Death Note (デスノート) © Tsugumi Ohba, Takeshi Obata & Shueisha
Original Characters and Because It Defies Logic Fanfiction Plot Belong to Me.
Because It Defies Logic
. . . A Death Note Fanfiction . . .
Warning: Intended for an older audience due to mature subject matter.
This story includes curse words, violence, gore, angst, mild sexual situations, and spoilers.
Just like any draft for a story, there have been plot holes here and there that I've been meaning to deal with. This revamping is more for brushing up the plot, not to proofread for grammar or stylistic changes. That being said, I hope old and new readers alike will enjoy the revamped Because It Defies Logic!
|| -X- || Chapter One || -X- ||
'Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still see the light from the cracked window illuminating their pale, bruised faces. Our bodies are strong from the training, but we are weak from the beatings and breaking. They say nothing as the man drags me away, because we never say anything. There is nothing to say. They don't even know my name, and I don't know theirs. I was taken away. They couldn't save me.
Sometimes when I close my eyes, I wonder if I could have saved them.'
I gasped, head emerging to the surface as water sputtered from my lips. Easing my shoulders to relax, I flinched as the cold temperature of the bath walls press against my spine. Strands of black hair floated in the water, and I picked them up to put on the side of the tub so they wouldn't clog the drain. The water was starting to cool from lukewarm, and I wondered blandly if I should get out. Later. I deserved to just sit there and do nothing after a long day of standing at work.
Aside from the acoustic sounds of rippling, dripping water echoing in my bathroom, it was serenely quiet. I dragged an exhale and craned my neck back, lowering my body back into warmth…
One of my work cell phones blared on its ring tone, some new song on the radio. It took a moment of internal dispute whether I should go through the trouble of getting out of the tub, but after settling that maybe it was another rich client, I emerged from the steamy water and reached out the door with a dripping hand.
"Speak," I demanded harshly, a bit moody since I had to get out of my time of indulgence, water dripping all over my bathroom tiles. A chuckled resounded on the other end, followed by a long pause.
"Madison, I just wanted to congratulate you. I heard you're leaving your little easy-bake," came the baritone British voice. So it wasn't a mission offer. Clients rarely called back, since most of the time, they wanted as little to do with me as possible. It was rare, but not a never. This one was a fat, lewd man named Louis, who had been eyeing my posterior down ever since I met him in person to hand him the documents he need. I said nothing, fuming as he dared reference my bakery as a child's toy.
"But Sugar Plum, I really want to meet you again. I was thinking, how about a different kind of task this time… One that can give me a… closer look at your services."
He did not just fucking call me Sugar Plum.
His grubby fingers and rolls of fat were enough to make me want to puke yesterday's meal. I sharply snapped the phone closed and pulled out the battery so I could donate it to an electronic disposal when I had the chance. The cold was intensified by the fact that I was nude, wet, but it was only the middle of August. I trudged back to my hot bath and plunged in, re-wetting my black hairs and drifting off.
Another one of my cell phones rang out and I wondered if I should just throw just pull out the battery like the last one. Though it wouldn't be the same man calling, since I only gave a client one number. With a giant box of disposable flip phones, I could afford to get rid of a few in my moment of fury. Indecisive, I figured I could decline if it happened to be a murder, which was the 'hot commodity' these days thanks to a certain heart-attacking murderer. I not-so-guiltily pressed the 'receive' button and spoke. "Hello?"
"Is this... Kimberly?" It was a soprano voice, young and hesitant. I randomly checked my chainsaw-massacre nails to see if any of them had grown out. They hadn't.
"Depends on who's asking." Kimberly was an alias I used before, but then again, I'd used many.
"... I was recommended to call you... I might have the wrong number."
Why hadn't I brought a towel out with me? It was bloody cold. "Who told you about me?"
"My aunt, Tsukioka Yoko. Erm... a will went missing, and she... took over her husband's property last month... Do you know her?"
I adjusted the phone on my shoulder, moving my wet hair away from the device. Tsukioka Yoko: the pampered Japanese lady who practically interrogated my ass to make sure I was 'capable of her requests and expectations'. She was annoying; and rich. As she very well proved when she offered the biggest amount of money I had ever been paid, and it wasn't even for a murder. Of course, I had realized how little this was to her once I'd snuck a peak at her deceased husband's will and seen the amount of money he would have divided. Thanks to me, the woman got to keep all of it for herself, as written in a 'previous will' — before he cheated on her with another mistress and wanted to split the money between his two woman.
"Ahh, Tsukioka Yoko-san. Yeah, I remember her. Hey, what's your name? I'll call you back in a bit; my pizza's at the door!"
She told me her name was Tsukioka Mitsuki. I hung up on her, and went on to make sure our next call wouldn't be recorded.
"Aren'tcha gonna at least say goodbye?"
