#why would the FBI agent carry an ID with his government name on it when they KNOW kira needs a name and a face.

[millionsknives]

im watching death note and this image is the only thing beamed into my empty skull the entire time

[agent-whiskeys-sweetheart]

Meant To Be (ii)

Pairing: Hotch x F!Reader

Summary: Over a year after your first interaction with the BAU, it is finally time for your first day as an official team member. Even with all the excitement of the day, the biggest thing you look forward to is seeing Aaron Hotchner again. However, your perfect first day quickly turns out to be not at all what you had imagined. 

Warnings: None, some angst? 

Word Count: 5,585

A/N: Just know that I promise things are going to get better lol.

NOVEMBER 2007

QUANTICO, VA

For the first time in your life the sound of your alarm is a very welcome one as it rouses you from your light slumber. The whole room is filled with light as the sun streams through the cracked blinds. You had been in this apartment for two months now. It had taken some getting used to but it was starting to feel like home. That was very important to you seeing as Quantico was where you were going to be for the foreseeable future. It took you no time at all to sit up in bed, throwing off your blanket. When you got up to start getting ready, everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. Your clothes draped over the chair at the end of the bed, your go-bag on top of the dresser, and your entry paperwork out on the kitchen table. As always, you had thought out every minute detail. You are determined to make sure that your first day at the BAU is perfect. It had taken excruciatingly hard work and dedication to get to where you are now. Nothing and no one is going to spoil it for you.

After getting dressed in record time you grab your go-bag off the dresser and head out to the living room. You set it on the table next to your paperwork and make your way into the kitchen. Scrambled eggs and toast sound like a good way to start the morning so you get out a skillet and a few eggs. Before you even have a chance to turn on the burner the sound of your phone going off in your bedroom causes you to run back in to check it. As you pull it off the charger you immediately smile widely at the name that flashes on your screen.

“Hey there Miss FBI Agent. God, that sounds good doesn’t it? FBI agent. Or maybe BAU agent. Didn’t I hear you say SSA once? What does that mean? Is it good? It sounds pretty powerful.” 

“It means Supervisory Special Agent. And anything you call me that means I’m not hallucinating this whole thing is fine with me.”

“I like that. SSA Y/N L/N. Sounds official. Which is exactly what you are as of today! How are you feeling right now?”

“Excited. Prepared. Kind of like I’m on top of the world.” 

“As you should! It’s been a long journey to get here, you deserve to enjoy every step. I still can’t believe my little sister is in the FBI.” 

Your sister has been your biggest support system for as long as you can remember. No matter what path you choose, you know she will always have your back. It had been heartbreaking to leave her when you moved but you knew it would be worthwhile in the end. Today is when it finally pays off. She has called you almost every day so even though you are states apart, she is never truly absent. Hearing her voice now, getting the chance to share this moment with her, is more important to you than you know how to express.

“I can’t believe that you’re awake before noon.” This earns a scoff.

“I will have you know that I set an alarm for 5:30 so I would be awake in time to tell you good morning before you head off to work.” 

“That’s very sweet of you. I’m really glad you called.”

“Hey, there’s no way in hell I was gonna miss your first day!” 

“I appreciate that. It means a lot to have your support.”

“Of course! I will always give it freely. Besides, this is too cool not to talk about. You get to catch bad guys. You now have special government access. Plus you can basically read minds. You’re a real life superhero. How totally awesome is that?”

“Oh, I know. Why do you think I wanted the job? I’m glad you’re able to see its merits. Most people find it very morbid. Or boring.” 

“Well most people aren’t us.” Glancing over at the clock, you can’t help a small sigh from leaving your chest. Your sister of course catches on. “Do you have to go?” 

“Yeah. I only have about 15 minutes. Thank you so much for calling though! I always look forward to hearing from you.”

“Well I don’t have any patients today and I expect you to call me later tonight so we can talk about everything, okay?”

“Okay, it’s a plan. I love you.” 

“I love you too. Have a great first day.” You hang up quickly, making your way back into the kitchen to put away what you had gotten out. Instead you pull out a few granola bars to eat on the way. Even though this isn’t quite what you had planned you don’t mind one bit. Talking to your sister is more important. You briefly wonder if she took today off just so she could be there for you or if it is just a coincidence. If it was on purpose, you wouldn’t be surprised. It had always been kind of funny to you what careers both of you had chosen. She is a therapist. You are a profiler. While the two do have distinct differences there are also a lot of striking similarities. It’s just funny how life works out sometimes. Never what you expect. 

You head into the bedroom to grab your go-bag, making sure everything you need is in there. Picking up the paperwork from the table, you head out the door and downstairs to your car. After loading your things up, you turn on the radio to the most uplifting station you can find. This is the kind of morning where nothing less than radiant positivity is welcomed. It’s the first day of your new life and you are going to make the most of it, even if it kills you. 

The drive seems to go by in an instant and soon you find yourself in the parking lot of the BAU headquarters. There is still confidence bubbling inside of you but seeing the building right there in front of you causes the nerves to kick in as well. It seems so much bigger to you now. With a deep breath, you realize you need a little boost from your good luck charm. The small compartment on top of your dashboard opens with a click and you pull out the piece of paper inside. It feels good to have in your hands and you read the name at the top over and over again. Aaron Hotchner. His business card had stayed in your car all these years and whenever you felt nervous or unsteady, you pulled it out and for some reason it always calmed you. You were grateful to have it now more than ever. 

Feeling renewed, you set the card back in its cubby and get out of the car. Things in hand, you stride right up to the front doors and let yourself inside. Once inside the main lobby you head over to the front desk, where a man asks for your ID. Reaching into the front pocket of your go bag you pull out the badge you had collected weeks in advance. A feeling of power washes over you when he clears you, much like a year and a half ago when you had stepped inside the Fort Worth precinct. However, it was a much more intense feeling now. 

The journey towards the main offices of the BAU feels like a dream. The elevator carries you to the right floor and you float towards the glass doors that lead into your new workspace. Inside, it is bright and full of life. People move past you with such fluidity that it seems almost like a dance and baby, you are ready to tango.

Soon your attention is being commanded by a friendly voice you recognize very quickly. “Well, look who it is!”

Morgan makes his way towards you, a wide grin on his face. He looks just how you remember. You are glad the first person to greet you is someone you know. Now standing in front of you, he raises his arms and his expression changes as he silently asks for your permission. With a nod, you reach out as well as he pulls you in for a hug. 

“It’s nice to see you again sweetheart. I was starting to wonder if you were ever gonna show up.” Laughing lightly at this, you feel yourself relaxing. “Look at you, all professional. How does it feel?” 

“Completely liberating. It feels like it took me a lifetime to get here and now that I am, I can’t wait to get started.” 

“Well, you’re gonna get your chance sooner than you think. We just got a case this morning. They called us in a little early to debrief us. We’ll fill you in on the jet. It’s go time baby.” He lightly pats your arm with a smile as he leads you over to where the rest of the team is, all sat at their desks. Spencer and JJ you recognize but there’s one face that you haven’t seen before. “Look who finally made it.”

JJ stands quickly to give you a hug, patting your back. “Leave her alone. She was doing a lot of hard work to get here. She doesn’t deserve to be teased in her first ten minutes on the job.” She says to Morgan, shooting him a playful glare. “Welcome. We’re really excited to have you here. You’re going to make a wonderful addition to the team. If you ever need anything just let me know, okay?” 

“I will. Promise. Thanks.” Spencer is the next to stand, extending his hand to you. Taking it in your own, you nod respectfully. You don’t linger, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. 

“Hi. Sorry, I’m not much of a hugger.” 

“Oh, no need to be sorry. I definitely get it. It’s nice to see you again. I know we didn’t really get a chance to talk the last time we saw each other but I’m hoping to change that now that we’re coworkers.” 

“Of course. I would like that.” There is still a slight awkwardness in the way he smiles but not nearly as much so as when you first met him. He’s the only one of the three that you don’t feel much of a connection with but you are determined to change that. These were your peers now. Your new family. It was important to you that you get to know all of them. It was jarring at first seeing how familiar they are with you already but it doesn’t take long for you to become comfortable as well. However you quickly remember that there is one person you still haven’t met. Turning to her, you extend your hand. 

“Hello. I’m Y/N L/N.” She shakes your hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Emily Prentiss. These guys seem to have the advantage here. How do you all know each other?” 

“Oh, I shadowed them about a year and a half ago now while I was still a student. Today is my first day as a member of the team.” 

“That’s wonderful! Well, I’m excited to get to know you as well.” She offers a welcoming smile, one you appreciate. As you look around the bullpen you take note of the fact that Elle is nowhere to be found. At the moment you feel it isn’t your place to bring this up, so you simply smile at the people who are with you now. 

“So, I hear we’ve got a case.” You begin, desperately wanting to learn everything you can now so you can fully prepare yourself.

“Yeah,” JJ answers. “It’s a string of high level armed robberies in Los Angeles. Nobody has been able to identify or apprehend any of the unsubs. There are five of them. All of the robberies were almost identical except for the last one. Someone was shot and killed. That’s when the authorities invited us to work the case.” 

“Sounds like fun, huh?” Derek chimes in, jabbing you with his elbow. 

“I don’t know if fun is the right word. Interesting sounds better, I think. I’m ready to get started though.” 

“Yeah, I see that,” He gestures to your go-bag. “Good thing you’re all packed. That was a smart choice. They don’t always tell you to bring a bag on the first day. You’re all over it though.” 

“Well, you only get one shot at a first impression. I wanted to be seen as professional. Plus I am very rarely unprepared for things.” 

“Good. That’s a pretty good philosophy to hang onto, especially in this profession. The more prepared you are going into it, the better equipped you are to handle the stressors of the job. There’s a lot of tough things you’re gonna have to deal with but if you charge head first with a clear sense of where you’re going and what you’re doing, it’ll take a lot of the anxiety out of it.” You listen intently as he speaks with a tone of sincerity you have not yet heard from him. When he sees you staring at him, he chuckles. “First tip is free but next time I’m gonna charge you. Good advice like that doesn’t come cheap.” 

“Okay, good to know.” You laugh, looking towards the others with a smile. “How about you guys? Any free tips for the newbie?” 

“Yeah,” Emily chimes in. “Don’t listen to anything Morgan says.” This causes him to roll his eyes jokingly. “Although here’s a real piece of advice. No matter what happens, no matter how hard the job gets, don’t forget who you are. Don’t let this work compromise your beliefs and your morals. There are going to be times when you rethink what you know but don’t let the awful things you see harden you and turn you into someone you’re not. I can already see that you have a real light and kindness about you. Never let the bad people take that away from you or else they win.” Hearing this, your expression softens. For only having known you for a few minutes, Emily already seems to have bonded with you. Enough to give you such important advice. Her words linger in your head for a moment.

“I’ll definitely remember that.” JJ places a hand on your arm. 

“Can I add something?” You nod eagerly, wanting to soak up all of the knowledge that you possibly can from these people. “My advice would be to talk to your loved ones as often as you can. Trust me, you’ll definitely want to after some of the stuff that we see. Talking to someone outside of work and grounding yourself in those relationships will help keep you sane. You’re going to be really grateful for a strong support system later on.” 

“Luckily I do have a really strong support system in my sister. She basically raised me. She’s my best friend. It was hard to leave her but I know she still supports my decision.” 

“That’s so great. I’m really glad you have someone like that.” You nod, feeling a small tinge of sadness when you think about how much you wish she was here with you. However, it passes quickly when Morgan puts his hand on your shoulder as a sign of comfort. The gesture is simple but calming, almost as if he’s telling you that he is a part of your support system now too. You know the people surrounding you will have your back. That thought lifts your spirits immeasurably. 

“What about you? I’m sure I could get some good advice from a genius.” You say to Spencer after clearing your throat. 

He chuckles lightly and thinks for a moment. “I guess I would say don’t let your age stop you from reaching your potential. You and I are the same age so I think I know to some extent how nerve wracking all this must be. Just know that even though you are young you have a lot of skills and abilities to bring to the table. Chase after what you want and soak up everything you can now. I’m obviously a strong believer in the collection of knowledge so the more you learn the better off you’ll be later. And you have as much right to be here as anyone else. You’ve done the work so believe in your own skills.” The three of you watch him for a moment and he looks between you. “But, hey, what do I know.” His joke makes you laugh.

