Singing Through The Silence
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Death Note › General
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Adult +
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Category:
Death Note › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
2,676
Reviews:
20
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Death Note, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Log 2
Singing Through The Silence
Part 1 - Captive
~*~*~*~*~*~
Log Series 2 - Deterioration
~*~*~*~*~*~
Log Entry - August 31st, 2000 1 : 42 A.M.
He hurt, dear God, he hurt.
Raito lay still on in the center of his small, stale prison, his chest barely moving as he took short, slow breaths. His tongue flicked out momentarily, to lick gently at his split lip, the blood’s taste sharp and poignant against the monotony of the room. Eyes slit open, only to slide closed again with a quick, indrawn gasp.
The dark, black circles around his eyes created the illusion of depth, sinking deep bruises into his face, almost reminiscent of an insomniac. He would have counted himself lucky had they come from lack of sleep.
As it was, he had daily berated himself for the prideful actions that had earned him his constant beatings, resulting in his bruised eyes and body. At the same time, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to regret that sneer, that one moment of absolute disdain, just on principle alone. The man’s reaction, though painful for Raito, was satisfying. It revealed just how big a blow to his ego that little expression had been.
And the best, worst, most stupid part of it all was… Raito knew he would do it again, if given the chance.
It was his own ego talking, he knew, but he just couldn’t care. He knew the basics of his situation now, and the information was dire and discouraging. But also, strangely enough, it liberated him in some aspects.
At this point, he had little or nothing to lose. So why not indulge himself, while he was still alive to do so? Raito could take pain, he knew he could, and it wasn’t as though he were being interrogated. Then he would have to worry about the pain inducing him to reveal something. No, this was punishment for punishment’s sake. Meaning he would still have to bear it, but could do so without fear or pressure or responsibility. He knew, many times, it was more the mental than the physical side of torture that broke the victims.
And no matter what anyone might say or think, Raito was not a victim. Victim’s were weak, they were defenseless, they relied upon others to take care of their problems for them. No, Raito was not, and would never be a victim. He would make sure of that.
He would never be that weak.
So when the door to his cell slammed open, breaking through the previously still air, Raito did not jump. He was actually quite thankful for the noise, he hated the silence that gave him nothing to do but dwell upon his own thoughts. And even those were beginning to grow tiring.
He didn’t protest when he was pulled to his feet, or cry out when he was smacked across the face several times, ‘just to make sure he was paying attention’.
He didn’t complain and refused to limp as he was led down the endless hallways, a different direction than that of the room two weeks ago. He didn’t even sigh as he was finally pushed into a room very similar to the last, only with more computers in a row to one side.
He would deny until the day he died the small, inaudible whimper that caught in his throat as he was pushed down and tied in another chair, looking up into a reflective camera lens and a mocking red light.
Terminated - August 31st, 2000 2 : 15 A.M.
~*~*~*~*~*~
L’s brows were furrowed in concentration as he stared intently at the computer screen, slowly rolling a piece of candy around in his mouth. He was so close, it was on the tip of his tongue, he could literally taste the answer…
Mango. That’s what it was. The mystery flavor was mango. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, checking off another solved mystery in his head before crunching down on the candy, chewing ruthlessly before swallowing down the sweet shards in one huge gulp. He was just reaching for another piece when the computer beeped, and his hand paused in midair. He quickly forgot about the candy as he focused on the screen before him, his eyes narrowing into a more serious expression. A moment or two of tapping keys and he was connected to ICPO and it’s network, ready to receive any outside video feed they sent.
L would admit, if only to himself, that this latest case was hitting a bit too close to home for him to be completely comfortable. It had only been about a week since ICPO had contacted him for help, and though he had been working on the case a few days before that, he wouldn’t turn down the help of the police on the matter. And for the first time, to L’s amazed delight, it had been global police support, something unheard of in politics today. He only wished the circumstances that had caused such cooperation had not been such as they were.
Circumstances happened to be thirteen kidnapped children currently being held hostage by the mafia, each of them with a parent of political influence from all across the world. Needless to say, it was a living nightmare for both the U.N. and the ICPO. The U.N. because they had no real choice in the matter; under no circumstance could they not pass the weapons control bill, now that they had been given proof of how badly it would hurt a criminal organization like the mafia. But at the same time, there were thirteen children, innocent, scared little kids in the grasp of the most brutal and bloodthirsty men in the world. And it was the ICPO’s job to either negotiate their release or catch the perpetrators.
They weren’t having much luck on either option. One, negotiations were scheduled to begin in about ten minutes. And two, because the mafia had cleared any tracks it might have left so thoroughly, the police force would be lucky to catch them in the next decade. L was not the police force however. L was an idea, the idea of absolute justice.
And people could never truly escape an idea once it had been planted. It would follow every step they made, influence every decision, create a dark figure in every shadow. They would feel his eyes watching their every move, and would know that there was no escape.
Then they would make a mistake. And that was when L would take them down.
Still, he hated when his cases involved children. It made him think far too much of the three boys he had left back in England. Whenever he compared the innocent children in his cases to them, his stomach would become unsettled, and he would feel nauseous for however long it took to catch the criminal. The thought of a child having to suffer any adult atrocities…
He hated cases that involved children. But that hatred would help him catch the scum that had kidnapped these children, he was sure. His computer beeped, and a video feed popped up in the middle. Ah, right on time. At least the kidnappers were prompt.
L’s mouth drew down into a frown as he viewed the image before him. There was a child tied to a chair, directly in the center, a small girl by the looks of it. He could hear stifled sobs and see her small shoulders shaking. She had short brunette hair, and very classical European features. He was going to take a shot in the dark and say this was the girl from England. He was snapped from his musings when an electronic and scrambled voice spoke.
“In case some have remained unconvinced, we’ve decided to confirm the fact that we do have all thirteen missing children in our possession, if only to put the minds of the parents at ease.” There was an electronically distorted, but still sickening laugh through the connection, and L let his frown deepen more. What a pig. He hoped the man would be in such good humor the day L managed to stick him.
“The girl you see now is Bridget Stigmoore, age twelve, English Judge Walter Stigmoore’s only daughter.” The picture flickered, before showing yet another child, tied in the same place in the same manner as the last. A small, frail looking boy this time, with a head full of red curls and an abundance of freckles sprinkled across his nose. It looked as though he‘d been crying, his eyes red and swollen, trails of snot dripping from his nose to his upper lip. “This boy is Michael Peterzack, age eight, youngest son of American Vice President Joline Peterzack.”