I pulled the knot on the back of apron tightly and went to the sink to wash my hands. Amy looked at me with a silly pout on her cherry-glossed lips, nearly the same shade as her bubble-gum pink hair. Her arms crossed over her chest in a comedic effort to look offended. "We've still got 6 hours together. Wouldn't saying goodbye right now be kinda weird?"
"I can't believe you're leaving!" She threw her arms out, exasperated. Jonathan carried a tray of pastries to the storefront, throwing us a raised brown eyebrow before waddling out of sight. "And not just leaving, you're like leaving leaving! Like out of America!"
"Yes, that's what going abroad usually signifies." I grinned, shaking the water out from my hands before going over them with a cloth. Looking up at the onyx, reflective surface in front of me, I took in my appearance. Short-haired wig, with glasses to draw attention away from my eyes.
Here, I was a boy. I was Alex.
"Alex told us two months ago, Amy," Jonathan chuckled, coming out of the bakery with another tray in his hand. "You don't have to talk like he told us last night."
"Still!" She dragged the word out, pink hair bouncing up and down as she stomped her feet. Amy was always hyperactive. The pink hair suited her like none other. "Jonny, don't you think it's just so sad? Like seriously, this is so sad, I can't even right now!"
The shop was about to open, but Amy seem much more concerned about our last few hours together than our customers coming in. Then again, we opened at seven in the morning, and very rarely did we have customers right when we opened, anyway. Sighing, I slipped past her to help Jonathan bring out the baked goods.
"Morning, Jin!" I hollered inside the kitchen. Jintaro, the head baker, gave me a wave and gestured me inside. These were my last hours with the kind Japanese man who had hired me, in spite of my awkward social skills. As I approached, I took note of how how much greyer his hair had gotten. I didn't know what Jin's age was, but if I had to guess, I would've said he was in his sixties.
The overwhelming smell of black sesame alarmed my senses, breaking me off from my reminiscent thoughts. Jin took a new-looking pastry, one that I hadn't seen before, and put it aside from the rest of its group. "What's this?"
"Try," was all he said: it was all he needed to say, as a man of few words. Eagerly, I licked my lips and examined the new product. Black sesame, for sure, and it looked to be an éclair. Biting down, the aromatic sesame taste spiked against my taste palette, mixing with the soft, crunchy shell. A smile stretched my lips, and a moan broke through as an instinctive mmmmmm.
"What's that?" Amy peered from beside me, her pink hair resting on my shoulder.
"Looks like an éclair. Black sesame?" Jonathan leaned in to take a bite, but I raised it up into the air to avoid their mouths.
"Nope! This one is mine!" I twittered, heading out happily with my delectable treat. I swiped a tray of goods on my way. "Ask Jin for one if you want one!"
"No fair! We all know you're Jin's favourite!" Amy whined, and I laughed. The clock struck 6:50. It was almost time to open shop for a my last few shifts, ending shy of my flight. I pushed the tray into the store-front display, closing the sliding door shut with a dull thump.
The bakery was vintage-themed and dimly lit despite its new origins of only several years ago. I'd worked there for three years, starting the summer I turned seventeen. I had never expected to become so attached to a little shop on the corner of a rural street, owned by an old Japanese man who came to get away from the big city life. Ironic, because I was going exactly where he came from: Tokyo. It was solely doe to his generosity for taking me in at such a young age, I'd gotten by.
Besides being a criminal, of course.
You could find it ironic how I worked undercover and also worked for a bakery, but the lack of missions lately made it easy to balance a full-time job. It wasn't like I was a student either, though it was technically still summer break.
It wasn't like I went undercover because I wanted to, but being in the whole minimum wage business really didn't make me a lot of merit to sustain myself. If I didn't do missions, I would be on the street. For a long time, a quiet life in a quiet town was what I wanted, but I wasn't so sure anymore. Here, everyone knew each other by face and name. We were so local and tightly knit that you couldn't walk down the street without seeing at least one or two familiar faces, if not knowing the vast majority of the town. Here, I stood out even more as someone who didn't want to make connections with people.
But it was getting tough. I didn't get much work nowadays in the undercover field, due to the obscurity of the area I lived in, and my so-called 'business' thriving off of solely word-of-mouth.
Some people might've coined me for an assassin with my history. I wasn't so much an assassin as I was simply someone who went undercover, similar to the traditional cat burglar. Still, I wouldn't entirely disagree with the term assassin.
You lie once, you're a liar. You kill once, you're a killer.
Since I became an adult, I was able to find several minimum wage jobs for little. I didn't take it upon myself to fake high school certificates due to the small nature of the town, which was another reason why I had chosen to get away. Still, employers didn't mind taking me in for rough labor. I had been a paper-boy, dishwasher, gardener – and then finally, the brilliant job of working for Jin at his bakery.
Why bakers weren't rich, I had no idea. They made magic with their hands.
