Chapter Text
It didn’t take long for Light and Ryuzaki to find the wire door elevator waiting for them. It isn't wobbly or anything, but if an elevator can’t have four solid walls, can it really be trusted?
Well, maybe it can, but Ryuzaki sure can’t, because after their handcuff chain popped off, he persuaded Light to step into the blasted contraption that suddenly shut its doors and is currently hurtling down to Hell. Finally, it stops on solid ground and Light’s stomach returns to his belly.
He grips the door before realizing that there is no more door. He looks around and sees that he’s standing in an open box in a wall made entirely of open boxes like his. Some people are even inside them. It looks like an aisle of Barbies, except with spotlights shining on their plasticky doll faces.
“Hey!” a defiant voice shouts from one box up and a box to the right. “Are you going to keep us waiting like this?! Come on, show yourselves!”
Light looks up and sees a young man with long amber hair. Every strand jumps when he yells. They contrast greatly with his manic bluegreen eyes, accentuated by his eyeliner. The only consistency is his rock star clothing: a black leather biker jacket with a spiky hood of fur and torn-off sleeves, black fingerless leather gloves with dulled-down metal knuckles, tight black leather pants, and black combat boots which are probably, you guessed it, leather. At least his belt is silver.
Light notices that the top of his box reads, ‘ROGUISH ROUGHHOUSER.’ Seems fitting enough. Is the top of his own box ‘LETHAL PRINCE’ as well?
“You’re all just cowards!” Roguish Roughhouser shouts.
“Dude, shut up, I’m trying to focus.” the redhead in the box next to him comments. His concern is directed at his Nintendo Switch. His given name is ‘DETACHED GAMER’ and he’s definitely detached from any fashion sense. Detached Gamer sports the tackiest goggles known to man, Minecraft-themed pajama pants, and a red long sleeve shirt with black stripes under a T-shirt that reads (in English)
I PAUSED MY
GAME
TO BE HERE
(THIS BETTER BE GOOD)
Jesus fucking Christ, he’s surrounded by children.
Roguish Roughhouser seems to agree with Light after looking at the shirt and commenting, “How old are you?”
“19.” Detached Gamer replies.
“Years or months?” Roguish Roughhouser asks sarcastically.
“He’s a year older than me?!” Light thinks, completely dumbfounded.
He hears a thud from above and an “oof!” An “oof” that he recognizes.
“Hello?” asks Matsuda Touta, a police officer of the Japanese Police Force by sheer luck. Okay, Light doesn’t hate the poor man. They’ve met a couple times at office parties and whatnot, and he seems like a good guy, but after the third comically-timed-and-somehow-food-related incident, you wonder how desperate the police get for officers.
Light leans out of his box and looks up at Matsuda, who’s wearing a slightly oversized police chief uniform. He looks like a kid. His given name is “CONSIDERATE OFFICER.” A dopey name for a dopey person, Light supposes.
“Light?” Matsuda asks after noticing him. “Light!” He waves down at him, and Light gives a polite wave back. “Wait, why are you here?”
“Why the hell is anybody here? What even is ‘here?’” Light thinks.
“Why the hell is anybody here?! What even is here?!” Roguish Roughouser perfectly echoes Light’s thoughts. The difference is that he’s way too loud about it, and when he stops shouting, everybody goes back to where they were: Light.
“I don't know what's happening, but it's definitely not good.” Light says very usefully.
“Did you just figure that out?” asks an British-sounding apathetic voice in the box next to him. The term “apathetic voice” is used because the box’s red velvet curtains are fully closed. Behind them could be a person, a talking parrot, another automated voice, who knows? Also, how did he get curtains? Light doesn’t have curtains.
“Do you have anything helpful to add?” Light snarks.
“No, but neither do you.” the voice counters. Light refrains from any kind of annoyed noise and checks the box’s label, which reads ‘SOCIOPATHIC KNOCK-OFF.’ He smirks.
“Why are you hiding yourself?” Matsuda asks.
“I don't know who anyone here is.” Sociopathic Knock-Off replies. Rougish Roughouser glances down, but quickly looks back up like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see. Light can now see there’s a focus in his eyes, a refined kind of terror, although it’s worse than vigilance. Sociopathic Knock-Off, on the other hand, has full-blown paranoia.
To the left of him, a man covered from head to toe in black holding a closed laptop descends on a staircase, followed by a masked someone.
“Sir, Senator Kelson made another speech about Divine Judgement.” the masked someone states in English. “He’s gaining influence. He could turn our funders away–”
“Please fill me in later.” The man wasn’t asking. “We are already behind schedule.”
Light sees a blur of floppy black hair crash into the box next to him. It’s Ryuzaki. Serves him right, forcing Light into that crappy elevator.
“Ryuzaki, are you okay?” Light asks.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.” Ryuzaki replies as he gets up. Light looks to see his given name, which Ryuzaki notices and does as well.
“Eccentric Neurosis,” he reads out loud. A beat of silence. “Actually, Light, I am hurt.”
The spotlights die and the speakers ring out in the darkness like the toll of a bell.
“We’re on in 5,”
[There’s a prick in his neck. A mosquito, a gigantic one, coldly jabs its way into Light’s bloodstream.]
Light takes a quick breath. Then another. Then another.
“4,”
[It spits something instead of sucking blood. What’s so wrong with Light’s blood?]
Another and another and another and another.
“3,”
[The sidewalk he’s on starts to lead to foggy circles instead of shops and buildings, before his perfect vision is enveloped in black.]
Light is going to faint in public.
“2,”
[Bleach. Chafing. He ought to struggle. He is struggling. When is he not?]
“1.”