Presence

Light arrived home, heading up the staircase just ahead of the front door then straight to his bedroom to bypass the familial affairs awaiting him in the living room. Betsu was in tow, trailing behind him. He was tugging at their wrist to usher them along. This thing has the disposition of a cat. They entered his room , Light swiftly shut the door behind himself, carrying out the extra step of locking it lest anyone enter.

His room was dimly lit with an orange light filtering through the blue drawn blinds. In one corner, a desk more akin to a shrine. A multi-level book-lined shelf was integrated on-top of it with a beige personal computer in the centre alongside a monitor. In fact, book shelves lined every corner of this room. Light pulled his desk chair from its place before seating himself on it and swivelling around to Betsu.

"These will be your living arrangements if you insist on being with me at all times." He casually fanned himself with the notebook. "There's a bed. Note, singular. However, there's a floor to which you may help yourself." Being 'friends' with it may or may not be in my interest. He placed the Death Note onto the desk, spreading it open.

"You're cruel, Light." Betsu hugged itself, moving their hands up and down along the sides of their torso. "The Death Note is a mindless tool, but I'm not. Besides, if you want my help I expect a certain standard of treatment. With that being said, what are you up to? I can't help but notice your generous use of the Death Note."

"You'll know soon enough." Light spun back around to his computer, typing away and scribbling in the Death Note beside him in equal amounts. There's no use in starting off with petty criminals. "Betsu, how much are you able to interfere with the human world? If there are such rules on the usage of the Death Note, I assume Gods of Death have their own legal system so to speak to regulate your activities." Clack. The sound of keys filled the silence as Light waited for Betsu's response.

Out of nowhere, his chair span around. Betsu was opposite him.

"As much or as little as I want. Those rules apply to the others, so if you want me to help you it is entirely at my discretion." Betsu's feet left the ground, they took off into flight. Or rather, hovering. They lazed about mid-air, reclining into empty space but seeming comfortable. "If I like you, or whatever you're doing is interesting I might play ball." Betsu drifted towards Light, leaving millimetres of room between them. I see you, Light. The narrower one's eyes, the more concentrated the gaze. Betsu's was undiluted.

He met that steely gaze. I'd like to know what those rules are, Betsu enjoys being vague. Light leant forward in his chair, moving his face as close as he could without touching them. With breath that cold, can you even be considered alive? "The rules don't apply to you? That's good to hear." Pleasure brightened his face. "You and I, Betsu. We're going to dismantle this establishment, rivalling the world in the process. Don't tell me that doesn't pique your interest."

Coldness ran along Light's neck as Betsu's fingers pressed into his skin, pushing his head back. "I'll bite, Light." A squeezing sensation on his neck. Betsu, who was still floating horizontally, had carefully pinched the skin on Light's neck with its incisors. Wetness. Coldness. "It seems you would, Betsu." He gently pushed Betsu away, stretching the string of saliva between his neck and their teeth. Betsu is unusually intimate, if that's its weakness I'll bite also.

"Whose name was it? The one you had written in the notebook." Before Betsu's hand reached the notebook on the desk, Light's hand slammed onto it. "It's as you said, It's no fun knowing everything." Then slid along its cover with a squeaking noise, as his hand moved toward the CRT television on top of a table attached to his desk. Flick. Grainy video appeared, showing a news reporter stood at the busy scene of a plane crash. "Kai Yuudai, he's a well-known personality in Japan. People will listen to him, and he's the presenter of the most popular news station. I'd like to cast the net wide."

Kai held a finger to his earpiece and a microphone to his mouth as he spoke. "Here at the scene of this tragic incident…"

Roll out the carpet. Light held his face in his palm. Set the stage. Peeked through the gaps between his fingers. Cast the lights. His eyes widened. And call my name! Say it! Let them know who "Kira is… Kira is watching." Kai uttered those words with an empty stare aimed directly at the camera. After the deed was done he wrapped the microphone's cable around his neck, using it as a makeshift ligature, tugging until his veins bulged and his skin reddened.