Calling my line of work undercover was really just a nicer way of saying criminal work. Most of the time, I was asked for things like stealing wills or other items of importance, listening in on conversations, and whatnot. Personally, I spent a lot of my time waiting and waiting for someone to ask me to find their lost child instead. But no: the police and other investigation forces were for that. It's not like I could put advertisement on a board that I wanted to be a superhero in disguise. It just wasn't that simple.
"We're gonna miss you, you know." Jonathan appeared from the back, looking solemn. With his shaggy brown hair and green eyes, there was a time I caught myself looking at him a little too frequently. That time was long gone.
I nodded slowly, tucking my wig behind my ear. He cleared his throat, and asked, "Where are you going again?"
"Japan. Tokyo, actually. I decided to study abroad."
"Ahh, right." And right then, I could tell that he already knew. "Yeah, I get that. No one wants to stay in a small town like this."
"Small towns… are charming," I defended meekly, watching as he shrugged. Amy's voice pierced through the walls and she exclaimed how delicious something was. We both cracked a smile.
"Is it okay if I ask?
I licked my lips, the taste of sesame still fresh. "Go ahead."
Jonathan ran a hand through his messy hazel hair. He was decent looking, and Amy was equally as breathtaking with her expressive appearance. I felt rather like a cockroach next to them sometimes, which made it excruciatingly hard to get to know them for the first few months. Though I was the veteran here, since they had both joined after me. Jonathan started at the bakery seven months after me, and Amy was relatively new, having had her first day only three months ago. She got attached quick, with her friendly, bubbly character. They were both around my age, with Jonathan being 23 and Amy being 18. I was in the middle, 20 years old, or so I told people.
He shrugged it off. "Now I feel like a jerk. I don't mean to, like, make things awkward. I've just—"
"Always been curious," I finished for him, smiling. "If you're going to ask, you better ask quick. It's 3 minutes to opening, and I can see a family getting out of their car across the road."
Jonathan's green eyes followed mine to see the little girl hopping out from the backseat of a red Toyota Sienna: the queen of family vans. He shrugged and shook his head, as if abandoning the question. "You know you don't have to pretend… to be something you're not."
I had no idea what he was talking about, and yet I felt like knew exactly what he was trying to say. "What makes you think I'm pretending?"
"Cause you don't look happy, Alex." He walk around the counter we were behind to go towards the door and flip the sign to 'Open'. The family wheeled their stroller across the street. "And I want you to be happy. So do Jin and Amy, I bet."
"That's really nice of you to say, Jonathan." I nodded to myself, controlling my emotions. I wasn't used to goodbyes. I hadn't prepared myself for the conversations I was going to have today. I had avoided thinking about it all together. Attachment didn't go well with me. "But I can take care of myself."
And just like that, I closed the door and twisted the lock shut. Jonathan looked at me through the wall I'd placed in between us and nodded, almost knowingly. Despite the time we'd spent together, I'd never welcomed him past a certain point. There was a reason I never called him Jon, like Amy and his friends did. I knew there was a reason why he was so curious about me, but I preferred not to think about what he may or may not have figured out about me. "Yeah, I guess so."
Jonathan disappeared to the back room. when the family opened the door, I smiled and greeted. "Good morning! Welcome to Taro. You guys are here super early today!"
I said my goodbyes, leaving the shop while Jonathan and Amy were still on shift. The drive to the nearest airport was quite a while away, so even though my flight wasn't for several hours, I still had to go home to get my luggage and then call for a taxi. Amy wasn't lying when she exclaimed that I was Jintaro's favorite. There was not much time to say goodbye to Jin, but it was alright, because I'd always had an unspoken connection with Jin. When we first met, I knew just a little bit of Japanese, so we were able to help each other out due to his massive language barrier with customers and workers. It must have been hard for him to make the decision to move out to America with his wife and open a a bakery. Still, I wished him the best, and I could see through his wrinkles that he wished me the same.
Amy's eyes were watering, which was actually quite heart-wrenching. She'd only known me for three months, and yet she felt strong enough for me to cry. I could tell that Amy wasn't faking the tears, either. She was really hurting for the fact that I was leaving. "I can't believe you don't have Facebook. You neeeeed to get it so we can stay in touch!" Pouting, her mascara was starting to smudge a bit. "You have to visit, 'kay?
"Of course. Silly girl, your make up is running…" I squeezed her into tight hug, knowing I could afford to be affectionate to her oblivious self. I stayed with her a moment longer, wiping her tears until she was ready to service everyone again.
Jonathan rotated into the back room once Amy went out. His smile was laced with sorrow as I tossed my apron in the hamper. "See ya, kid."
I gave him a quick hug. His body was firm, and so much bigger than mine. He reminded me of what I really was. He tensed as soon as we made contact. For two and a half years, we hadn't so much as brushed shoulders when passing behind the counter.
"Yeah," he breathed, patting me on the back firmly. I squeezed his shoulder, big a final farewell to Jin, and that was that.
