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The ground was an unforgiving surface to lie. The concrete was a biting cold and it dug into the bones in his side. The sun-kissed skin sheltered beneath the scratchy, low quality garments was both bruised and darkened by the brutality. His hands were bound with no slack behind his aching back. The metal of the cuffs with all his movements, cut mercilessly into his soft and uncalloused skin, leaving a bold red line decorating the perimeter of both of his wrists.
Was this what rock bottom felt like? He released a breathy and pained sigh into the suffocating air, the bars before him leaving no privacy. Was this to be defiled? As if the bars weren’t enough, he had observed that four cameras were situated in each corner of the room. Light Yagami was once a God, pure and true. He sat firmly on his pedestal above the rest of the world. He’d watch all of his mundane inferiors pass by, the warm air of Tokyo tousling his perfectly styled hair. Godhood.
Now that he thought about it, boredom had always been an unusually persistent factor of his life. He’d lived in a perpetual state of dispassionate nature. He awaited the passing of time because he had nought else to do. He didn’t even know what he truly wanted to do, his path was carved only by his unwavering sense of justice. He didn’t know who he was, only who he’d inevitably become. If he hadn’t found the book, would he have found himself enforcing justice in a different, less murderous way? Likely. He knew that wouldn’t satiate his impressive bloodlust. But he wanted more than anything, to go back.
_____
His brown, almond eyes fixated on the peculiar sight before him. A black mass seemed to flutter down from the sky. It was a slow, graceful fall. As the object drifted closer he caught the sight of its pages. They fluttered like wings as it lowered itself with a juxtaposing sense of purity and innocence, as well as this impossibly alluring pull of temptation. Light felt compelled to stand, to run and embrace this intriguing sight with open arms. He instead remained planted on his seat, too enamoured by the present visual to act.
He narrowed his eyes as the notebook landed on the ground, the fall cushioned by the velvety grass littered around Light’s campus. He wanted to know where it had come from, if someone had dropped their notebook, then he needed to return it. That’s what the hard-working honour student known as Light Yagami would do. Should do. Will do.
He crossed his right leg over his left, the weight being a distinctly comforting sensation as he continued to get lost in the abyss of his own thoughts. He rolled his pen once in between his index and forefinger, the black ballpoint performed a satisfying spin. Yet it still wasn’t enough to distract him from the recurring thought, he couldn’t help but feel the wave of foreboding wash over his body once more.
The feeling had followed him throughout the past week, it had lurked behind him as he studied prematurely for his entrance exams. He’d experience it waiting behind the curtain as he took a bitingly cold shower. He’d even hear it in the hyper voice of his little sister.
He’d blame it on nerves or perhaps a temporary, yet small psychotic break. However, Light Yagami had never been nervous a day in his life, his mental health had always been impeccable, his sleep schedule and daily routine was the embodiment of perfection so it couldn’t be blamed on any sort of deprivation. The only logical explanation was that his life was indeed destined to change, for the better or worse.
The plaguing thought finally ceased when Light was called out by his old hag of a teacher, challenged to translate a sentence. Which he did so perfectly. He was still yet to meet a soul who could rival his intellect.
_____
Whenever he’d close his eyes, and attempt to dream on his cell floor. Maybe attempt to see a different reality, one where he hadn’t been staring out the window of his lacklustre english classroom, one where he had missed the falling of a particular black notebook. Maybe he’d dream of his mom’s kind face, Sayu begging for assistance on her homework. No, perhaps Light would dream of his dad, working alongside him once more as a profound, and world famous detective. He almost smiled at the thought. But he didn’t. He never did. When Light dreamed he’d see one silhouette, and one silhouette alone.
His previously agitated features would crease and distort in rage, because Light Yagami was never again happy. As the slouched figure would appear in his subconscious, Light’s fists would clench violently in his slumber. The black hair was a rat’s nest upon his annoying head, which he would have no problem ripping out in chunks. His eyebrows were a mere legend upon his annoying face. His skin was annoyingly and sickeningly pale.
The creature that had ruined Light Yagami’s perfect life. It had distinctly recognisable features, albeit not in a positive manner. His eyes were a dark and soul-sucking void Light wanted nothing more than to drain the life out of. He wanted to watch him seize his chest in agony, gripping uselessly onto a variation of the same white fabric he wore daily, as his heart finally gave out. He wanted to watch his body bend and break as the last breath of air escaped his lungs.
The death of L was the will of Kira. And no matter his circumstances, no matter how dire things may look at the moment, that death would be inevitable.