Once again the screen flickered and changed. One child after another was shown, each in different states of misery and anguish. L slowly counted them off in correlation to their country, with Britain, the U.S., China, France, Russia…
Finally, twelve of the thirteen children had been shown, and L instinctively knew it was not mere chance that Japan’s child was the last in line. Not only the oldest, though that fact held little relevance, Raito Yagami was the teen they had shown one week ago, at the first contact. A beautiful child to make any father proud, L was pretty sure the kid had earned himself more than a little pain from his captors for his little sneer. This last week had to have been hell for the kid.
Even so, L applauded him. It took a lot of courage to be so defiant in the face of one’s kidnappers, especially one’s as hardened and bloodthirsty as mafia members. L would admit it, he was impressed. Besides, that had been the nastiest, most belittling expression L had ever seen someone pull off, and that was saying something.
This Raito must be quite a handful.
And it was his job to get the kid back safely. L’s eyes refocused as the screen changed once more, intently awaiting the sight of the last child. His fist clenched at the image before him as his lips tightened into a thin, angry line.
Raito was tied to the chair, in the same position as all the other children. Yet, when one compared his image with the other twelve, they couldn’t be more different. For one, the first thing anyone would notice when looking at Raito was his physical state. Which, needless to say, wasn’t looking that swell.
His eyes were both blackened a deep midnight color, and there was no doubt in L’s mind even the slit they were opened to was immensely painful. There was dried blood dribbling down his chin and staining his shirt, with his lip split seemingly in half. There were mottled bruises across his bared arms, and likely more below his shirt and pants. But what stood out the most to L were the marks around his neck, that looked suspiciously like finger imprints.
They had beaten the boy black and blue. Raito presented a vast change from the terrified, yet relatively unharmed children before him. And it wasn’t just because of the bruises.
A counterpoint to the weeping and sniveling of the other captives, even with bruised slits for eyes and a split lip, the boy was glaring straight into the camera, his jaw set. There was no fear about his countenance, and his expression was one of pure, unadulterated loathing.
Quite a character, this one, L thought, biting his thumb between his teeth, gaze contemplative. Obviously a very strong-willed individual, one that didn’t let something like pain get in his way. L could respect that, especially from one as young as Raito.
The kidnapper was speaking again. “And, last but not least, Raito Yagami, fourteen, only son of Chief Soichiro Yagami of the NPA. AKA, ice princess.” Once again, there was the distorted impression of laughter. “As you all can see, his little stunt last week cost him. But we intend for all of you to see the fruits of our labor, and how effective our ‘discouragement’ of bad behavior has been. Maybe if the kids come home, you parents could take a leaf from our book!”
The kidnapper began addressing Raito. “So kid, why don’t you tell them all how sorry you are, eh? The boys and me were oh so embarrassed by your bad behavior. So why don’t you just apologize to all the guys here, for being such a bitchy little brat?”
L wondered just how stupid the man behind the camera was. It was obvious, to him at least, from the expression on Raito’s face that ‘apologizing’ was the last thing he intended to do. But not even L could have predicted what happened next.
Raito took a deep breath, and to the kidnappers delight, began to speak in a calm, recalcitrant tone of voice. “Hello dad, ICPO, and the UN. Obviously, it’s me, Raito. As for my actions last week, I would just like to say that…” L removed his thumb from his mouth, staring, and wondering whether he had been all wrong and the boy really was about to apologize.
Suddenly Raito’s eyes snapped open, and his split lip curled into a snarl, opening the wound and dribbling a small line of fresh blood down his chin as he spoke, impassioned. “- I WANT YOU TO CATCH THESE SONS OF BITCHES, AND PUT THEM BEHIND BARS WHERE THEY BELONG! I WANT YOU TO FIND THEM, AND TIE THEM DOWN LIKE THE PIGS THEY ARE, BEFORE YOU PICK UP THEIR SORRY CARCASES AND TH-” Raito’s rant was abruptly cut off, as the body of one of his captors appeared behind him, quickly stringing a piece of cloth through Raito’s mouth and pulling back, choking the boy.
L watched with wide eyes, following the movement of that pale, bruised throat as Raito desperately fought to breath. The voice of the kidnapper, sounding significantly less amused, spoke once more, saying they would contact the police once more in two weeks if their demands had not been met, before bidding a hasty farewell.
L’s hand slowly reached forward, cutting off transmission with the push of a button and settling back. That had… that had been…
Stupid. Idiotic. Absolutely suicidal.
And one of the greatest moments of courage he had ever seen.
It would cost Raito in the coming weeks, his brave outburst. If he thought he had been in pain now… L shuddered to think of what was to come. But it was L’s job to end the hell he would undoubtedly experience as soon as possible.
Nodding his head, he leaned forward, reestablishing connection with the ICPO.
He wouldn’t let Raito down.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Log Entry - September 14th, 2000 1 : 55 A. M.
It was, without a doubt, odd, Raito thought, as he was guided down the halls, a captor on either side. He was actually feeling a lot better than he had the last week, which was the odd thing. If anything, he had expected to be beaten within an inch of his life for his outburst the last week. Yet, not a finger had been raised against him. He had sat alone in his cell, his bruises slowly healing and his lip becoming whole once more, and wasn’t bothered by anyone.
As happy as he should have been about it, he knew it boded nothing good in the future. No, if anything, it meant his kidnappers were waiting, perhaps until his guard was down, before coming in and thrashing him just short of death.
But if that was the case, why hadn’t they done it before this little rendezvous with the rest of the world? Surely it would make more of an impact if others could see his bloody and mangled form afterward? As macabre as that sounded.
Something in him was screaming that something wasn’t right about all this, and that he was walking straight to his own doom. He did his best to ignore that small, irritating feeling in the back of his head, but the further they walked, the more chilled he became.
Raito prayed to God his instincts were wrong about this. That the kidnappers simply didn’t want to beat him to death, and that was why they had held out. He tried to convince himself that he wouldn’t have rather been beaten than have to stand this waiting.
He couldn’t lie well enough to tell himself that he wouldn’t have preferred it over the quiet though. It had been horrible, sitting in that cell, listening to nothing no matter how he strained his ears, always waiting for the heavy footfalls and creaking door that would signal the beginning of another pummel fest.
Finally they entered the room of choice for the day, and Raito froze in his tracks. His eyes widened slightly as they surveyed the piece of furniture in the middle of the room, a cold sweat breaking out across his face.
Rather than the usual chair, their was a table, reminiscent of the examination tables they used in hospitals, complete with straps and all. That wasn’t terribly intimidating. The part that had Raito’s heart rate speeding a mile a minute was the small stand beside the table.
Which bore a wide assortment of knives, scalpels, and other tools reminiscent of an operation room.
He was going to be sick. His stomach was turning over, and he could taste the bile in his throat. His mouth was salivating at an alarming rate, and when it finally came up, it was all he could do to swallow it back down again. His throat burned with the acrid liquid, his tongue heavy with the noxious taste.
