Author's Note: Things like this happen. I'm sincerely sorry. Warning for torture, rape, and use of the least I'm not the first one who's thought of this. Please don't tell me how badwrong my brain is, I already know.

Mello spun the chamber of the handgun idly, looking down at his captive. He was already stirring again with a faint moan, one hand lifting to brush against the knot on his skull where he'd been taken down. That hand dropped, and then wandered over to check his left wrist where the watch had been. Mello smiled, and praised himself for removing it. He'd figure out what its secret was later.

But Kira's eyelids were fluttering, and Mello stopped the spinning chamber, stepping forward. As Kira lifted his head and blinked blearily, Mello jammed the muzzle of the gun in the center of his forehead, and watched his perfect hazel eyes cross. "You try anything and I'll blow your brains out," Mello said.

He figured it was better to get the small talk out of the way to start with.

Kira looked up at him when he said that, or tried to. Mello doubted he could see very well with his eyes crossed like that. He could see his throat move as he swallowed, and the brief fear in his eyes. Good. This murderer should be scared. Mello didn't feel like playing nice. "Meaning that you won't if I comply?"

"No," Mello said easily. "I probably will anyway." He flicked his thumb along the hammer and licked his lips. Probably better to make this simple. "You killed L."

The silence was deafening. Mello pulled the gun away from Kira's forehead and checked the ammunition again. Matt would have thought that was funny. Kira apparently didn't, since his laugh was just a little strained.

"—L, the detective? You're insane-"

Mello didn't think too hard before closing the chamber and slamming hand and handgun into Kira's upturned face. Crunch, went his face, and Mello thought distantly that Grand Theft Auto really missed the fun in actually pistol-whipping someone.

"Don't fucking lie to me," he said. "I know. You're Kira, and you killed L."

Kira was currently dripping gobbets of blood on the floor from his nose. Pathetic. Mello could hear him panting. He'd expected more. He'd expected a monster, not this sniveling creature. It disappointed him. He opened the chamber again, counted the bullets. Five.

He cocked the gun and fired.

Kira screamed, doubling over and reaching for his shattered ankle, thrashing in agony. He'd probably never felt real pain before. "Oh god!" He screamed, "What the hell do you think you're doing-"

"I don't know," Mello said, letting his lip curl. "I'm kind of figuring that out as I go along." Kira rocked back and forth, but his eyes rolled up, looking at Mello, and they hated.

He grinned, reached out for his chocolate, and bit off a chunk with relish. "This is where you pay," he said, and as Kira opened his mouth to say something – more protestations of innocence, probably – Mello gave up on fair and kicked him in the stomach.

He doubled over and collapsed, wheezing. Mello set aside the gun, lovingly, and pulled out his switchblade. It flicked out with a satisfying snick, and he dropped to his knees, held it up next to Kira's nose. "You didn't like my gun. Is this any better?"

Kira snarled, and spat, one of his hands scrabbling on the concrete floor as though he expected to find a weapon there. "Pervert," he panted. "Sadist. I didn't kill L."

"You're lucky," Mello said, "I decided you probably didn't really care about your family. I could have gone after them. You killed mine." Kira stiffened, and Mello smiled, knowing the way it would stretch his mouth in a strange sort of way. "I guess it's not too late…"

"What do you want," Kira hissed, and Mello was satisfied to see how dilated his pupils were with pain.

"Nothing," Mello said, honestly, and sliced open his cheek. This time, Kira didn't scream, but his eyes squeezed closed and Mello could see his jaw clench. "No, that's not right. I want your suffering."

"You're a pathetic excuse for L," Kira said, or panted, the white visible around his eyes belying the near-calm in his voice. "Nothing more than a shadow. If that. You're sad."

"Not half as sad as you're going to be, Kira," Mello said, and planted one hand against his chest, shoving him down into the floor, shoving his face as close as he dared without putting anything in reach of teeth. "What are you scared of?"

"Not you," Kira forced out, but there was something new to his fear. It didn't take Mello too long to figure out, and the blade slid easily back into the handle as he shoved to his feet.

"Never mind," he said, easily, "I don't like knives half so much as guns." He turned his back, deliberately, sauntered back over to where he'd lain the gun, pretending not to know that Kira behind him was struggling to rise. He reached out for the barrel and let his hand hover, just for a moment.