“No, that’s really good advice. Thank you.” Before you have a chance to say anything else, a voice from behind causes all of you to stop.

“What’s all the commotion out here?” Turning around quickly you see an older man with dark hair standing on the walkway that wraps around the bullpen. His eyebrows are raised as he begins making his way towards you. Upon seeing him you put on your best professional face but the others seem to stay relaxed as he walks over to you. Once he’s standing next to you he offers you his hand. “Hello.” You take it quickly, shaking hands with him as you maintain eye contact. Unsure of who this man is, you are afraid to make a bad impression. As you look into his eyes there is something so strikingly familiar about him but you aren’t quite sure what it is. “Who might you be?” 

“Sorry, sir. I am Y/N L/N. Today is my first day as a member of the BAU. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His dark expression immediately lightens as he gives you a small smile. 

“Ah. It’s nice to meet you as well. Sorry to scare you. I just have to keep these trouble makers in line from time to time.” Seeing him smile causes you to grin as well, beginning to relax again.

“Of course. It’s not a problem at all sir.” 

“Well I’m David Rossi. Welcome to the BAU, I guess would be an appropriate introduction. I promise I’m not always so scary.” 

“Just most of the time.” Derek adds, causing David to give him a look.

“Please ignore him. I like to think I’m a nice man. I don’t want to scare you off on your first day.” At this you can’t help but laugh. 

“Oh trust me sir, you won’t. I’ve worked really hard to get here. There’s no getting rid of me now.” This causes him to laugh. 

“That’s a good attitude to have. It’ll get you pretty far in this career. Keep working, keep putting the bad people away. It may take a while but it’s a gratifying feeling. In the meantime, just keep your chin up and you’ll be just fine. You seem like a bright kid.” 

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.” 

“Please, you can call me Rossi. Everyone else does.” 

“Okay. Rossi. Thanks.” With a warm smile he pats your arm. 

“If you want a prime example of working hard to get ahead, look at Hotch. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that man not at work. That’s why he’s the boss.” Derek says. His words make your breath hitch. Just the mention of his name makes you nervous. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen him and you only spent time together for one day but even so he has been such a huge inspiration to you. And seemingly for good reason. You already know that Hotchner is going to be the man to impress around here but you don’t mind that much.

“Speaking of, have you spoken with Hotch yet today?” Rossi asks. 

“No. I actually have some paperwork that I need to give to him before we leave, clearing me to travel and all of that. Could I possibly see him now?” You try not to sound too desperately hopeful.

“Yeah, of course. His office is right up there.” Rossi points to a door across the room. With a deep breath you nod in gratitude and then begin making the walk over to his office. It seems like an endless journey as you remind yourself over and over again that he’s just a person and you don’t need to be so afraid. Or nervous. Excited? Infatuated? Whatever the feeling is, it’s overwhelming. Once you’re outside his door, you close your eyes and breath before knocking. His voice is clear coming from the other side as he tells you to come in. 

Opening the door cautiously, you step inside with paperwork in hand. Hotch is sitting at his desk filling something out, not looking up.

“Good morning sir.” Upon hearing your voice he looks quickly up at you. His eyes are just as dark and intense as you dreamed, fixated completely on you. The two of you maintain eye contact for a moment and the world is nothing but him. Suddenly realizing what you’re doing you force yourself to snap out of it, reminding yourself that this man is your boss and you’re acting like a lunatic. 

“Good morning.” He says simply, not moving as he watches you intently. Willing yourself to gather up all of your confidence, you walk over to stand right in front of his desk. 

“It’s really lovely to see you again. Being here is like a dream. At the BAU, I mean. I’ve been looking forward to it for so long, I almost can’t believe that I’m here. Now that I am though, I’m ready to work. I plan to earn your trust now just like I did the last time we worked together. I won’t let you down.” With a sudden flush of embarrassment, you grip the papers tightly. You have only been in his office for a few seconds and already you have completely exploded in excitement. Taking another breath, you calm yourself. “Sorry sir. I’m just very excited to be here. If you couldn’t tell.” 

There is another moment of silence as Hotch’s eyes stay locked on yours, scrutinizing your expression with calm intensity. For a second you can almost see him thinking, as though he’s working something out in his head though you aren’t quite sure what that is. After a moment he stands up, putting you both on equal footing. Everything about him commands your focus and attention. A quiet prayer hangs on your lips as you wait for him to say your name again after all this time. Just once is all you need and then you’d be happy. No more daydreams, no more delusions, no more distractions. Just once and you can do your job. If only he’d quit staring at you so deeply and tell you exactly what you want to hear.

“I do appreciate your heartfelt words ma’am but I’m afraid I’m at a loss. I’m not sure I know who you are.” With that your heart drops. Of all the things he could have possibly said, this was the most disappointing. It’s such a small sentence but it is a mighty blow.

“I’m sorry?” You inquire, hoping that maybe you misunderstood.

“I’m really very sorry ma’am but I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not sure we’ve ever met.” Nope, you had understood what he was saying perfectly much to your dismay.

“My name is Y/N L/N sir. We did meet a little over a year ago now. You came to my hometown to work on a case and I spent the day shadowing you. I was a student at the time. Today is my first day here as a team member.” Hotch says nothing in response for a time, his expression exposing what seems to be a deep sense of regret. 

“I apologize. We go through a lot of cases, it’s difficult for me to keep track of all the people that come and go in my life.” That is all you need to hear to shut down any further fantasizing. You had come and gone from his life a long time ago. Frankly you feel foolish for indulging these thoughts anyway. It was one day a year ago. There is nothing to look into. He is your boss now, not some high school crush. This is a professional environment. This would be for the better anyway. At least those are the sorts of things you tell yourself. “I really don’t mean any offense. It’s nice to meet you. Needless to say we’ll get to know each other now since we’ll be working together. Welcome to the team.” He tries to soften his expression but there is still a severity to it that doesn’t ease the knot in your stomach. 

“It’s really my fault, sir. I shouldn’t have expected you to remember me. It was a long time ago and you’re a very busy man. No offense taken. I’m excited to work with you.” Trying to change the subject, you extend your paperwork towards him. “Here’s all of my entry paperwork. It gives me authorization to travel, my medical and professional history is there as well. All I need is your signature and I will be clear to begin working.” Looking through it quickly he nods before signing each of the necessary lines. He hands it back to you and you nod awkwardly before deciding to merely head towards the door. “Thank you sir. I’ll take this to the front desk really quickly and I’ll be good to work this latest case. I’ve already brought a go-bag.” 

“Oh, you won’t be needing a go-bag.” This stops you in your tracks.

“I won’t?” You ask, turning to face him. 

“No, you won’t. You’re not travelling with us for the case.” Every dream you’d had about your first day at the BAU is crumbling around you with every word that comes out of his mouth. 

“Can I ask why, sir?” Leaning down to open a cabinet, he pulls out his own go-bag and unzips it to check its contents. This simple act of dismissal is enough to make you feel an inch tall. 

“It’s only your first day, I don’t hardly know anything about you. I don’t feel comfortable taking an agent into the field that is practically a stranger to me and to the rest of my team. It will only compromise your safety and the safety of others. When I get back, we’ll have a discussion and see where you’re at when the next case rolls around.”

“But sir,” For a second your own words ring in your head. You’re the boss. No explanation necessary. You are not the kind of person that questions authority. You never have been and you thought you never would be but hearing your new boss say this to you makes your blood boil for some reason. It’s like Spencer said. You have as much right to be here as anyone else and you have not gone through seven years of grueling work to be put on the sidelines from day one. “I have studied and trained for a long time. I put in the work, the same as the rest of you and that’s why I’m here. I didn’t just show up on accident, it’s because I’m good at what I do. I have all the paperwork and I am prepared to put in the effort on this case.” His movements have stopped now and his eyes stay locked on yours, unable to look away as you speak. Once you’re finished he breaks away and sighs deeply. 

“I am not disputing any of that but I am responsible for the safety of my team and now that includes you. It would make me feel much better if I could talk with you before sending you to the front lines. I’m on your side here even if it doesn’t seem like it. But at the end of the day I am your boss and I have final say. The answer is no. I want to like you, Y/N. Don’t give me reason to distrust you on your first day.” 

“Yes sir,” Is all you are able to mutter as you feel yourself deflate. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.” The shift in your demeanor must have been palpable because his expression suddenly softens and a hint of a smile ghosts over his lips as he walks over to you. 

“I know you didn’t. I’m sorry to disappoint you but you’ll have your chance soon enough.” With that, he grabs his bag and walks out of the office. In no more than ten minutes all of your big hopes and dreams for your perfect first day at the BAU were crushed. Everything has been happening so fast that it still seems like it might not be real. It’s all you can do to walk back out into the bullpen. Derek is the first one to notice your mood shift. 

“What happened?” With a forced smile you shake your head.

“I’m not going to be joining you guys. The boss doesn’t feel comfortable letting me into the field just yet. I guess it makes sense.” Hearing this, Derek, JJ, and Spencer all three share a confused look.

“It actually doesn’t make that much sense. If you’ve got the paperwork, you are clear to go in the field. Everything should be in order. I’m not sure why he would wanna keep you behind. You’ll learn more in the field than you will sitting here.” Emily and JJ nod in agreement and you shrug off his questioning.

“It is what it is. I’ll just have to make the most out of it.” You quiet down but he can see that there is still something upsetting you.

“Okay, come on. What else happened?” The expression on his face is one of determination as he stares you down, waiting for an answer. 

“It’s nothing really. It’s just that he didn’t remember me and I was a little disappointed. That’s all. It’s not really a big deal.” 

“No, that is definitely a big deal. Hotch is not a forgetful man. Especially when it comes to people. If he worked one on one with you a year ago and he knew you were going to be a future member of his team, he would have paid especially close attention to you. That just definitely doesn’t seem right to me.” As much as you agreed with him you decided now wasn’t the time to push the issue. 

“Well, I’m sure he just had a lot on his mind. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, good luck guys. I’ll see you when you get back.” The look on Derek’s face indicates that he wants to continue the conversation but he doesn’t. The three of them grab their go-bags and head to the door. Following them you smile when Derek gives you a side hug.

“We’ll all go get a drink when we get back. I promise.” You nod. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Before he can walk out the doors with the others you stop him. “Hey. Thanks. I know we still don’t know each other that well but I appreciate you making me feel welcome.” 

“No problem, kid. You’re one of us now. We have to protect our own.” With one last smile he disappears through the main doors. Stepping out after him you stop when you see Hotch standing right outside the doors. With a small breath you walk over to him. 

“You’ll be working with our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia. Go down to the bottom floor. Her office will be the third door on the right when you get off the elevator. She’ll introduce herself. She’s very friendly. We’ll speak when I get back.” With that, he too disappears. 

In little more than thirty minutes, your perfect day is ruined before it has even really begun. Thoughts spin inside your head faster than you can comprehend. It feels like your fault for letting your expectations get so high. There is no way of erasing it. No matter how many good days you have from here on out, your first day at the BAU will always be a sad memory. It hadn’t been all bad of course. It had been nice to talk with the other team members for the short time that you had. However, that feeling was quickly ruined by your interaction with Hotchner. He was one of the main reasons you were so excited to begin working. You were sure that he would have some inspirational words of advice for you but all he had done was make you feel belittled. There was no way of taking that back. Now you were side lined for your very first case and it was completely out of your control. You really wish you had your good luck charm right about now. Something tells you you’re going to need it now more than ever. The Hotch that exists within that business card is the one you want to linger in your memories. The respectful and professional agent who had made you feel so respected and appreciated. That is the Hotch you need right now but that isn’t the man you’d spoken with today. That is what broke your heart more than anything. With one last longing look at the main doors you gather yourself up and head down to meet Penelope Garcia. 

