Some believe the mystery must be solved; others argue Kira has brought justice and should be left alone," Diaz gestured to a board labeled Yes or No?—students had pinned their answers underneath, with most votes falling under No.

He then scanned the crowd until his gaze locked on hers.

"Rachel, what do you think?"

shit.

"Uh—sorry?"

"Should Kira be stopped? Or should society accept this new status quo?"

Rachel's stomach twisted.

"I don't really know about all that," she deflected. "I'm just an artist."

"Artists are plenty political," Diaz countered.

"Most of them are, just not Not me."

"Interesting. Given your family, I'd have thought you'd have an opinion."

A few students glanced her way. She pretended not to notice. Most college students couldn't even name their state senator, much less their district judge.

"I just let the politicians do the thinking," Rachel said with a shrug. Thankfully, Diaz seemed to take that as his cue to move on.

"Well, I think they should just give up," Maria interjected, her voice brimming with conviction. "Kira makes all our lives safer. They've already started shutting down prisons across the country."

"New York City alone has seen a 30% reduction in crime," Jared added. "It's obvious Kira has been a force for good."

Diaz clasped his hands together. "That brings me to your assignment for next class." He smiled, clearly enjoying this moment. "I want each of you to write a 1,000-word response to the prompt: Should Kira be stopped?"

Oh, joy. Rachel groaned internally. Another assignment.

"I will now leave you to the ethics forum. Take notes—you're free to go when you like," Diaz concluded.

As Diaz dismissed the class, she spotted Bethany and quickly fell into step beside her.

"Brunch?" Bethany asked.

Rachel's stomach growled in response. She hadn't eaten since last night.

"That sounds like a fantastic idea."


On the walk back to campus, Bethany recapped the exhibit between bites of her everything bagel.

"You didn't miss much—just lore. You know Kira means 'killer' in Japanese, right?"

Rachel wiped crumbs from her blueberry muffin. "Who doesn't at this point?"

"I don't know. People living under rocks? Pretty sure it's gonna be on the test."

"Probably," Rachel muttered. Diaz would definitely sneak it in there.

"So, what are you gonna do for the paper?" Bethany asked.

Rachel sighed. "No clue. The topic's been beaten to death. What more is there to say? I'm so tired of it."

Bethany shrugged. "I get it- knowing your dad that makes sense. I for one like Kira talk. Makes my assignments easy. Speaking of which—can I interview him for my journalism class? I need to talk to someone about their job."

Rachel groaned. "Ugh. My dad? Can't you ask your mom or something?"

"Dude, my mom's an accountant. Interviewing a judge sounds way more interesting."

Rachel hesitated. She hated mixing her home life with school. But Bethany was a good friend—and she owed her for today.

"I don't know, man. He barely has time to pick up my calls. I can ask, but no promises. Especially with the ISKFI meeting coming up."

"ISKFI?" Bethany frowned as they climbed the steps to their dorm. "Diaz mentioned that today. That detective conference, right?"

Rachel nodded automatically. "International Summit for Kira Investigations. I guess my dad finally wrote enough essays to get a seat this year."

She sighed

"No way! That's so cool," Bethany squealed, but Rachel didn't share the same enthusiasm.

"If you say so."

The ISKFI summit was an annual event bringing together detectives, politicians, and law enforcement dedicated to stopping Kira. Started four years prior by delegates of the FBI, it was meant to be a unified show of force against the so-called god.

This year, it was being held in New York in an exclusive "top-secret" location.

Her dad had been thrilled when his invitation was delivered, and without missing a beat he'd invited her as his plus-one. In fact, he'd begged her to go.

Rachel had told him no—repeatedly. She wanted no part in his obsession. She told him to take her mom instead, someone who actually cared.

But he insisted.

He even gave her money to buy a dress, just in case she changed her mind.

"You know, he keeps asking me to be his plus-one," Rachel said, exhaling sharply. "I keep telling him I'm busy. It's like he thinks that just because I'm not studying law, I have all this free time."