Session of reluctant goodbyes: over.
"Here's your ticket. You're Gate 15, Economy Class to Tokyo, Japan. You should get to the gate at least 15 minutes early, so 4:45 would be best!" the checkout lady instructed, handing me my ticket. I smiled warmly at her and nodded, watching my luggage conveyer away. The fake short brown hair of my wig brushed my face gently, and I smoothed them down.
I walked off to the side and scanned around to find the washroom signs, and I hurtled towards it like a bolt of electricity.
Entering the men's rest room, I went into one of the stalls and quickly changed. I disguised myself as a guy in everyday life all too easily, and it would be an even bigger plus if I didn't have a period to worry about monthly. Other than times going undercover, I would never find myself outside in public the way I looked naturally. Of course in the end, I was still a female. Twenty years old, five foot seven inches tall with broad shoulders and rather big boned: but still female. I returned late fro work most of the times, going from my bakery to home, and with sexism still in the air around my small, old-fashioned town, I didn't take it upon myself to walk around without family or relatives to worry about me if I didn't return home in time.
Ironically, I wasn't quite an introvert. I actually enjoyed the company of others, but there was a protective barrier around me: a wall, if you will. The problem was that people generally aren't content with just knowing someone — many feel the need to penetrate and climb the wall, something I didn't appreciate them attempting, though I understood it. Some people couldn't take the 'I'm not interested', and I realized that it was harder as a girl. I was disturbed significantly less as a boy. No one cared about the moody broody boy who never said much, but everyone wanted to know what was up with the shy girl in town.
Sometime along the way, I realized that being a male was simply and bluntly easier.
Walking out the door, I brushed past someone, knocking them over; my mind too caught up in whether of not I would leak on the plane.
"Ah! Look what you did!" It was a Japanese girl – since she immediately spoke in Japanese on impulse in America - looked younger than me with wavy brown hair tied up so it wasn't in her eyes. That, and how the hot chocolate was spilled all over her. I rushed over to her and knelt down, snatching her hands and making her drop her empty cup.
"W-what are you doing?" she demanded in Japanese, and she blushed for a moment, before spitting out in broken English, "What... y-you is... No! Excuse me!"
"You're not burned. Good." I glanced up over the black rims of my glasses, and she looked taken back as I spoke in Japanese. "Hang on, I'll get paper towels from the washroom. I'm really sorry."
Bolting there and back, I saw that a custodial cleaning worker had already began mopping the mess. I thanked him, and glanced over at the girl, who was coming out from the washroom in a different set of clothes.
"Lucky you, I hadn't checked in my suitcase yet, or I wouldn't have a change of clothes." She huffed, crossing her arms haughtily, but I could tell she was only teasing.
I furrowed my brows. "... I'm really sorry about that."
"Don't worry, it's not the end of the world. Or at least, until I see if the stains will come out," she jested further, smiling with an air of friendliness. I blinked and fixed my glasses. Thanks to my Asian genes, my nose bridge wasn't as high as other's, leading to the habitual position of my glasses dropping too low.
"Well, I'll be going. Goodbye."
I opened my mouth hesitantly before running in front of her. "Let me make it up to you!"
She was probably five years my junior, and owing someone a favor was never my style. Getting even was my style. She stopped in her tracks and stared at me in surprised before looking wearily at me. "Really? How?"
"I..." I stammered. "Let me buy you another hot chocolate. It's only right."
She looked bewildered again before giggling lightly, which soothed my somewhat guilty heart. She opened her brown eyes and shrugged. "Why not? Just let me check in my luggage!"
She got in line, and I followed behind her. I had to admit, that to any random bystander, we both looked like brother and sister with our matching hair colours, but the lack of conversation proved otherwise. We didn't even know anything about each other.
She seemed to realize the same thing. "I'm Yagami Sayu. What's your name?"
"Sveinson Rayne. You can call me just Ray, if you want." We both shook hands firmly, her petite, smooth hands uncertain, yet somehow firm in character.
Sayu cleared her throat. "So are you from here? You speak Japanese so fluently, but your name isn't Japanese at all."
I considered lying. I didn't. "I've lived in America pretty much my whole life. I'm pretty fluent in Japanese, though."
"Cool! I'm one hundred percent Japanese from what I know. Where's your flight for?" It amused me how quickly I had picked up conversation with this girl. She was obviously talkative, and trying to hold back. Not that I could blame her; I knew I wasn't the most inviting person out there.
When I told her Tokyo, she gasped. "No way! That's where I'm going!"
I smirked, jokingly supplying, "Maybe we're destined!"
She turned pink, and looked down. I swallowed, remembering again that I was still in the appearance of a boy. She wouldn't be attracted to me… would she?
With a light chuckle from me, she handed her passport and papers to the lady. After everything was done, we both went past Inspection and had a friendly time talking at Starbucks, where I did indeed keep my word and treat her.