Tags:  @talesfromtheguild @lannister-slings-and-arrows @gamingaquarius @gryffindorwriter @nopeforyou @sheerfreesia007 @roxypeanut​ @ssahotchie​ @ohpedromypedro @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @readsalot73 @the-mechanical-angel @races-erster @maxlordd @pascalisthepunkest @paintballkid711 @hotchafterhours @h0tchner @ssahotchswife @ssahotchhner @technotic-prophecy @klinenovakwinchester @hotch-stufff​

[the-original-b]

Archangel: Brimstone

Format: Prose / Fiction, one-shot

Word Count: c. 4,200

Summary: Authorities begin to investigate the shootout at the Nyne Circles club, and discover last night’s violence wasn’t the first time the establishment bore witness to mass bloodshed.

Warning(s): blood, violence, implied sex crimes

Nyne Circles club, Monday morning.

A man in a dark suit and white shirt stepped off the lift as the gate opened; his tie loose around his open shirt collar. He strode down the short hallway, stepping over a covered body on his way to a note written in chalk on the wall that separated the entrance from the main atrium. “Abandon all hope, ye who enter,” he read in a gravelly, masculine baritone. He slid his hands into his pockets and snickered to himself as he noted the signs pointing toward the Gomorrah and Sodom levels. “A little on-the-nose with that one,” he noted as he headed down to his right toward Sodom.

He was met by two uniformed police officers watching over the room. “This is a crime scene, sir,” the younger of the two said. “I’m gonna have to see some identification before you come any closer.”

“Sorry, gentlemen,” the newcomer in the dark suit added with a wry smile. “Where are my manners..? I’m Agent Peter Cross,” he said. “United States Government.”

“Is that right, Agent?” The officer put his hands on his hips, challenging the man. “And who are you with exactly? FBI? CIA? Homeland Security?”

“I’m OGA,” Cross replied after a two-second pause. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back, and his jaw sported a manicured pale gray two-week beard accented with black hairs. “And your crime scene here is the latest in a series of interconnected incidents, so I’ll be taking over your investigation of it.”

OGA, as in Other Government Agency. “Yeah? How’s that?”

“Earlier this month, local law enforcement pulls a headless body out of the driver seat of a pickup across the street from Saint Vittorio’s. Fast forward a few weeks, and a poor lady out for her morning jog on the Margaret Pace Park Bywalk stumbles over what’s left of two bodies. And then just yesterday NYPD collects half a dozen more in a Bayside alleyway.” He shifted his weight. “Including this, we’re looking at four acts of extreme gangland violence in three different states. That made this a federal matter even before fire and sulfur destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah here.”

“This is all good and lovely, but I still have no idea if you’re real, Mr. Cross. Do you have ID?”

“What I have, Officer Lindbeck, is a cell phone. I so much as utter a vowel to the right people, and that possession charge that was expunged from little Davey’s record quickly and decisively becomes un-expunged. So if you’re done showing your partner how big your dick is, please let me in so I can do my job.” His lips curled upward into a sly smirk.

“You leave my son out of this, creep,” Officer Lindbeck snarled. “Or I’ll make you regret ever showing your face here.”

Cross retracted his head, raising both his eyebrows and widening his hazel-brown eyes. “Well pardon the shit out of my goddamn French, young man,” he said, “but did you just threaten me?”

Officer Lindbeck’s older and more seasoned partner got between the two men. He had some familiarity with OGA-types and knew exactly what kind of people they were. “Let it go, David,” he suggested. “Go take a walk. Get some air, maybe a coffee.”

Lindbeck eyed his partner, then Cross. He shook his head and cursed under his breath as he walked away from them, toward the lift.

The other officer turned back to Cross. “Forgive David,” he finally said. “He hasn’t been with the Force long enough to know ‘OGA’ is shorthand for stop asking questions… how can I help you, Agent Cross?”

Cross looked over the room briefly. “You can bring me up to speed on what the actual hell happened in here.”

“We’re working on that,” he said, leading him deeper into the area with a head tilt. “All we know for sure is the carnage we see wasn’t planned. If it were,” he noted, “we’d be looking at a lot more DBs than what we got.”

“That counting the one in the lobby?”

“No, there were no gunshot wounds on that one. She was probably just trampled—like the others on this floor. Gunshots are all upstairs.”

Cross turned his gaze up to the mezzanine floor. “What’s your name, Officer?”

“Blake,” he said.

“Well, Officer Blake,” he suggested, a grin tugging at his lip, “why don’t we take a look up there and see what we find?”

 ~~

Blake followed Cross back toward the lobby and up to the catwalk across from the mezzanine. He stayed behind looking over one of the bodies as Cross proceeded toward the back office, stepping over another corpse to examine the damage done to the wall adjacent to the doorway.

“Blake,” he called, curling his first and second fingers twice and beckoning the other officer. “Come check this out.”

Blake arrived shortly afterward, standing to Cross’s right and bending over to look at what Cross was focused on. “Bullet holes,” he noted. “They came from down the hall and hit the wall at an angle.”

“That they very well did,” Cross agreed. “But they’re different.”

Blake squinted a little to see what it was he was talking about. “Yeah, I see what you mean… calibers aren’t the same.”

“Right you are again. This here looks like a nine millimeter. The other…” Cross shut one eye and inspected the damage. “Forty-five or bigger, if my eyes serve me.”

“So, two different guns?”

“At two different times. Check out the wear in the drywall where the bullets hit,” he noted. “Nine is fresh from last night,” he observed, “Big Boy’s been around for a while.”

Blake looked back at the notches in the wall. “So you’re telling me last night wasn’t the first shootout in this place?”

“That, my friend, is exactly what I’m saying…” Cross stepped away from the wall, peered into the Red Room at the covered bodies on the floor and kept going to find a spot on the catwalk to lean over the handrail. “Do you know what this place used to be?”

“I’ve read reports,” Blake said, standing a few feet from him. “It was some kind of luxury club for criminals.”

Cross nodded. “It was called Brimstone, and it was the crown jewel of the Teller crime syndicate five or six years ago. We all knew it, but no concrete evidence was ever dug up connecting it to Mr. Teller. Everything we had was circumstantial but even I knew it was enough to nail him for this place. Higher-ups didn’t agree, though. They withheld the raid order.” He laced his fingers together as he continued. “Then one night an ex-Special Forces operator-turned-fixer gets a tip from somebody in the loop about a human trafficking operation run out of the place, and he shut that shit down… Couldn’t get Teller himself, so he settled for the wife instead.”

“How do you know all that?” Blake asked, a few feet from the other man.

Cross shot him a look and smirked before looking back across the floor at the mezzanine. “I’ve read reports,” he said. “Keep an eye on this venue, Officer Blake” he advised, straightening back up. “If I were a bettin’ boy, I’d say this place’ll be up and running again in no time at all.”

 ~~

The Brimstone Lounge (currently known as Cloud Nyne), five or six years ago.

Three men approached the door that one night, and a broad-shouldered fellow in a dark suit and shirt with an open collar knocked on the front door three times, then two more in quick succession. A mail slot slid open for the doorman to look through and accept three invitations from the men outside, and after a few seconds the door swung open to let them in. They checked their coats as they walked in, then made their way toward the main floor, a spot-lit open space with a bar on one end and a stage on the other. Pole dancers on stage moved evocatively to club beats for the entertainment of the patrons there, who watched from a number round tables with their drinks and other mind-altering substances.

The trio stopped to acknowledge the stage performers, but kept moving toward a wide staircase that spiraled upward at concentric 90-degree angles which led to the VIP area upstairs. When they got there, they presented their invitations to the bouncers there—dressed in black suits and shirts with cerulean blue ties—and opened their jackets to show them they were carrying handguns. Such was the understanding; handguns were allowed as long as they were concealed and nobody caused trouble. Since all the staff and most of the patrons were carrying anyway, trouble was seldom started.

After passing a quick search, the trio made their way upstairs and found their seats in the quieter lounge area. At the wall opposite the staircase was a well-appointed bar at which a handful of people enjoyed their drinks, and at the other side of the room was a seating area and smaller stage where a procession of young, specimen men and women dressed in very little would be presented to and bid upon by the seated observers. Behind the bar and around the room were a handful more men in black suits and blue ties.

The auctioneer—a middle-aged woman in a classy off-the-shoulder cerulean blue gown—gave exposition for the merchandise on display and accepted bids before breaking for twenty minutes. She reclaimed her place at the podium. “The intermission has concluded, ladies and gentlemen,” she said into a microphone. “Please find your seats again and we’ll continue with this evening’s auction.”

One of the patrons, an athletically built fair-skinned fellow around the age of forty reclaimed his seat with a gin martini is his hand. His fingers moved absentmindedly around the stainless steel garnish pick as he placed occasional bids, not exactly looking to win but more to maintain the illusion of interest. His tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, rosewood red tie and matching pocket square garnered enough attention; if the staff got the slightest hint he wasn’t there for the same reason as the other patrons, the evening would take a turn too far ahead of schedule.

~~~~ 

The emcee brought the auction to a close an hour later. “This concludes the evening’s fundraiser, ladies and gentlemen! Congratulations again to our winners; you may claim your prizes at the back entrance. Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As the patrons began clearing out, the man in the red tie stood up and made his way to the bathroom, concealing his garnish pick in his closed hand as he moved and holding it between his teeth as he washed his hands. He ran them through his combed-back light brown hair and stroked his graying stubble in the mirror while he waited for all but one of the other men in the room with him to leave. The other one—a staff member identifiable by the cerulean blue tie thrown over his shoulder—was urinating in one of the stalls.

The man in the red tie made his way to the door, undoing his jacket and engaging the bolt-and-barrel lock in the ceiling before turning back to the staff member. He retrieved the pick from between his teeth and reached around to stab the other man in the neck with it, then punched him in the ribs and swept his feet backward to have him fall face first into the toilet, where he held the man’s head in place under the water until he stopped moving.

Then he washed the blood and toilet water from his hands and got to work. He found the air vent mentioned in his briefing and unscrewed three of the cover’s fasteners with his fingertips, letting it hang from the fourth, then reached up to retrieve the box his contact had smuggled there the day earlier. On it was a post-it note that read,

Krueger,

Here’s a little extra firepower, as promised.

Krueger lifted the lid off the case and examined its contents—a loaded SPAS-12 and bandolier with eighteen extra shells, along with earplugs, two spare .45 ACP magazines for his Mk. 23, and a single M84 stun grenade.

“Ausgezeichnet,” he said to himself.

He fastened the ammunition belt to himself under his jacket and unfolded the shotgun’s stock, pressing it against his shoulder and raising it to his eyes to look down the sights and acquire the picture. Then he placed his earplugs in, disengaged the safety, switched the action from pump-operation to semi-auto, and went back towards the door, resting his hand on the bolt lock for a moment. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and released the lock when he opened his eyes again. He swung the door wide and raised the shotgun, acquiring his first target behind the bar.

Krueger dropped the bartender with a single well-aimed blast from his shotgun, and adjusted his angle to find his second target by the stairs who he dispatched just as quickly as the first. Peripherally to his right he spotted a third staff member reach into his jacket, and before he could shoot Krueger half-spun and dropped to one knee to line his shot and fired twice. He rose back up to his feet just as he sighted a fourth staff member and squeezed the trigger a fifth time.

He quickly scanned the room and found no more threats, then made his way to the stars as the music below stopped and the patrons began to evacuate. He descended half of them then vaulted over the banister to land in the lobby, where he targeted the doorman next; he fired before his target could draw his gun.

Krueger got back to his feet and slipped behind a wide load-bearing column, peering over it at the staff members he could see shepherding the patrons out the emergency exit at the back of the space. He took this moment to catch his breath; he turned the shotgun upside down, took four rounds from his ammo belt and slid them into the magazine tube one at a time, then put two more into his gun to top it off.

The room was considerably emptier now, and Krueger could more easily spot the bright blue ties of his targets as he peered around the column again. He knew he had to move soon—the body armor he wore under his shirt would stop anything smaller than a .44 magnum, but it only covered his chest and back. His best bet was to stay mobile and not give them a chance to shoot him.

He stayed low behind the half-wall partition separating the lobby from the main atrium, moving away from the bar area along which he knew the staff would begin their patrol. He knew engaging them in the open would mean his peril, so he readied the stun grenade and took a moment to prepare himself for what it would do to him in an enclosed space.

Krueger laid his shotgun on the floor, then pulled the pin on the bomb and tossed it backward over the half-wall in the direction of the bar. He curled up, turning toward the floor shutting his eyes while he cupped his hands over his plugged ears.

By the time the others realized what was about to happen, it was too late.

“Oh, shit—!”

The deafening boom filled the space, reverberating from the walls and disorienting everyone within direct exposure. Krueger slowly opened his eyes after dealing with the shockwave, and took a second to find his balance again before reaching for his shotgun. Unlike him, his targets were neither trained nor prepared for the concussive device, which put him at a distinct advantage over them.

Krueger stood back up and raised his weapon, dropping each of his dizzied, staggering targets with blasts from his shotgun as he moved out from behind the partition and headed towards the stage. He cleared the weapon, firing nine times before reaching the stage, and drew his Mk. 23 one-handed from inside his jacket as he approached the space behind it.

He held the .45 out in front of him in his right hand while he held onto the shotgun with his left. He peered into the open doors of each room, clearing them quickly until he came across a closed door. He kicked it open and held the handgun out, scaring five dancers hiding there.

Krueger lowered the weapon, knowing they were no threat to him. “Get out,” he ordered.

The dancers wasted no time; they darted past him toward the exit.

As he turned he was ambushed by one staff member in the uniform black suit and blue tie; Krueger slapped the gun in his hand with the shotgun muzzle and shot him twice in the throat with his .45, then once more in the head once he hit the ground. He turned back around to clear the final room before holstering his handgun to reload the shotgun and return to the main atrium.

Krueger raised the shotgun again from behind the backstage corner, looking through the sights at the handful of people left alive in the space with him as they gathered their senses in the wake of the stun bomb. He scanned their outfits for the cerulean blue ties he’d been shooting at all night, and when he found none he stepped out from behind cover and moved toward the emergency exit.

Peripherally he spotted one rise from behind the bar; he and Krueger got their shots off at the same time, but Krueger’s vest saved him while the other man had no such protection. He shot the dying barman again as got back to his feet, cursing as he proceeded onward to the emergency exit.

He stepped through an employees-only door to his left and proceeded down a hallway. In the dim light he spotted the sheen of the auctioneer’s cerulean blue gown. She turned to lock eyes with him; in her left hand was a compact handgun.

Krueger held the shotgun steady, training the sights on the center of her chest. He’d been shooting at that color all night—the staff color—but her gun was lowered. She had a chance to walk away, so he offered it to her.

“Put it down,” he ordered, his finger resting on the trigger.

Her eyes narrowed, and she raised the gun.

Krueger fired before she could take her shot, and lowered the shotgun as life escaped the auctioneer with a sigh, her eyes still open.

He took a step over to her and, recognizing who she was, knelt down beside her. This was Maria Teller—the wife of local mob boss Christopher Teller, the man whose establishment this was and the one he was sent in to kill. He reached over to close her eyelids, then thumbed the blood trickle from the corner of her mouth before continuing down the hallway and reaching a lift to get to the basement level.

He elbowed the switch to activate the lift and placed the last three shells on his bandolier into his shotgun as the lift descended. After them he still had the spare magazines for his handgun—whatever was waiting for him in the basement, he was confident he had enough ammunition to kill it.