Crew members leapt out from behind the scenes to yank the microphone from Kai, finding themselves unable to overcome the inhuman strength he had been imbued with. "Take us off air! Cut to commercial! I said cut to c-" The broadcast was removed from air, being replaced with generic commercial footage.

Betsu playfully kicked their feet in the air, leaning their chin on both hands. "Kira?"

"Authors tend to go by pseudonyms. Taking no claim for the fruits of their labour."

Labour? How noble, Light. "Pseudonyms refer to something or someone other than you are. You are a killer, Light." Betsu covered their mouth with a hand.

"A killer, yes. A murderer, yes. That's the cost." Sucking in a breath between his teeth. "However, I'm not a criminal. I'm doing whatever is required to preserve the lives of others. And as far as I'm concerned, Kai Yuudai was a stepping stone on the path toward something much bigger than himself. He should feel honoured."

For once, Betsu was surprised, and pleasantly so. This surprise didn't show itself on their face, however. This one, I can't let him go. "You took a major leap. Not even testing the Death Note first."

"Wasting time on small fry is self-gratification." He laughed dryly. "Each one would be a satisfying buzz. But I'm afraid…" Weariness overcame him. "I'm afraid I may start to enjoy using it." He slid open one of his drawer's desk. No, there's a better place. "Betsu, if you could hold onto this." Anything Betsu is in contact with will become invisible if they will it, there's no need for an elaborate set up. At the same time, I'm giving them leverage.

"Give and take, Light." Betsu reached out to the Death Note. "If you want it back, you'll do as I say. Agree to that condition." Each of their hands held a side of the Death Note. "Come on, Light. You know you want to." The book quaked under the stress of their grips.

Too risky. I'll retake the initiative. "Let's say that, whenever I give you the Death Note, I'll owe you one wish. It has to be within reason, and not bring harm to me in any way."

Those conditions seem a little generous, Light. "No. I refuse. It's too convenient for you. It's boring to know that no one can ever find your Death Note. I prefer high stakes." Betsu's fingers curled into an ok gesture. "I won't be too unreasonable, Light. There'll always be a way to get out, you'll just have to find it." They felt Light remove his grip from the Death Note.

Light's brows lowered. So, it won't put me into impossible situations. "You're tearing me apart, Betsu." I ripped a piece out just in case. "As of now, I owe you exactly one wish." The piece hidden in his hand, overrode his thoughts.

What is it that gives the notebook's pages their properties? The binding? The cover? Unlikely, the pages themselves must have an independent property. It's a book, a collection of pages. Pages must be produced before binding. That does imply independence.

 If my reasonings are correct, it would follow that even when removed from the book, they should still function. Anyways, I'm assuming the production of Death Notes is similar to the human process. In fact, it may not even matter. The entire thing defies logic. Why would something as minor as a rip hinder it? A quick test will sort this out.

A distant voice faded in. "Light. Oi, Light. you're doing your spacing out thing again." I do enjoy watching him think. Betsu waved at him to catch his attention. You never want to lose anything in an exchange, liar. Betsu hung Light's Death Note on their waist along with their own. A smeared lip print was left on it. Just so I can tell the difference.

I'll just ignore Betsu's oddity. I assume all Gods of Death have unique traits. Light's vacant eyes didn't move from whatever it is they were fixed on. "Your wish, do you plan on using it now?" I'll be able to gauge their behaviour better if I know their desires.

"I'll save it for later." Thud. Betsu's feet landed on his room's wooden flooring. "I'm going out for a bit, see you in the morning." Betsu phased through the wall by Light, suggestively strutting all the while. The shrill squeak of their leather trousers became a far off memory.

Click. Light turned off his personal computer. Darkness filled the room. By tomorrow, everyone will be asking who Kira is, I'll have to deliver. He stood up, got undressed, then fell into his bed which lied in the centre of the room with spread arms and one leg over the other. His head fell to one side. I'm too excited to sleep . Light clutched at his chest. For in sleeping, I deprive myself of my dream which is set to become true.