They pulled him forward without resistance, as he felt his brain go numb with shock and dread.
What… what were they going to do to him?
On second thought, he didn’t want that answered.
He felt the cool metal against him back, reminding him of the long ride in the back of some vehicle a few weeks ago. And he thought that had been bad… if only he had known then what all this would come to…
Well, for one thing, he wouldn’t have practiced tennis that morning.
God, what kind of sick joke was that. Raito recognized the fact that he was moving dangerously close to hysteria at the moment. Closing his eyes, the lids now a light purple rather than the black of last week, he made himself take a deep breath. And then another. And another. The air was coming in shaky, but it was coming in, and that was what mattered. He had to keep his lungs relaxed; he would be in bigger trouble if he hyperventilated. Tensing would only make the pain worse, he had to stay calm. If he didn’t focus on the pain, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.
Or so he told himself. No, he couldn’t think like that. He was so good at convincing other people with smile and a few words… he just wished he were as good at fooling himself.
It wasn’t until the usual narrator began talking that Raito realized that the camera had been turned on, and was recording him. And if there was one thing Raito refused to do…
It was panic in front of the entire world. Or, at least, their police representatives. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been what he was focusing on at the moment, but all he could think was that this could be called some kind of test. If he failed this, embarrassed Japan, his father, and the NPA, he would never stand a chance in the police force.
In a way, that made it easier. Tests were something Raito could do, he never felt nervous and was always ready to give it everything he had.
If he thought about this as a test, he could get through it.
He repeated it to himself as a kidnapper lifted one of the scalpels.
It loomed closer and closer, taking up all his vision. He felt his pupils dilate, his eyesight sharpening, only serving to accent the sharp, tapered edge of the knife. Finally it rested against his inner arm.
Raito stopped breathing, his eyes wide and riveted, his body cold.
Then the knife bit down into his skin, dragging down in a fast, long, professional slash. Raito imagined he could practically feel the flesh giving way to the thin metal, even as he could see the skin on either side blooming outward, allowing a warm stream of blood to escape his veins.
He let out a cry. It wasn’t a yell, or a scream, or a whimper. It was more like a choking sob, and Raito was horrified the second it escaped. He was momentarily taken away from the scalpel, the cut, the blood… as all he could think was how pathetic he sounded, right there.
It made him ashamed. If he couldn’t even take this….
He was brought back to the situation as the man moved on the inside of the opposite arm, the knife pressing into him once again. But Raito could not be so weak again. He bit his lip, refusing to let out a sound, even as they moved to his legs, his thighs, his stomach.
He didn’t notice that he had bitten through the skin, until he tasted the salt of his sweat mixed with the copper tang of blood.
Terminated - September 14th, 2000 2 : 57 A. M.
~*~*~*~*~*~
L didn’t notice that he had bitten through the skin of his thumb until a bandage fell down into his lap. He looked down at it, then up at Watari, before removing his thumb from his mouth. He carefully wrapped the bandages around it, turning his eyes back to the screen as soon as he was finished.
He looked back just in time to see the first cut being made, for the seventh time that night.
He wasn’t sure why he continued to watch the video, other than some vague sense of guilt. It was disgusting to watch as the masked men slowly and methodically cut the smooth, healthy skin of the child on the screen, but he could not tear his eyes away.
This was his punishment for not finding the children yet. He had to sit here and watch, because God knew the boy’s father was. It was the least L could do. Though he knew it was impossible that he could have solved the case in the two weeks he had been given before this…
He felt responsible for Raito’s pain on some level. He had made a promise, and he was letting the boy down. The brave, foolish young boy.
But the fact was, the kidnappers had covered their tails. L had found absolutely no leads whatsoever in the last weeks, and it was driving him crazy. Because their were ALWAYS clues. It was just a matter of finding them.
And it seemed L was looking in the wrong place.
He had been comparing all the passenger names around the world to those of all the known mafia members the agencies of the affected countries could come up with. So far there had been exactly zero matches. And there were no picture matches either, even from the airport security cameras. The mafia had gone all out, using their unknowns and hidden members to carry out the operation.
Which left L with a whole lot of nothing.
The video in front of him started over again, as L had put it on a loop, and his eyes snapped back to the screen at a small sob. Or, more accurately, the small sob. The only sound Raito had made during the whole ordeal, the sound escaping just as the first cut was made. Before all of ICPO saw the boy bite his lip through, holding back any other noises that may have escaped.
Foolish, brave, brave little boy.
L swallowed hard as he watched the third cut, on the boys calf, the seventh, on the boys inner thy, the tenth, on his flat belly.
He had no choice at this point. He had gotten nowhere with his investigation so far, and the situation had already gotten far out of hand. If he was going to get Raito out of there, he was going to need help. He shook his head, reminding himself there were other children there as well. A lot of sniveling, unharmed brats that cried and thought they had it bad every time they were placed in front of the cameras, and begged their parents just to stop the bill from passing every time they were prompted. He knew they were children, and they were scared, but still. It was just so… pathetic.
But not Raito. Raito was different. Raito was brave, and smart, and strong.
Raito was special.
And L would get him out of that hell one way or another. Even if it meant doing what he had never done before.
“Watari.”
“Yes, L?”
“Call up the ICPO. Tell them to pick out and send the best agents they have, L requires their assistance.”
“Very good, L.”
L didn’t respond, watching as the video stopped and began anew once more.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Log Entry - September 28th, 2000 1 : 38 A. M.
And here he was, strapped down to the table once again, the red light blinking at him merrily.
He felt sick. Not because he was undoubtedly about to go through the same torture as the week past. Oh no, he could handle the pain. No, he was sick with himself. Because, despite the torture and the humiliation and the god damn blood…
He would rather be here than in his dark, quiet cell. He could practically feel himself going mad inside the small space, with nothing to think about but the gray and the stillness. He couldn’t stomach the food anymore, and knew he had lost at least ten pounds since his initial confinement. But, at the same time, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Sometimes, he just couldn’t bear the thought of putting that horrid, bland food into his mouth. It was the only thing he could control in the place, what he ate, and he would take advantage of that. Even if it wasn’t necessarily good for him.
This entire situation wasn’t exactly good for him. What was another little discomfort when added to the growing list?
He was thankful most of the cuts had begun to scab and scar, not that they were going to make some new ones. Chewing on his lip, he thought how the situation had lost a great deal of the intimidation factor, now that he had already gone through it. It hurt, no doubt, but he would survive it, and wouldn’t be overcome by it. It was bearable.
He had little reaction when the scalpel was picked up, this time, his teeth closing on his bottom lip, ready to prevent any sounds that might escape.