 ~~~~

The lift gates opened, and Krueger raised his shotgun again as he walked forward scanning the dark, dank cellar. Shafts of light permeated downward from stage lighting assemblies hanging from the ceiling, illuminating passing dust. In the quiet he could identify footsteps in the space before him; carefully he approached the far wall. To his left was a set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine floor, and to his right was a walkway that emptied into the open atrium where a dozens of massive plywood boxes were arranged.

Clearing that maze, he knew, would be a nightmare. He moved to his left and quietly ascended the stairs; the moment he crossed a pair of hands took the shotgun by its pump and pulled it away. Krueger managed to get a shot off but hit the wall instead of his target. Immediately he threw his right fist at the man’s jaw, and grabbed hold of his lapel to throw him into and over the banister. He drew his Mk. 23 and peered into the atrium below, firing twice at the fallen man.

Gunfire from two more down in the storage-box maze erupted upward, and Krueger threw himself back into the wall to catch his bearings. He traced the wall back toward the stairwell, holding the handgun close in his left hand for when they inevitably came up to engage him.

He fired twice at the first man to cross the threshold, and kicked him back down the stairs into the other. He fired a third, fourth, and fifth time at the two men to finish them.

Krueger’s vest caught a round meant for his left shoulder blade, spinning him around to face the catwalk opposite the mezzanine. Immediately he raised his handgun and emptied the magazine in the direction the shots came from. One of his shots struck the last staff member in the hip—he lurched backward, retreating deeper down the catwalk and tucking himself behind a doorway.

Krueger swapped the spent magazine for a fresh one from his bandolier, and slowly, methodically approached the catwalk with the gun raised. He spotted the other man as he popped out of cover to fire, but Krueger shot twice, hitting both the other man and the wall near the doorway. The staff member fell backward through the door.

Krueger closed in on the fallen man, kicking his handgun out of reach and keeping his weapon trained on the man lying on the floor.

He mustered the strength to tilt his head and look Krueger in the eye. “T-Teller,” he croaked. Blood came out of his mouth along with the name. “Where’s Missus—”

Krueger shot the man in the head before he could finish his thought. He relaxed his stance and exhaled.

“Better now,” he put forth, holstering his gun again. “Better.”

He moved back down the catwalk to reclaim his shotgun, and started limping as the adrenaline began filtering out of his blood. He bent over to pick the gun up when he heard movement coming from one of the plywood crates below.

He snapped the shotgun back to his eyes and descended the stairs one more time, stepping over the bodies. When he arrived at the crate making the most noise, he fired at two of the hinges at the corners of the crate’s façade , then ripped the front of it off to look inside.

His expression softened as he lowered the shotgun and looked upon a naked woman holding her knees to her chest, her makeup tracing dark lines down her cheeks. She shot a horrified look back up at him, not daring to breathe.

He knelt down before her and placed the shotgun on the floor of the crate, then took his jacket off to gently place around her shoulders. Looking at her again, he recognized her as one of the people Maria Teller was auctioning off just over an hour ago.

“Are the others here as well?” he asked her. His tone was warm, fatherly, even.

Quietly the woman nodded.

Krueger stood up and looked around him at all the plywood crates in the room with him. Who knew how many other people were trapped in crates with them, or for how long they were there? Who could say for sure how many young men and women the Tellers and their associates kidnapped off the streets and sold for the people who bought them to do God-only-knows-what to them? How many more did he save from this; how many didn’t he?