It wasn't until we both checked our plane tickets that we realized we were seated only one person away from each other, where trading one seat with the stranger would obviously prove easy.
"No way! This is awesome; I have someone to talk to on the plane! I'm finally heading home after a piano audition for a show, but I didn't get chosen... My parents couldn't come since they're both busy, and my brother's in University so he couldn't be left off the hook, either!"
"How old are you, Yagami-san?" I inquired, drinking my chocolate beverage hungrily.
"I'm almost sixteen!"
"Really? I thought you'd be younger, like fourteen." I leered mischievously. "I'm twenty."
My smirk widened when she blushed furiously in response and was unable to respond for a moment. "Twenty! You look a lot younger than you are, too! My brother's younger than you, though. You look... maybe seventeen."
I gave her a fake glare and she giggled happily. We stayed there for a few more minutes, with idle banter about juvenile things: like how come that guy's hair was so puffy? Or how Sayu was allowed to travel on her own without supervision.
During the flight, she leaned on my shoulder and fell asleep. She was a sweet girl, and the innocence of her character reminded me of my coworker, Amy. At time like that, I kind of wished I had a little sister, but then having any living relative would have just been dangerous with a profession like mine - was.
"Hey, Mitsuki. It's Kim. So what do you want me to do?"
"... It's about my f-fiancé. He's in Japan right now, and I'm sure he's been cheating on me."
"Japan..." I sighed, twirling some wet ends of my hair. I had conveniently gotten dressed so goose bumps weren't covering me anymore. "I guess that's convenient. I was thinking about getting away from here."
I tapped the pen to my lips, staring around at my almost empty apartment complex. I moved around so frequently, there was no point in ordering a bunch of furniture and everything. Hey, wasn't that where the case of Kira was mainstreaming?
She went on. "His name is Douglas Jones - six foot two, messy brown hair and green eyes. He has a Boreal Louis Vuitton messenger bag that he'll probably have on him, even though I think it looks ugly as shit on him. He always does. I'll fax you a picture, or we can meet, but-"
"It's fine, I don't need a picture." I scribbled everything on a notepad. "And what exactly do you want me to do... to your soon-to-be ex-fiance?"
That was when she started sobbing uncontrollably. I waited patiently on the line, listening with a heavy heart as she whimpered. It took nearly five minutes for her to calm down, and the stammering, hesitant voice was replaced with one of murderous intent. "Kill that cheating fuckface. Chop off god damn his balls and everything. I want his body so messed up that you can't even tell who he is. Then do whatever you want. I don't want his shitty ashes."
I stayed silent for a moment. "I'm going to give you some time to think about this."
"Two Million USD. That will be enough, won't it?"
Rich: just like her Step Mother. "Mitsuki, I said I'm going to give you some time—"
"I don't need time!" She was hysterical. "You either do what I'm asking you to or you can-..."
I could hear someone scolding her harshly from the other end of the phone. It sounded like Yoko. I prayed dearly that she would talk some sense into this heartbroken girl. My desire for money wasn't nearly as strong as my reluctance to take a life.
Another life. I sighed; rubbing my temples and keeping my eyes open to stop the images from rushing through me.
Yoko was still lecturing Mitsuki in Japanese, but I could make out that the tone has softened. I listened intently, not to eavesdrop, but to measure my capacity of Japanese. It had been a long time since I had spoken it, so I made a little note on my memo to brush up on it.
"I want him to suffer," she pleaded. I didn't hear Yoko reply. I wasn't entirely sure which one of us she was talking to. "Please. Let him suffer."
I considered this seriously, patiently waiting to see if Yoko would say anything. After a few more seconds, I heard her voice clearly through the receiver, speaking in Japanese.
'We'll see what she can do.'
I bit my lip, concentrating. How tight was I for money? The shop had caused me to borderline on the debt life, and perhaps even go to school—
... Go to school.
I answered, "No amputations. No blood. No crushed bones, or choking. No damaged innards, or shattered anything. You know what I mean."
"What? How will you—"
"A Man's pride is not something to be messed with. I will embarrass him. I will make him suffer. Take my word for it."
Silence hung on the other end. Yoko mumbled something I couldn't make out. Mitsuki sniffled.
But she agreed.
"So what are you doing in Japan?" Sayu asked once she was awake. I stared out the oval windows, head up in the clouds until she spoke.
"I'm enrolling there as a student. Studying abroad."
She beamed in excitement. "Really? Which school? It's already like September though!"
I shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal. The one who had forged my documents was a genius hacker and a prodigy with computer software, but I had only requested that he get me into a decent college. When the documents arrived in the mail, I nearly dropped my jaw. I could basically see the smug smirk on his face.
In the envelope were transcripts, high-school awards and scholarships, reference letters, my passport, student id... and at the bottom of everything, an acceptance letter to To-Oh, just for the kicks.