At the same time, in a vertically climbing building in the centre of Shibuya. The headquarters of the National Police Agency. They were gathered in a cubicle lined office floor, full of messily stacked documents, binders. The men spoke across the room to each other from their cubicles.

A pale man with absent eyebrows, Ide, spoke up. "Chief, what are your thoughts on this 'Kira'?"

Those rectangular glasses of his shimmered under the light which casted shadows over his sunken cheeks. "There's not much to say, it's obviously a warning. And even when interviewed, every crew member denied knowledge of this person. 'Kira is watching'." He stroked his prickly black moustache. "Observation then punishment. Why was Yuudai punished? For breaking some law of this 'Kira'. To watch is to influence behaviour, 'Kira' may want people to behave in some way which aligns with their worldview." He paused for some time.

"Also, prior to Yuudai's death, he didn't look past the camera at all, showing no signs of duress. It's not a confirmation. It just makes it seem unlikely that the perpetrator 'Kira' was there." Soichiro removed his glasses, pinching his nose bridge with closed eyes. "But what's strange is that during the act, Yuudai moved as if his mind were hijacked. He's mid-sentence, presenting a segment then all of his energy drops off." He actually laughed in the tense environment of that room, out of disbelief. "How can someone's behaviour be influenced like that?"

Another voice chimed in. Matsuda's. "It's likely that they're Japanese or in Japan. Why else would they have chosen a Japanese news station?" A non-sequitur and premature conclusion characteristic of him.

Meanwhile, Betsu flicked to the first page of Light's Death Note. So, Kai Yuudai was just a sample? A dense wall of names written using various alphabets covered the page. Around the world, individuals such as Kai Yuudai, well known personalities in their respective countries, were all dropping dead in the same way. Light was meticulous, considering time zones and keeping the method of suicide consistent as to make it a calling card of Kira. Betsu was precariously sat on top of a lamppost with crossed legs, looking up at the massive television overlooking the busy city centre, the one beneath which they and Light stood earlier. It was switched off. Shrouding the world in darkness.

Back at the National Police Agency. "You spoke too soon, Matsuda." Aizawa held a remote in hand, pointing it toward the multilayered array of monitors on one side of the room. Click. The monitors displayed an international compilation of deaths all with the common factor of Kira as a component.

Soichiro's hand trembled. Clatter. His glasses fell. "So, 'Kira' isn't an individual, but potentially a criminal organization? Damn, figuring out how 'Kira' operates is our next concern. We'll need to collaborate with other countries." That night ended, luring them to the mystique of the next day.

The next morning, Betsu returned to Light's bedroom, phasing through the wall again. Twitching, stirring, incomprehensible mutterings. The glossiness of Light's distressed face said it all. Betsu knelt by his bedside, stroking his forehead with their cool hand. And being in agony, he prayed more earnestly. His sweat was, as it were, great drops of blood falling down to the ground. Whether Betsu was consoling him or not, an indeterminable thing. They remained knelt there while warming rays of sunlight filtered into the room. Wind rattled the blinds, ushering in the chill of the spring and banishing the stale air. Don't disappoint me.

Light awoke to the cool sensation on his forehead. "Unhand me, Betsu. However, if it's your wish, do continue." He waited for a split second. "No?" Swiping away that hand, he promptly stood up, readying himself for another day of the now not-so-mundane. He exited his room, still sliding an arm into his blazer's sleeve.

In the small confines of the corridor leading to their rooms, he ran into his younger sister. "Good morning, Sayu." His face had a warm quality unseen to Betsu. "Good morning, Light." Sayu noticed a particular glint in Light's eyes. He seems more chipper than usual. "Do you have a girlfriend? Oh, I know, you got lai-" Light smirked, cutting off Sayu. "Don't be silly, Sayu." Reached out and pinched his sister's nose. "Focus on your studies instead of trivial things like that." He flicked her head backward with a slight push upon releasing her nose.