He looked back down at the scared, naked woman. “I was never here,” he told her. Then he turned to head back to the lift.

 ~~~~

Krueger made his way back up to the top floor restroom to reclaim the case his weapons were stored in after freeing the other young men and women auctioned off earlier that evening. After placing the SPAS-12, Mk. 23, and bandolier back into the box and shutting the lid, he made his way to the ground floor again and stepped behind the bar to make a phone call on the landline there. He hit 9 to reach an outside line and dialed 9-1-1.

“Send police and EMS to the Morrow building on Park Avenue,” he said as soon as the operator picked up the phone. “There are at least two dozen men and women in the basement level who’ll need warm clothes, hot food, and cool water. Find out who they are, whether they have family, and send them home.” He hung the phone up and went back to the front to collect his coat, then headed to the back of the room to leave through the emergency exit and disappear into the night.

(Masterlist)

[mikami]

Death Note Audio Drama 02

Disk 2: Collateral Damage - a summary / partial translation

Disk 1 and an attempted explanation of What This Is are here.

This episode also isn’t particularly wild as far as plot diversion goes, but it changes a key element of how Death Note manipulation works and.... introduces a whole lot of Matsuda trivia, somehow. We also say hi and bye to Naomi.

___________________

We begin with Naomi tracking down the bus driver of the busjacking. The driver is really annoyed that people keep tracking him down to ask him about it. Naomi asks about Raye. (Her vacation pic is from Honolulu in this version). Naomi presses the driver to tell her as much as he remembers about the other passengers.

_____

TITLE MUSIC PLAYS

_____

We’re back in time. Light is trying to think about how to get Raye Penber’s name. His dad’s computer has no notes about it. Light deduces that his dad doesn’t even know about the tailing. Ryuk brings up the eye deal.

RYUK: I can offer you the eyes of a shinigami.

LIGHT: U-uh, you mean a real pair of eyes? That’s disgusting!!

RYUK (amused): No, I just mean the power of those eyes.

The lifespan halving gets brought up and Light just goes “uhm... no thanks”, literally. 

LIGHT: Are there any more surprises? Some kind of bonus point system? Fine print? 

RYUK: Uuuuuhm, can’t think of anything much right now.

LIGHT: You could have written it into the Death Note, alongside the other rules. I don’t like to be led by the nose, I’m not your goddamn----

RYUK: ... what?

LIGHT: I am not your puppet.... But I can get one for myself.

RYUK: I don’t get it.

LIGHT: I know now, how to get my pursuer’s name. And that’s without making any kind of contract with you.

_______

A TV transmission. An attorney has issued a lawsuit against prisons for the way prisoners die. His client died of heart attack after writing a pentagram in his own blood. He was close to being pardoned. The lawyer says that the government has a duty to ensure safety of the prisoners, no matter what they are in for. 

_______

L and Soichiro discuss the murder and other abnormal murders like it. They have Soichiro be the one to discover the “L did you know” message, oddly. But they don’t really detail how it is coded, so it might have just literally been written down word by word in this version. L tells Soichiro to not tell anyone about this, not even his team. Soichiro immediately says he’ll only keep it in her personal data files.......

_______

RYUK: Are you really sure you should snoop around your dad’s office like this?

LIGHT: If you want a useful way to keep your eyes busy, why don’t you keep watch?

RYUK: I am not your partner. Oh, an apple. [eats]

LIGHT: Luckily, I can do just fine without your help. A-ha! Interpol listed them all!

RYUK: All your extremely dramatic deaths?

LIGHT: More or less. Seems like not all I wrote into the notebook actually happened.

They go over the stipulations of manipulation needing to be physically doable for the victim. 

LIGHT: And now I just need... a catalyst.

_______

News transmission. A news entry about the killer of the Amane parents having died. Channel switch. A Christmas-themed advertisement for Space Land. Channel Switch. A news feature about Kiichiro Osoreda and his failed bank robbing.

______

Light meets Yuri and Yuri’s dialogue is kept pretty accurate to the manga, which is something that I found really disappointing actually. Light’s and Ryuk’s dialogue here is also very close to the original. 

Raye Penber complains that he’d like to do real policework at some point again, otherwise he acts the same as in the manga here.

The whole busjacking is just really manga-close. But when Raye says he’s police undercover...

LIGHT: Oh, really? And how do I know you’re not in cahoots with this madman?

PENBER: And who are you? A detective?

YURI: His dad is a detective, that’s why he’s so smart.

LIGHT: Do you have ID? Otherwise I’ll have to deal with you first. 

PENBER: Of course! Here.

LIGHT: Raye Penber... FBI? What is the FBI doing on a bus to Space Land?

PENBER: This isn’t really the time for that, boy.

LIGHT: Alright, cowboy, then toss your lasso already. 

I cannot overstate that he literally says this. Word by word. After that, the scene returns to its canon version. The bizarre thing is that Ryuk explains the plan out loud, including telling Light’s name to Otoharada. Of course, Otoharada is brainwashed and acting according to script, but still weird.

_______

News transmission. The busjacking gets described. Light turns the news off and shows the Death Note entry to Ryuk, who reads it out loud. 

______

We hear a New Year’s countdown. 

WATARI: What in Hercules’ name was that?

INTERPOL REP (still clinking champagne glasses): It’s the time difference, Mr. Watari! It’s midnight, here in the USA. 

WATARI: Oh... I am so very sorry. I must have lost my overview. 

INTERPOL REP: Forget about it. Just a moment.

She leaves the party room. She informs Watari of the deceased FBI agents. It happened three days ago, but she only got the report now, thanks to the holiday crunch. She now refuses to involve the FBI further. 

______

Soichiro calls L. He’s pissed about L involving the FBI, now that he’s heard. 

______

Back with Watari and the Interpol Rep (her name is Paula Virilio and she’ll be referred to as Virilio in the future) are still talking about the matter. She tells Watari that on Dec 28th all the agents asked about names and photos of their coworkers, so she gave the first four the file and asked them to pass it further.

______

Soichiro is really mad about Virilio’s miss-step too. L and Soichiro work out that they need to know who sent the first email about the files. The phone call ends.

The Task Force is really mad about L still not taking the same risks as them. They actually seriously consider L being Kira for a moment. 

______

The Task Force enter the hotel L is staying in. Pardon me for sometimes just saying ‘someone’ as the speaker, I find the Task Force really hard to tell about and without context cues I am often lost.

MATSUDA: A whole hotel suite? How do you earn the money for this stuff?

L: By being smarter than everyone else, Detective Matsuda.

MATSUDA: You are... [He corrects himself from the formal ‘you’ used to address adults to informal ‘you’ here] You are L....?

L: The one. Please sit down, gentlemen.

MATSUDA: He’s still a child...

L (laughs): I am old enough to vote, Mr. Matsuda. Old enough to carry a weapon, to marry, to fall in love... and to catch a murderer.  And you are Chief Inspector Yagami. I also know you from TV.

SOICHIRO: Yes, here’s my ID, for protocol. This is Matsuda, as you know. Detectives Aizawa, Ukita, Mogi...

L: A group of dead men. 

SOICHIRO: Excuse me, what?

L: If I really was Kira, you’d all be dead now. 

MATSUDA: How can we know that, boy?

L: Because you are not dead, detective. 

MATSUDA: We call that kind of thing circular logic.

L: I call someone like you an idiot. 

MATSUDA: I don’t need to listen to this from a civilian, you little shitty---

SOICHIRO (softly): Matsuda. 

L: You name is Touta Matsuda. Graduated from Kumamoto University. Passion for sports cars and every Thursday, you go to the cinema. Big drama. Not in a relationship right now, but in pining hope for something complicated with Noriko Takai. Hm. A very concerning sympathy for both [???? I DONT KNOW THE WORD] as well as country music. Loves Korean cuisine, but....

SOMEONE: He’s got your number, Matsuda.  

MATSUDA: So what? You all can easily figure out the same from social media.

L: Yeah, that’s what I can do. Everything. About you, and your sister, and your stupid aunt who doesn’t know how to properly set the privacy settings of her account. I know where you live, you tool--

SOICHIRO: I think we got it, L. 

L: Really? Kira plays this game to win. I agreed to meet you, because you were all getting nervous about working with an anonymous specialist, so I am here. To get my hands as dirty as yours. But really, is this necessary...?

SOICHIRO: What do you want, L?

L: I want you to take this seriously.

SOMEONE: In the face of 12 dead agents, matters are serious enough, I think.

L: Correct, so you take care to not become number 13. All of you have to disappear. Get off social media, get new email accounts. If you address the public or the press, you will introduce yourself with these names. You are not going to tell anyone your real names. That’s exactly why I am still alive.

And this is how we get the fake IDs.

_____

Naomi at the NPA. The receptionist refuses to let her speak to anybody from the Task Force. Light steps in, to hand in the spare clothes for his dad. His dialogue with Naomi is similar to the manga, but audio drama Light’s insistence and volunteering of excessively much info he shouldn’t have.... it makes me laugh.

LIGHT: And you are looking for my father?

NAOMI: Uh, yeah, I--

LIGHT: I can tell you’re up to speed, miss. You’re definitely correct to not just tell your matter to the next best person. Especially after those FBI murders. We’re all suspects, am I right?

NAOMI: U-uh, I didn’t say that---

LIGHT: If you’d like, I’d gladly get you in contact with my father. I’ll get through to him, even if he usually rejects calls.

RYUK: Take the bait, missy, take it...

NAOMI: Would that be alright, u-uh, Light?

RYUK: Aaand, bullseye!

LIGHT: Why don’t we take this conversation somewhere else?

RYUK: There’s just too many video cams here.

LIGHT: As long as we don’t know how Kira kills his victims, I’d suggest a less public place. 

_______

LIGHT: Okay, where were we? My name is Yagami. Light Yagami.

NAOMI: Shouko Maki.

RYUK: And my name is Ryuk, but you’re not actually able to see or hear me.

LIGHT: I think Kira is capable of more than simply killing people. It seems as if he could influence their actions before their deaths.

NAOMI: I think the same. And here I thought I was alone with it. Yes, he can control people before he kills them. But that’s not all. He can also kill them through other means than heart attacks.

RYUK: Who is this little snooper?

LIGHT: Should that be the case, we might be facing even more murders than thought. There are cases that haven’t been considered in connection to Kira yet.

NAOMI: Exactly. Those might be cases Kira hoped would stay secret. I am fairly sure that someone... someone I know... has met Kira.

LIGHT: Hah. It might be hard to get someone to believe this statement.

NAOMI: That’s why I came in person to explain the circumstances of the case.

LIGHT: Wouldn’t it be even more convincing if your friend told his own story?

NAOMI: He can’t. He was one of the murdered agents. 

RYUK: Oh, now it’s getting interesting.

NAOMI: He was my fiancé. He told me that he got involved in this busjacking. By now, I assume that Kira was on that bus as well.

RYUK: She’s talking about Raye Penber, wow. 

NAOMI: Something wrong?

LIGHT: Why are you assuming that Kira was on the bus?

NAOMI: Name and face of the culprit were on the media day by day. He was on the run after a totally miscalculated bank robbing. And then, 8 days later, shortly after Christmas... My fiancé dies. Together with his 11 colleagues.

LIGHT: The connection seems vague to me.

RYUK: What he wants to say is.... perfect match.

NAOMI: Something must have happened there. I think that my fiancé and the culprit were used by Kira to get to the other 11 agents. 

LIGHT: The culprit was hit by a car, it wasn’t a heart attack. This is how you got to the conclusion that Kira can control actions?

NAOMI: Yes. 

LIGHT: That seems pretty far fetched. 

RYUK: It really isn’t, lady.

NAOMI: Even the first time I heard of the busjacking, the circumstances seemed strange to me. I kept asking my fiancé questions, I basically interrogated him to tell me the story again and again. 

LIGHT: And... what was his story?

______

We flash back to Naomi and Raye talking. Both of their voices are tense.

RAYE: Yes, I showed my ID to one of the passengers, okay?! Are you happy now?

NAOMI: You shouldn’t have done that!

RAYE: I know that! It was complicated. The guy wouldn’t have cooperated without me proving that I’m a cop.

NAOMI: You were undercover, Raye! 

RAYE: Stop that! You weren’t there. 

NAOMI: You had explicit order to not blow your cover.

RAYE: And you are the only person who knows I have done that. If you don’t tell anybody, nobody will ever know. 

NAOMI: But I am not the only one. Isn’t that right? We still don’t know how Kira finds and executes his victims. You can’t afford even a single misstep.

RAYE: You’d probably prefer he’d shot all the passengers then.

NAOMI: Ugh, Raye, that’s not the point---

RAYE (hitting the table): Of course that is exactly the point!! 

______

LIGHT: This whole situation isn’t free of emotions. 

NAOMI: So?

LIGHT: I just want to make sure your feelings aren’t influencing your analysis skills.

RYUK: Which are working quite excellently.

NAOMI: Hey, you. I was a special agent with several decorations before I gave up my career to marry Raye. I’m not just some random brat.

LIGHT: I agree with you, the suspicion warrants a closer inspection. 

They keep talking, Light himself brings out the deduction that the person Raye identified himself to was Kira.

______

We’re with Ukita on phone duty. Someone who thinks they are Kira is calling. Ukita is already pretty annoyed, even before the guy talks of other hallucinations. He hangs up quickly.

_______

SOICHIRO: is it important?

MATSUDA: No, boss. Ukita is just whining again. He doesn’t want to be on phone duty anymore. He texted: “When do I get a hotel suite with 24/7 room service?”

SOMEONE: Does he think we’re just chilling here?

SOMEONE: Probably. Uhm, do you want the final shrimp?

SOMEONE: Take it.

They then move on to talk about surveillance footage of the FBI agent deaths. They have footage from 3 deaths, one of them is Raye Penber. They have the most material on him. They realize he’s done more than a full round on the Yamanote line. They also notice him having an envelope that disappears. They conclude Kira was on the train, receiving it.

______

Light makes his first attempt to kill Naomi, same cause of death as in the manga. Naomi wants to go back to the NPA building now. Light comes with her, as he notices she isn’t dying. 

_____

Ukita on the phone again. Akiko Misora is calling about her daughter Naomi being misses. Ukita is pretty annoyed (”Oh really? Was she kidnapped by aliens or something?”). Akiko explains that Naomi came to Japan with her fiancé,  but he died and shortly after Naomi also fell out of contact. Akiko complains about how much paperwork getting the ashes to the US was, and says how charming Raye was and how good his Japanese was...... Ukita wants to get rid of her, until Akiko tells him Raye’s name.

