Ajin had been debating on whether or not to see a shrink for years.

In all honesty, she really probably should have.

If the day had proven anything, it was that there was something severely wrong. There was a fundamental screw loose somewhere in her brain, and the hole it left behind was a great, ugly black pit of horrors inside of her. Something in that darkness called to her, whispered sibilantly of forbidden fruit from a tree of knowledge that promised her the secrets of the universe. She was afraid that if she examined it too closely it would swallow her up, and she'd never see the light of day again. She didn't know how long it had been there, but something told her it had been with her since the very beginning…

She had a good deal of difficulty remembering a lot of her childhood—the bump on the head she'd taken from the car accident that killed her parents really did a number on her—but from what Light had recounted from their time in elementary school, she'd always been a little odd. They weren't friends back then. Indeed, according to Light, Ajin had done everything in her power to avoid him, utterly convinced that he would kill her for whatever childish reason. Even back then she'd been impulsive and prone to rash decisions… But Ajin got the feeling that she was missing something big…something much bigger than herself. Something she couldn't control.

(She wanted to hide from it).

Nevertheless, her gut instinct told her that whatever it was had everything to do with the black book nestled innocuously next to her English textbook.

Ajin's heartbeat hadn't slowed down even a little since she picked it up. Her breathing was shallow and erratic as she cut through the crowds of the city, her hands gripping her schoolbag like a lifeline. She was afraid to imagine what would happen if someone attempted to mug her on the way back to her apartment. And it wasn't out of fear for her own life, but of her own actions. Her hard-won self-control was shot. There was no telling what she might do right then, and the unpredictability was terrifying. She needed a safe space, somewhere away from the judging eyes of others where she could calmly attempt to uncoil the twisted knots her insides had worked themselves into. Breathing exercises. Yes. That could work.

Clearly, she was suffering some sort of anxiety attack, but for the life of her, she just couldn't understand this fear. A little black book? How ridiculous. That didn't make any sense. But as she finally locked the door behind her and set her newest acquisition upon the low coffee table in her living room, she could only draw back and stare at it in silent apprehension. There was an ominous…power about the thing, like a looming, sentient shadow that peered malevolently at her from some deep suffocating void. Her fears had a quote from Nietzsche ringing hauntingly in her thoughts…

"…and when you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you…"

Just touching it sent chills up her spine.

Reading the title on the front of it was worse.

"Death…note…" she whispered aloud, barely breathing.

She felt the strongest urge to fling it out the window and forget the thing existed.

No, burning it would be better, her mind supplied.

Why, she didn't know, but Instinct and Impulse were in alignment on this one.

Still, she could not make a single move to touch it again.

Closing her eyes tightly and kneading the resulting crinkles out of the flat bridge of her nose, she let out a sigh.

This wasn't helping her calm down at all.

"Sugar," she concluded with a faraway voice. "Eggs. Flour. Cocoa."

Yes, this was surely the cure for her problems.

And with that, Ajin got up off her knees and headed for the kitchen.

Baking always helped her relax. There was a sort of nostalgia in something that she and her mother used to enjoy doing together. She twisted up her long black hair—which she usually kept in pigtails at the nape of her neck—into a clinically tight bun to assure none of it found its way into the batter. Next, she tied on her mother's old flowery apron with the kind of reverent, methodical poise one can only attain from prolonged, single-minded repetition. The familiarity in the process was a comfort, grounding her in a world that seemed to be spinning much too fast when gravity was in short supply. She made sure to scrub her hands with an almost surgical diligence, from the tips of her square-shaped nails, all the way up to her elbows.

'The process is just as important as the ingredients,' her mother always said, which she started pulling out of the cabinets, lining them up one by one.

Last, she plugged her iPod into her speakers and hit 'shuffle' on her favorite playlist.

Avenged Sevenfold's Afterlife warbled out in a brooding intro of cello and violin, which transitioned seamlessly into the violent contrast of sliding rifts the band was known for. But no sooner had she reached a point of Zen, stirring her ingredients together while swaying to heavy metal, than her phone begin to vibrate beneath her bra strap. Her eyes snapped open and her anxiety returned in force.

Setting her mixing bowl down with a clatter, she fumbled for the caller ID, flipping the phone open with trembling fingers. She instantly let out a sigh of relief, hitting the green 'accept' button.

It wasn't Light.

Now, the real question was why the thought of him calling, let alone seeing him at school the next day, filled her with such primal dread…

"Hi, Auntie," she said into the receiver, putting a raincheck on her self-doubt. "What's up?"

"I told you," the woman hissed loudly on the other end of the phone, "call me 'Onee-chan'!"

Ajin's Aunt Suzume was approaching her mid-thirties, and she was really freaking out about it…

"You're not old," Ajin replied, "but I'm still not calling you that. It's ridiculous."

"Such a stubborn kid…"

"Yep. Sorry," she apologized, but didn't really feel sorry at all. "So, what's going on?"

"Oh!" Suzume gasped, as if only just remembering why she called, "You'll never guess!"

"Hmm…let me think," Ajin answered sarcastically, and ejected, "You got a new boyfriend."

"How do you always know?"

"Because you always call and tell me."

"I literally just called you."

"I know. And you always say I'll never guess, but you always get so excited that you give yourself away," she explained dryly. "So…what does he do?"

"You don't even want to know his name, or what he looks like?" Suzume sounded utterly put out.

"You know it's the first question Gram and Gramps are gonna ask…" Ajin told her in a flat voice. "They don't care about anything else. That, and…please, at least tell me he's Japanese."

"He is!" Suzume attested, almost sounding defensive.

"That's one bullet dodged then…" Ajin muttered darkly, contempt for her grandparents' prejudice welling in her chest. "So, what else?"

"We-e-ell…" Suzume divulged, "He's a few years younger than I am…"

"How much is 'a few years'?"

"Umm…I think…um…" Suzume hesitated before giggling out a sheepish, "…maybe ten?"

There was a long silence on the line.

"You're like one of those old men who go out and buy a Ferrari they can't afford just so they can feel young and exiting again," Ajin assessed clinically. "But don't misunderstand. I'm not judging you at all."

"That's exactly what you're doing, you brat!"

"So?" she asked again. "What does he do?"

"Hmph, he's a junior detective with the NPA, I'll have you know."

"Oh, that sounds good. Light's Dad is with the NPA too, and he makes really good money. Maybe Gram and Gramps will let you keep this one."

"You make it sound like I'm a kid who dragged home a mangy stray…"

"To Gram and Gramps, he might as well be," Ajin reminded her. "You know how high their standards are."

"Yeah, yeah…" Suzume let out a huff and muttered, "It sure must be nice to have your romantic life all sorted out…"

Ajin rolled her eyes.

"For the last time, Light is not my boyfriend."

"I don't believe it!" Suzume declared, giggling mischievously. "Two good looking kids like you? There's no way there isn't something going on there—and even if there isn't, there's going to be. I have a sense for these things."

"No," Ajin shut her down sharply, appalled as ever by the thought of…that…with Light. "Just no."

"Oh, but why not?!" Suzume whined like a child, a habit of hers that never failed to annoy Ajin. "It just makes sense! He's the top student at Daikoku Private Academy, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"And his father is a police chief, right?"

"That's true, but I—"

"And he's polite, and well-spoken, and good-looking—"

"Yes, yes, and yes, but I don't see what any of it has to do with—"

"Mom and dad would just adore him. And you get along—he's the perfect match for you, Acchin!" Suzume gushed with way too much enthusiasm. "If they knew about your relationship, they might even do something old-fashioned and arrange something with his family—"

"Which is exactly why they're not going to find out," Ajin growled like a savage. She went on to firmly insist, "This is my life. No one gets to decide how I live it! What I do or don't do, who I hang out with, who I get to love—it's none of their business!"

There was a heavy silence over the line, and something that sounded like a wet sniff.

"My god, you sound just like Junko…" Suzume choked out in a voice close to tears. "You're so brave. Just like Aneki. She-she never let them tell her what to do. She always—always—followed her heart, no matter what. I'm…" She sniffed again. "I don't think I've ever been that strong…"

"It's easy," Ajin said. "You just need to look them in the eye…and tell them to fuck off."

"That's not easy at all!" Suzume wailed back.

"Yes. It is. Especially for you. Listen to me—" Ajin persisted, determined to get through to her aunt, needing her to understand that, "—you're a grown-up. You've got a good job, a good education, a good head on your shoulders. You make good money, you have your own place, you pay your own bills—you don't need them. What you do need is to let them know that if they still want a place in your life…then they need to lay—the fuck—off."

"But…they're my parents," Suzume said softly. "Don't you think that's…kind of cold?"

"It doesn't matter. Once again, it's your life;" Ajin repeated, her voice hard and uncompromising, "you only get one of those. Don't you think you should be living it for you, not them?"

"I…I…" the woman trembled out, seeming to come to some sort of epiphany as she admitted, "You're right… But-but what do I say to them? I can't-I can't just say…what you said—"

"No, you're right. They expect rudeness from me—I'm half-Korean and half-savage for all they're concerned. But you're their daughter. If you walked up with your guns out like me, they'd probably declare all out war on you, and that wouldn't be good for the surrounding countryside," Ajin joked, trying—unsuccessfully—to raise Suzume's spirits. "No, go and show them your stray detective, and if they approve, that's great. But if they don't," she cautioned, "don't get worked up about it. Just politely, and assertively let them know that it's your choice, not theirs, and that they're going to have to learn to live with that. What's the worst thing that can happen?"

"They could disown me, like Junko," Suzume replied, sounding for all the world as if she'd just announced doomsday.

"And?" Ajin snorted. "So what? Do I need to say it again? You've got a good job, a good education, a good head on your shoulders. You pay your own bills—what do you need them for again? Validation? So if they don't give you that, what good are they? They clearly know nothing about love. They Hooked you up with a creepy guy who didn't even care about you and look how well that turned out for both of us." At Suzume's hesitant silence, Ajin added, "Did my mom ever seem unhappy to you after she had her big standoff with Gram and Gramps?"

"I…" Suzume began as if to argue, but trailed off and concluded, "No… No, she seemed happier than ever…"

"I think you have your answer then," Ajin said quietly. "I believe in you, Auntie Suzu."

With another sniff, Suzume remarked, "You've always been mature for your age, Acchin, but when did you get so wise?"

Ajin snorted.

"Wise? Yeah right. Trust me, when it comes to my own problems, I'm the opposite of wise," she pointed out. "That's when Light comes in handy. He's my human compass. Not my boyfriend. Got it?"

"Sure. Whatever you say…" Suzume giggled, making Ajin roll her eyes yet again. She still didn't believe her. But she didn't have time to argue, because, true to form, Suzume jumped into her next topic like whiplash. "Say, later tonight, I was thinking…would you like to have dinner with me and my boyfriend?"

Ajin arched a brow at that.

It had been a long time since Suzume had introduced Ajin to any of her boyfriends. There must have been something really special about this one. Still, wouldn't that make Suzume even more reluctant to let him meet her? She'd been reasonably paranoid about it ever since she caught her creepy fiancée trying to feel Ajin up when she'd gone to get groceries one afternoon. She'd forgotten her wallet though, and happened to run into Light on her way back, who was on his way to meet up with Ajin for a study session. Naturally, neither one of them was pleased when they walked into the apartment to find Ajin frantically fending off the man with a fire poker. She'd already gotten one good whack in, but once Light figured out what was going on, the creep really got the stuffing beat out of him. Playing all that tennis must have really built up his upper body strength, because Light had the guy KO'd in less than ten seconds flat. She didn't think she'd ever seen him look so angry or terrifying before that moment, nor had she since.

Suzume didn't handle it well.

At all.

Long story short, Ajin spent the night over at Light's house, and once Mr. Yagami found out what happened, he started hauling people into the station for questioning. It was this huge, unpleasant ordeal that Ajin really didn't like to think about. Neither did Suzume, who felt extremely ashamed for her reaction, and had even asked Ajin to move back in with her a few times out of guilt. But Ajin knew she didn't really mean it, the initial blame, nor the retraction of her banishment. Suzume had never exactly been prepared to take in a problem child—or any child for that matter—and Ajin didn't blame her. After all was said and done, they had a pretty good relationship for the most part, in her opinion, and she didn't like the idea of rocking the boat in any way. What if she went to dinner and Suzume's boyfriend ended up being another creep? Things could get weird…

"And be your third wheel? No thanks. Awkward."

"You could bring Light-kun and make it an even double!" Suzume suggested enthusiastically. "Hey, didn't he say he wanted to be a detective too? He and Touta-kun have so much in common!"

"I don't think anyone has much in common with Light…" Ajin muttered back distractedly.

"Hmm…what do you mean by that? Light-kun's a very nice boy—" Suzume gasped suddenly. "Did you two have a fight?!"

"Huh? What? No!" Ajin denied, her thoughts racing quickly. "I…I meant… I don't really know why I said that just now… Today has just been…weird."

"So you did have a fight," Suzume deduced with certainty. "A lover's spat…?"

"No! We didn't—ugh, you know what? Never mind." Ajin shook her head in exasperation. "You are far too interested in my very platonic relationship with my classmate."

"Well, surely you must have someone you like," her aunt pressed. "I mean, it's just natural—a girl your age should want things like that…"

"I'm just not focused on that stuff, Auntie…" Ajin sighed. "I guess I understand why you're concerned, and I appreciate it—really, I do. But there's really no one I'm interested in right now."

"What kind of guy do you like?" Suzume persisted, making Ajin nearly groan in frustration. "Come on, tell me! I'm really curious about Acchin's type."

"I don't have a—" Ajin broke off and shook her head, knowing the denial tactic didn't work with her aunt. "Okay, how about I cut you a deal? I'll tell you all about my type, but only if you promise—and I mean I want your solemn vow—that you won't try to set me up with anyone."

"Oh, you're no fun!" Suzume cried dramatically, and huffed, "Fine… I'm really too curious. I have to know."

Ajin sighed.

"You're probably only curious because I seem like I'm indifferent to the opposite sex."

"Exactly!"

"Well, you're wrong; it only seems like that because…well…" Ajin leaned back against the counter and blew her bangs away from her eyes in frustration. "Everyone is so boring…"

"Wait…huh?"

"Even Light's boring when he's not being a teenaged genius, and helping the police catch bad guys," she added, utterly put out by this fact, "And all the other guys in my class are either dickheads, dimwitted, or just…normal. It's boring, the way everyone always tries to fit in. I like someone who stands out—not because they're trying to be cool, or anything, but just because it's who they are. The kind of guy I like isn't afraid to be who he is, and doesn't apologize for it. So," she laughed a little, "in not so many words, I guess you could say my type is someone who's a little weird, but at least he's honest about it…"

"Weird, but honest…huh," Suzume mused thoughtfully. "I don't know how easy it's going to be to find someone like that in Kanto…"

"Hey! You promised you weren't going to set me up with anyone!" Ajin objected.

"Hey, yourself! I didn't promise anyone anything!"

"Ugh! You cheater! I'm hanging up now!"

"Wait! What about dinner with—"

And with that, Ajin snapped the phone shut, washed her hands again—do you have any idea how filthy mobile phones get?—and continued working on her brownies.

Despite how aggravating talking to her aunt could be, it did have the added benefit of being distracting enough to make her almost completely forget about her problems. She'd take the pan of brownies over to Suzume's apartment later when she was having dinner with her boyfriend, leave them in front of her door, ring the bell, then run like hell, she decided. Ding-dong-ditch with brownies was much nicer than a flaming bag of shit, after all… It was also a way to show she cared without having to meet Suzume's boyfriend as far as she was concerned. Not to mention it kept her busy, and her thoughts far away from ominous notebooks…

Once she got back at around 8:00 though…all bets were off.

Ajin stared at the notebook.

The notebook stared back.

Finally, she gathered up the cojones to do, well…something.

Reasoning that it was better to do it quick, like ripping off a band-aid, Ajin flipped it open and quickly drew back as if she'd burnt herself on a hot oven, or been given a love-bite from a radioactive spider… She felt like an absurd parody of primitive man, poking at something strange and unfamiliar—and insanely dangerous, her mind added—with a stick. Part of her was utterly exasperated at her own caution. It was just a stupid book. And as far as she was concerned, books couldn't hurt you unless they were heavy enough to break something—like the ones she often threw at Sudou when he said mean things.

This book was nothing like those books. In fact, it was no bigger or thicker than a college ruled notebook. It might have even been a college ruled notebook at some point in time, but part of her, the part that came from that yawning, black pit inside her, told her this was far from the case… And the first several pages of the notebook illustrated that fact very clearly—in plain English.

H́ͤ͗ͧ̾̃̉o̷̊̓̊̅ͣ͆W̢͇̲̜̮̱͚̭ͧͯ̿͌ ͖̻͉̯̽̀̄̑͢t̠̻̰͔̜͕̂o̮̦̗̹̦̫̿̆͞ ̡͍̲̖̘̮̲͂U̟̣̪̖̻̳ͩ͊ͬ̒ͩ̾ͅȘ̥̳̼̻̾̀ͫ̽̈́͟E͙͍̎͠ ͔̻ͬ̊̓͌̅ͪ͟Ḭ̳̗̳͂ͯ͆ͅt̸͎ͣ̾ͧ͒̋

·̮͇̥͓̜͍͒T̜̼͕̦̺̜̔͋͆̚h͉̻̠̥̩͖̽̿̇̎̂ͪe͙̝͖͕̊̉̐͆̅ ̣̩̟̹͈̱͊͊̈́̌̆ḧ̭̌̽u̙̦͙̺͆ͧ͊m͈̟̬̹̟͗̽̒ͩ̇ͪả̧̻̯̻͉̠̠̱̈́ͬ̓̎͗n̤͎̓ͫ̄̇̒̏ ͉̖̱̮̼̦̝̒́͒͛̈́͝w̦̲̟̭̹̘ͫ͛̽̔ͪ̚h̠̳̗͐͝ǫ̠̟̭̻͓͔̰ṩ̿͆̏̽ͯ̌e̸͙̫̝̤͔ ̗̞̰̪̯ͮ̾ͣ̚n̥̯̞̓ͤͣ̉ͧ͑̉a̺̻͍̻̮̐̍̎̍̓̔̎m̋͂̉e̤͓̱̤͍̼͛ͦ ̓͌ͦ̾̌҉̪̗̼iͩͭ͜s͒͠ ͇̟͙̱̱̅͆w̸̪̹̻͎̏̅̇r̨̘̘̙͖̥͕̅ͯi̯͞ͅt̰̳̖̒̐̂tͥ̽ͨ̀ȩ͕̀͋ͮ̾͛̆ͭn̲̭̤͖ ̢̗͍̃̃ͥ̉i̞͈͖̫̪̿̊̓͛̈̾ň͚̳̞̩ ́̈́̐̄̿͜ẗ̡̠̖̞̽ͮͪ̓̀̚h̼͓̃̔͌͆̚i̼͍͆ͤͦs̗͇͋̂̐ ͡n̢͎̼̰̒ö̪̦̹̦̫̹́̓͋̅̅ͅt̻̮̟̖͍͎ͧͯ͋ͨͣe͚͕̜̩͚̺͓ͮ̊̐̏ ̨̱̳̩̦͑̋͛̊̍s͍͖͍͔ͦ͌̔̌͑͂̔h̝͚̫͙͇̦͈͑̂̿̂ͪã̆l̈ͨl̨̤̝̘̰͋̉ͪ͐ ̗̣̬̪͇̎͟ḓ̱̬̬͓̩̘͂͋͐̀i͎͉̒͌̅͌͊ͦ͌͟e͓̪̙̬̖̳ͣ.̠̯̬̘͔̗͇̋̾ͬ̿ͮͧ

̶̻̖̝̲̉ͩ͋͛ͦͣ͌·͎̤́ͫͧ̃̔
͔̹̪̟̖͚͕ͣ͊ͭͤ͐ͩ́̚·̱̠̳͕͔͒ͫ̅ͅ ͖T̂̈́ͪ͆̕h̙̬̺̾̊i̥̱̱͍͛s̖̙̦͈̲̪ͧ ͈͈̈ͯ̈́n͈͕̹̾̏̇̿̈̒o̧̘̞̜̔ͭ̊͗ͬ̌ͥͅte͎̔ͤ̊͑ ̧̫̺̣̊ͤ̓̄̓͒w̛͔̹̱̦̆͛̃ͮi̘̻̓̓̾̔ͥ͛̈͜l̤͙͉̟̮̎́́̈́̓̃͠l̞͈̞̥̫̈́͗ ̹̯̤̱̦̪͓̔ͯ̽ͬ͆̑̃́n̑̽ò̳̲͖̝̰̠ͣt̙͚͊͆ͤ̕ͅ ̤̯̙̮̦̑͒̂́ͬt͐ä̝̫̹̲̺̱̦͛ͫ̒̆̎̅̕k̗ͣe̞̎ͦͧ͂̐͐̓ ̙̱̼̗̝͉ͫ͐̀ͦẹ̢̥̫̑̏̿̐̀̈́f̄ͨ̽ͦ͆͡f̔̎̂͗̚ḛ̻͍̰̍ͤ̈c̛ͥ́ͅt̲̞ͨ̽ͤ̅̔͟ ͓̺̈͋̌ͧͤͭͪͅŭ̬̼͚̬̙͖͌́͂̉̑n͇̜̹͓̣̦ͥ̎͂͆ͅl̰̤̖̞̻͚͛ȩ̃ͮ̈́ͭş͖̮̿̏ͪ̏͌sͪͫͬͣ̀ͩ̿ ̧̤̟̩͖̥̓̑̀̿̉̎ṫ̨͍͌ͬ̅̔̓ĥ̴͓͎̝̲̋͊ͥ̽̋͛eͥ̃ͦ͑ ̠̲̟̠͈͖w̧̫̬̯̋̾̏ȓi͓͖̦̖͐t̷̯͕̮̲ͩ͒ͮͬ͌e̲̳̪̓͐̇̋ȑ̸̦̞̲ ̺͖͇̪̬͍͍͋͑̾́ͥ̍h̬͉͉̰̗́̂̋̒͂a͊ͩͮ̒̂̋͒͏̲̘͎͍̣ͅsͮ̍ ̔̔̔̀t̗̙̰h̠̞̟̝̭̬ͨ̾̋̽ͪe̬̞̺ͭ͐̓̀ ̶͖̫̍͆ͬ̈́̎̚pͪͥ̂҉̰̤̙̖ͅé̩͎̩͓̻̱r̜̩̣̰̪̘̯̊ͪ̈ͪ͐́s̐̃͋̒̕o̶̥̮n̻̻̱̤̼̬ͅ'̥̦̅̾̀ͦ͌̾́s̞̰͛ͧ͋͋ͪ̇͊ ̨̳̮̗̬͍ͧ̐ͤ͆͊ͫf̬͈͈ả̗̲̦̗̲̹̘͂̍̈́̀c̶͉̳̪͙̟͚̞̅͊̾̃̀̒ͫè̄̈ ̎͂̽̄͑͑̚͏̠̱̪̱i̡̜̮͙̊̑̿̀ͭ̍͛n͚̥̗̺̝̥̓̍̽̔ͭ̾ ̥̠͈ͫ̏̀ͯ̽̂t̞̦͋̎̄̎̓́hͩ̀ͦ̈̐ͤͫ͞è͉̫̺̘̲͙̑͑ḭ̩̻̬̑̇ͯ̇̿̅͐ř̪͖̪̪̳̱͟ ̨̙ͮm̶̳͐ͫ͋ͥ͊̚i̜͈̥ͯ͊̄ͨ̈́̇n̮̭̠͇̤̗̫̂̈́ͬ͂d͍͇̦̎͛ͪ͡ ̰̣̻̞̅̽̔́ͩw̩̗̲̄͌h̠͚ȇͫͭ͐͌n͕̙̝͈͚͕̝͒̀̏ͩͥ ͖̞͉̤̦͙ͯ̋ͧͅŵ͆̃̍̊r̛̲̠̺̘͚̎̽͆̂ͫͩͫi̅̋̔̿̈́ͯ҉̗̻͈̝̼̣t̥͙̓̇ͅi͊͛̔̒̌ͥͩņ̱̥̭͎͊͆͊g͖͚̪̥͙͇͈͋͞ ̏̒̽ͥ͆̋ͣ͞h͉̫͇̗ͣ̾̌ͦ̿i̗̥̤̭̰̼̰̒̍̈ͭ̑ͧs̵̭̏̾̓͒̐/͕̠̻͔̭̠̺ͮ̒ͬͭͭ̐̽͡h̵̹͕̼̣̰ͯ͛e̘̻̝̬̳ͬͦ̅r̒̋ͯͪ͌͏̠̠̫̥ ̰̻́n̖̅́̽́́̅̇a͓̗̋ͫm̷̯̔̑̾̒e̲̍̃ͨ̐ͥ̚.̣̪̹͖̅̾͝ ̔ͩ̋͑̾҉̦T̥̱͚͈͐ͦ̆̊͑ͧ̿͠h̺̦̩̺͓̏͑͗e̒͛̚͟r͎̪̺̳̾̂̏̊͛̂͗e̢͚͔̬̹͓̅ͥ̅ͅf̒͏̦̹̣͚͍o͐ͭȓ͕̼͕̝̲͂̑́́e̸͓͙ͩ͂̓̍,̸̗̣̖̩͓̙ ͚͎̗̝͔̪̍̌̅ͮ̄̉ͬp͖̰͍̤ë́̏͑͊ͯ͠ò͂̓͌ͯp̞̤̜̰̦̯̥ͣͣ͟l̘ͥ̔̋ͨe̴̻̲̳ ̢̼͛͋͋͛̎͊̿s̛h̎ͨ̽͋̅͂ͩạ̞͈r͙̬̟̦̞̔ͬͨ̏͟i̴͙̟̙ͩ̃ͭn̬̟͛g̞͕̺̞̯͑͊̀ ͚͍̯̗̾̅ͧ̌ͤ͑ͅt̞̯̦̞̮ͭͫ̑̓h̢̻̽̍e̞̳͙̖̮̰̗̋̄̊ ̶͇̰͔͕͐s̍̓̒̂a̫̮̬̣̪͋ͩ̊̈ͭ͆m̂̊ͦͧͪ͊ͭeͥ͗ͫͦͩ́͝ ̨̰͕̹̯̖̩͕ń͌̔ͯͫ҉̬̜̼̹a̡͊ͮ͑ͧm͇̩͕͙͇̖̿͛ͧͯͪ̈ͬe̝̬͇͐͆̌̄̾͢ ̝̠̥̙̗̗ͭͪͩ̓̅̃̓͘w̴̟̲̗̳̒͆͌̉ͧ̒i̪̬̗̜̫̪̳ͨ̍̆ͯ̂͒͐ḷ̝̒̋ͬ̾͌̓ļ̰̠͚̠̯̟̤ͪ ̲̠̹̣͈̙̀͛̽̈̍̑n̲͔̓ͤ̋ͨ̽o̯͉̥͘t͇͉̣̆̃ͣͪ͌͊ͅ ̧͍̬̻̙̥̙̺ͭb̵͖̜ͮͩ̑́̔̂ͤȩ͕̬̙ͅ ̺̯̦̣̦ͤ̔̑̐͢a̶̰̐̇͆̇ͤ̉f̻͍̀͜f̩̰̲̗͖͚̯ͧ̅̊̈́e̲̗̺̲̘̟̩̒͐ͣͩ̃̀̚čͪͬͫͧͭ͘t͉̪͇͚̝̺͕ͦȇ̤̲̝̯͉͍ͣ͐̈́d̴̺͈͔̼̬ͪͤ̋.̱͉͍̻̗ͮͥ̊ͅ

͉̳̦̙̟͍̓̒͊ͪͦͅ·̟̐̒ͤ̄̏
̶̌́̄ͯ͗͗ͮ·̥̳͞ ̫̬̣͖͟I̱̲ͪ̓ͯ̑̍͆̽f̝ͦͣͦ̂ ̥͓ͭt͎͔̤͕̂̀ͣͮ̌͊̚h̪̱̱̙̗ͣ̔̓ͤ̍̚͞e͔̗̜͇ͨ ͚̩̂̍ͩ̄͑c̟̠͓̮̱ͧ̓̄̉͛̾ͩḁͮ̓̅ͭ̈́̏̕ụ̴̜̺͈̑̔ͧs̑̃ͪ͏̘e͓̻͎͓̗̪͋̅ͯ̓͞ͅ ̯̮̥̠͝o̧͓̫̻̤͎̩̅ͩͭ̐̓͐̚f̭͖̤̺̺̺̼ͬͫ̊̊̎ͧͯ ͯd́ͣe̟̠̪̻͎̠̱͛̽a̴̠̞͌ͦ͌̀̏́̈́t̴͓̝̹̣̥̠̯̃ͩ͆̀̑̆h̶͎̭͔͂̾̓̾ ̴̗̠̟̭̣̝͍ͥ͒i̗̮̲̗̤͍s̽̑ͣͯ͒͑͒͠ ̶͎̞̹̻͎̰ͥ̂̌̆̈w̲̰͈͖͒́͊ͦ̚ṟ͛ͨ̇̿͘i͙͇͎̫̬t͔̼͈̓͛̓̊̈ͅt̳͔̱͈ͮ̽͊ͪͥ̽e̱̩̭̦̘̝͈ͩͦ̄ͬ͟n͈̠ ̢̬͔̩͙̊̿̒̄ẅ̤̲́ìt̪̙̯̼ͣͦͤ̈́̐̓hͥͪ҉͍̩ͅi̶̝̺̻̬ͫ̍ͬ̇ͮͅͅň̮ͬͫͦ̅͡ ͍̹̲̲͌ͮ́ͧ̅͟4͎͚̥͎̑̈́͝0̥̥̻ͮ́̍̓̏ ̺̲̳͗s͂̒̋͆̂eͭ̊̊҉c̵̖̦̞̮̒̄̇̐ͪͬo̱̞̟͐̀̂̌͗n͔̋̒̅͠d̬̘̖̤̕ͅs̨̩̻̓̒ ̴̼̤͎ͥṑ̧͙̠̅̋̄͒f͒ͥ̂̅̃͑ ̵̠̖͉̜̎ͩͦͅt̵̟̬̼̔̃͋̿̇̎h͚̫̾̆ẽ̼͔̯̂ ̵͉̞̘̙̘ͨ̅p̺̩e͎͈̯͉̣͇r̫̱̅̿ͨͩͯ̽s̯̰̞̣̹̹͂o̤̳ͦ̇̃̄ͩn̼ͨ̿ͮ̓͋̽'͖̟̦̘̙͉ͨͥͤ͢ṡ̰͎̫̲̉ͪ ̤̉̿ͥͬͪ̚n̖̩̥ͮͪͫ̍ͥa͗ͭ̓̎ͨ̾͜m̰̍̏́͌͌͜e͍̪̠,̛̣̥̩͐ ̂̎́i͖̫̙̞͔̲̎ͤͫͬ̀͠t̵ͫ̓ ̓̄̓̅w̡̺ͫ̂̋̅͋̽ï̘̹̩̭̼̲l̒ͤ̊͋ͨͤ̕l̘͇̘̔̑ͭ ̶̜͎̞̟̯̪͔͐̎ͬ́͌h̰̠̣̩̔ͩ̽ͯá̹͈̣̥̠ͪ̏ͩ͌͡p̸̜̟ͩ̋̓p̞͚̄̔̕e̢͐̾̈ͭn̳ͫͥ̅̋.̠̺͍̱̲ͣ̔̔͝
̡̹͎̤̹̲̲·̝͇̄ͯ̆̐̎̈̚
͕̩̤̝̫ͮ̍̈́·̪̲̀͆
̐͡·̨̤̝͍̳̰͇̺ ̤͎̠̩̭̿̂I̥͙̩͎̰͍͐f̔͏ ̠̦͓̠͐̑ṱ̸͔̫ͧ̄̎h̝͕̰͙͕ͫ̇̌ͤ̀ẽ͈̬̝̻̪͉̈ͭ͆ ̤͍̝͋c͙͖͇̿͜a̧̘ͤ͐̾ͭͣ̎ͭu̷͖̻̻͍͍ͤ̔̋͐s̬̩̘̑͊ͮͅe̶͈̫̘̥͙̱͕͆̊̽̑ͪ̚ ̟̦̩̜̫̓̆͝o̺͕͎̭͇̩̍̊͂̋̇͊̈͠f͙͔̆̈ͨͅ ̧̺̝͖̥̃̾ͨ͑̚d̗̻̗̪̠e̬̪̝̜͔̻̽̎ͬ̅̎̾a͚̬̗̖̫̟ͪ̓̌̓͒t̫ͪ̉͆ͮ͘h̯͎͖̣̮̥̄̂́ ͙̫̖̖̣̤͕́͂͊̈ḯ͗s̨̎ ̰̳̩̘͙͆ͫͨ͡n͍o̗̖̙̊͂̉̃͗̓̕t̹̣̱̻̹͗̂ͣ ̩̿̃̉͒̇͛s̭̠̖̳̫̿͗͂ͯ̚͘p̸̻̞̣͉̐ͩͧeͯc̶̙̟̹͎̳͆̆̆͑̍ͅͅi̠̠̜̮̪f̂̂i̥̥̠̯͓̙ȇ͓̮d͆ͬ͐̃͆͏͙̫̭̮,̸̬̱̪̫͉̰͆͒̔̃ ̜̬̖̬̥̈́̅ͥ͛̉t͖͕̉ͩh̎̍ͭe̙̻̲̖̞̙̝ͥ̓ ̠̤̎̀p̓̈̎ͫ͆ê̙͇̖̝̘̑̂r̦̟̖̘̮̹̂̅̄́sͫͯ̉̒͗̈o̯͓̪̙ͬ̉ͭ͌n͐̌ͦ͒̽̚͏͚̪͇͙̙ ̣̈́͊w̙̼͇͔̯ͥ̏̐ͪ͛͘ỉ͕͈̹͍̝̼̤ͮ́̑ļ̱̥̥̗̲̱͂̌̌̅͒̽l̴̦̞̣͍ͭ͆̃̍̉ ̽͊si̞̝̗̬͕̹ͫ̽͋̆͘mͬ̈ͧ́p͖͉̩̗̬ͩ̾̇ͬ͌͋l̵͓̳ͧy͉͓͙̙̗͒͑ͮ̃̾ͯͬ ̤̳̯͈̖̥ͤ̓̆̃̊ͧ̚͘d͎̖̻͐ͭͮͬ̃ͥ̚ͅi̽e̹ͣ̍̌̍̌́̚ͅ ̴̥̾ͨ̿͂̊ͩ̋o̪̝͑̍f̼̱͖̯̪̤ͬ͐ͭ̏̚ ͭ̇͂̎a͍̥̬̫͊̉͠ ͣ̎̉ͫḥͥ̾̾̊e̫͈͔͈̔ͥͮ̚ḁ̮̽̂̐̉r̭͑̉t͇̪̻̭̗̹̦̆̀̓̓͂͑̐ ̶͎̤̗̈́͋ͯͧà̹̱̩͎̰̅ͅṭ̢ͬ̿̏̆ͨt̟̟͇͍ͥͅá̓͏̯͚c̷̰̪̳̝̾̔ͩ͒̚k̠̱̫͓͖̠̐̐͆̍̈́̉̚.̿̅̎͞
̧̰͔͚̺͇͌̒͒ͦ̾·̱́
̦͔̟̯̫̥ͮ̓͝·̷͕̺̦͈̭͍̓̈ͅ
̧̜͖̩͈͓̤̤̆ͩͧ·͚͉̗̖̜̇́̒̽͛ ̱͍̠̦̲̆̉͂̾́A̧̘͕̯̦̝̣̥͂̆̈́̓ͬ̓ͫḟ̠̳͇͍̈ţͮe̝̭̻̖͙͚̜͂̉͆̒r̭̙̰̬̺̜̼͐̏̾̍̊͝ ̬̘̞̼͖̣̼̊̏͢ẃ̱̹̘̄̓͐ͣ͑r̯̤͇̟̗̖͇ͥ̓͛̂͛ͦi̲͈̤̅̎̓ͫ͠t̼͂͂͐̈́ͤi͑ͮͮ͐ͩ̀ň͈̄ͧ͐gͪ̎ ̗̼͕ͧ͌̏͑́t̴̉͐̓̑h̼e̬̗̲̼̙͎̽͆̒ͬ̃̐ͨ͟ ͙̗͍̤ͅc͕͎ͤ̅̈̎͑͋͂ͅa̔̈̓̔u̮̳̥̞͔͙ͩ̿͋s̳̹̫̜̎̌̏ͤè͙̭̻̓́̀̏̿̾ ̯͈͍̦̜̄o̾̋͊̔̓̀̓f̆ͥͦ̎͌̑̚ ̛̖͕̖͚dͨe͎̬̺̒ͩ̃ͯͦ̚͡å̛̭̮͕̭̫͑̍ͬͥͯ̊t̷͖͔̗̪̟̺ͩ̏ͮͪ͑h͙͊̔͌̚͡,̒͐ͫ̓̅ ̮̘͚̈ͣ̒ͩͤd̜̟ͨ̓̄͒ͫe̹̥͇̦ͫ̊͗͒́ͅt̬̪̜̟̭ǎͣͨ̈iͣ̽̈̾͐ͤ͊l̹͖͑̊ͦ̄̍̄̏s̗͙͔̙̭̒͑ͪ̏͑̀̽͞ ̻̠͍̉ͪ̊ỏ̳͖̞̖͉̝̹ͦ̉f̴͖̳̔̀̚ ̨̬̂ͥͣ̐ṭ̪͇͚̱͕͐ͣ̒͆͆͡ḫ̩͖̮͇ͬ̉e͙͙͓͎̗͇ͤ ̟̱́͆̄̍ͬ̈́d̻͍̞̞̹̮̯͡ȩ̟͔a͍̹̖̬̞̯͐͑t̼̾̍̎̉̊ͧh̸̲̝̞ͨ̉̉ ̮̰̠͉̐̑ͣͦ̅̉́s͉̤̯̹̣͐̏̓͊͊͂̄͠ḥ̥̥̤̻ͩͭ̍ͯȯ̶̽ͣü͕͇̝̥l̔͢d̼̗͓̻̫̟͈̔ͩ̈ͬ ͙̤̱̺̻̠̫͞b̬̆ͮ̋ͭ̀e̸̮͕͗͛̊ͪ̀́ ̖ͮ͛̄͒̅̈wͮ̏̈̇̈́ͪr̤̉ͤ͂̒̌ͩ̚i͕̻̜̦̟̥ͪ̈́ͪ͆͟ṯ͈̤̬͚̜͕́͂ͫ͋̓̚ẗ̮͕̮́͐ͩḛ̢͚͙̤͕̻̾͗͛̍ͫ͐ň̻̺̼̐ͅ ͖̮i̢͓͙̼͙͉͒̇͆ͬn̶̈̃͛́̃ͤͤ ̱̫̯̻͛͑͋ͫ̈̈ͅt̥̱͎͇̖̂ͭ͒̑̒͠h̴͈̓̒́e̹̣̺̫̥ͤ̚ ̟ͯ̒͝n̡͇̹̺ͭͥe͖̝̓̎̈́x̖͌̆̊ͫ̃̆t͚̐́ ͋̈́6̮ͩ ̵̞̗̹̰̟͔̹͐̇̓̎̇̉ͨm̙͈̯̺ȋ̤̣͙͕̰́͑̾̇ͯ̾͠ṋ̮̻͈̼͓̥ͤ̽̌ͪͩͦ̒u̙̦͘t̝̺̭̖̟̍ͧ̀e̺̗̘̠͍ͫͣ͑̊́ͅs̙̼͚͇͖̩͆̊̈ͬ̓ ̱̿ͨ̏a̹͎̼̖̙ņ̪̙̥͙̃ͤ̋͗ͬͥ̚d̬̭̩͉̖̮͇̉ͧ͛̓ ̃͛̃̌4̩ͣͧ0̡̬̣̙̽̑ͥ͂ ̜̳͋̉͌̂́͋͗s̟̫͚̰̥̼̏̏͐ͥ̀̀e̫̥̼̭͝c̰̗͇̥͌̊̈́̈́̌o̦͇͕̾͐͠ͅn͔̈͆d҉̙̜̼̟s̠͊̋̇.̱̺͙̞̦̃̽̓ͤ

·̨̤̝͍̳̰͇̺ ̤͎̠̩̭̿̂

And it just went on and on.

And on.

Pages and pages of it.

The sword-like claws of dread were running Ajin through again.

She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against her knees, her fingers slowly working their way in to tug at her hair.

"It's not real," she whispered like a prayer, and rocked forward— "Not real…" —then back— "Not real…" —forward— "Not real…" —and back again.

When she could no longer stand the ringing silence and nothing to fill it but her own crazed mutterings, she fumbled blindly for the remote, sucking in a shuddery breath when her fingers brushed crisp pages and she felt the pad of her middle finger split right open. The edges of that paper were unusually sharp, she thought as she reached with her other hand, sucking on the papercut and tasting the metallic flood of coppery blood bursting upon her tongue.

When the TV flickered on, Ajin almost jumped at the abrupt sound of news anchor prattling on about one thing or another. This was odd, because she rarely watched the news if she could help it; it must have been left on that channel from the last time Light was over. It seemed that something horrible was always happening somewhere in the world, and even at the risk of ignorance Ajin hated listening to it. She usually got her newsfeed from Light, which was okay because, oddly enough, it felt alright to discuss horrible things with him. Just listening to him talk about making a difference someday made her feel somehow less helpless about it all.

"Yes, this just in—we have received confirmation that the British embassy has been infiltrated by the terrorist sect known as Almawthu Alhaqiqa." The live news castor stood in front of a crowded intersection packed with frantic people. "Madam Ambassador Jennings has undergone much controversy in the past for her Leftist dealings in Egypt, and it appears to have caught this sect's attention. Leader, Malik Salib has released yet another video detailing conditions for the Ambassador's release, though the finer points of this video have been withheld from the media as of yet due to the…"—the journalist adjusted his grip upon his microphone, looking thoroughly disquieted— "…disturbing and graphic nature of the contents. To protect the integrity of Madam Jennings and her family, these videos will not be released to the public now, nor ever…" The reporter swallowed thickly, visibly disturbed, though he bravely soldiered on with, "Nevertheless, we will continue to offer live coverage as events unfold throughout the night…"

Ajin felt sick and reached for the remote to change the channel, but paused as the world news channel flashed to an info panel, detailing the images of Malik Salib and other known associates from the terrorist sect. According to the news anchor at the station, research gathered suggested that the sect targeted the British ambassador largely due to the fact she was a woman. And not only that, but she was a woman with an unapologetic liberal viewpoint—a visionary, even. And right then, at that very moment, she was being held hostage by a man who hated and feared her for those very reasons, enduring God-only-knows-what…

Ajin didn't notice when the hand that once hovered over the remote moved to hover over the Death Note instead… And strangely enough, the horrible chill she felt whenever she touched the thing seemed fractional in the face of her building horror and urgency at what she was learning now on the news. Slowly, she dragged the black book off the coffee table, and into her lap, flipping through the rules almost obsessively until she was sure she had them practically memorized. Or had she known them before she even opened the book? That black hole inside of her was gaping wider and whispering strange, fantastical things—horrible, wicked, ugly things—she had no idea she was capable of imagining.

And that raised the question…was she even imagining any of it at all?

Before Ajin really knew what she was doing, she had a pen pressed so harshly into the first lined page of the Death Note, she was afraid that she might rip right through it. Blood from the papercut welled up from the pressure she was exerting on it and dripped sluggishly down the pen onto pristine white.

Ajin Nou had always been a creature of Impulse.

And something as powerful as the Death Note held a Compulsion that she was utterly helpless to resist.

She was doomed from the moment she saw it fall from the sky.

interLude

By the next morning, news stations were ranting about the bizarre events that went on inside the British embassy in Cairo. Nobody on the inside could explain what happened with any sort of consistency—not even Ambassador Jennings, who was making an admirable recovery from her shattering ordeal. She kept up a strong face in front of the media while giving her statements, though it was notable that the smile she was so well known for was conspicuously absent. It would be a long time yet, and then some, before its return…

"I was raised an Anglican Catholic," she testified to the press. "I've always believed in a higher power, even when…" —She paused with a strange, distant look on her face, taking on an eerie stillness while gathering her thoughts, crumbling away at her otherwise convincing façade— "…even when my faith was pushed to the very edge."

"But what I saw in that place…was no act of God."

At that very moment, thousands of miles away, in the attic of a sprawling, stately mansion, a young man sat in the dark. What could be seen of him was illuminated only by the low, artificial light of a computer screen, upon which, he watched the Ambassador's soon-to-be infamous statement. His wide, dark-ringed eyes were transfixed. He sat with one knee bent, drawn up to his chest, and the other sprawled out beside him, watching—always watching—with a single-minded concentration.

Slowly, he brought a thumb to his lips and bit down on his nail in what could only be…

…anticipation.

The game is afoot!

And all the players are accounted for...sort of.

Lots of hints and foreshadowing this chapter. I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. I know not everyone is fond of OCs, but I've been trying to make Ajin at least bearable for you guys, if not somewhat entertaining and interesting to read about.

On another note, does anyone else wish they could train their body to subsist off sugar and disregard the need for sleep? It doesn't exactly sound pleasant, but to be honest, there's so many things I'd rather do than sleep. Like writing this story! But I can't, and I'm sad... :( And I have to work tomorrow, which makes me even sadder, because it's like...4:00 in the morning, and that gives me about six hours of rest before I have to go and face the music. BUT, if I could somehow master the L-method, that wouldn't be a problem, and I'd be able to get twice as many chapters out!

(Is it pathetic that I'd use L's super powers to write more fanfiction? Yes. Maybe. Don't judge me.)

BIG THANK YOU TO bookbabe711, AkiraYuni, AND Yuki Suou FOR REVIEWING!

PS: This chapter has been edited.

Because Zalgo text.