Light blinked himself out of his fantasy, his eyelashes tickled his lower lid and his maroon eyes came into view once more. Though, he found he very quickly regretted it, the sight of L’s dead body was much more appealing than the confinement he saw before him. Oh how he wished for a role reversal.
He had reminisced about his previous foreboding, but this now was different. He flinched marginally as he realised he couldn’t halt the newfound sensation washing over his body. The feeling was so potent it was almost tangible, disgust practically radiated from the inside of his gut. The feeling of—pity? No, never, Light was too proud. Self hatred? There was no flaw about Light Yagami to hate, from his symmetrical face down to his impressive build. Guilt, mourning? Perhaps, but guilt for not brutally murdering L while he had the chance, and mourning for the life that Light once could’ve possessed.
It brewed and then crawled without hesitance up his oesophagus, wrenching against his inner walls. It burned as it reached his throat and continued to rise further. The sensation crawled at the inside of his neck as it demanded release, it was perhaps comparable to vomit—no. Not comparable. It was actual vomit.
He closed his eyes in what little preparation he could manage.
He hurled up the contents of his stomach on the cold floor, which for the record, consisted mostly of bile. He once again pondered on whether a year’s worth of satisfaction was worth the rest of his life. He tried to lie to himself initially, he really did. He tried to paint himself a new, less humiliating narrative, where he truly believed his duty as a God was worth more than anything, his life included. But he knew. He knew that it wasn’t.
Another sensation came over his body, oh for fucks sake. He didn’t like unexpected sensations or variables and he certainly didn’t like the ones he had experienced as of late. His muscles tensed in anticipation of more vomit. Yet the feeling only attacked the nerves behind his eyes, prodding until a physiological reaction occurred, lubrication of the eyes rolled down the surface of his cheeks. A completely normal and manly reaction to such an occurrence. His throat was dry and burned at the prior acidity. His chest heaved with the newly discovered struggle yet he couldn’t stop himself from releasing pained and desperate sobs.
Perhaps this was a fate worse than death.
Defeat had come to him via a third party, it had backed him into a corner with its looming and towering frame, rendering him an informidable opponent. His lies and usually-so-charismatic silver tongue meant nothing when paired with the testimony of a Shinigami. Rem was a liability, he really should’ve recognised it earlier. He knew that her priorities lay with Misa, yet he didn’t anticipate her pure treachery. Which is presumably why she had taken advantage of this, confessed the truth about the first Kira, and framed an innocent man as the second. Teru Mikami.
____
His eyes landed upon the figure of Rem, the words were unspoken between them but she knew exactly what he insinuated. The feeling of control ran in a highly concentrated state through his blood. He could practically see the formation of the new world before his eyes, the very last criminal to fall, his heart stopping without complaint and marking the reign of a new ruler. He practically saw his people come into position and drop before his feet. Yet like a balloon, his vision was popped by the sharp needle tone of that useless shinigami’s voice.
“Light Yagami, you truly are a disgusting creature. I will not act for you, nor that skeeze Teru Mikami ever again.”
He’d never forget the look that manifested upon his father’s face as the spiteful bitch spoke her blasphemous words aloud, as she pointed her accusations at his son. As she confirmed his indisputable guilt.
He’d tried to talk his way out of it, negotiate his way out of this and defuse the bomb that Rem had dropped haphazardly into his life. He had tried desperately to declare her as an unreliable source. But as she answered every question thrown her way, swiftly and with additional, useful information. Light knew it was over before his trial even started.
He knew that his life was about to end. Perhaps not literally, not yet anyways, but he knew that no amount of justification, no explanation, no witness testimony from Misa could ever even begin to debunk the detailed answers she provided. He knew there was no way to discredit the now perfectly aligned timeline.
____
It was safe to say Light Yagami’s worst fear since birth had been his own inevitable death. For the short period before he matured, the one where he’d wake up his parents via crying and screaming, all that would haunt his mind was the imagery of his own demise.
Yet, as the time ticked by at an agonising pace, it was as if all he had ever wanted, every dream or aspiration he had ever held. They were all replaced by his yearning to be dead, for the humiliation to cease and for the painstakingly long week before his execution to be over.
He wanted no visitors in his final days. He never wanted to see the patronising look upon his father’s face ever again. He never wanted to see the contempt on Matsuda or Mogi’s face ever again. And most of all, with an unshakeable positivity, he never wanted to see the smug look on L’s face ever again.