He wasn’t prepared for the scalpel to move toward his face. Eyes widening to the point where the whites could be seen around them, nostrils flaring wide with a panicked huff, Raito barely managed to contain himself. But if he struggled, there was a good chance the knife would strike where it was not intended.
Which could lead to permanent scarring or damage, a disablement, or even death. No, he had to stay still.
Even if they cut his face to pieces in the process.
He closed his eyes as the point first came in contact with his skin, and felt the sharp sting at the cut. But, unlike the last time, they continued to drag the knife over his face, despite the fact that it was already wet with blood.
It wasn’t until his captor switched to his left cheek, and a piece of cloth was shoved over his right to stem the blood flow, that he realized what they were doing. They were literally cutting a picture into his skin. Raito knew that every cut of the knife would scar, without regard to what area of the body it was put to. But this was his face.
They were cutting a picture into his face. A picture that would scar. That would stay with him forever. There would be no painful surgery or procedure with which to get rid of the marks, not like a tattoo.
Scars were forever.
Raito felt the stinging in his eyes, but closed them to the pain, the blood, and the unshed tears. He wouldn’t cry for these bastards.
They weren’t good enough for that.
Terminated - September 28th, 2 ; 09 A. M.
~*~*~*~*~*~
L rubbed his toes against each other in annoyance, not really comfortable with the situation. He knew it had to be done, but… he wasn’t used to having other people in the same room, where they could see his face, and knew who he was.
But even more than that, it was horrible to have to look up, and see Soichiro Yagami out of the corner of his eye. The man looked… well, in a word, terrible. His hair had gotten more gray in the last month than had L believed possible for such a short amount of time, and there were bags to rival his own under those eyes. Blank, despairing eyes that looked as though they had seen hell. And L supposed, in a sense, they had.
After all, if seeing one’s own child tortured wasn’t hell, then what was?
But still, L had considered taking the man off the case, due to his personal attachment to the victim. He couldn’t have any member of his team slipping up or acting irrationally. But it also seemed unbearably cruel to remove the man, to take away his best chance of doing something to save his son.
Raito.
L glanced at the blank spot on the wall, feeling his stomach roll before he looked away. There had once been a resplendent painting there, a masterpiece, priceless and beautiful. It had depicted a beautiful angel, reaching up toward the heavens, white wings outstretched.
L had taken it down immediately following the last video of the children. Or child, he supposed. There had been but the briefest flashes of the twelve younger children, most of the time being spent on Raito. When L had seen the scalpels, he had immediately assumed that there was to be a repeat of last week, cutting Raito in various places. But it seemed the kidnappers were not content with the reaction they had received from the treatment. Namely, little.
But when they had moved the sharp edge of the knife to Raito’s lovely, round face, a face that had not yet lost all it’s baby fat or boyish dimples, he had…
Well. They had had to pay the hotel for a very nice teapot that had unceremoniously been shattered across the floor.
But it had been even worse when L had seen what they were really doing. They were carving a picture into Raito, into his perfect young flesh. Like he was a block of wood to be carved into to make look more attractive. L had bristled at the utter degradation of the act, and hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at Yagami-san. He would be suffering enough without L’s close observation.
But he hadn’t been able to stomach the lovely painting anymore. Not the angel one. Every time he looked at the snow white feathers sprouting from the woman’s back…
…All he’d been able to see were the bloody angel wings carved into Raito’s face, one on either cheek.
L closed his eyes, willing the image away. Holding back a sigh, he turned in his swivel chair, surveying the room. And the sorry number of people it housed.
ICPO, as it turned out, was unwilling to give up it’s best agents as L had requested, as it had already assigned them to different areas of its own investigation. And L refused to work with anyone but the best they had to offer. In the end, only two countries had come through.
Japan, more out of courtesy to Raito’s father than anything. His son was the one being tortured after all, it was only right that he should choose how he would go about trying to rescue his own flesh and blood. So the NPA hadn’t protested when Soichiro Yagami had immediately responded to L’s call, with some of the chiefs own friends and associates following close behind. That still only gave him five more people to work with however.
The other country that had come through had been the U.S., though L supposed it was their instinctive need to play the part of the hero than any real respect towards L himself. They had given him access to twelve of their best FBI agents, whom L had spread out over the twelve countries other than Japan, in an attempt to find any trail the kidnappers may have left behind. So far, they had been unsuccessful.
Not that that was any surprise, if L’s own agents had been unable to find anything themselves.
Watari walked into the room, clearing his throat demurely to capture everyone’s attention. Once there was silence, he walked over to the television screen, switching it on and changing the channel. The rooms attention was immediately caught by the reporter on screen and the current story.
“The U.N. has made its final and public announcement regarding the global hostage situation, and its reply to the demands of the alleged kidnappers and their organization.”
L saw the chief’s face pale.
“The members of the U.N. wish for it to be known that under no circumstances will they give in to the outrageous demands made upon them, and that the situation has done nothing but strengthen their resolve to pass and put into action the aforementioned bill. They give their most sincere condolences to the parents of the kidnapped children, and pray for them every day, but hope that they understand their decision and the reasons behind it. They would also like to put out a special recognition to Japan’s Soichiro Yagami, whose son Raito Yagami has taken the brunt of the attention of the kidnappers through beatings, torture, and humiliation. They state that Japan should find pride in the courage of this young man, and stay strong in the face of such adversity, following his example. They have made the unanimous decision that all resources and efforts shall be extended in the capture of the ones responsible, and there will be no mercy or pardon in the trials of the guilty. Justice will be served.”
Justice would be served. L would see to it.
Because L was justice.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Hey peeps. I'm kinda tired, so I don't really feel like talking to much this time. That's what happens when you're a senior and about to graduate, you get a bit stressed out. Sorry. But yeah, here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy. And I just thought I'd explain some stuff that confused some people.
When, in the first chapter, I had Raito think the "International Con-" for ICPO, some people reminded me that the C stood for criminal. Yes, I know. This was honestly my bad, as when I'm thinking of ICPO, thinking of the letters feels awkward for me, as does thinking out the whole spiel. I just sort of automatically shorten it to international convention, and sort of made Raito have my quirk as well. My bad, I wasn't really thinking that hard about it.
Secondly, yeah, they contact the ICPO instead of the U.N. Mainly because... well, do you have any freaking idea how to contact the entire U.N. when in session via video, or if it's possible? O O I sure don't. So sorry if it's unrealistic, but I took authors license. I was also thinking that since the ICPO would be doing the hostage investigation and negotiation, it might work okay. Once again, sorry.
Anyway, for anyone who wants to know, I'm working on the next chapter of Lamb, and Quidam shortly after that.
THANKS AGAIN TO NILAH FOR BEING SO PATIENT AND BETAING FOR ME!!