____

The Task Force discusses Naomi’s existence and disappearance. She left her hotel at Dec. 29th and has been missing since. They all suspect that Naomi, being an ex-agent, has started her own investigation. But they also worry someone found her.

_____

Light explains to Naomi that the Kira team doesn’t meet with people on principle, because of the risk. He calls them ‘us’ and Naomi picks up on it, leading Light to explain he is a member of the task force. (Ryuk: “And if you believed that one, you might as well buy a fake Rolex of him now.”) Light invites Naomi to the team, like in the manga. Naomi does a lot of nervous laughing in this scene, but she does give him her real ID.

______

The task force think about Naomi, and her existence in connection to Raye being the first one to send an email to Virilio. They decide to place cameras and bugs in the houses of those who were investigated by Raye. It’s the families of Kitamura and Yagami. 

______

Light writes Naomi’s name down again, this time her real one. They walk together some more. Light points out that Naomi doesn’t just want to investigate but also to hear the full story about Raye’s death. 

NAOMI: I already knew on the day of that something was wrong. Raye was acting really strangely. He got up and left, without a word. He even forgot his cellphone. 

LIGHT: Oh, is that unusual?

NAOMI: I followed him downstairs. He was at the reception and made them print something for him. I gave his phone to him, but he said nothing at all. He was so.. empty.

LIGHT: Distracted?

NAOMI: ... empty. Not a smile, not a kiss. He took the phone and left. At the time I still thought ‘well, maybe an order’. Next thing you know, the police arrives at the hotel. Asked me to come with them... identify the body. I have no idea what happened in the final hours of his life. 

LIGHT: I do. I know the details of Raye Penber’s death down to the very last second. 

NAOMI: I haven’t even told you his full name yet...

LIGHT: He entered the station via the west entrance. Past the street musician who always plays there. He passed the ticket entrance at 11 past 3. He went down to the Yamanote line, in the direction of Kanda. 

NAOMI: I don’t understand... That’s only too stations if you directly take the Chuo line. Why this giant detour?

LIGHT: Because someone was waiting for him. The Yamanote line is the perfect place for a meeting. It has stops everywhere and nowhere. 

_____

We launch into a flashback to the Yamanote line. Light walks up to Raye and greets him, but Raye does not answer him. Light introduces himself at more depth, even using his full name and calling himself Kira right after. Raye continues to not answer. Ryuk realizes that Raye cannot answer because that is how Light has written it down. Light keeps chatting, explaining his plan to Raye. On the train, he makes Raye watch as he writes the names of all his colleagues. He also touches Raye with the notebook, to let him see Ryuk. Raye can’t do anything.

____

LIGHT: Well, Naomi, I’m afraid Raye was just sitting there. His eyes widened a little. Panicked, you know?

RYUK: Yes, panic just about cuts it. Just like the face you are making right now, darling.

LIGHT: But he couldn’t move. Just like you right now. I was quite precise with my orders, you see? 

Light continues to explain that he needed the names of the other agents and that he can do anything to people whose names he has. 

_____

The task force discusses the family surveillance further. Light says the chance of Kira being among those people is 5%, but this is their only lead. Soichiro tells L to be thorough with his surveillance, like in the manga.

_____

LIGHT: All Raye could do was sit there until the time was ripe. And then get up...

RYUK: Without a word, Naomi. Silent like a fish.

LIGHT: And he left the train at Kanda station. 

RYUK: And then he died. 

LIGHT: Right on the platform, so to say. 

RYUK: He extended his hand like in a bad movie. As if he wanted to say ‘I am cursing you’ or something.

LIGHT: And thus, Raye Penber died. I find it regrettable. 

RYUK: Because he wasn’t a murderer. Which you also aren’t, Naomi. Just wrong place, wrong time... Collateral damage.

LIGHT: But I think you understand, Naomi, that I can’t leave you alive, if I want to keep working. I know you want to move, to hit me. I know that you wish above all else to take the gun out of your pocket. But none of that will happen, because I already put your final moments into motion. And that means I’m the one who’s in power here. 

Ryuk asks what she’ll do. Light explains that he wrote the same conditions as on the first try, about her suicide.

LIGHT: So Naomi, I think you know what to do. Now go. 

RYUK: And there she went. A woman with a mission. 

LIGHT: Hey, Naomi! Want me to call my dad? Still want to talk to him, tell him everything you learned today? Hm? .... and she just keeps walking. 

RYUK: She didn’t even say goodbye. I hope it was worth it. This new direction you’ve taken, it’s going to change everything. 

LIGHT: What new direction?

RYUK: Now you’re no longer simply a criminal. You’re a police killer.

[blacklister214]

Second Son Update: Guardian Felon

Another chapter of Second Son ready to go! Enjoy!

Liz had chosen to face Wing Yee's primary entrance when she'd taken her seat. She may not have been an official law enforcement agent yet, but it was good to practice the appropriate habits. Even without Quantico training, she had her concealed carry permit, and thanks to Sam, the know-how to use her personal weapon. In the unlikely event of a violent incident, for example a rampage shooter, she was well positioned to see it first and respond.

Liz sipped her tea, remembering the other lessons her ex-grifter father had imparted. It was ironic that the skills she absorbed at the conman's knee were the same skills government agents were expected to hone. Sam had trained her to be constantly be aware of her surroundings, and to observe the habits of people in her vicinity. He'd used to take her to places like this and they'd play games where she's have to name the number of people in the restaurant or the color shirt of the person sitting behind her. Those games were the reason she'd chosen to eat in, rather than simply picking up her order and heading home. She needed the distraction after the day she'd had. Something to focus on besides the memory of the woman who'd died in her arms. The woman she'd failed to save. Liz slammed the breaks on that thought. She would not allow herself to get sucked down in that pool of self-recrimination.

A new customer emerged from behind the brick wall and Liz felt an immense wave of gratitude. He a perfectly timed diversion from her mind's darker musings. She cut a piece of her garlic chicken, using only her peripheral vision and her initial first glance to compile her list of attributes. Lean, athletic build. Around six foot. Grey wool overcoat. Black suit jacket, with a white collared shirt underneath. Black suit pants. Black leather dress shoes. Short dark hair. Stubble. Handsome...and familiar. There was a tickle in her mind, telling Liz she had seen this man before.

She resisted the urge to lift her gaze. The whole point of the exercise was to observe without drawing attention. The server seated the man directly across from Liz, albeit a few tables down. At least she'd have the time to place him. Liz decided a casual glance wouldn't be cheating, not if it appeared natural. She raised her teacup to her lips, and gazing over the top, found herself unexpectedly making eye contact with her subject. He offered her the small, polite smile of stranger, before looking down at his menu, but it was enough for Liz to trigger a spark of recognition.

"You!" The words were out of Liz's mouth before she had the sense to censor them. The man looked up, his eyebrow raised, and glanced briefly over his shoulder. After verifying there was no one there, he turned back to Liz.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" Liz stood and slowly walked toward the man's table. Yes, it was him. She knew that voice. She knew that slightly cocky smile. Frank. Bacon. A flipped kitchen table. A waiting room in a government building. Singing Destiny's Child in a grey Mustang.

"You used to work as an investigator in Omaha. You broke into my apartment once and made me breakfast?" The man blinked, tilted his head slightly, and then smiled.

"Elizabeth Scott. My apologies. You look different from when I last saw you." She supposed she would, given that in her teen years she favored dark tees, leather jackets, and blue jeans. These days her go to was blazers and blouse. She noticed she wasn't the only one to clean up her look.

"As do you. Nice suit." His outfit suggested young urban professional. Successful. His clothing was tailored, not off the rack. Not exactly how she would expect a PI to dress...unless he was undercover, looking to blend with a corporate world.

"Thanks. Care to join me? Unless you're running home to your boyfriend?" Liz found herself unsure how to respond. The invitation was unexpected. They weren't exactly old friends who had bumped into each. Their brief relationship, if it could be termed that, had been largely antagonistic. Well...maybe not so such at the tail end. He'd been surprisingly kind to her after she'd learned the truth about her parents. In hindsight she had to admit getting her that information on her birth family and getting rid of Frank had helped her enormously. God knew where she would have ended up if this man hadn't brought their crime spree to an abrupt conclusion.

"What makes you think I have a boyfriend?" A stall, yes, but it might help her determine the intentions of her potential dining companion.

He gestured back to her table, where Nik's To-Go box was sitting. "Most people don't order a secondary meal for themselves." It seemed Liz wasn't the only one making observations.

"I could have a roommate." She wasn't sure why she was arguing the point. Maybe it was the absolute assuredness with which the PI had made his pronouncement.

The server arrived, forcing Liz to take a step back as a bowl of steaming soup was placed before him. After thanking the woman, he turned his attention back to her.

"True, but I went with boyfriend." Instead of elaborating he picked up his spoon, and dipped it into the dish. Raising it to his lips, he blew gently on the broth.

"Because?"

"You're an only child raised by a single Dad. Living with a man is probably easier for you than living with another woman." Liz wished she could tell him to stick his assumption up his ass, but the sad truth was, he wasn't wrong. If college had taught her nothing else, it was that cohabiting with other women was more drama than she'd care to take.

"I am living with my boyfriend, but he's at work right now." She'd stated very clearly she was in a relationship, therefore she was in no danger of him interpreting her choice to join him as flirtation.

"Well I insist, then. You owe me a meal, after all." Now it was Liz's turn to raise her eyebrows.

"I do?"

"Yes. I cooked a delicious breakfast, and you flipped it all onto the floor. I didn't even get to finish my famous gluten-free pancakes." Liz couldn't suppress a giggle at the PI's exaggeratedly woeful expression.

"Fine." Liz turned back toward her table, but the man gestured at the chair across from him and stood.

"Please, allow me." As he passed her to retrieve her dishes, Liz couldn't help but notice he'd left his overcoat behind. It bulging ever so slightly at the pocket, suggesting an untended wallet. That type of thing that used to send a thrill of excitement through her. An easy score. It would be so easy to pluck it right out before he came back. Finally learn the name of PI she'd been unable to track down after he'd sped away eight years ago. Suddenly the man was back at her elbow, the window of opportunity closed. He deposited her meal before her, and set Nik's off to the side.

He settled back into his seat and smiled at her, "So...what do you do for work these days? Still boosting cars?" He shot her such a knowing look she had the fleeting, but frightening worry that the man had somehow read her mind. Well two could play at that game.

"Retired. How about you? Are you still breaking and entering into people's homes?"

"Only on very special occasions." His tone was playful, and if under oath she honestly wouldn't be able to say if the man teasing her. Liz wondered if that was deliberate, to avoid incriminating himself.

"If that really is the case I should inform you that anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." She dug out her wallet and flashed him her ID. It would have been hard to miss the large 'FBI' printed on it, and yet the PI looked distinctly unphased.

"Employed by the FBI? Interesting line of work for someone like you." Liz's enjoyment of their banter fizzled out immediately.

"You mean someone with my background?" She felt her anger slowly rising. How dare he judge based on the private things he knew about her biological family? It was especially galling coming from him, who insisted blood relationships meant nothing by themselves. She wasn't her genes. She wasn't those people in that file.

"No, I mean someone who, as a teenager, pulled off a four month crime spree without getting caught." Liz had to admit that was...fairer than she thought he was being. Her actions were on her...but still she'd been a kid. Lots of people were less than perfect when they were young. She'd straightened herself out, moved past it.

"You caught me. On film, as I recall." Of course he'd mailed the negatives to Sam about a week after she'd returned home. They'd burned them together along with the copies.

"Well, I'm exceptional."

"Humble too." He wasn't wrong though. Exceptional was an apt term for this man. He couldn't have been more than a few years older than she was when he'd managed to track her down, and bring her to heel. He'd gotten rid of Frank, and in such a way that had made her never want to see him again. He'd convinced a government employ to break policy. He'd demonstrated intelligence, resourcefulness, and a disregard for the law. Had he changed course as she had, or was he the same, just with a few more years of experience under his belt?

"How's your brother?" If she recalled correctly that had been a topic he'd been eager, or at least willing to discuss with her. Liz's recollection earned her, yet another smile from her dinner companion. This one was slightly different, not mocking, but warm. Genuine.

"Good. He came back from Africa unscathed. We both work for our foster father now, so I get to see him pretty regularly. How's your Dad?" Liz snorted thinking back to her last conversation with Sam. He'd management to sprain his ankle hopping off the tractor.

"Good. Still living in the farm house. Flatly refuses to sell it and retire. Says it would make him insane and that he has no interest in spending his days golfing or taking pottery classes." She shook her head. The man was stubborn as a mule.

"It's funny isn't it?" The PI has cocked his head to the side as though an odd thought had just struck him.

"What's funny?"

"Most people spend their whole lives waiting for retirement. Waiting for a time when they have no obligations, when they spend their days doing exactly what they want. For your father, though, that sounds like torture. Pure utter torture. I think it's funny that the things that give some people pleasure, for example your boyfriend's Kung Po Chicken over there, can be unspeakably awful to someone else." His eyes were oddly intense, locked on hers as he made his point. Was he trying to tell her something? Her eyes drifted over to the take-out box. Was that what was bothering him?

"If your nose is that sensitive, I'll put it away." Liz moved to picked up the box, but the PI waved her off with a laugh.

"That not necessary. My point is that what's injurious or unbearable to people is not one size fits all. Wouldn't you agree?" Liz shrugged. Certain things most people had an aversion to, but what was the worst varied. Some people hated bugs, others snakes, others heights. What some found to be torture…...torture…...torture…..