He would kill him, the officers hadn’t found it during the search due to the rather unconventional hiding place, but now, concealed in the lining of his boxers, was a small, torn piece of the death note. He had a visitor tomorrow, he knew exactly who it was. His father was far too proud to visit the likes of his disappointment, murderer son. The rest of his family and friends were in the dark, he was rather sure that the outcome of the Kira case was not public knowledge. The remaining task force had no inclination to visit. It had to be him. He just needed to find out his name, and then he’d—
“Yagami.”
Light’s head shot up from where it lay painfully against the ground, a jolt of electricity surging along the distance of his previously aching spine. What reason would a guard have to enter his cell this late? Undoubtedly a transfer to a new jail, he couldn’t conceal the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He felt it deep within him, residing in his bones. The foreboding returned to him. This time he knew what it was. This opportunity was going to be how he would kill L.
____
“Are you sure of this, L?”
Watari stood beside his chair, shifting repeatedly from his left foot to his right foot, balancing his physical weight interchangeably in hopes to ease the emotional weight. His eyes darted around restlessly which only conveyed half of his nerves, given Watari was usually such a composed man, L could almost see him fraying at the edges. Watari eyed the stacks of paperwork sprawled across L’s oak desk before voicing his thoughts once more.
“I do not doubt your judgment, if you believe—“ A cough came over him and interrupted his words, but he continued without heed. “—this. Is truly the best course of action, then I will support you unconditionally. But L…” Watari leaned down to try and capture his eyes, which until this point had been focused on delivering his signature onto the stacks of paperwork presented to him. “You have to be aware of the backlash you will receive.”
L had never particularly cared for the backlash others threw against him, during the Kira case. The public had scrutinised and labelled him incompetent. They claimed that only an idiot couldn’t catch a serial killer so active. They claimed this whilst they lazed around and cowered behind their own safe four walls. He couldn’t necessarily blame them, only a madman would pursue this case with such vigour, such dedication. But L had found a non-drug user’s equivalent of cocaine.
In a life full of emptiness, and lacklustre. What did it mean, for the first time in life, to be understood? And for the first time in life, to finally understand? It was a powerful emotion, one that L would prefer to keep.
He had never felt such opposing emotions, such recognition, and such a deep, crawling and all-consuming hatred. He needed to explore it further.
L looked up to meet the older man’s intense gaze. His face demanded a reply so L’s mind formed and adopted one specifically to manage Watari’s concerns effectively. “A favour is an effective way to extract a reward from a party, yet it is neither legal nor binding.” L pondered, he put his thumb to his lip and further slouched in his chair as he detailed his plan. “Therefore, you must find emotional weight or perhaps blackmail to hold over said party’s head.”
He reached for the discarded sugar cube on the table, rolling it between two fingers. “I am confident that the conceived plan will work, after all,” His monotone voice took on a lilt, likely raising only a decibel or two. “They have no alternative, else they want horrific murderers to walk free in the world. I’m only asking for one to walk free.” His tone was lighter towards the end of his explanation, un-intercept-able and entirely difficult to read.
They remained in silence as L continued to sign the papers, one after another. Unsurprisingly, he held the pen in an… unusual posture. Watari could only nod grimly, the plan should work, hypothetically.
As he began to exit L’s quarters, his hand situated over the doorknob. He shot one last inquiry at L, more to ease his mind than anything else, he had faith. “What if they call your bluff?” He turned his head over his shoulder to see L blink in response, his face blank.
L spoke calmly. “That scenario is improbable. I do not believe they would do that.” A subtle smirk twisted its way onto his lips. “They have all too much to lose.”
_____
His position at Interpol was a given. Catching Kira was an extremely good thing to have on one’s resume. After all, Aizawa had a family to support, this was undoubtedly the best further step he could possibly take in life. There were times when he had doubted his ability as a detective, particularly when working with L, but he didn’t think he could ever recall doubting his listening or ability to hear.
He remembered the days when he was praised among his classmates, rewarded for his superiority in terms of following instructions, it was possible that his senses had declined with his age but it was still a highly unlikely scenario. But just about any scenario was more plausible than the one before him.
“What?”
He couldn’t have heard that right, maybe he did need to start doubting himself more because there is no way in hell a single word in that sentence wasn’t fabricated by his own mind. He briefly glanced around the office, at his curt response, many of his team members fixed him a glare. He corrected himself. “Sorry, I don’t think I heard you. Repeat that?”