I phoned him, and he picked up immediately. He refused to accept additional payment on top of what we'd already discussed. I'd pulled plenty of favors for him in the past, too. I'd stolen countless amounts of programs and equipment for him when he didn't want to go through the strenuous algorithms of breaching security, and in turn, he'd use that equipment to do what I needed done. However, I was sure he had only done this to prove to both himself and those around him that he was capable to hacking into the most prestigious universities in Japan. Of course he would.
"I'll be a freshman at, uh... I don't think I can pronounce this right… To-Oh? University."
"To-Oh! I can't believe this! My brother goes there! You should come by our house, this is so awesome!" she exclaimed, absolutely giddy.
I laughed just as heartily, the coincidence uncanny. "Maybe it's fate. There's no way this can be just a coincidence."
She laughed at it this time, probably overjoyed. "I'll introduce you! Light is really nice. He'd show you around and make sure you were okay," she smiled blissfully.
I stared at her expression for a time, chin resting on my knuckles. She must love her brother a lot. "That'd be nice."
"Where are you staying? I'll write down my address and you can write down yours." She snapped out a pen and paper, scribbling down numbers and a street name. Surely, this was the side of her she was holding back. Yes, I could tell that she was immediately a social person, but her youth and naiveness made her so vulnerable. The fact that she would walk off with a stranger, going so far as to tell him (or her) so much about herself.
She ripped the paper off and handed it to me, which I took and stuck in my pocket. I wrote down the name of my new apartment complex and handed it to her. She reached under her seat and stuffed it in a bag and stretched her limbs. "Is it your first time in Japan?"
"No, I've been there before," I lied. If I said I hadn't, she might've offered me a tour around the country. She licked her lips and beckoned a flight attendant for an extra blanket. She shook her head apologetically and said there were no more available.
"Are you cold?" I asked courteously. She glanced at me and blushed, nodding. I put an arm around her and pulled her closer to me, pushing the armrest up so it wouldn't be a divider.
"Perfect. I'm boiling here." I could see her cheeks tinting red, but she decided to snuggle with me anyways. It was fun playing the playboy once in a while.
"Th-thank you, Sveinson-kun."
Another hour passed, and Sayu fell asleep again. It was a bit weird having her lie on me, but I was fine for the most part. Her hair was so silky, like a mellow chocolate brown colour. It made me jealous sometimes, though I wouldn't admit it for the life of me. Girls like Sayu were the serious definition of girl. Loveable, adorable, naïve, ditzy, melodramatic, somewhat obsessive, and top it off with the ability to depend on someone - to trust someone.
Or at least, that's as far as my definition went. It's no Oxford Dictionary, but it got me by.
I remembered that when I was her age, I spoke to no one. Why? Because there was nothing to say, and because speaking to someone only risked being found out. They could be another spy, a pedophile, or just fucking insane. I had never went to school. I had no friends who knew about my past, except for my Hacker Friend.
Calling him my 'Hacker Friend' was quite unfortunate. He didn't like it when I called him by his name, since he went by a new one now — but I didn't like calling him by his new name. It was too awkward, and we both felt it. I was surprised he still kept his phone, since it was only after I had insisted he get one so we could keep in contact. Of course, he got one, but we never did really keep in contact. Things were complicated between the two of us.
I shook my head of the memories, releasing their grip on me. Now wasn't the time. If I broke down now, I would have the worst time trying to explain myself out of it.
With nothing to do, I began to ponder deeply, like I often did in times of boredom. I began mapping out my scenario, plotting how I would live, thinking about the courses I would have to take, whether I would bother making friends this semester, or just wait until the new year…
After this last job, I'll have to find a source of income to flow again. I mused, looking at the night sky through the window. I was quitting. I wasn't going to commit anymore wrong, anymore.
I stared at the window, which reflected my face faintly. Staring back was still a corrupt, nefarious, filthy soul. I can get by, I tried to convince myself again, swallowing as my brain knew better. Luckily, it stayed silent.
I'll have to.
Prior to moving to Japan, I donated most of the useless stuff I had. Being of my profession, I had piles of make up, over 500 different costumes, which included wigs, shoes, coats, accessories – you name it. I also had that giant box of disposable flip-phones, and countless Fake Ids, each with a different name. A different me.
I varied between two genders, disguising myself as male and doing missions as a female. Flights to distant countries to do missions was always a hassle, which was another reason why living at a small town was proving not to be such a good idea. A ride to the nearest airport via taxi was already close to a hundred dollars, so I often took the bus.
People might have wondered why I didn't shave my head since I walked around 'like a boy' during the day. But my medium-long hair was like... the last straw to my femininity, other than my breasts and period. It wasn't too long, without a doubt, but I always bundled it up and slapped it on with hardcore gel, glue, whatever they had and slapped a wig on.