Chow.
Part 1 - Captive
~*~*~*~*~*~
Log Series 2 - Deterioration
~*~*~*~*~*~
Log Entry - August 31st, 2000 1 : 42 A.M.
He hurt, dear God, he hurt.
Raito lay still on in the center of his small, stale prison, his chest barely moving as he took short, slow breaths. His tongue flicked out momentarily, to lick gently at his split lip, the blood’s taste sharp and poignant against the monotony of the room. Eyes slit open, only to slide closed again with a quick, indrawn gasp.
The dark, black circles around his eyes created the illusion of depth, sinking deep bruises into his face, almost reminiscent of an insomniac. He would have counted himself lucky had they come from lack of sleep.
As it was, he had daily berated himself for the prideful actions that had earned him his constant beatings, resulting in his bruised eyes and body. At the same time, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to regret that sneer, that one moment of absolute disdain, just on principle alone. The man’s reaction, though painful for Raito, was satisfying. It revealed just how big a blow to his ego that little expression had been.
And the best, worst, most stupid part of it all was… Raito knew he would do it again, if given the chance.
It was his own ego talking, he knew, but he just couldn’t care. He knew the basics of his situation now, and the information was dire and discouraging. But also, strangely enough, it liberated him in some aspects.
At this point, he had little or nothing to lose. So why not indulge himself, while he was still alive to do so? Raito could take pain, he knew he could, and it wasn’t as though he were being interrogated. Then he would have to worry about the pain inducing him to reveal something. No, this was punishment for punishment’s sake. Meaning he would still have to bear it, but could do so without fear or pressure or responsibility. He knew, many times, it was more the mental than the physical side of torture that broke the victims.
And no matter what anyone might say or think, Raito was not a victim. Victim’s were weak, they were defenseless, they relied upon others to take care of their problems for them. No, Raito was not, and would never be a victim. He would make sure of that.
He would never be that weak.
So when the door to his cell slammed open, breaking through the previously still air, Raito did not jump. He was actually quite thankful for the noise, he hated the silence that gave him nothing to do but dwell upon his own thoughts. And even those were beginning to grow tiring.
He didn’t protest when he was pulled to his feet, or cry out when he was smacked across the face several times, ‘just to make sure he was paying attention’.
He didn’t complain and refused to limp as he was led down the endless hallways, a different direction than that of the room two weeks ago. He didn’t even sigh as he was finally pushed into a room very similar to the last, only with more computers in a row to one side.
He would deny until the day he died the small, inaudible whimper that caught in his throat as he was pushed down and tied in another chair, looking up into a reflective camera lens and a mocking red light.
Terminated - August 31st, 2000 2 : 15 A.M.
~*~*~*~*~*~
L’s brows were furrowed in concentration as he stared intently at the computer screen, slowly rolling a piece of candy around in his mouth. He was so close, it was on the tip of his tongue, he could literally taste the answer…
Mango. That’s what it was. The mystery flavor was mango. He nodded to himself in satisfaction, checking off another solved mystery in his head before crunching down on the candy, chewing ruthlessly before swallowing down the sweet shards in one huge gulp. He was just reaching for another piece when the computer beeped, and his hand paused in midair. He quickly forgot about the candy as he focused on the screen before him, his eyes narrowing into a more serious expression. A moment or two of tapping keys and he was connected to ICPO and it’s network, ready to receive any outside video feed they sent.
L would admit, if only to himself, that this latest case was hitting a bit too close to home for him to be completely comfortable. It had only been about a week since ICPO had contacted him for help, and though he had been working on the case a few days before that, he wouldn’t turn down the help of the police on the matter. And for the first time, to L’s amazed delight, it had been global police support, something unheard of in politics today. He only wished the circumstances that had caused such cooperation had not been such as they were.
Circumstances happened to be thirteen kidnapped children currently being held hostage by the mafia, each of them with a parent of political influence from all across the world. Needless to say, it was a living nightmare for both the U.N. and the ICPO. The U.N. because they had no real choice in the matter; under no circumstance could they not pass the weapons control bill, now that they had been given proof of how badly it would hurt a criminal organization like the mafia. But at the same time, there were thirteen children, innocent, scared little kids in the grasp of the most brutal and bloodthirsty men in the world. And it was the ICPO’s job to either negotiate their release or catch the perpetrators.
They weren’t having much luck on either option. One, negotiations were scheduled to begin in about ten minutes. And two, because the mafia had cleared any tracks it might have left so thoroughly, the police force would be lucky to catch them in the next decade. L was not the police force however. L was an idea, the idea of absolute justice.
And people could never truly escape an idea once it had been planted. It would follow every step they made, influence every decision, create a dark figure in every shadow. They would feel his eyes watching their every move, and would know that there was no escape.
Then they would make a mistake. And that was when L would take them down.
Still, he hated when his cases involved children. It made him think far too much of the three boys he had left back in England. Whenever he compared the innocent children in his cases to them, his stomach would become unsettled, and he would feel nauseous for however long it took to catch the criminal. The thought of a child having to suffer any adult atrocities…
He hated cases that involved children. But that hatred would help him catch the scum that had kidnapped these children, he was sure. His computer beeped, and a video feed popped up in the middle. Ah, right on time. At least the kidnappers were prompt.
L’s mouth drew down into a frown as he viewed the image before him. There was a child tied to a chair, directly in the center, a small girl by the looks of it. He could hear stifled sobs and see her small shoulders shaking. She had short brunette hair, and very classical European features. He was going to take a shot in the dark and say this was the girl from England. He was snapped from his musings when an electronic and scrambled voice spoke.
“In case some have remained unconvinced, we’ve decided to confirm the fact that we do have all thirteen missing children in our possession, if only to put the minds of the parents at ease.” There was an electronically distorted, but still sickening laugh through the connection, and L let his frown deepen more. What a pig. He hoped the man would be in such good humor the day L managed to stick him.
“The girl you see now is Bridget Stigmoore, age twelve, English Judge Walter Stigmoore’s only daughter.” The picture flickered, before showing yet another child, tied in the same place in the same manner as the last. A small, frail looking boy this time, with a head full of red curls and an abundance of freckles sprinkled across his nose. It looked as though he‘d been crying, his eyes red and swollen, trails of snot dripping from his nose to his upper lip. “This boy is Michael Peterzack, age eight, youngest son of American Vice President Joline Peterzack.”
Once again the screen flickered and changed. One child after another was shown, each in different states of misery and anguish. L slowly counted them off in correlation to their country, with Britain, the U.S., China, France, Russia…
Finally, twelve of the thirteen children had been shown, and L instinctively knew it was not mere chance that Japan’s child was the last in line. Not only the oldest, though that fact held little relevance, Raito Yagami was the teen they had shown one week ago, at the first contact. A beautiful child to make any father proud, L was pretty sure the kid had earned himself more than a little pain from his captors for his little sneer. This last week had to have been hell for the kid.