The woman before him looked down at her clipboard, refreshing herself on the exact wording of the news she needed to deliver. “Sir,” She stopped briefly to clear her throat, Aizawa witnessed a bead of sweat run down her temple. “We have been given a demand by L’s proxy. He wishes Kira be released and deposited into the custody of the L organisation.” She spoke her words with a lack of confidence, she too seemed to be aware of the absolute absurdity of this request.
It was funny, it was really funny and perhaps if Aizawa were anyone else he would’ve burst out laughing. But he wasn’t, he felt his heart drop to his ass, and he felt cotton obstructing his throat as he stared into the woman’s brown eyes. The cotton seemed to absorb his saliva and grow in size, itching restlessly at his airways. He couldn’t breathe by the time they morphed into the brown eyes of a man he used to be quite familiar with. He thought he had escaped his dreams of the teenager. But this wasn’t a dream and he needed to regain control of the situation.
Aizawa scoffed, letting out a forced, dry and sarcastic laugh. He once again looked around and was greeted with the sight of absolutely nobody laughing with him, their faces were all blank and quite frankly worried for Aizawa’s wellbeing. He straightened his posture and tried his best to relax his shoulders, wanting to maintain his professional image. He cleared his throat, pushing back the cotton which threatened to spill over. Pull yourself together Aizawa. His eyes focused and her facial features were once again all hers. “Are you positive that is the message, what source did this come from?”
He tried to think of any encrypted message that L could’ve left in that request, if L was truly in danger, Light had to be a component of this. But how could Light, someone with no power, have possibly reached the likes of L? L was one of the most powerful men in the world, money, fame and influence. Light was a man in a maximum security jail cell, scheduled for execution.
It could be a Kira supporter, a particularly fierce Kira supporter. Perhaps one of them discovered L’s unorthodox and very much… Illegal methods of solving cases. Was he somehow being blackmailed? No, an average member of the public would have no method of contacting L. None of these were a possibility, what was the motive? This had to be of L’s own accord, what was L’s plan?
“I recall that L did have an unusual dedication, or perhaps obsession—“ The word almost hurt to say, looking back with distain upon the Yotsuba case. “—with the Kira case.” As the people around him perked up with interest, he felt compelled to defend L’s honour. “But it made him just as, if not even more motivated to catch Kira than the rest of us!” Aizawa couldn’t help or stop the rise in his volume, this entire thing was preposterous and obviously some kind of prank from the higher ups.
That’s it. This was a prank. It was an awful prank and as soon as Aizawa called it out, everyone would laugh. They would tell him how ridiculous his face looked, he would curl over, laughing with sheer relief. The Kira incident would remain over, he would never have to see Light Yagami or L ever again in his life, he would live a happy life with his family. He just needed to call it out.
“This is a joke, congratulations. You got me.” He forced a wide smile and once again glanced around to find his colleagues looking at each other nervously before starting to laugh, picking up on the humour behind this whole event, they clearly didn’t believe the girl’s conspiracy. Aizawa felt his heart gradually restore itself up to its normal position, in his chest.
He’d be content with an office job for the rest of his life. He’d never again, never again, need to feel the stress and trepidation that he did whilst working for the Japanese police force.
“The note also says underneath,” She moved her finger to trail gingerly along the line as she spoke L’s words. “If you are to be pointed and laughed at, disclose the alias L went under for the Kira case,” She squinted at the sheet, clearly not fluent in Japanese, “which was Rue Ryuzaki.” She managed to spit out after a round of stuttering.
Aizawa’s heart dropped straight down from his chest, back to his ass. He began to speak, but no words came out and his mouth just hung open in pure confusion. The cotton forced itself into his mouth once again. His throat was dry and scratchy but as he swallowed and lubricated, he finally began to stammer. “L…? But… But why? What is the reasoning?” He stared intently at the girl before him, watching as she rolled her pen between her index and forefinger. The exact same thing Light used to do. Fuck, this didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense in the slightest.
“Why?” He tried to compose himself but the mask he wore was thin and growing in fragility with each passing second. “You have to be mistaken. There’s no way—“
_____
L spoke through a laptop held by an elderly man whom Aizawa recognised to be Watari, the man seemed so caring and father-like compared to his (boss?) Aizawa didn’t know. His eyes were shut indefinitely, like he was in a permanent state of rest. L needed to take notes. His white hair was well groomed, he wore a suit and tie. Watari was clearly the one who made public appearances. Was he L’s father? He doubted this, L was scraggly and unrefined in appearance, Watari made an effort to appear presentable. He couldn’t imagine his spawn being too different.