"Your hair is so pretty," she beamed, gently going through the tangles with her brush. "It reminds me so much of my daugher's…"
I liked my hair. I was not going to cut it. That was that.
There were simply too many identities I could take, and I decided to ditch every last one of them, and just go with one of my everyday names. Rayne Sveinson: male, twenty years old, graduated with flying colors and all that nice pizzazz. I was their typical, shoujo-manga good boy, and I supposed they were sad to see me leave, like Amy and Jon were. The elders in my neighbourhood babbled on about my so-called potential, and how I could become a doctor or a lawyer, but that was typical old people talk. Of course, they were oblivious and didn't know that all my accumulated crimes would probably earn me a fat, juicy life-sentence in prison.
Nice folk, indeed.
I flicking the lights, breathing in the new scent of new furniture. My Hacker Friend had found the place for me in less than two weeks, and bought it was a pretty great price. 800 square feet, 1 bedroom – one washroom, bar kitchen, large windows, and plenty of storage.
Boldly, I stripped off my wig and net, shaking my hair out. I was on the 26th floor. Sliding the balcony door open, I sucked in a scared breath as cold air shocked my lungs, blowing my hair back in flutters. Beneath me were the tiny headlights of cars, but I couldn't hear the rush of traffic due to the distance. There was a convenience store nearby, and a few bus stops a block away, with the line of people reaching all the way around the corner. I had wanted a space where I could sit on the balcony with a chair and book, reading. Hard to do that at my previous place when it was so close to the ground, making it excruciatingly noisy.
And then, sneaking up on me, the thought came before I could stop it:
I wish I had someone to share this moment with.
My throat constricted. My eyes stung and overflowed. The knot in my chest tightened, squeezing and twisting, threatening to snap. Not trusting my knees, I buckled and squatted, my hands coming in towards my body to literally hold myself together.
I was so useless.
It had taken me a decade to get myself on a good track and finally make the decision to ditch the crime. I had never been able to break the habit. I never had the motivation to. It brought good pay; it gave me dinner; it allowed me to work a minimum wage job comfortable, make even form bonds with people. Amy. Jonathan. Jin. Even the other bakers at Taro.
But I could never let them in close. I didn't go on social networking. I didn't have a personal phone to contact them. I didn't get attached.
There was always, always an insurmountable wall.
I gave in, breaking down into tears, sniffling and trying to muffle my wretched sobs with my sleeve. My body shook under the hitches of my breath. My non-prescription glasses were resting on the desk inside, watching me as I doubled over. I peaked up and stared back without much reason. The thought comes again, sharp like a knife.
I am alone.
The agency of criminals I belonged with had disbanded long ago. They were discovered, arrested, and brought to court two years after I left. If you can really say that I 'left'. I was kicked out. My fate was to be executed and dumped under a remote bridge, left to rot and decompose with a stab wound to my gut.
Sometimes when I close my eyes— I gasped, shaking my head violently, triggering the muscles in my neck to tense. A pathetic sob escaped my lips.
No. I couldn't save them. It wasn't their fault. I couldn't save them.
They raised me with a group of other children. We were taught nothing except for how to disarm an individual in less than 10 seconds, how to knock someone out, how to get in and out of a place undetected, and how to kill.
They took advantage that we were all too young to comprehend the concept of life and anything that came with it: death.
But they had made a mistake. They had some kind of system for finding children who were intellectuals: they never kept someone who couldn't meet their standards. I was surrounded by children who caught on just as quickly as I did, and could perform the tasks given to them with the utmost precision and ease.
We were 'smart'. We mourned when one of us was taken away for a suicide mission, or for their first mission - no guarantee of coming back.
We learned how to miss each other; we learned how to care about each other. Only a select few of us did, though. Compassion and understanding was not something that came naturally, and yet it was. Some of us got it right away. Some, like me, had it taught to us, as we slowly observed the world around us and learned to think for ourselves, understanding the situation we were in.
That understanding had ruined me, yet it had saved me.
I forced the memories back. My sobs had slowed from the wrenching sound of a dying rat to constricted, painful hitches of the throat. It had taken a very long time for me to understand what it meant to live alone. I'd have to earn money. I was homeless for a long while until help had come.
But the biggest thing was that even after I understood that crime wasn't the only way for me to survive, I had still accepted missions. I still chose to commit those crimes. I chose to live dirty than to be dirty on the streets. I chose…
I didn't have to live like that anymore. I was an adult in Japan, 20 being the age of majority. This was a clean slate. No one here knew me.
The upcoming mission would be the last.
With swollen eyes for an hour and a half, I finally finished unpacking. I phoned to see when the furniture guys were arrive, and they said they were on their way. I'd shipped most of my equipment and some weapons to my Hacker Friend, though I kept a few handy ones with ease due to my gun license. I'd had them shipped over with some difficulty, but with the proper contacts, they'd made it at the apartment lobby by the time I checked in.
