Mello sat there praying that tomorrow wouldn't come, but his attempts were unavailing. Time is always going to move forward, unless you have a time-machine of some sort-but let's get back to the point: The next day came and you were woken up by the ringing of your mobile phone. You saw Near's name and number appear on the screen.

"Really? Does Near think he needs to wake me up like my mother?" You thought.

You had to answer the phone either way.

"Good Morning, (f/n), Nate Rivers speaking-

"What do you want, Near and why are you saying your full, real name all of a sudden?" You annoyingly cut him off.

"Well, the Kira case is over and there's a 0.01% chance that I'll be killed by a Death Note. I just want to let you know that we are meeting at the Yellow Box Warehouse I bought to confront Kira, instead of the CIA headquarters. We are practicing at the warehouse as it resembles the hideout."

"Well, someone's cocky today. Yesterday you gave me this whole speech about being cautious of the risks involved in crime cases no matter the size."

"I WAS giving you a speech. Past tense."

"Hypocrite." You mumbled under your breath.

"I heard that."

"I fucking hate you, Near."

"Your language is worsening with each coming day. Mello and Matt's a bad influence."

"Well, you've spent your whole childhood with them at Wammy's House."

"At least I wasn't around when they were playing "give the finger to Roger while his back is turned" game."

"They grew out of it when they were 11!"

You could imagine Near smirking at the other end of the phone.

"What am I doing, trying to entertain him?"

"Fine, I surrender, just cut it out."

"Aww, it was fun while it lasted."

"Bastard."

"Oh yeah (f/n), I forgot to tell you, Matt needs to come."

"Why?"

"He's your designated driver to rush you to the hospital and he needs to closely monitor the organization for any new info. I'll be busy pulling off the whole thing."

"Okay, that's nice to know." You hung up.

You're not a morning person and your patience has already been stretched thin.

"MATT!" You yelled, trying to wake him up.

"What..." He tiredly replied.

"You're coming with us."

"Why?" He asked.
After a good 3 minutes of explaining to him, you continued on with your morning routine and left the house dressed in a denim jacket, white t-shirt, jeans and black combat boots. (Mello does leather, Matt does patterns, but you do denim.) All of you decided to take Matt's car.

"I'm driving!" Matt declared at once.

"Why can't I drive?" Asked Mello.

"Well, we never feel safe with you driving." Matt gestured to you and himself.

"What about my driving?"

"To put it directly, your driving is the definition of reckless, and I don't want my car to get wrecked the first thing in the morning!

"Fine. You can drive." 

Matt plopped down behind the steering wheel.

"I call shotgun!" You declared and quickly slid into the passenger seat.

Mello slumped his leather-clad shoulders and trudged all the way around the car, to the back seat. He clearly wasn't in the mood for arguing.

"Fuck you, (f/n)." Was all he could manage to say, under his breath.

Matt drove a painfully long way, winding up narrow streets and weaving through the LA traffic in broader roads. He seemed to have memorized the path through the concrete jungle, to the abandoned warehouse after only being there once. That's the beauty of the mind of any average orphan from Wammy's house.

The Yellow Box Warehouse finally came to view, and Matt 's car slowly crept up an unusually steep hill. Recognition hit you hard, like a blow in the face and you stumble forward, with your both hands placed on the cool, black leather of the dashboard for support. The place just stirred up too much vivid memories.

"Are you alright, (f/n)?" Matt asked, his breath was laced with tobacco.

Matt had a cigarette balanced between his lips, and drew out a wispy, smoke-filled breath, as he turned his head towards the open window, letting the smoke trail behind the moving car.

"Since when did you start smoking?" You asked, annoyed of his nicotine-indulging habits.

Matt shrugged. "I dunno, since we were stuck in that traffic jam awhile back?"

"Didn't I just threw out all your cigarettes a couple of days ago?"

"Well, I went and bought a few more packs. I couldn't help it."

You heaved a sigh. "Honestly, I don't know what to do with your addiction anymore. I swear Matt, one day, your lungs are going to fail you. When that day comes, don't go complaining to me."

Matt sighed. Smoke clouded around his lips, as he dangled his cancer stick between two fingers, and carelessly tossed the burning stick out of the window, to be crushed by the tires.

"Better." You decided. 

Matt parked on the empty lot right in front of the ramshackle warehouse. You got out of the car, dust clouded around your boots.

"Let's take a walk down memory lane, shall we?" A jeering voice taunted you inside your head.

The place looked just like it did the other day: Broken, skewed wooden planks inched its way up the ill-patched roof. The building looked like it was on the verge of falling apart, and the frame, stood crooked, leaning slightly on the left like it was tired of forever standing for so many years. If one took a closer look at the building, they would see the greenish mold slowly eating the warehouse away. It looked like Mello's impatient attempt of putting together a model wooden house and left it abandoned for decades.

Matt, Mello and you stepped inside the old warehouse. Beams of sunlight poked through the gaping holes that dotted the flimsy roof. You heard the constant, irritating whirling of the giant fan at the back. After all those months, the building still reeked of death. At least they cleaned the blood, somehow. (Well, a bloody floor isn't a great way to greet people.) In the exact center of the dimly-lit warehouse, sat Near. He had a circle of toy robots around him and was busily twirling his hair with his right hand. Near looked out of place, as brilliant white is a sharp contrast to the gloomy dark brown and grey scenery.

Mello glared at him. Near smiled, obviously not giving a crap that Mello wanted to beat him up.

"Matt, Mello, (f/n). Thank you for showing up. Now we can begin." Said Near, in his usual robotic voice.

"I would like to introduce some of the FBI agents." Three agents dressed in black suits stepped forward.

"This is J." He pointed at the left agent.

He had jet-black hair styled in an undercut and cold and narrow, calculating blue eyes that resembled Mello's.

"This is K." He pointed at the middle agent.

K looked much more approachable. He had gently tousled golden, brown hair and warm brown eyes. He looked like a flirtatious person.

"And who may this lovely lady be?" He extended his hand towards you.

"I-I'm agent (f/n), (l/n)." You replied in a shaky voice and hesitantly shook his hand.

You were clearly trying to ward off bad memories.

"You don't need to be so tense around me. You'll surely come to enjoy my company." He winked at you. You instinctively stepped closer to Matt.

Matt was looking very pissed off beside you.

"I'm sorry, but she's taken." Matt butted in to your (almost one-sided) conversation.

"Oh, I'm guessing that you must be her boyfriend I see?'

"You're damn right I am."

"Alright, I'm sorry. But I think she deserves better." He winked at you once more.

Your hands clenched into fists.

"Come on, talk to me." K prompted.

"I don't flirt, nor do I like guys who hopelessly try to pick up girls." You stated flatly.

"Aww, you'll come to like me I-

"K, that's enough." Mello sharply cut him off.

You and Matt both relaxed.

"Anyways..." Near continued.

"this is agent L." Near pointed at the right agent.

He had dark brown hair styled in a bowl haircut and a pair of bright gray eyes.

Near spoke for some more, but you weren't paying attention. The room spun around faster and faster, your breathing became rapid and your heart was fluttering out of your chest. A bitter, acidic liquid crept up your throat as you barely managed to swallow it down.

The memories; Mikami franticly scribbling your names in his Death Note, the rising tension, Light being shot and dying in a pool of blood, blood gushing out of Mikami's artery and the heavy feeling of looking at death right in the face.

It was all too much. It was  ALL. TOO. MUCH.  Your body became weak, your legs felt like Jell-O, you fumble for Matt's shoulder, but your weak, flailing arms missed. Matt turned around, only to see you collapse. The word around you faded into darkness.