The truth was, she didn't want to support his obsession—especially when it had taken so much from their relationship.

"WHAT?!" Bethany shrieked, stopping dead in her tracks. "You can't be serious. You HAVE to go."

Rachel blinked. "Why?"

Bethany gawked at her like she had just asked why oxygen was important. "Because it's a super exclusive, white-collar event, and you're invited? Think of all the people you could meet! Talk about a networking goldmine. I'd love to pick their brains for a story."

Rachel scoffed. "Yeah, stories. Long-winded debates about law, justice, and blah blah blah." She waved a dismissive hand. "I'd rather chew glass."

Bethany rolled her eyes. "Of course you would. You're an artist. But still—there's potential there. That Kira in Media section alone had a ton of artwork. Who's to say there aren't potential patrons lurking around this summit? You could find inspiration, meet someone willing to commission you—hell, maybe even sell a piece."

Rachel hesitated.

Bethany had a point.

But… did she really want to go?

"I don't know," she muttered as they reached her dorm.

Bethany huffed. "Dude. Nepotism is totally wasted on you."

She couldn't help but laugh at that comment. "I'll keep that in mind."

They said their goodbyes.


Ctrl+z Ctrl+z Ctrl+z Ctrl+z Ctrl+z Ctrl+z Ctrl+z Ctrl+z

Rachel flopped onto her desk chair and stared at the blank document on her laptop. The cursor blinked at her, taunting.

She typed.

The Justice Department estimates that taxpayers have saved over $700 million in legal costs since the emergence of Kira. Crime rates have dropped by more than 20%. In states like Illinois and New York, prisons have been shut down entirely. Supporters claim Kira has improved global quality of life.

According to the Fifth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution, individuals accused of crimes are guaranteed the right to a fair trial, protection against self-incrimination, and freedom from cruel and unusual punishment. Critics argue that Kira bypasses these institutions, imposing his own form of justice.

I think…

Rachel's fingers hovered over the keys.

I think…

She stopped.

She didn't know what she thought.

She just knew this assignment was giving her a headache.

With a sigh, she pushed away from her desk and collapsed onto her bed.

The sheets cocooned her in warmth.

Finally. Rest.

She rolled onto her side, replaying the events of the day.

The cab ride. The Kira exhibit. Bethany's insistence about ISKFI.

Her dad really wanted her to go.

And she really wanted to want to go.

But she didn't.

She'd told him as much. Told him to take Mom instead..but he was adamant. So adamant, in fact, that he'd even given her money to buy a dress. And she had.

The charmeuse dress was hung up in her closet, nothing extravagant really- simple black, with an empire cut and a slit on one side. If she didn't go to the conference, she could always use it for the winter formal.

There was, however, one crucial part of the ensemble that was missing.

A mask.

When her dad had told her ISKFI was a masquerade ball, Rachel couldn't help but snort. Of course it was. Everyone knew Kira needed a name and face to kill. It was all so cliche, like something out of a book.

Kira This. Kira That. She was getting a Kira hangover.

Rachel's eyes flicked the closet where the dress sat untouched.

The longer she stared, the more uncertain she felt.

Had she been wrong?

Like Bethany had said, it would be the perfect place to find patrons. Network. Maybe even repair her relationship with her dad a bit. Her first semester at college had been less than eventful. What did she have to lose?

Dad was paying for everything. Maybe she owed it to him to pretend to care?

She grabbed her phone.

A new message from Bethany lit up her screen.

Bethany: Hey, want to study together tomorrow?

Sure. Rachel texted back. It wasn't like she had anything else going on.

Looking up, she was met with the sight of the dress again on the hanger. The longer she stared at it, her feelings grew more and more conflicting.

Maybe I am wrong about this whole thing.

She sent one last text to Bethany before letting sleep take her.

Rachel: Do you know where to buy a mask?