Perfect timing, Kira, he thought with sharp amusement as he turned just as the murderer lunged for the discarded knife. His first kick clicked Kira's teeth together, knocking him back. When he landed flat on his back on the floor, winded, Mello brought his foot up and stomped on the shattered ruin of his still bleeding right ankle.

That scream of agony would have hurt Mello to hear from anyone else.

It died soon enough as the renewed pain shoved his captive back into unconsciousness.

He put the switchblade carefully away, and retrieved the gun after wrapping the bleeding ankle in enough gauze that Kira wouldn't die of blood loss. Then he just had to wait.

Mello watched Kira wake with something like satisfaction: the confusion and then memory, and subsequent flickering of despair as he looked at the walls surrounding him. "You're not with the police," he said, and Mello grinned again, deliberately.

"No. I'm with the Mafia." He stood up and prowled over to his captive, looked down at him. "You still lose."

Mello felt a kind of excitement at the raw hatred that blazed from Kira's eyes. "You're just the kind of despicable scum I am eliminating," he snarled, and Mello smiled even more.

"I know. That's what's so perfect about it." He brought out the gun again, pressed the muzzle against the back of his head. "Why don't you get on your hands and knees?"

He felt Kira stiffen. "And if I don't?"

"It'll hurt even more when I kill you," Mello said conversationally, and he could almost feel - ah yes - Kira's shudder, and he moved painfully to turn over and pull his limbs underneath him. Mello stepped forward easily, and straddled Kira's hips. Shoving the gun in the front of his pants, he used the switchblade to open the rear seam of expensive khaki trousers and the underwear underneath them before closing it and tossing the knife carefully out of reach.

He could almost feel Kira start to panic.

"You get a choice," Mello said quietly. You think I'm a sick bastard? Let's see what you think of this. "Me, or the gun."

He heard Kira pant, the disbelief, horror, plain in his voice. "You can't be serious-"

"The gun's bigger," Mello said, casually. "I promise I'll play with the safety on, though."

This time Kira didn't even bother to hide the shudder. "God-"

"You fucked up my life," Mello said, thinking of Matt, shot dead in the street. "You killed L. It's not any worse than you'd get going to prison. Why don't you just think of me as mercy?"

"You bastard-"

"Suit yourself," Mello said, and pulled out the gun, making sure the click of the hammer settling into place was perfectly audible.

"You," Kira gasped, "Don't – fuck, don't-"

Mello heard his own laugh, weird and cruel and harsh. "Can't refuse a last request," he said, brutally, and if he knew he was hard because of his hand, Kira didn't need to know that. He wrapped a hand into red-brown hair to brace, and forced his way in.

He only whimpered, but that was sweet enough. Mello grinned through gritted teeth and jerked out, slammed back against Kira's quivering body. There was no pleasure in it, and he bit his tongue so he didn't taste the bile. He could feel tender tissue tear with his harsh movements, and then Kira started screaming, screaming that died into sobbing as Mello ceased to pay attention and just moved, in and out and in and

L, I hope you're watching, he thought viciously, and came.

He pulled out of Kira and stood up, feeling dirty and not sure that he cared. Kira – no, Light Yagami, he corrected, slipped to the floor, curled into himself and crying.

"If you're god," Mello said to the whimpering, bloody boy on the floor. "What does that make me?"

No answer but more sobs that tried to be muffled, and he knelt, grabbing the gun, and turned Light's face up toward him. "Open your fucking mouth," he snarled into the tear streaked visage, and when Light somehow obeyed, he shoved the gun between his lips until he heard him gag and rested his finger on the trigger. "Is this how you thought you were going to die?"

His captive stared back at him, eyes blank and full of fear, and Mello felt suddenly like vomiting. He jerked the gun out and brought it down sharply on Kira's temple.

He slipped out of the room and into the bathroom, where he washed his hands, looked at his reflection, and threw up into the toilet. Fuck, he thought, and then said it aloud. "Fuck."

Now what?

Calling Near would be defeat. No, he knew what he had to do. It was just that – L was still dead. Matt was still dead. And his captive in the next room didn't look much like a murderer anymore.

Neither do you, Mello thought, and spun the chamber of his gun again.

One shot, and it would all be over.

"Fuck you, Kira," he said, and tried again to wash the taste of vomit out of his mouth. "Why do you have to ruin everything? Even my fucking revenge."

The mirror didn't answer him any more than Kira would. He popped out all the bullets, left them on the counter, and reached for the phone.