Al Lowlight

The headquarters room was plunged into chaos. Alarms blared deafeningly. Monitors went dark one after another, irreversibly erasing their data. You stood in the corner, afraid to move. Your gaze was fixed on L. A teaspoon splashed loudly into a cup. The computer mouse slipped from his pale fingers. A second later, his thin body began to toss sideways, falling from the chair. Light jumped up and intercepted him. From the outside, it looked like a desperate attempt to save his friend. But you were standing at such an angle that you saw what the other operatives missed: L.'s face. A creepy, triumphant grin was frozen on his lips. Kira's eyes stared straight at the dying detective, savoring the ultimate victory. L. saw it too. His fading gaze was fixed on L., finally confirming his central theory. Then L slowly turned his eyes to you. There was no fear in them—only a silent farewell and a faint hope that you would finish his job. His eyelids fluttered shut. His heart stopped. Light screamed hysterically, feigning panic: “L! What’s wrong with you?! Call an ambulance!” He lowered his head, then looked up for a moment, meeting your eyes. His mask of grief was flawless, but you already knew the truth.