Liz's thoughts slowed to trickle, that one word on a loop. Drop. Drop. Drop. Torture. Torture. Torture. Suddenly her mind sped up ten times faster than before, visions of the victims flashing through her mind. The medicals reports. Different, all different. No pattern, unless the lack of pattern WAS the pattern. Individual. Not the same.

"Would you excuse me a moment?" She stood up and head toward the bathroom. After checking the stalls for occupantants, she pulled out her phone and selected a number from her contacts. After about six rings a familiar voice was in her ear.

"It's late Scott. What do you want?" His lack of enthusiasm was unsurprising. The fact she'd been called up from New York to join a DC task force had rubbed some of her new coworkers the wrong way. Colin Worth was one such individual. Unfortunately she knew he was also the person most likely to still be at the office at 6 pm.

"Colin. Great! I was hoping someone was still there." She needed to keep it friendly. Liz was going ask a favor, so it would help if she was nice to the jackass. She could do it. Really, she could.

"I was just grabbing my coat. I got some place I need to be tonight." Somehow Liz doubted that, but there was no point in calling the man on it.

"I just had theory about the case. We've tried to find connections between the victims and there was nothing. What if we look for a link between the victim and their injuries?" While talking to that PI something had jarred loose in her mind and she couldn't shake the feeling it was the key to the entire case.

"What are you talking about?" This wasn't good. Colin didn't sound at all interested in what she was saying. Liz had an instinct she was about thirty seconds away from being hung up on.

"There has to be a reason the killer's methods are so varied. What if he's tailoring them to the victims? What if they were injuries the victims had gotten before or maybe someone else they knew had gotten them before?" One size doesn't fit all. Wasn't that what the PI had said?

"Why would the killer do that?" Liz felt like throwing into the bathroom's tile wall. As far as she was aware this was the only theory any of them had come up with in the past month.

"I don't know!" Whoops, that hadn't exactly been calm or friendly. Liz took a deep breath. "Look Colin, I know it's late. I know this could be nothing. I know you think I'm a bitch. Honestly, you're probably right. If I could, I would head over there now and look into this myself, but I can't. I've been ordered to take a 48 hour leave. That psychopath is still out there, maybe choosing his next victim, so please, please look into this for me." There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Liz had started to think Colin had hung up when he voice once again came through.

"I'll call you back if it comes to anything." Then he hung up. No "Good idea!", no "Goodbye!" but it was enough. More than enough.

Liz walked back to the table feeling better than she had in month. There was a chance she'd done something right tonight. It felt good.

The good feeling stopped when she reached the table. No grey overcoat. No PI. Just her plate where she left it, across from a nearly full bowl of Wantong soup. Seeing her standing there, the server hurried over.

"Your friend got a call right after you left. He said it was a work emergency and he had to go. He paid for his food and yours. He said to say 'It had been a pleasure to see you again' and to 'give his regards to your father.'" Liz felt inexplicably let down. He'd vanished again, and she still didn't have clue who he was. She'd hadn't even managed to learn his name.

"I don't suppose he paid with his credit card did he?"

"No, cash." Of course. Liz dropped into her chair, a foul mood replacing her lighter one. Full circle. She dug into her chicken with renewed vigor. She was being ridiculous and she knew it. So what if the phantom PI had once again dropped off the face of the earth. He'd been there just long enough to have been an enormous help to her, just like he had been eight years ago. He was like her own personal guardian angel...That is if guardian angels did things like commit blackmail and B and E. So maybe not an angel. A felon. She raised her teacup in silent salute. To her guardian felon, whoever or wherever the hell he was.

[kiss-my-freckle]

I’m gonna start off with episode 6x9, then work 6x1 to 6x8. It’s the only way I can show Red’s perspective. Also take note there are two tapes. The tape of the call that exonerated Reddington and the tape of the caller that turned him into the police. 

6x9 -

WHY he was turned in. Answers about his past -    

Red: Someone identified me to the caller. We both know who and why. Dembe: You have no proof it was Elizabeth. Red: No. And I hope I’m wrong, but she’s hunting for my past. And putting me here makes it more likely she’ll find it. Dembe: Raymond, you’re facing the death penalty. She would never put you in that position. Red: Try to identify the person on the tape. And please reach out to the Task Force. I have a case.

Remove Liz because of Dembe’s lie. Then remove Samar, Cooper, and Aram. Neither were in NY, so they couldn’t have paid the girl who made the call. 

Homeless Girl: It was a white woman. Dark hair. She didn’t give me her name. Just 100 bucks to call 911 and to say I seen a man with a gun. A man wearing a suit and hat.

Dembe told Red he showed the caller Liz’s photo. Remove men, since he can’t switch from claiming it was a female who paid her to claiming it was a male. This leaves the Alter Ego ex-girlfriend and Jennifer, with Ressler being the person who helped to put Red in prison because he's seeking answers about Red's past.

Backwards to 6x1 -

To Red’s past - 

Ressler: So we’re still doing his bidding. Cooper: I’m sorry, Agent Ressler? Ressler: Reddington. He shot an unarmed man in FBI custody just so that Keen couldn’t identify that skeleton that he’s been lugging around like his life depended on it.

To Red’s past -

Ressler: The ID on the dead guy turned up as fake, but we sent the prints to Interpol and we got a hit. Red: Tell me. Ressler: Not until you tell us why you gave us this case, because it obviously wasn’t so we could arrest Dr. Koehler and expose his clients. Red: Hans Koehler was a friend of mine. I suspected he was being held against his will. I wanted to save his life. Sadly, I failed.

Their description of The Corsican. Samar with Ressler, making the call -

Samar: Two minutes out. Moreau, Bastien. I need you to notify security he’s on site and Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. No, I do not have a positive ID, but you need to put the facility on lockdown and hold all passengers.

Over the radio: Code three, all responders. White male. Mid-50s. May be armed. 

6x2 -

“Bad Time” in 6x2 and again in 6x8 -

Red: Bad time? Liz: No.

Ressler replaces Jennifer hiding in Liz’s closet.

Hannah: Obviously, it’s a bad time. I shouldn’t - Ressler: No, no, I can explain.

On the phone with Aram -

Liz: Aram, what is it? Aram: He’s been arrested. Ressler: That’s great news. Aram: Great? Why would you say that? Ressler: The guy’s a killer. Aram: I know, but, look - I know theoretically that I should be happy that someone who’s done what he’s done has finally been caught, but I’m not. I’m sad. Liz: Sad, about Moreau? Aram: Moreau? Ressler: You just said he was arrested. Aram: No. We haven’t found Moreau. We’re still working on that. Liz: Well, then who are you talking about? Aram: Mr. Reddington. Mr. Reddington is the one that’s been arrested. Liz: What? When? Aram: Less than an hour ago, he was, uh - buying a pretzel. 30 years on the run, and a beat cop picks him up at a pretzel cart. Ressler: Where is he now? Aram: NYPD is holding him at the 27th. Liz: Well, we have to go get him out. Ressler: Police precinct, the most wanted man in America? There’s no getting him out. Liz: Of course we can. We - We, the government. We have an agreement. Ressler: Keen, he’s in the system now. Liz: Does Cooper know? Aram: He’s in with Panabaker. Ressler: She’s not gonna do anything. Liz: Is that what you know or what you want? Aram: No one wants that. Liz: For Reddington to get arrested so we don’t have to work with him anymore? Ressler: Go ahead, Keen, say it. I know it’s what you’re thinking. Aram: Thinking what? Ressler: That I called it in. Reddington’s whereabouts, that they arrested him because of me. Aram: That’s crazy. None of us would betray Mr. Reddington like that. Liz: I don’t believe you did it, but I do believe you’re relieved it happened. Ressler: Keen, all I do know is that it’s over, and nothing Cooper says is gonna change that.

Similar to The Corsican’s description in 6x1 -

Liz: They won’t acknowledge the agreement. Red: I need you to focus. Liz: They’re not gonna release you. Red: Focus on what happened. Liz: They’re gonna put you on trial. Red: How it happened. Liz: How? Red: This wasn’t an accident. My luck didn’t just run out. Someone tipped them. Someone close. Liz: What makes you think that? Red: The cops were tipped off. Not specifically about me. That would’ve triggered a larger presence, and I would’ve noticed. Whoever did this told the cops as little as possible. Something about a middle-aged white male carrying a concealed weapon, something a couple of cops could follow up on quietly, discreetly.

Liz being gender-specific with “him” -

Liz: Do you have any idea who it was? Red: That’s what I need your help to find out. Forget about the prosecutor and all this. I’ve been a step ahead of them for decades. I’m confident this won’t change that. Liz: How can you say that? Red: I need to find the person who betrayed me. Liz: So you can kill him? Red: I’d say that depends.

6x3 -

To Samar and Aram. "The whole story” ... Red’s past -

Samar: If Reddington’s right, he just killed five of his patients. Ressler: You really think that’s why he gave us this case? Aram: Meaning you don’t? Ressler: He’s in federal prison about to start the legal fight of his life. I don’t know why this guy’s a priority, but I guarantee we’re not getting the whole story.

6x4 -

To the team -

Ressler: Reddington’s probably paying off the judge. He’s fine. Liz: He’s not fine. You didn’t see him. He’s been hurt. I’ve never seen him like that before.

I’m not sure if this is still over comms with Aram -

Aram: Okay, got it. Got a license-plate number for me or any other details? Ressler: No, the photo’s gonna have to do. Aram: Okay. Give me a little time. Liz: That’s, what, six customers in five hours? We’re gonna be here for weeks. Ressler: Can I ask you something? You really worried about Reddington? Liz: I am. He looked - weak. Ressler: He’s fine. He can handle himself. Liz: Out in the world, yeah, but prison - It’s different.

6x5 -

To the task force -

Ressler: A one-percenter gets knocked off for being in league with Reddington, and now he wants us to find his killer? Samar: And Reddington has no idea who did it? Liz: He’s got a lot of enemies who want a piece of his empire. Ressler: Lucky for him, he’s got the FBI to protect it. Cooper: As for protecting Reddington, he’s our C.I. Should he ever get out of prison, we’re gonna want him to be as powerful as possible.

Samar: His inheritance came as a complete surprise. Then what motivation would he have to kill his father if he didn’t know about it? Aram: Well, let’s say he did know. How does a kid living in a trailer park outside Arlington connect in any way to Mr. Reddington? Ressler: And if he doesn’t, why are we even on this case? Cooper: Because something doesn’t add up, and I want to know why. Navabi, the people in his posts, I want to know everything about them. Ressler, Keen, talk to Peterson. Find out what he knew about his old man and when he knew it.

Introduce Hannah with the dark hair.

6x6 -

This goes to JB’s comment about Liz being ahead of Red -

Ressler: What about Reddington? Liz: Reddington? Ressler: Well, did you talk to him? Liz: Oh. Yeah. He didn’t know anything. Ressler: For once we know more than he does. Alright, I’ll, uh, call you when we find something.

6x8 -

Hannah comes into story -

Hannah: Oh, my God. Ressler: It’s okay. Hannah: “It’s okay”? She’s covered in blood. Ressler: It’s not hers, though. Hannah: It’s someone else’s blood? Liz: I shouldn’t have come, so - Ressler: No, no, no, no. It’s fine. Liz has to show me something outside. It’s just gonna be a minute. Liz: It’s gonna take longer than that. Ressler: Let me get my jacket. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Hannah: Okay, uh, just - Be careful.

Red learns that Jennifer is seeking answers about his past -

Red: What’s wrong? Liz: It’s Jennifer. She’s been taken. Jennifer was kidnapped by guards working for a man named Marko Jankowics. Red: I didn’t realize you and Jennifer were still in contact. Liz: We’re not. I hadn’t heard from her in months, and then she called me last night, crying. I could barely understand what she was saying, something about being scared and on the run. Red: From a drug dealer like Sarkany? Liz: You know him? Red: Does Jennifer use drugs? Liz: I don’t know. She said she was stranded in Federal Hill in Baltimore. She hadn’t even started thanking me for picking her up, and SUVs blocked my car and two armed guards got out. I killed one, but by the time I had, Jennifer was gone. And the print from the guard I shot showed that he was muscle for Jankowics. Red: What are you not telling me? (Becomes Ressler’s involvement) Liz: Nothing. That’s all I know.

Either it will reverse for Liz and Ressler, or Hannah will fall in as the dark-haired female that paid the homeless girl. So instead of Jennifer and Liz, it's Jennifer and Ressler. With Ressler turning to Liz instead of Liz turning to Ressler when Jennifer was taken.  

Jennifer: Look, Liz, I get that we’re on our own and that Reddington can’t find out what we’re doing, but can you explain to me again why we can’t just go to one person in the FBI?

Jennifer: I never got to say thank you. Ressler: Don’t thank me yet.

[nancydhooper]

How is Face Recognition Surveillance Technology Racist?

Last week, IBM, Amazon, and Microsoft announced they would pause or end sales of their face recognition technology to police in the United States. The announcement caught many by surprise. For years, racial justice and civil rights advocates had been warning that this technology in law enforcement hands would be the end of privacy as we know it. It would supercharge police abuses, and it would be used to harm and target Black and Brown communities in particular.   But the companies ignored these warnings and refused to get out of this surveillance business. It wasn’t until there was a national reckoning over anti-Black police violence and systemic racism, and these companies getting caught in activists’ crosshairs for their role in perpetuating racism, that the tech giants conceded — even if only a little.   But why did IBM, Amazon, and Microsoft’s sale of face recognition to cops make them a target of the Black Lives Matter movement? How is face surveillance an anti-Black technology?   Face surveillance is the most dangerous of the many new technologies available to law enforcement. And while face surveillance is a danger to all people, no matter the color of their skin, the technology is a particularly serious threat to Black people in at least three fundamental ways.   First, the technology itself can be racially biased. Groundbreaking research conducted by Black scholars Joy Buolamwini, Deb Raji, and Timnit Gebru snapped our collective attention to the fact that yes, algorithms can be racist. Buolamwini and Gebru’s 2018 research concluded that some facial analysis algorithms misclassified Black women nearly 35 percent of the time, while nearly always getting it right for white men. A subsequent study by Buolamwini and Raji at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology confirmed these problems persisted with Amazon’s software.   Late last year, the federal government released its own damning report on bias issues in face recognition algorithms, finding that the systems generally work best on middle-aged white men’s faces, and not so well for people of color, women, children, or the elderly. The federal government study concluded the rates of error tended to be highest for Black women, just as Buolamwini, Gebru, and Raji found. These error-prone, racially biased algorithms can have devastating impacts for people of color. For example, many police departments use face recognition technology to identify suspects and make arrests. One false match can lead to a wrongful arrest, a lengthy detention, and even deadly police violence.   Second, police in many jurisdictions in the U.S. use mugshot databases to identify people with face recognition algorithms. But using mugshot databases for face recognition recycles racial bias from the past, supercharging that bias with 21st century surveillance technology.   Across the U.S., Black people face arrest for a variety of crimes at far higher rates than white people. Take cannabis arrests, for just one example. Cannabis use rates are about the same for white and Black people, but Black people are nearly four times more likely to be arrested for marijuana possession than white people. Each time someone is arrested, police take a mugshot and store that image in a database alongside the person’s name and other personal information. Since Black people are more likely to be arrested than white people for minor crimes like cannabis possession, their faces and personal data are more likely to be in mugshot databases. Therefore, the use of face recognition technology tied into mugshot databases exacerbates racism in a criminal legal system that already disproportionately polices and criminalizes Black people.   Third, even if the algorithms are equally accurate across race, and even if the government uses driver’s license databases instead of mugshot systems, government use of face surveillance technology will still be racist. That’s because the entire system is racist. As journalist Radley Balko has carefully documented, Black people face overwhelming disparities at every single stage of the criminal punishment system, from street-level surveillance and profiling all the way through to sentencing and conditions of confinement.   Surveillance of Black people in the U.S. has a pernicious and largely unaddressed history, beginning during the antebellum era. Take 18th century lantern laws, for example. As scholar Simone Browne observed: “Lantern laws were 18th century laws in New York City that demanded that Black, mixed-race and Indigenous enslaved people carry candle lanterns with them if they walked about the city after sunset, and not in the company of a white person. The law prescribed various punishments for those that didn’t carry this supervisory device.”   Today, police surveillance cameras disproportionately installed in Black and Brown neighborhoods keep a constant watch.   The white supremacist, anti-Black history of surveillance and tracking in the United States persists into the present. It merely manifests differently, justified by the government using different excuses. Today, those excuses generally fall into two categories: spying that targets political speech, too often conflated with “terrorism,” and spying that targets people suspected of drug or gang involvement.   In recent years, we learned of an FBI surveillance program targeting so-called “Black Identity Extremists,” which appears to be the bureau’s way of justifying domestic terrorism investigations of Black Lives Matter activists. Local police are involved in anti-Black political surveillance, too. In Boston, documents revealed the police department was using social media surveillance technology to track the use of the phrase “Black Lives Matter” online. In Memphis, police have spied on Black activists and journalists in violation of a 1978 consent decree. The Memphis Police Department’s surveillance included the use of undercover operations on social media targeting people engaged in First Amendment-protected activity. In New York, the police spent countless hours monitoring Black Lives Matter protesters, emails show. And in Chicago, activists suspect the police used a powerful cell phone spying device to track protesters speaking out against police harassment of Black people.   These are just a few examples of a trend that dates back to the surveillance of Black people during slavery, extending through the 20th century when the FBI’s J. Edgar Hoover instructed his agents to track the political activity of every single Black college student in the country. It continues to this day, with Attorney General Bill Barr reportedly giving the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration — a scandal-ridden law enforcement agency tasked with spearheading the racist drug war — the authority to spy on people protesting the police killing of George Floyd.   The war on drugs and gangs is the other primary justification for surveillance programs that overwhelmingly target Black and Brown people in the U.S. From wiretaps to sneak-and-peak warrants, the most invasive forms of authorized government surveillance are typically deployed not to fight terrorism or investigate violent criminal conspiracies like murder or kidnapping, but rather to prosecute people for drug offenses. Racial disparities in the government’s war on drugs are well documented.   To avoid repeating the mistakes of our past, we must read our history and heed its warnings. If government agencies like police departments and the FBI are authorized to deploy invasive face surveillance technologies against our communities, these technologies will unquestionably be used to target Black and Brown people merely for existing. That’s why racial justice organizations like the Center for Media Justice are calling for a ban on the government’s use of this dystopian technology, and why ACLU advocates from California to Massachusetts are pushing for bans on the technology in cities nationwide.   We are at a pivotal moment in our nation’s history. We must listen to the voices of the protesters in the streets and act now to make systemic change. Banning face surveillance won’t stop systemic racism, but it will take one powerful tool away from institutions that are responsible for upholding it.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8247012 https://www.aclu.org/news/privacy-technology/how-is-face-recognition-surveillance-technology-racist via http://www.rssmix.com/

[tumbleweedshorts]

Family Secrets (part 4/6)

Inspiration: This is part 4 of a story I started writing based on a prompt found on Facebook. If you missed the first three, you can find Part 1 here, Part 2 here and Part 3 here

"The... the truth about what?" Danny thought he knew, however. It had to do with the mess they were in, with what he'd stumbled upon. Suddenly he didn't want to know. Given everything that had happened, he was scared to find out, and he was sure he wouldn't like it. But he couldn't not know. He was too curious. And maybe finally he would understand.

His mother hesitated for another minute, seemingly on the brink of tears again. She took several deep breaths and finally settled down. Then, in a weak and subdued voice, she began:

"OK. I guess I'd better start from the beginning. But before I do, I need to make one thing clear. I'm telling you this because you need to know. I'd rather not have to tell you, you're too young to understand. But now that it has caught up with us, now that we're both in danger, you need to know. And Danny... I mean it, no one else can know it. NO ONE. I need you to give me your word that you will keep this to yourself."

Danny, scared but still wanting to find out what this was about, immediately nodded. But this wasn't enough for his mother. "I need you to understand this, Danny. You can't tell anyone at all about this. The consequences could be very severe for both of us. Do I have your word?" Danny thought for a few seconds, then nodded again.

"Yes" he said purposefully. His mother took one final deep breath, then apparently regaining a bit of strength, started her story:

"My name... isn't Julia. It's Angela. Angela Schröder. And you... your name is Hans Fischer." She paused again, apparently unsure how to continue. Danny, meanwhile, sat there staring at her in stunned disbelief.

"Your father and I met while we were working for the East German intelligence service, the Stasi. We were both spies. And we were never actually married. We were never even in love. We had you... We had you as part of our assignment, part of our cover. We were under deep cover, posing as a British fighter pilot and his family, living in West Berlin.

"Back in '84, when you were only 2 years old, we were living in Berlin. We'd been tasked with infiltrating the British Air Force base in Gatow. And we were good at that, Johann (I don't even know if that's his real name) had the ear of the top brass in the base and I was gleaning more from the other pilots' wives.

"Then... Then someone reported my parents to the HVA, the East German secret police, because they suspected I might have been turned by the British and using them as a conduit for my information. That was completely false, of course. But they didn't care, they tortured and killed my parents.

"It was shortly after that incident that I did turn to the Brits. I couldn't tell the Stasi, of course. I couldn't even tell Johann. Through the pilots' wives I got in touch with one of the leaders of the base, and started passing information on to him while still working for the Stasi.

"When we were ordered to blow up a hangar in the airbase, I blew the plot immediately. The British let it happen, so as not to compromise me, but replaced the valuable equipment inside with older, outdated stuff. Luckily, nobody ever suspected that the plan had been blown."

Angela paused. Danny was still sitting there, staring at her as if shell-shocked. She got up, went to the sink and poured herself a cup of water. Danny was relieved to see she wasn't jumpy any more. But she did still walk with a bit of a slouch. He didn't like seeing her unhappy like that.

She came back and sat down, then continued her story.

"Shortly after that, Johann was redeployed to New York City, to serve in a joint RAF-USAF task force in a base in that area. I got a job as a professor in university. The Stasi took this chance to plant us there as sleepers. It was a pleasant enough life.

"Then orders came from Berlin. Reagan had just given his speech against the Berlin Wall, and the East German government didn't like that at all. A West German delegation was due to speak in front of the UN on the subject of the wall, and we were to assassinate them.

"One of my students in the university was the son of someone high in the White House, and I confided in him and blew the plan. He tipped his father off, and when Johann and I went to carry out the plan, we found the hotel room empty. The delegation had been moved hours before.

"Johann was furious, of course, and so was the Stasi. His victims had been snatched from him. He immediately suspected me, as only the two of us were in on the plan. He started beating me, threatening me and trying to make me confess. I never did. Then one evening he was drunk out of his mind, and started beating and threatening me again. He said he'd kill you if that's what it took to get me to confess.

"I couldn't let that happen. So when he passed out on the bed, I closed the windows, turned on the gas, took you with me and left the apartment. I went to the nearest FBI office and explained everything. I told them that I was Stasi, that Johann was too, and that what I wanted most of all was to protect you from him and the Stasi. I showed them all the proof they needed.

"They took me in and, for good measure, put us in a witness protection program. They staged a car accident in which you and I were supposed to have died. They moved us to LA and since then we've been Julia and Danny Beck, living in LA with FBI agents living all round us. Mrs. Jones? She's FBI. Mr. Palmer across the street? He's FBI. That new guy next door, Mr. Whittaker? He's FBI.

"Then came the German reunification in 1990. The Stasi was disbanded and most of its agents joined the BND. But as I was considered guilty of sabotage on the Gatow base, they tried to summon me back to Germany to face charges. MI6 and the CIA helped have the charges dropped, and put forward the evidence that I had died anyway.

"But I've never completely trusted the FBI or the CIA. That's why none of the agents was living in the house with us. Just in case we had to flee again, I had a local forger make us false passports, with which we could move elsewhere if need be.

"After four years without news or threats, I started feeling confident that nobody would trace us, and that my past was truly expunged. Until that time when we found the rope on the doormat.

"that noose was a warning that Johann had used several times before before his assassination jobs. Naturally, when I saw it on OUR doorstep, I freaked out. Who else would know this?"

Danny was now afraid, very afraid. "Y... You mean... Dad's out there... and... coming after us?"

Angela burst into tears again, saying, "I don't know, Danny, I don't know! I'm so sorry... so sorry... so sorry..."

Danny hugged her again, tears coming to his eyes again. He'd never imagined anything as horrible as the story he'd just heard. And he didn't know what to make of his feelings about it. But he did know one thing: he loved his mother, and didn't like to see her cry.

He tried to make sense of it all in his mind. The newspaper article. The gun. The birth certificate. The papers and clippings from those days. The ID card he'd just found in the ledger. It was all adding up.

And... his dad. Even with all the scary things his mother had told him, it was still his dad. And Danny wanted to meet his dad, no matter what. But if his father was out to kill him...

"So... what'll we do now?"

Angela finally calmed down and said, "Well we're hiding out here for now. He doesn't know this safe house, normally. But we shouldn't be too confident. That's why I've been so scared."

They both sat there in silence for a long time.

Danny asked, "So... my life, our lives, are just lies?"

"No, no, no!" Angela said quickly, on the brink of tears again. "You are my son and I love you more than anything or anyone else. I know you've got reasons not to believe me any more, but it's true. I'm sorry about all of this. I never wanted you to be involved. I never wanted this to spill over onto your life. You are Danny Beck, you're in middle school in LA, your friend Joe is indeed your friend Joe. Please don't let this story change anything. Everything I've done including lying to you, was to protect you from all of this." This time she did burst into tears again.

Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door. Angela sat bolt upright, picked up the gun and aimed it at the door again.

She whispered to Danny, "Quick, hide in the pantry!" As Danny stood there without moving, she continued, "Please, Danny!" The sincerity and concern in her face convinced Danny. He followed her instructions and went to hide, leaving the door open just a crack so he could see.

"Wh... Who's there?" she yelled at the door, in a shaky voice.

"It's Special agent Whittaker. Julia, you gave us quite a fright!"

Letting out a sigh of relief, she lowered the gun and went to open the door.

The man walked in calmly, then closed and locked the door behind him.

"Well, well, well. It's been a while. Hello, Brigit."

Angela suddenly looked petrified with fear. She screamed, then said, "Johann... Johann, bitte... Bitte, tut uns nicht weh... Please don't hurt us..."

Continued in part 5