I was officially out of my male attire, so my natural hair fell to my shoulders. Having long hair was a guilty pleasure of mine, even though I knew the risks. It made so, so much more sense to just cut it short, but like I said before, I liked my hair.
Dressed in a simple baggy shirt and plaid pajama pants, I stepped out onto my balcony again, feeling the dirt and dust on the cold floor. It was already five in the evening, and I had some time to kill before the furniture came. I breathed a breath of fresh air and stretched, looking down on the small street directly under my feet, not at the bustling traffic a few streets over. There was only a select group of people. I stared down at them for a while before notice a man rubbing his chest and hitting it softly. I narrowed my eyes as I watched him begin to massage harder and complain of chest pain.
Before he had even begun convulsing, I had already made a mad dash for my cabinets. I knew it all too well, since I often read medical books and taken a few first aid courses, plus watching the news nowadays and looking at the Kira killings had influenced my head oh-too-well.
Harness, harness, harness, ... I snatched it out of my hidden compartment. By the time I was back onto my balcony in about 3 seconds and looked down at the man, it was obvious: Cardiac Arrest.
Hook. Strap. Hop. Drop.
The harness wasn't even strapped to me — that would've taken a minute or two to get everything properly strapped — so tightened one of the straps around my shoulder, would it several times around my arm and descended.
I was falling fast towards the ground but I used my feet to bounce with expertise down my apartment wall, ignoring the sharp, gritty texture of the wall scraping against my bare feet. I was two meters off the ground before I loosened the strap around my shoulder and shouted: "Go into the hotel and ask for an AED! AED!"
Finally, the crowd noticed me, pointing fingers and gasping. Luckily, they weren't akin pictures or anything, because that would have caused a lot of trouble. One man, quick on his toes, overcame his shock and dashed into the hotel lobby.
"Come on, come on," I hissed as I pulled away from my equipment, watching the man clutch his chest and wheeze, eyes rolling back as he twitched. He had already been lowered to the ground, and I skidded next to him on the concrete floor.
"Sir, I'm trained in first aid, can I help you? Do you have any medication for—" He went unconsciousness. Shouting came from the direction of the hotel as the man returned with AED in hand, as I lowered the unconscious man so he didn't hit his head. Perfect, I thought sarcastically. At least its implied consent.
I put the pads under his shirt in place, grateful that he was neither hairy nor sweaty, and waited in anticipation for the machine to say the words. The AED was on and ready.
"Analyzing Heart Rhythm... Shock Advised. Charging..."
It's too slow, hurry up, hurry up, hurry-
"Stay clear from patient. Deliver shock now."
I hadn't waited for it to finish the words and slammed my thumb onto the yellow button, the man jolted.
I watched for any signs of consciousness before scrambling to get my hands into the CPR position.
"STOP!" He's w-waking up!"
All I could hear was my breathing as the man on the floor coughed and wheezed for air. His hands came to rub his chest and his eyes cracked open.
A mixture of emotion clouded my brain. I had no idea how to feel.
I ... did I just save his life?
"You saved his life!" the man called out, confirming my revelation. "Thank you so much! Oh, thank you!"
I was breathing hard, blushing and nodding modestly while clapping began around me. A crowd had formed in the isolated street. Just a little more than a handful of people, passerbies from the convenient store and such. I bowed reverently to all of them, feeling out of place and awkward. Besides, I was in my pajamas and standing outside in the cold during November.
The paramedics rushed out from the door just then, equipment in their hands as two of them went to the man. The third approached me, asking me what happened. They spoke to me carefully, and it took me a while to realize that my complexion must have looked extremely weak. I felt dizzy and lightheaded.
I saved the man's life.
I knew that it didn't make up for the lives I had brought misfortune upon or ruined, but it was a start.
Someday, I will close my eyes and the memories won't haunt me.
End of Chapter Ones.
-X- End Notes -X-
Yes, she's a girl. CROSS DRESSING, CHYAAAAAA~~~ *slapped*
What's her name? Madison, Diana, Kimberly, Rayne, Alex, wtf! - Well, you'll see. Or maybe not.
** YES, IT'S BEEN EDITTED. I've done a bit of tweaking with the storyline and seen the flaws. I've been writing Rayne as rather mentally stable and a civilized individual, which I don't believe ANYBODY WHO'S KILLED HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE WOULD BE, and other things, such as how she wouldn't have had so many job offers for assassinations, and blah blah. So instead, I subjected her to a life of crime instead of murder, though lives have been taken. Don't complain to me about how this makes her less badass, or how she still wouldn't be civilized with a life of crime. I understand if it's still unrealistic to your guys, but I... think... it's acceptable.
There is further back story & scenes of 'Rayne's past to come, but that's for another time (;
Hope you like. If you're confused, don't be. It'll clear up soon.
REVIEWWWWW your questions and suggestions .heart. (: