Hullo! *waves* I'm back again with another story, but this time for Death Note!

Important notice: This story takes place in 2038, so technology has advanced along with other things. ;)

And sadly, I don't own Death Note. Wish I did, but I don't.

Dawn

I glanced over at the woman who crouched next to me, her sapphire-blue eyes narrowed in concentrating. President of the United States of America Susan Robinson, also head of the mafia. We had been best friends in school, but this wasn't school. Real life is a rude awakening, I tell you.

"Suspect is in sight," Susan murmured into the com unit. I risked a swift glance around the grounds. We were currently located in Texas near the Mexican border. The remains of buildings lay around us in tatters- the only signs that showed that the vacant desert once held life. The two of us were crouched behind a rock protruding from the ground. I watched as the man stumbled over to the chain-length fence that separated two quarreling countries. Over the past few years, the USA and Mexico had gotten into heated battles so fierce that the mafia had had to interfere before another World War broke out. That was our current mission, anyways. And now, it would be completed.

My name is Katheryn Carpender, more commonly known as KC by the people of the world. The few people that know my real name (that are alive) are the President, the Vice President, my teacher (oh yeah, like I'm going to tell you said person's name) and, of course, my loctopus- an object of my own invention, named after a lock-picking gadget from a video game aired when I was a kid. I have wild, chin-length black hair that flares out at the tips and dark green eyes. And yes, people, I am a woman.

I glanced up when Susan shot to her feet and bolted from cover, charging after the man. Dammit! I missed the signal! Ugh, that's what I get for focusing on narrating rather than the mission... Confused? I'll explain it later once I make sure that I just didn't get Susan killed.

I rolled out from behind the rock and into the shade of a another pile of dilapidated remains. I peered out around the sandstone, using a shard of glass I found on the ground. Good. The boss was still alive.

I watched as the man whirled around, shock clearly displayed on his face. I reached up and tapped the 'on' button on my com unit. "All systems go, Beta. Are Charlie and Delta ready? Over."

"Yes, KC, over," came the rugged reply. Alpha's leader's throat had been mangled in a mission and had never been the since then. Shortly after being released from the hospital, he came straight back to us. Once a member of the mafia, always a member. Just a little trivia for ya.

"Mathew Noel," Susan's voice crackled through the com unit in my ear. Around the back of the base of my neck, I felt the loctopus give a little shudder. "There's no where left for you to run."

"Well, well, well... if it isn't the President of the United States of America herself," the Subject's voice was nasally. "Still pretty to boot, eh? It still makes me wonder what got you into the position in the first place, your brains of your looks."

"Don't try to discomfort me, Noel. You know as well as I do that you're beating a dead horse with this. I'm not going to be like any other force that tried to arrest you, Noel. I'm just going to give you the truth to your face.

"I know you're not going to come quietly, so I'll let you in on a little secret: if you are going to resist, I'll kill you here with my bare hands."

Susan can be pretty badass when she feels like it, but she was taking a major risk with her wording. My thumbnail found its way to my lip- a nasty habit I haven't been able to shed.

The man pulled an ancient revolver from his belt and pointed it straight at Susan's heart. Thanks to our training, I didn't gasp or flinch, neither did Susan. Instead, she smiled.

"Are you really going to shoot me, Noel. I know you're murderer. I know you'd do it, no matter what I told you."

"Such flashy words, Mrs. President," the Subject sneered. "Could this mean that you're lacking your precious backup?"

Susan flinched.

Now.

I stood up from hiding and drew my own revolver- the same model as the Subject's.

"Hello everyone!"

The Subject and Susan jumped almost a foot in the air and whirled around to face me. I flashed them my pearly whites as I sauntered closer, allowing my arms to swing and the gun to flash into view.

The Subject "recovered" faster than Robinson and returned my smile with his own. "If it isn't the legend herself. KC- the famous detective and second in command of the mafia. Term's underboss, right? Guess that makes two purdah mafia ladies at my disposal, eh?"

I held the gun up. "Sorry, Noel, but the President is mine." I squeezed the trigger just as I focused my aim on Susan's chest. The force of the bullet knocked the blonde from her feet and she slammed into the ground, unmoving. The Subject gaped at me, too shocking to readjust his aim, which was still pointed at where Susan had stood mere moments before.

"You... you shot your own President!" he whispered, staring at me in awe.

I blew the smoke from the end of the barrel. "A job is a job."

The revolver snapped to attention. Sweat was running down his face in small rivets, his eyes darting back and forth between me and the body. Even though is entire body was shaking, his aim was steady.

I snorted. I'd done my research. The Subject's best (and only) weapon was a knife. When holding a gun, I knew he was bluffing. Smirking, I dropped my own firearm on the ground next to my feet. "Guess this is how it ends, huh?"

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard as his look of confusion morphed into one of shock as a gunshot rang out through the desert. Mathew Noel crumpled in a heap, blood gushing from the single shot in his head. I bent over and slipped the old-timer back into its holster at my side.

"Nice shot, Susan. Good acting as always," I turned to face the President just in time to witness her sit up, grinning like a madwoman.

"Same to you, KC. Always there with a snappy one-liner," she stood and brushed dirt from herself. "All Teams come in. The mission is done. I repeat; the mission is done. Over and out."

I grinned to myself. All in a day's work.

Team Alpha threw open the door to Susan's office and led the way into the room. All conversation halted as the teams spilled into the the confined space. I remained in the hallway, eying the long, winding passageway through wary eyes. Once Susan was confident that everyone was assembled, she flicked a hand lazily and said, "Mr. Scythe, please step forward."

A man I didn't recognize peeled away from the crowd to stand in front of me and Mrs. President. He was bald, gray-eyed and was dressed in an expensive looking tuxedo.

"It's a shame such a nice suit has to be wasted," sighed Susan with another flick of her hand. She turned and opened the door. The man frowned, eyes shifting nervously.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice shaking a little.

"Boys, you know what to do," her voice dropped into a silky purr as she left the room, drawing the door closed behind her.

As we walked down the hall, I didn't miss the scream of pain that echoed in our wake. Just another foreign spy trying to infiltrate the mafia. You'd think they would have learned by now.

"Tell me," said Susan in a hushed voice. "How have things been for you in Cosa Nostra?(1) What with everything I have to do, it's hard for me to keep up with my old friends nowadays."

"Actually, it's been dull lately," I replied in an undertone. The loctopus poked me, warningly. "All we've had to do is the Noel Case and preventing the war with Mexico. The world is pretty peaceful."

"Sounds like you're bored," she teased. It almost felt like we were back in high school, when we would tease each other. She would talk about how she would become President of the USA and head of the mafia at the same time; I would tell her about my dreams of becoming a famous investigator. We would laugh and joke around, giggling at each other's ideas. It seemed to long ago, now. Susan had matured past the giggling stage. She had finally reached her goal in life and, on top of it all, was maintaining a steady relationship with her husband, Derek Robinson. I honestly don't know how she did it.

"Now that Noel's dead, most of Cosa Nostra gets to take a well-deserved break," I scratched the back of my head. "We still need a few men to guard to the border day and night, but for the most part... *sigh* It's too peaceful. World peace wasn't suppose to have been logically possible, yet it seems to be staring us in the face." I chuckled drily. "I'm just finding it hard to believe that in 2038 we've achieved peace at last."

"I know what you mean," she replied almost darkly. "But I guess we have to look at the brighter sides of life. I get to go home for the night."

I smirked knowingly. "Tell Derek his favorite detective said hi."

One of the downsides of being one of the best investigators in the world is that you're always on the move. There's always going to be someone hunting you, big or small. The minute you stay still, boom! You're dead. So another hotel it was. I dropped my single suitcase onto the bed and murmured into the com unit, "Shar, you swept the room, correct?"

"Yes." Shar was my... hmm... what could I call her? Maid? Servant? We weren't exactly friends. Imagine a mousy-haired girl with wide green eyes, punk clothing and a knack for picking a room clean before I stayed in it. That's her.

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair, spiking it even more, not like I cared. Well, the wildness I could deal with, the greasiness... not so much. Bleah.

I slid my purse from my shoulder and eased it onto the bed next to the suitcase. Without the lights on, I could easily see from all of the moonlight streaming in through the windows. Frowning, I strode over to them and yanked them shut. The room fell into a pitch-black obsidian.

I retraced my steps back over to the bed and flicked on the bedside lamp. Yellow light flooded through the room. As I unzipped my purse, I shot one last wary glance around the room. Old habits die hard.

I withdrew the familiar black object from my bag and tucked it under my arm. I ambled over to the tv stand and gently set the object down. With narrowed eyes, I bit my lip and thought hard, hello again. Glad to see me?

There was a tiny flash of pain in my neck, then a brilliant white light exploded behind my eyes. I grinned, despite myself. Some things just never get old.

I guess I'd better explain the odd trio of gadgets now. If mechanical engineering bores you or you'd just not in the mood, feel free to skip down to the paragraph with the first sentence in bold.

The black object is called a graphire. When I was in my early twenties, I'd found an ancient iPad4 in an alleyway, abandoned. Every since the iPad Platinum had come out, the older versions were being disregarded everywhere. For example, since the iPad Gold had come out, I'd seen the Platinums in thrift shops everywhere. (Hey, a woman needs time alone, y'know? And where is a better place to get it then at a thrift shop where she can be surrounded by memories?) You get the jist.

But anyways, I had been studying human anatomy at the time to learn the best ways to kill someone with your bare hands. So I got to thinking, what if there was a way for someone to communicate with said iPad without ever touching it, just by using their mind? That's where the collar comes in. (It's pronounced similar to the Spanish word for necklace, coe YAR)

The collar is a mix of copper and white gold and is worn closely to how one would wear a choker. It appears to be merely a tight-fitted piece of metal on the base of my neck, but in reality, there are tiny shards poking through my skin so that they can connect directly to the nerves. With me so far? If you're not, this next part is going to blow you mind.

Human nerves communicate with each other using electrical signals, similar to those in your tv or computer. So, why not blend technology and human anatomy?

The collar runs of the the energy you obtain when eating, therefor the user of the collar has to really load up on the goodies to keep from passing out. (I guess it's a good thing I'm a bit of a chocoholic.) The collar sends out signals of its own through the metal shards up to the user's brain and hitchhikes its merry may to the person's eyes. From there, it uses radar to alter the eye itself so that the images appear only on the graphire screen. The radiation from the radar interacting with my nerves then travels back to the collar where it sends a signal to the loctopus so that everything I see, Trey sees to.

Why did I name the loctopus Trey? Simple. It's a trio of gadgets and Trey refers to 'three.' Plus, Trey acts so much like a miniature conscience of mine that it's easy to mistake him as being alive. And yes, I've decided the loctopus is a 'he;' call me weird if you like.

But Trey isn't just an eight-legged machine that can pick locks in under ten seconds (that was his original purpose), he's also my miniature servant! Okay, I'm joking. If anyone nowadays was my friend, it would be the little loctopus. Sad, huh? (Not really. I'm sort of antisocial, anyways.)

Like the graphire, Trey can receive not only the information about what I see and do with the tablet, but he also absorbs the radio waves and uses them as energy. As I said earlier, the collar runs off of the user's energy, well, so does the graphire and the loctopus. They use the signals that they get from the collar to keep themselves running. With me so far?

Trey is also programmed to be controlled by a computer. So far, I haven't hooked him up to anything to test it out, so my theory could be wrong. But if I'm not mistaken, if wired correctly, Trey could be controlled by someone sitting at a desk, far from the action, in order to give the user instructions.

Other than that, I programmed him to be as human as possible. Though emotionless himself, he can sense the user's feelings and read their thoughts. (Attention to all possible users of the trio, these devices are not for those who like to keep their personal thoughts to themselves. Just throwing that out there.) The second the collar is on, the loctopus has access to every nook and cranny of the user's brain (but remember, even though he knows everything that you're doing, he has no power over your actions). And since he was programmed to act similar to a human...

Trey can talk. Well, he can talk to me. I'm the only one wearing the collar. (Plus, my collar is the only one out there. Prototype-ness. Yay...) His voice appears in my head like a memory resurfacing, as if I'd just remembered it. It took some practice, but I can finally understand him in all of the eighteen languages I'm fluent in. (And yeah, that took some time.)

You're probably wondering how my earlier mishap comes into play, aren't you? When I say I'm narrating, I actually am. Open Office is currently open on the graphire so that every thought, every emotion is recorded as a story (because I myself couldn't write a story if J.K Rowling herself was sitting next to me; Trey's the one that edits my babbling, so thank the loctopus).

So, you get the jist, right? Good. Moving on.

...That was a mouthful. It's sad when a trio of machinery takes longer to describe than the people. So all in all, Trey's my loctopus/conscience, the graphire's my "laptop" and the collar helps me control it all.

I stared down at the words on the screen.

Chapter One

I glanced over at the wo-

Hey wait a minute! You're not suppose to type what I'm reading!

Sorry, had he been human, Trey would have rolled his eyes. The loctopus didn't seem keen on backspacing either. I rolled my eyes and plucked the spider-like machine from his place at the base of my neck and held him in the palm of my hand. Trey stared up at me defiantly.

What?

Oh, nothing, I thought absentmindedly. I'm just trying to figure out how to get you to erase what you just typed.

An eraser appeared on the screen and started to scribble at the words written there. Despite myself, I cracked a grin. Moron. Not like that.

He sent me a picture of a grin before backflipping out of my hand onto the desk. You need to check your email. Susan sent you a message.

That can't be good... I gnawed my thumbnail as Yahoo! flashed across the screen. It took a grand total of seven seconds to get my email up. The wonders of technology, people. We could change the world. Seriously.

My eyes scanned over the message, narrowed slightly. A sudden yip came from me as I bit down on my hand in shock, cutting the nail past the pink area. Out of the corner of my mind I saw blood blossom on the wound, but I didn't pay it any mind. I stared down at the message before me, eyes wide with horror.

Hey, Jessie, s'up? I was wondering... y'think we could meet up at the shop sometime and hang out? We haven't done it in a while and there's someone here that's dying to meet you! ;)

What the-? My eyes narrowed at her use of my alias. Someone important needs to see me before they die?

"Trey, let's go," I instructed sharply, snatching up the graphire.

Way ahead of ya. The loctopus had catapulted onto the bed and already unzipped the first flap of the suitcase. I pulled the carrier from it, then stuffed the graphire in it. With a bat of my eyes, the screen inside of the bag went blank. I slipped into the vest-like straps of the carrier as Trey scurried up to his place at the base of my neck.

As I headed out the door, I swiped up the room key and shot one last look at the mirror positioned just above the bed. The familiar image stared back, though lately it was seeming less and less like my own.

Oh, well. I don't have time to be sentimental.

"Shar, prepare the vehicle. We're going to Nyala," I ordered into the com unit. There was a short "yes" on the other end, a crackle, then the sound of an engine running. As I strode out of the hotel, I couldn't help but wonder what ace Susan had stuffed up her sleeve this time.

As it turned out, I found out that ace the very moment I set foot into the diner. Nyala was a classy diner, modeled after the older ones back before my time. It's walls were black and white with red and white tiles on the floor. There was a classy bar with wooden stools, leather booths, and a bar at the window (my personal favorite).

And a russet-headed girl that glomped me when I opened the door.

"Auntie Jess!" the girl squealed, squeezing my legs together in a bone-crushing hug. Even with my training, I still flinched a little at the force behind the embrace.

"Hey there, kiddo," I patted her head uncertainly. What the heck? Is this her idea of a joke? Susan's sense of humor sure has changed since high school...

I don't think it's-

"C'mon! Auntie Sue and Uncle Charlie are over here!" the girl interrupted Trey with another shriek and bolted for a couple sitting in a corner at the window bar, my hand clutched in a death grip. Jeez... Who knew a kid her size could have so much strength behind it..?

A glance at the pair confirmed my suspicions. "So, I'm the babysitter?"

I didn't the smirk that flashed across the bodyguard's face, though Susan's smile remained steady. However, her voice dropped noticeably. "Her parents are out of the picture for now, and probably will be for a while. I just received an urgent call from the President of Japan, something about the eastern rebellion breaking out again. Consider it your break."

Her parents are dead, possibly former agents by the looks of the girl. Is that why she wants me to take care of her? So I can train her myself? "A break? Sounds more like an apprenticeship."

"What's an appera-ship-thingy?" asked the girl, cocking her head, her wide amber eyes staring up at me curiously. And warily.

"Shh. The grownups need to talk, kiddo," I whispered, then shot her a smile. "How about you order something while you wait? Their chocolate milkshakes are delicious."

"Uhh... okay!" The girl pulled a stool out and flopped down on it, then proceeded to spin in circles, squealing in delight.

"As we were saying," Susan's voice dropped so that I had to take a step closer in order to hear, "do you think you take her? I know it's a bit of a late notice, but she's obviously had some sort of training."

"What's her name?" I shot the kid a wary glance.

"Autumn Virginia Hall."

"Hmm... a descendant of Virginia Hall herself, I presume. The Halls have been in Cosa Nostra for as long as I can remember."

"Correct. If she works under you, I'm sure you'll have her living up to her name in no time," Susan's eyes betrayed the confidence her voice held.

The parents, Trey nudged me.

"How did her folks die?"

"Heart attacks, both of them at the exact same time. The people around them just said that they suddenly collapsed simultaneously. Even though a news anchor was there, no one glanced their way. Not once."

"So that's why their deaths were never broadcast through the news... That's a very large coincidence..." my thumbnail found my teeth once again. "Does she know?"

"Every detail. She took it quite well, too. She may be six but she's strong."

I stared at her, my brain slowly going over the details. It would only make since to take her on. Then again, Susan's trying to kill two birds with one stone here: improving my social skills and tolerance for young children, and training a future KC, all at the same time. To her, it was foolproof. Unless I killed the kid first. The russet-haired girl with spinning wildly in the chair, limbs flailing around as she let loose high-pitched squeals that were threatening to shatter my eardrums.

Trey wasn't offering much on his part.

I scratched the back of my head, noting from the mirror on the far wall the wild tuft that was sticking out at an odd angle. "You do realize that kind of life I live right now."

"Always." The reply was almost bitter.

"I guess I'll give it a shot."

"Really?" Relief exploded in the sapphire orbs and as she pulled me into a hug, thankfully not as tight as Autumn's. I felt her slip something into my pocket as I drew back, though I made no notice that I'd felt it. "But don't shoot her full of holes, okay?" Susan winked.

"Hey, I make no promises," I held up my hands.

I am so glad I did not agree completely to Susan's request.

"Stop jumping on the bed! You're going to break something!" I snapped for what seemed like the millionth time.

Okay, I can shoot the trigger off of a gun without even touching the hand that held the gun; I can hack into the most intricate servers; I can pass as a model or a "homie" without breaking a sweat. So how is it that my parenting skills got the short end of the stick? Beats me.

Stop laughing at me! I cried in frustration as the loctopus rolled around on its back on the desk, its legs waving around. You're no help at all...

"But why not? It's fun!" the six-year-old pouted, flopping down onto her stomach. "Besides, we're not doing anything! Hey, can I set up my WiiTii?"

"Your what?"

"My WiiTii!"

"What the heck is a WiiTii..?" I grumbled.

"It's a more advanced version of a Wii!" she said excitedly. "It just came out last week!"

So it's brand new and you already have it... Interesting... "Sure. Why not?"

"Yay!" the girl launched herself from the bed and over to the one of many suitcases that came with her. She dug through for a second then yanked a silver object from the mess and hopped over to the television.

Oh, jeez... I momentarily look control over Trey and peered over the edge of the desk to watch as the girl fiddled with the wires. She looked like she knew what she was doing, so I released my hold and took a few paces forward so I could watch over her shoulder.

You could have warned me before you did that... muttered the loctopus.

I send him an absentminded apology, though my focus was still on Autumn. The girl's nimble hands shuffled through the sea of colors so fast that they appeared as a blur.

Hmm... does she specialize in lock picking? Pickpocketing? Disabling mine fields?

She's six.

I know. ...She's very good at what she does, too. I eyed Autumn as she worked, right up until the six-year-old jerked backwards suddenly with a small "oops..."

That was the last thing I remembered before electric blue flashed across my vision and my head slammed against the carpeted floor.

(1) Cosa Nostra is the term members of the mafia say in place of 'the mafia.' It's almost like an inside joke at the office. ;)

So... good? Bad? If I didn't explain everything properly, don't hesitate to point it out. You might not be the only one confused. I also apologize for the blandness of this chapter. Introductions can be boring, especially if they're a good two pages long on a Word document. XD

Reviews are appreciated, but not required. Ciao for now!