L began to speak, only after he was repeatedly made aware the whole room was awaiting his wisdom. His natural voice was drowned out by several heavily distorting filters, like it was on his initial broadcast. “Yes, it is true that I wish for Light Yagami to be transferred to my custody instead of execution.” Despite the effects, L’s voice seemed to perfectly retain its usual level of smugness. His interest was almost palpable.
His calm voice didn’t match the gravity of his words, he wanted the world’s most prolific serial killer to be released from his impending doom. This was an impossible narrative. There was no story L could possibly spin, as intelligent as he was, that could acquit Kira. Light was going to die. and Aizawa would fight L for this. The thousands of families that suffered losses because of Kira, the people that went to bed every night fearing his return. He would bring them justice.
He didn’t yet speak his mind, Aizawa only gaped. He waited until the anger bubbling up inside of him became intolerable, uncontrollable. “You are insane!” He screamed. He departed from his comfortable leather seat, slamming his fists down vigorously upon the long meeting table separating them, his superiors sat on his left, his workers sat on his right. Both sides were completely enthralled.
Half of the effect was lost, due to L only being a screen. But Aizawa was sure he looked intimidating. “You are not the one in control here, L. There is nothing you can say, and nothing you can do, that can justify this scheme of yours. It is evil.” He shook with fury, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been interrupted by one of his superiors yet. Perhaps they recognised his credibility on this topic, perhaps they agreed with him and he was conveying their message appropriately. He didn’t know.
“Actually,” L began once more, “the deity which is interpol, has already granted me permission for my schemes.” He put emphasis on his final word, Aizawa could hear the distain of his voice through the filter. His ears rung and he could barely capture a word L was saying. approved? “I may be a freelance detective of sorts.” The unprofessional title didn’t suit the global name of L, but it was technically correct. “But you are aware I have solved the most complex cases from each and every country, I even prevented World War III.” The emotion that gently lilted his distorted voice this time, was subtle pride.
“Every country and detective organisation owes me proper kudos, perhaps a favour. including interpol.” Aizawa’s legs began to tremble, this was not real. Kira would be executed, he had to be executed. On his right, numerous terrified expressions were exchanged between members. He looked to his left, each and every member had a solemn look upon their face. That’s why they didn’t stop him on his tangent, they already knew. “But of course this wouldn’t be enough to secure what I want, I have saved countless lives in my career. I could simply begin to take on cases that don’t serve as priorities.”
Aizawa took back the kind words he spouted about Watari, he seemed perfectly happy to deliver this conniving message. He stood proudly, he seemed relived at how this altercation had panned out. He had no respect at all remaining for L. Only a deep, brewing resentment. But he had won, that evil dick had won and there was nothing Aizawa could possibly do about it.
“My demands overlap with interpol’s in some regards, I agree that Kira would be fully restrained and monitored at all times…” The ringing in his ears finally overwhelmed the intensely annoying and patronising voice of L. Aizawa’s eyes burned at his reality. It was a perfect checkmate. Had he ever really stood a chance?
_____
“Yagami.”
Light’s head shot up from where it lay painfully against the ground, a jolt of electricity surging along the distance of his previously aching spine. What reason would a guard have to enter his cell this late? Undoubtedly a transfer to a new jail, he couldn’t conceal the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He felt it deep within him, residing in his bones. The foreboding returned to him. This time he knew what it was. This opportunity was going to be how he would kill L.
The man was almost entirely engulfed by the shadows casted by the cell bars, he took a few steps forward and streaks of moonlight revealed his stoic face. He was well groomed and in shape, the chances of Light taking this man down were slim to none. He hadn’t used his muscles properly for approximately 4 days. He envisioned the confrontation and was slapped with the reality that he’d get punted to the floor in less than 3 seconds.
The man kneeled down and wrenched a hand in the locks of Light’s silky hair. His other hand grabbed him by the metal of the cuffs and together he pulled Light to his feet. He groaned softly as the metal dug into his skin once more and his hair was brutally tugged.
The officer attempted to lead Light out of his cell, and Light attempted to hop along haltingly with his cuffed ankles. A humiliating sight but it was better than the pain of being handled by his hair, he made a good few hops along the cold, concrete cell floor before the guard realised how utterly inefficient this method of transportation was.
He hesitated, awkward as he bent over and wrapped his arms securely around the back of Light’s kneecaps. As he stood up he lifted Light off of the floor, leaning him against his shoulder as he now moved freely through the arrays of prison cells.