Sayu was left holding her nose with both hands. "Yeah, I forgot. All you like to do is study, study, study. Hmph." She huffed, shoving Light out of the way before he headed downstairs. Light followed shortly after, going directly to the front door and leaving. Today, he didn't take the train, opting for the 'scenic' route through the city. The clouds blocked out the meagre sunlight. As usual, it was a hive, disordered. People were all around.

Light stood by a scramble crossing, swiping his hair aside to uncover his ears. "Betsu, do you hear that?" He begun to single out the chattering voices from the shifting crowd. Betsu eagerly nodded, shaking their hair about. "I do Light, it sounds excellent." High, nor low. Betsu's voice never betrayed any hint of femininity or masculinity. Always steady, never unbalanced. Either or, at a crossroad between all.

"Hey, have you heard about this 'Kira' on the news?" A passerby. "I say it's a bunch of horseshit, 'Kira' is watching? Who does that person think they are?" Another chimed in. "I heard 'Kira' is an organisation, some sort of shadowy cult." More and more speculations amassed, snowballing out of control. All one could hear were musings regarding Kira and their victims. The news broadcast reporting on it which was blared through shoddy speakers added to the cacophony.

"It's music, Betsu. The finest symphony. But speculation is no good, these people are lacking in guidance." Light looked at Betsu. "Would you be willing to do more for me in exchange for more wishes?"

Betsu bit their lip. "You can ask, but I don't want more wishes. It's up to you to offer me something else worthwhile." They tilted their head to one side. "What do you want me to do, and what are you offering?"

At the same time, a hidden entity was moving against Kira. "Ahem." His butler cleared their throat. "Here are your refreshments." Setting down a tray of sugary treats ranging from parfaits, cakes, and scones, with a cup of tea alongside it all.

The light of a computer screen illuminated their pale skin. "Thank you, Watari." A gristly low voice, baggy eyes, a crooked posture. One who seldom saw the light of day.

Mass 'murder' on a global scale without leaving any traces whatsoever. They fiddled with a spoon between their fingers. Every person strangled themselves to death, telling. Were they all criminals to 'Kira'? They've established themselves as an authority, hanging those who defy it. They began typing away, the screen flickering as he moved between software applications. According to my intelligence network, nobody has knowledge of anyone, or anything referred to as 'Kira' in any of the countries in which the 'suicides' occurred.

"How intriguing." No CCTV footage whatsoever of shady individuals in the areas around the crimes during the time of deaths. Mental health, and autopsy reports are also non-factors.

Watari's footsteps closed in. "It seems your assistance is being requested by various governments." He held a phone in his hand.

"Only naturally, Watari." They gnawed on their worn fingernails, returning to their musings. Even if an organisation is meticulous, to be deeply embedded worldwide and untraceable is nigh impossible. To have operatives so skilled and such a number of them, one would think a government managed this.

These people were convinced to kill themselves which further complicates things. That takes a considerable amount of time, so there should be traces of contact with 'Kira', but there are none. Compounding this is the fact that not one of them hesitated to kill themselves, but again, toxicology reports come up nil. "Watari, more tea." Before he knew it, he'd emptied the cup and had been sipping on air.

 I'm going the wrong way, catching even one member of this so-called organisation could allow me to blow this wide open. Let's view the commonalities. All victims were public figures, respected, with large audiences. So, 'Kira' wants people to know that they are not outside of reach, the next target will likely be another known figure. This is also a means of leverage, to puppeteer these figures.

Identified behaviours, no identified causes. How is 'Kira' doing it?

"Watari, I'd like you to arrange a meeting with the NPA. I will be needing some of their resources." They hastily slurped on their tea and ravaged the confectionary lying on the table before them. All of this thinking is burdensome. As soon as 'Kira' shows bias toward any country, their time will be up. But I could also be manipulated by that fact. "Frustrating."