Even so, L applauded him. It took a lot of courage to be so defiant in the face of one’s kidnappers, especially one’s as hardened and bloodthirsty as mafia members. L would admit it, he was impressed. Besides, that had been the nastiest, most belittling expression L had ever seen someone pull off, and that was saying something.
This Raito must be quite a handful.
And it was his job to get the kid back safely. L’s eyes refocused as the screen changed once more, intently awaiting the sight of the last child. His fist clenched at the image before him as his lips tightened into a thin, angry line.
Raito was tied to the chair, in the same position as all the other children. Yet, when one compared his image with the other twelve, they couldn’t be more different. For one, the first thing anyone would notice when looking at Raito was his physical state. Which, needless to say, wasn’t looking that swell.
His eyes were both blackened a deep midnight color, and there was no doubt in L’s mind even the slit they were opened to was immensely painful. There was dried blood dribbling down his chin and staining his shirt, with his lip split seemingly in half. There were mottled bruises across his bared arms, and likely more below his shirt and pants. But what stood out the most to L were the marks around his neck, that looked suspiciously like finger imprints.
They had beaten the boy black and blue. Raito presented a vast change from the terrified, yet relatively unharmed children before him. And it wasn’t just because of the bruises.
A counterpoint to the weeping and sniveling of the other captives, even with bruised slits for eyes and a split lip, the boy was glaring straight into the camera, his jaw set. There was no fear about his countenance, and his expression was one of pure, unadulterated loathing.
Quite a character, this one, L thought, biting his thumb between his teeth, gaze contemplative. Obviously a very strong-willed individual, one that didn’t let something like pain get in his way. L could respect that, especially from one as young as Raito.
The kidnapper was speaking again. “And, last but not least, Raito Yagami, fourteen, only son of Chief Soichiro Yagami of the NPA. AKA, ice princess.” Once again, there was the distorted impression of laughter. “As you all can see, his little stunt last week cost him. But we intend for all of you to see the fruits of our labor, and how effective our ‘discouragement’ of bad behavior has been. Maybe if the kids come home, you parents could take a leaf from our book!”
The kidnapper began addressing Raito. “So kid, why don’t you tell them all how sorry you are, eh? The boys and me were oh so embarrassed by your bad behavior. So why don’t you just apologize to all the guys here, for being such a bitchy little brat?”
L wondered just how stupid the man behind the camera was. It was obvious, to him at least, from the expression on Raito’s face that ‘apologizing’ was the last thing he intended to do. But not even L could have predicted what happened next.
Raito took a deep breath, and to the kidnappers delight, began to speak in a calm, recalcitrant tone of voice. “Hello dad, ICPO, and the UN. Obviously, it’s me, Raito. As for my actions last week, I would just like to say that…” L removed his thumb from his mouth, staring, and wondering whether he had been all wrong and the boy really was about to apologize.
Suddenly Raito’s eyes snapped open, and his split lip curled into a snarl, opening the wound and dribbling a small line of fresh blood down his chin as he spoke, impassioned. “- I WANT YOU TO CATCH THESE SONS OF BITCHES, AND PUT THEM BEHIND BARS WHERE THEY BELONG! I WANT YOU TO FIND THEM, AND TIE THEM DOWN LIKE THE PIGS THEY ARE, BEFORE YOU PICK UP THEIR SORRY CARCASES AND TH-” Raito’s rant was abruptly cut off, as the body of one of his captors appeared behind him, quickly stringing a piece of cloth through Raito’s mouth and pulling back, choking the boy.
L watched with wide eyes, following the movement of that pale, bruised throat as Raito desperately fought to breath. The voice of the kidnapper, sounding significantly less amused, spoke once more, saying they would contact the police once more in two weeks if their demands had not been met, before bidding a hasty farewell.
L’s hand slowly reached forward, cutting off transmission with the push of a button and settling back. That had… that had been…
Stupid. Idiotic. Absolutely suicidal.
And one of the greatest moments of courage he had ever seen.
It would cost Raito in the coming weeks, his brave outburst. If he thought he had been in pain now… L shuddered to think of what was to come. But it was L’s job to end the hell he would undoubtedly experience as soon as possible.
Nodding his head, he leaned forward, reestablishing connection with the ICPO.
He wouldn’t let Raito down.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Log Entry - September 14th, 2000 1 : 55 A. M.
It was, without a doubt, odd, Raito thought, as he was guided down the halls, a captor on either side. He was actually feeling a lot better than he had the last week, which was the odd thing. If anything, he had expected to be beaten within an inch of his life for his outburst the last week. Yet, not a finger had been raised against him. He had sat alone in his cell, his bruises slowly healing and his lip becoming whole once more, and wasn’t bothered by anyone.
As happy as he should have been about it, he knew it boded nothing good in the future. No, if anything, it meant his kidnappers were waiting, perhaps until his guard was down, before coming in and thrashing him just short of death.
But if that was the case, why hadn’t they done it before this little rendezvous with the rest of the world? Surely it would make more of an impact if others could see his bloody and mangled form afterward? As macabre as that sounded.
Something in him was screaming that something wasn’t right about all this, and that he was walking straight to his own doom. He did his best to ignore that small, irritating feeling in the back of his head, but the further they walked, the more chilled he became.
Raito prayed to God his instincts were wrong about this. That the kidnappers simply didn’t want to beat him to death, and that was why they had held out. He tried to convince himself that he wouldn’t have rather been beaten than have to stand this waiting.
He couldn’t lie well enough to tell himself that he wouldn’t have preferred it over the quiet though. It had been horrible, sitting in that cell, listening to nothing no matter how he strained his ears, always waiting for the heavy footfalls and creaking door that would signal the beginning of another pummel fest.
Finally they entered the room of choice for the day, and Raito froze in his tracks. His eyes widened slightly as they surveyed the piece of furniture in the middle of the room, a cold sweat breaking out across his face.
Rather than the usual chair, their was a table, reminiscent of the examination tables they used in hospitals, complete with straps and all. That wasn’t terribly intimidating. The part that had Raito’s heart rate speeding a mile a minute was the small stand beside the table.
Which bore a wide assortment of knives, scalpels, and other tools reminiscent of an operation room.
He was going to be sick. His stomach was turning over, and he could taste the bile in his throat. His mouth was salivating at an alarming rate, and when it finally came up, it was all he could do to swallow it back down again. His throat burned with the acrid liquid, his tongue heavy with the noxious taste.
They pulled him forward without resistance, as he felt his brain go numb with shock and dread.