Light took the opportunity to look over the officer’s shoulder and take in the sights of the sleeping prisoners. He looked for one man in particular. He saw various characters in the abysmal cells he peeked into, seriously what did they pay the janitor for, before they passed the cell of interest. He caught a glimpse of the man, he sat upright, his sharp eyes were a dark brown but they almost looked red in this particular lighting. They had allowed him to keep his glasses, a plain and narrow black frame. His hair was long, black and layered, his arms were built and cuffed not too dissimilar to Light. Mikami’s eyes widened in pure joy when he took in the sighting of Light.
It kind of dawned upon him in that moment, how pathetic he looked being carried through a jail. But Mikami didn’t seem to care, his eyes shone with something Light had never seen before in his life. Such devotion, he wasn’t even Kira. He was an innocent man. Yet in the recordings played at their court hearings, Mikami was depicted as an intensely loyal Kira worshipper. He appeared on multiple occasions in talk shows, debates, as someone who would love to be used by Kira. He smiled at Mikami and Mikami instantly smiled back, this would be very useful.
Light still had the piece of his death note tucked into the lining of his boxers, he had a good week until his execution, Misa Amane still had her death note, she’d control a guard in order to free Mikami and use him. He’d take advantage of the poor security in transit vans, he’d take opportunity of his superior acting capabilities. He could practically envision it, the force of the kick in which he would deliver to the un-expecting guard situated beside him. He’d wait until they halted to a stop, he’d have the guard’s key and he’d be free.
The man placed him down unceremoniously before tying a piece of silky black fabric around his eyes, double knotting it to ensure it was foolproof. Oh great a blindfold. This was indeed a variable that Light hadn’t expected, but not one that he hadn’t prepared for, all that mattered was that it didn’t hinder his plan.
_____
When he was God of the new world, he would ensure that people treated his body with more care, he was practically thrown into the back of that transit van. He felt yet another bruise blossom along his side. He lay on the floor of the van, the hard flooring dug into his side once more. Then as if to match the trend, he was grabbed by the hair and handcuff once more, and dragged onto a bench on the presumably left side of the van.
His throat itched with excitement and anticipation as he awaited the movement of the van, he could hear words exchanged between the driver and warden, but it was muffled and indistinguishable between simple murmurs. he felt a weight shift in the van as numerous people entered, and one sat directly next to him.
Kick, run, jump.
Kick, run, jump.
Kick, run, jump.
Kick, run, jump.
He had to kick the guard next to him, his right side specifically.
He had to run to the back doors of the van faster than the police officers could recover from their shock.
He had to jump out of the van as it slowed down.
His plan was simple enough. He’d lived here his whole life, he had gone on road trips with his mom and Sayu. There was a specific rocky bridge which he knew off by heart. When one would drive over it, the vehicle would shake exactly 6 times, that’s when he’d enact his plan. Then he’d hobble to the edge of that bridge and jump over. The river only becomes deep about 100 yards further in, but this is not common knowledge. They’d assume him dead whilst he hid under the bridge and devised a way to contact Misa.
He would be the God of the new world once again.
_____
The van was jittery and the journey was rough, he couldn’t laugh yet. He had to hold it in, it was almost time. He would claim his victory and it would be nothing if not joyous.
He felt the first shake, the second, and on the third Light kicked the man to his right with such force that he fell off of the bench. Light righted himself, he heard the banging impact of the man hitting the floor and shot up. The van began to slow to see what the obnoxiously loud commotion was. He grabbed the key from where he heard it clang on the floor, as fast as he could with cuffed hands, but he wasn’t fast enough as the man lying on the van’s floor kicked him back on the bench.
He clutched the cold metal of the key in his hand, if anyone came close he’d gash them and then make his run for it. He was at an insane disadvantage, he couldn’t see. He attempted to slash the area before him, and therefore the person before him but as he sliced the air halfway his wrist was grabbed and he was shoved down until his head landed sideways on someone else’s lap. He tried to kick and squirm but his legs were caught by the now-recovered kick-ee.
Fuck.
What does he do now?
His restraint doesn’t stop him from thrashing but he is held down by someone, as aggravating as it is, only slightly stronger than him, he could still bite him but as he is distracted the person he is half-led on pulls his blindfold.
Of all the people he expected to see, maybe a stern police officer or hell, maybe even the iron-fist warden. He does not expect to see fucking L stare down at him with the fakest, most artificial cheery expression on his face that anyone had ever seen. “Hi, Light!”