Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note.

Hello divine readers!
This is my new MattxOC story, and I hope you enjoy it. There'll be some Mello in here, and of course a bit of Near, and some L too, but it focuses around MattxOC.

The Kira case does not play in until later.

This is the prologue, so it is shorter than other chapters. I will be updating every week Friday 3:00 PM central time (assuming that I'm punctual), or anywhere in the Friday vicinity.

Any advice, criticism, ideas, or praise is welcome.
I'm not your mom so flame if you want; but trust me, it is really getting you nowhere.
Thanks much!

Please review and enjoy!

Pulchritudinous

"Prologue"

Goodbye, Mail thought to himself as he looked out the window of the small plane he was riding in, Goodbye Ashwick County.

Mail looked towards the man who was sitting several seats away. Mail had purposely chosen a seat several seats away from the balding man. Mail knew that he should be grateful to the man, after all he was the one who was finally taking him away from the wretched town, but he just couldn't decide if he trusted the man or not, trust was something he'd struggled his whole life with. His father was the one and only Father Jeevas – or Father Elijah, the famous pastor of the small but religious Ashwick County. He saved cats from trees, children from fires, tended to the sick, donated to the poor, fed the hungry, and even sang for the church choir a time or two. He did everything but raise his pagan son.

Or, that's what Mail wanted everyone to believe. It was easier to be a pagan in the religious town than try to live up to the expectations the townspeople set for him – having a father like that and all. His father was kind to him, that's for sure, but it was only because he was already such a benevolent person. To Elijah Mail was just another townsperson, not his son. He also blamed Mail for the death of his beloved wife, who had died giving birth to Mail, but he never let it show.

Elijah had died a much less glorified death compared to his wife. Mail's father had been gruesomely struck to death by lightning after trying to evacuate people into the storm shelters during a particularly rough thunder storm. Mail of course, had been sitting at home in the cellar, playing on his DS.

At first, the townspeople ignored Mail. They grieved for Elijah Jeevas, but they pretended that they didn't know that Mail was his son. Mail continued to live inside the house, and no one came to retrieve him. No child services, no long-lost family members (Mail's family had consisted of him, his father, and his mother) – nothing. At first he found it extremely odd, he knew that somebody had to know about his existence, but when the bills still came and there was no source of income, Mail turned to the only thing he was good at – hacking.

At first he just bugged online transactions, not daring to steal more than five dollars at a time. However, over time five dollars stopped being enough. Bigger and bigger bills came, and eventually he devised a plan. He was going to steal from one of the richest companies he could think of – Microsoft. He spent weeks practicing; he thought that nothing bad could come out if it. He'd never had any sort of trouble hacking anything; everything was despicably easy for him. Plus, he was only going to steal ten-thousand dollars – that would have lasted him a long time, right? Anyways, if he pulled it off successfully, he could always just do it again.

Until of course he typed in the wrong number. Just a few more zeros was all, right? Surely a number that by definition meant nothing couldn't hurt him, right? In his defense, he had been extremely nervous the night of hacking into Microsoft's funds and had been working for hours, and when he found out he had stolen ten million dollars he panicked. He couldn't turn on the news without hearing about it; the Federal Bureau of Investigationwas even getting involved. And when even they couldn't solve it, they called in their last resort. L. The world's greatest detective – and that's when Mail started to panic. So he did what any eleven-year-old would try to do, he tried to make it right. He hacked back into Microsoft and tried to return all the money, but he didn't know L had been watching.

The next day when what seemed like hundreds of S.W.A.T. vehicles hoarded around Mail's residence, he panicked. He wanted to hide but when he sat under the table he quickly realized that he wasn't concealed at all. He was about to run for the back door, hoping that the police would hold their fire or something – he was only a kid, when the door opened suddenly.

To his utter surprise, only a single man walked through the door. He was tall as far as Mail could tell, but he held himself in a slouched position that greatly reduced his height. He had shaggy black hair and didn't wear shoes or socks.

"Hello?" Mail asked weakly, covering his face, "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, "I didn't mean to. I returned it all, I promise. P-please," he hurried, trying to get the words out of his mouth all at once, "J-just take me away from here."

"My suspicions were correct then," the man said, taking a step towards him, "It was a risky assumption, I was only twelve percent certain," the man mused, "But I'm glad I took it."

Mail looked up cautiously and took the man's outstretched hand, and together they left his father's house. Mail couldn't put it into words, but he somehow felt eternally loyal to the man who called himself L. He clung to L, the world-famous detective, through all of his trials as L explained that Mail was simply a child whose intelligence had been neglected.

The court considered Mail, being only a minor, and offered to let him be free of any charges as long as L would find a place where his intelligence could flourish in a constructive way that was a benefit to society. L immediately jumped at the idea, and when he offered Mail a new life at an orphanage christened Wammy's House, Mail couldn't refuse.

L went on to explain about Wammy's and how he would be given a new name to go by – Matt (one L had personally picked). L had explained that Wammy's was a place specially designed to cater to his intelligence and talents.

And that was why he was on the plane, although he trusted L with his life, he was unsure of the balding man, but if L said it was okay to trust the man then he presumed it was. When they landed he was immediately escorted to a black car which was to take him to Wammy's.

Mail wasn't entirely sure of leaving his old life behind, but the court had stated that either he goes to an institution where his talents could grow constructively, or he would go to a juvenile detention center. He still had a lot of questions that L had carefully avoided; but the question that weighted most on his mind was why nobody came to retrieve him when his father had died.

"I don't know why," L had said to him, but Mail knew he was lying. L rarely didn't know something, and if he didn't he always had a theory in mind.

Mail shook his head and pushed the thought out of his mind, I can't think that the only person I trust is a liar, he thought to himself, focusing on the scenery outside of the car window, L wouldn't lie, he convinced himself.

When the car arrived Mail immediately buried his face into his DS, hoping for some sort of comfort from the handheld. When he reached the door to the orphanage the lid of his DS was closed on his fingers by a foreign hand. He looked up to see a black-haired girl dressed in a pink summer dress.

"Video games are for losers," she said, snatching the DS. Mail didn't say anything – too nervous to open his mouth without invitation, "So what's your name?" she asked.

"Er… um, Matt I guess," he replied shyly.

"Well, my names Linda," she said brightly, "You're new, aren't you? I guess you belong to me now," she said cheerfully, grabbing his hand and dragging him off into his 'new life'. But, just as she was about to drag him into the door he noticed a pair of amber eyes gazing at him from behind a bush.

Please let me survive this new place, he prayed silently before being forcefully pulled through the doorway.

"Gnawing on the prey, I think about you some. Where to put you?" – Non-Photo Blue, Pinback

Please review!

Goodbye!

Sastars429.