What… what were they going to do to him?
On second thought, he didn’t want that answered.
He felt the cool metal against him back, reminding him of the long ride in the back of some vehicle a few weeks ago. And he thought that had been bad… if only he had known then what all this would come to…
Well, for one thing, he wouldn’t have practiced tennis that morning.
God, what kind of sick joke was that. Raito recognized the fact that he was moving dangerously close to hysteria at the moment. Closing his eyes, the lids now a light purple rather than the black of last week, he made himself take a deep breath. And then another. And another. The air was coming in shaky, but it was coming in, and that was what mattered. He had to keep his lungs relaxed; he would be in bigger trouble if he hyperventilated. Tensing would only make the pain worse, he had to stay calm. If he didn’t focus on the pain, it wouldn’t hurt as bad.
Or so he told himself. No, he couldn’t think like that. He was so good at convincing other people with smile and a few words… he just wished he were as good at fooling himself.
It wasn’t until the usual narrator began talking that Raito realized that the camera had been turned on, and was recording him. And if there was one thing Raito refused to do…
It was panic in front of the entire world. Or, at least, their police representatives. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been what he was focusing on at the moment, but all he could think was that this could be called some kind of test. If he failed this, embarrassed Japan, his father, and the NPA, he would never stand a chance in the police force.
In a way, that made it easier. Tests were something Raito could do, he never felt nervous and was always ready to give it everything he had.
If he thought about this as a test, he could get through it.
He repeated it to himself as a kidnapper lifted one of the scalpels.
It loomed closer and closer, taking up all his vision. He felt his pupils dilate, his eyesight sharpening, only serving to accent the sharp, tapered edge of the knife. Finally it rested against his inner arm.
Raito stopped breathing, his eyes wide and riveted, his body cold.
Then the knife bit down into his skin, dragging down in a fast, long, professional slash. Raito imagined he could practically feel the flesh giving way to the thin metal, even as he could see the skin on either side blooming outward, allowing a warm stream of blood to escape his veins.
He let out a cry. It wasn’t a yell, or a scream, or a whimper. It was more like a choking sob, and Raito was horrified the second it escaped. He was momentarily taken away from the scalpel, the cut, the blood… as all he could think was how pathetic he sounded, right there.
It made him ashamed. If he couldn’t even take this….
He was brought back to the situation as the man moved on the inside of the opposite arm, the knife pressing into him once again. But Raito could not be so weak again. He bit his lip, refusing to let out a sound, even as they moved to his legs, his thighs, his stomach.
He didn’t notice that he had bitten through the skin, until he tasted the salt of his sweat mixed with the copper tang of blood.
Terminated - September 14th, 2000 2 : 57 A. M.
~*~*~*~*~*~
L didn’t notice that he had bitten through the skin of his thumb until a bandage fell down into his lap. He looked down at it, then up at Watari, before removing his thumb from his mouth. He carefully wrapped the bandages around it, turning his eyes back to the screen as soon as he was finished.
He looked back just in time to see the first cut being made, for the seventh time that night.
He wasn’t sure why he continued to watch the video, other than some vague sense of guilt. It was disgusting to watch as the masked men slowly and methodically cut the smooth, healthy skin of the child on the screen, but he could not tear his eyes away.
This was his punishment for not finding the children yet. He had to sit here and watch, because God knew the boy’s father was. It was the least L could do. Though he knew it was impossible that he could have solved the case in the two weeks he had been given before this…
He felt responsible for Raito’s pain on some level. He had made a promise, and he was letting the boy down. The brave, foolish young boy.
But the fact was, the kidnappers had covered their tails. L had found absolutely no leads whatsoever in the last weeks, and it was driving him crazy. Because their were ALWAYS clues. It was just a matter of finding them.
And it seemed L was looking in the wrong place.
He had been comparing all the passenger names around the world to those of all the known mafia members the agencies of the affected countries could come up with. So far there had been exactly zero matches. And there were no picture matches either, even from the airport security cameras. The mafia had gone all out, using their unknowns and hidden members to carry out the operation.
Which left L with a whole lot of nothing.
The video in front of him started over again, as L had put it on a loop, and his eyes snapped back to the screen at a small sob. Or, more accurately, the small sob. The only sound Raito had made during the whole ordeal, the sound escaping just as the first cut was made. Before all of ICPO saw the boy bite his lip through, holding back any other noises that may have escaped.
Foolish, brave, brave little boy.
L swallowed hard as he watched the third cut, on the boys calf, the seventh, on the boys inner thy, the tenth, on his flat belly.
He had no choice at this point. He had gotten nowhere with his investigation so far, and the situation had already gotten far out of hand. If he was going to get Raito out of there, he was going to need help. He shook his head, reminding himself there were other children there as well. A lot of sniveling, unharmed brats that cried and thought they had it bad every time they were placed in front of the cameras, and begged their parents just to stop the bill from passing every time they were prompted. He knew they were children, and they were scared, but still. It was just so… pathetic.
But not Raito. Raito was different. Raito was brave, and smart, and strong.
Raito was special.
And L would get him out of that hell one way or another. Even if it meant doing what he had never done before.
“Watari.”
“Yes, L?”
“Call up the ICPO. Tell them to pick out and send the best agents they have, L requires their assistance.”
“Very good, L.”
L didn’t respond, watching as the video stopped and began anew once more.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Log Entry - September 28th, 2000 1 : 38 A. M.
And here he was, strapped down to the table once again, the red light blinking at him merrily.
He felt sick. Not because he was undoubtedly about to go through the same torture as the week past. Oh no, he could handle the pain. No, he was sick with himself. Because, despite the torture and the humiliation and the god damn blood…
He would rather be here than in his dark, quiet cell. He could practically feel himself going mad inside the small space, with nothing to think about but the gray and the stillness. He couldn’t stomach the food anymore, and knew he had lost at least ten pounds since his initial confinement. But, at the same time, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Sometimes, he just couldn’t bear the thought of putting that horrid, bland food into his mouth. It was the only thing he could control in the place, what he ate, and he would take advantage of that. Even if it wasn’t necessarily good for him.
This entire situation wasn’t exactly good for him. What was another little discomfort when added to the growing list?
He was thankful most of the cuts had begun to scab and scar, not that they were going to make some new ones. Chewing on his lip, he thought how the situation had lost a great deal of the intimidation factor, now that he had already gone through it. It hurt, no doubt, but he would survive it, and wouldn’t be overcome by it. It was bearable.
He had little reaction when the scalpel was picked up, this time, his teeth closing on his bottom lip, ready to prevent any sounds that might escape.
He wasn’t prepared for the scalpel to move toward his face. Eyes widening to the point where the whites could be seen around them, nostrils flaring wide with a panicked huff, Raito barely managed to contain himself. But if he struggled, there was a good chance the knife would strike where it was not intended.
Which could lead to permanent scarring or damage, a disablement, or even death. No, he had to stay still.
Even if they cut his face to pieces in the process.
He closed his eyes as the point first came in contact with his skin, and felt the sharp sting at the cut. But, unlike the last time, they continued to drag the knife over his face, despite the fact that it was already wet with blood.
It wasn’t until his captor switched to his left cheek, and a piece of cloth was shoved over his right to stem the blood flow, that he realized what they were doing. They were literally cutting a picture into his skin. Raito knew that every cut of the knife would scar, without regard to what area of the body it was put to. But this was his face.
They were cutting a picture into his face. A picture that would scar. That would stay with him forever. There would be no painful surgery or procedure with which to get rid of the marks, not like a tattoo.
Scars were forever.
Raito felt the stinging in his eyes, but closed them to the pain, the blood, and the unshed tears. He wouldn’t cry for these bastards.
They weren’t good enough for that.
Terminated - September 28th, 2 ; 09 A. M.
~*~*~*~*~*~
L rubbed his toes against each other in annoyance, not really comfortable with the situation. He knew it had to be done, but… he wasn’t used to having other people in the same room, where they could see his face, and knew who he was.
But even more than that, it was horrible to have to look up, and see Soichiro Yagami out of the corner of his eye. The man looked… well, in a word, terrible. His hair had gotten more gray in the last month than had L believed possible for such a short amount of time, and there were bags to rival his own under those eyes. Blank, despairing eyes that looked as though they had seen hell. And L supposed, in a sense, they had.
After all, if seeing one’s own child tortured wasn’t hell, then what was?
But still, L had considered taking the man off the case, due to his personal attachment to the victim. He couldn’t have any member of his team slipping up or acting irrationally. But it also seemed unbearably cruel to remove the man, to take away his best chance of doing something to save his son.
Raito.
L glanced at the blank spot on the wall, feeling his stomach roll before he looked away. There had once been a resplendent painting there, a masterpiece, priceless and beautiful. It had depicted a beautiful angel, reaching up toward the heavens, white wings outstretched.
L had taken it down immediately following the last video of the children. Or child, he supposed. There had been but the briefest flashes of the twelve younger children, most of the time being spent on Raito. When L had seen the scalpels, he had immediately assumed that there was to be a repeat of last week, cutting Raito in various places. But it seemed the kidnappers were not content with the reaction they had received from the treatment. Namely, little.
But when they had moved the sharp edge of the knife to Raito’s lovely, round face, a face that had not yet lost all it’s baby fat or boyish dimples, he had…
Well. They had had to pay the hotel for a very nice teapot that had unceremoniously been shattered across the floor.
But it had been even worse when L had seen what they were really doing. They were carving a picture into Raito, into his perfect young flesh. Like he was a block of wood to be carved into to make look more attractive. L had bristled at the utter degradation of the act, and hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at Yagami-san. He would be suffering enough without L’s close observation.
But he hadn’t been able to stomach the lovely painting anymore. Not the angel one. Every time he looked at the snow white feathers sprouting from the woman’s back…
…All he’d been able to see were the bloody angel wings carved into Raito’s face, one on either cheek.
L closed his eyes, willing the image away. Holding back a sigh, he turned in his swivel chair, surveying the room. And the sorry number of people it housed.
ICPO, as it turned out, was unwilling to give up it’s best agents as L had requested, as it had already assigned them to different areas of its own investigation. And L refused to work with anyone but the best they had to offer. In the end, only two countries had come through.
Japan, more out of courtesy to Raito’s father than anything. His son was the one being tortured after all, it was only right that he should choose how he would go about trying to rescue his own flesh and blood. So the NPA hadn’t protested when Soichiro Yagami had immediately responded to L’s call, with some of the chiefs own friends and associates following close behind. That still only gave him five more people to work with however.
The other country that had come through had been the U.S., though L supposed it was their instinctive need to play the part of the hero than any real respect towards L himself. They had given him access to twelve of their best FBI agents, whom L had spread out over the twelve countries other than Japan, in an attempt to find any trail the kidnappers may have left behind. So far, they had been unsuccessful.
Not that that was any surprise, if L’s own agents had been unable to find anything themselves.
Watari walked into the room, clearing his throat demurely to capture everyone’s attention. Once there was silence, he walked over to the television screen, switching it on and changing the channel. The rooms attention was immediately caught by the reporter on screen and the current story.
“The U.N. has made its final and public announcement regarding the global hostage situation, and its reply to the demands of the alleged kidnappers and their organization.”
L saw the chief’s face pale.
“The members of the U.N. wish for it to be known that under no circumstances will they give in to the outrageous demands made upon them, and that the situation has done nothing but strengthen their resolve to pass and put into action the aforementioned bill. They give their most sincere condolences to the parents of the kidnapped children, and pray for them every day, but hope that they understand their decision and the reasons behind it. They would also like to put out a special recognition to Japan’s Soichiro Yagami, whose son Raito Yagami has taken the brunt of the attention of the kidnappers through beatings, torture, and humiliation. They state that Japan should find pride in the courage of this young man, and stay strong in the face of such adversity, following his example. They have made the unanimous decision that all resources and efforts shall be extended in the capture of the ones responsible, and there will be no mercy or pardon in the trials of the guilty. Justice will be served.”
Justice would be served. L would see to it.
Because L was justice.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Hey peeps. I'm kinda tired, so I don't really feel like talking to much this time. That's what happens when you're a senior and about to graduate, you get a bit stressed out. Sorry. But yeah, here's the next chapter, I hope you enjoy. And I just thought I'd explain some stuff that confused some people.
When, in the first chapter, I had Raito think the "International Con-" for ICPO, some people reminded me that the C stood for criminal. Yes, I know. This was honestly my bad, as when I'm thinking of ICPO, thinking of the letters feels awkward for me, as does thinking out the whole spiel. I just sort of automatically shorten it to international convention, and sort of made Raito have my quirk as well. My bad, I wasn't really thinking that hard about it.
Secondly, yeah, they contact the ICPO instead of the U.N. Mainly because... well, do you have any freaking idea how to contact the entire U.N. when in session via video, or if it's possible? O O I sure don't. So sorry if it's unrealistic, but I took authors license. I was also thinking that since the ICPO would be doing the hostage investigation and negotiation, it might work okay. Once again, sorry.
Anyway, for anyone who wants to know, I'm working on the next chapter of Lamb, and Quidam shortly after that.
THANKS AGAIN TO NILAH FOR BEING SO PATIENT AND BETAING FOR ME!!
Chow.