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[ShadowofaDoubt]

What is a man? What is an animal? What could even be considered 'alive'? There are answers, of course, who could pass judgment on such claims? Who could hold such authority? What status would one need to achieve to pass a subjective claim as absolute? What indeed...

Such thoughts were enshrouded by Cynthia's stoicism, masking her thoughts almost perfectly like a veritable armor. The distant, far-off look in her eyes was the only clue that the monochrome girl was in her own world of questions, despite walking along the busy route she took to go home. It was not as though Cynthia was entirely inattentive to her surroundings, instead she focused more on what was not so utterly mundane and droll.


But it was all over soon enough.


Cynthia's navigation back to her home using what may as well have been auto-pilot seemed reliable as ever. Still, one would never imagine someone even lived in the home Cynthia resided within. The chain link and gated fence, small size, few windows, and an odd feeling that the house was soon to be condemned all were facets of this, but Cynthia welcomed them regardless. After all, this house was her reprieve from the world, the one place where she was mercifully free from the influences of, quite frankly, those beneath her.

'The truth is not prideful. It simply is.' Cynthia mused as she approached the doorstep. Arrogance was not a trait of hers, though a lack of tact might have been one. The difference, to her, was not deriving any satisfaction from any perceived superiority. Cynthia regarded it as just another fact of life, as evident as the sky's blue hue. She was of exceptional intellect and wasn't ashamed of that fact, no matter how many other people she alienated because of it.


Philosophy, however, is very easily interrupted.


While Cynthia underwent her contemplation of what it truly means to be arrogant and her intellectual prowess, something decided to forcibly take her head out of the clouds. The method was none other than a black leather notebook, falling down from the sky...


...


...and hitting Cynthia on the head.


Stiffening and cringing immediately, the introspective girl tilted her head downwards while she placed a hand on where she was smacked. It didn't hurt that much, but Cynthia never liked surprises. However, as she did this, the notebook caught her attention. Or, rather, the title of the book did.

That couldn't possibly say what she thought it did.

Just to make sure her vision wasn't at fault, Cynthia bent down and picked the notebook up. 'Interesting... either my vision has failed me utterly or this does say what I think it does.' Cynthia mentally analyzed. Such a morbid concept merited a more detailed analysis than Cynthia could afford outside of her sanctuary, however. As such, the monochrome teen made unusual haste into her home and swiftly locked the door behind here.

[ShadowofaDoubt]

Normally, somebody like Cynthia would not take something like this so seriously. They certainly wouldn't immediately go into their room once they locked the door to the house. They'd laugh the notebook off a joke, right? Really, who would call a notebook 'Death Note' anyway? It was distasteful and crass, and that's even if one looked past the morbid concept that the title suggested. Normally, such absurdity was surely beyond Cynthia.

Normally.

However, as she read through the first page - literally titled 'How to use it' - it became a tad less normal. 'The human whose name is written in this notebook… shall die?' Cynthia shook her head, rather mystified. She was skeptical of course, but somehow it seemed believable to her. As such, she continued reading at a faster pace. '"This notebook will not take effect unless the writer has the Person’s face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, People sharing the same name will not be affected. If the cause of death is written with forty seconds of writing the person’s name, it will happen. If the cause of death is not specified, the Person will simply die of a heart attack. After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next six minutes and forty seconds." Well, at least it's thorough...' Cynthia sighed, utterly beside herself for some reason. On one hand, she just knew this was a joke. It couldn't be real. Yet, on the other hand, Cynthia felt compelled to believe it anyway.

The matter made her head hurt.

With a sigh, Cynthia closed the Death Note and got up from her desk chair. She didn't usually have to deal with the emotions that stress produced and, thusly, had grown unaccustomed to them. In an effort to at least be more comfortable, Cynthia laid down on her bed and surveyed her room. The minimalist neatness was always seemed to sooth her, no matter what the circumstance. A plain wooden floor, small closet, metallic radiator, and nightstand to her right, and her desk in front of her. 'A place for everything, and a purpose for it to serve.' Cynthia smiled slightly, feeling her headache calm down a bit. However, even as a minimalist, Cynthia had two things in her room that would necessarily need to be there: a television set and a laptop. Both older models, at least four years old, but still functional and therefore all that Cynthia needed. The television set was placed towards the right side of the desk on a roughly forty-five degree angle, whereas the laptop sat on the left end of the desk on a similar angle near Cynthia's meticulously organized collection of pencils and pens.


This suddenly became highly uninteresting.


All the world Cynthia could see around her flashed an immensely bright white, almost blinding the monochrome girl. As she frantically shielded her eyes from the light, something suddenly clicked inside Cynthia's mind. '...The Light? The master element, did it give that notebook to me?' Almost on cue, the light faded immediately after Cynthia had this thought and she found herself staring at the Death Note on her desk. Moments later, Cynthia was sitting down with her favorite pen in hand and the Death Note open to a random page. However, before ink met parchment, the strategic student stopped to consider what would be acceptable for her to use the Death Note on. 'Killing just anyone is nonsensical at best, after all.' Cynthia mused. She had to test it before passing any judgment on if it worked, no matter how certain her epiphany of sorts made her feel. That simply wasn't logical and thusly unacceptable.

The monochrome girl needed some way to 'ethically' test something that killed someone. The irony did not go undetected by her, but still. There was media available for her to use, yes, but Cynthia despised the news networks as too sensationalist. 'And I doubt they would even report a death if it did happen. So little of television is broadcast live...' The gray scale teen noted. This made the media all a highly undesirable choice.

However, there was somebody that came to mind.

"Kei Tsubaki..." Cynthia whispered, her voice laced with enmity. Kei was the high school bully that spent much of his time being a discord-inspiring nuisance to many students, including Cynthia herself. There wasn't a single thing in Kei that was redeemable in her eyes, so it would be okay to get rid of him. 'Nobody will miss him.' Cynthia nodded, recalling the face of the tormentor as she wrote his name down. It would be inevitable that she would find out about it - gossip littered the high school halls like nothing else, and Cynthia was quite observant.

'Forty seconds until proof of concept.' The monochrome teen reminded herself, eying her watch as the seconds ticked on one by one...

[Ryuzaki]

(in Class)

Ryuzaki looked down at the textbook with a sigh and a bored look. Why…in the world…were they going over this…again…? He had just recently remembered his other world, and had began dating Nuriko, all in a week. And with his memories, had come the rest of his intelligence. Which meant he was incredibly bored in class now.

Unfortunately, a downside of being with Nuriko, not that he minded, was torment by Kei…He looked at the clock, and counted down minutes
…3
…
…2
…
…1
…
…Class was out! He got up, his books in his bag, and headed down the hall. He moved fast, not wanting an altercation.

…too late. He sighed as he was grabbed by the back of his shirt, and looked up at the bully with disdain. “Kei…” he said, and felt himself slammed back.
“Don’t you say my name, I might get fag germs!” he smirked, and Ryu rolled his eyes and tried to move, but was thrown back again.
“Kei, letting me go would be your best option…you do know that you could get suspended for assaulting me…” he said, eliciting a chuckle from said bully.
“Go to hell, you little fag…” he said, throwing his fist back, and Ryu closed his eyes…
…
……
He heard a cry out, and he opened his eyes as he was let go. He watched Kei grab his chest, and fall to the ground, dead. Ryu looked to the now gathering crowd, all of which had seen the attack and the consequent collapse… He fell to his knees and checked for a pulse, looking up to someone with a camera phone out. “Put the damn camera away and call for an ambulance, you jackass!” he said loudly, making the girl meep and nod, calling for an ambulance…

The situation looked all too familiar to Ryu though…He got up a moment later, looking down, and looked to the girl. “Tell them he’s had a cardiac arrest and was unresponsive…” he said, and moved down the hall. One might thing he was overwhelmed…but they wouldn’t know why. He leaned against the locker and looked down.…his eyes wide and his face pale. “Death…note….” He said, and looked to the floor, as he heard someone sending the death information to the media VIA their phone…

[ShadowofaDoubt]

Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty-five. Checkmate.

'If the Death Note was right, Kei should be dead...' Cynthia glanced up at her television set. Distrust or not, it was irrational to dismiss something instantaneous and if she showed up suddenly after all her classes were out it would look suspicious. At worst, Cynthia's doubts would be confirmed on the story so she didn't really have much to lose.

A press of a button brought the television to life.

Playing on the screen was a typical news broadcast of a forgettable news network... with a twist. The news anchors were in the process of explaining that a high school student had just suffered a heart attack. Cynthia dismissed this as a coincidence until they mentioned the victim's name.

Kei Tsubaki.

Cynthia was never a very emotional person. Still, she couldn't help but curl her lips into a smirk of unabashed amusement as she reveled in the small victory. It didn't bother her at all that Kei was now dead. As far as Cynthia was concerned, he deserved such a fate for what he had done. Innocents were mercifully free from his tormenting and, of course, Cynthia would be protecting these innocents.

'And who better to do so than me? Surely The Light chose me for this task for a reason. I must do this.' Cynthia reflected... then shook her head. "No. I'm the only person could do this." And it was true, as far as she was concerned. Nobody else seemed to have the methodical planning and foresight that she did.

Though Cynthia had to be realistic about this.

'Pride always comes before the fall. Zeus allows hubris in none other than himself... I should be wary not to grow so arrogant, pleasing as though it may be.' Cynthia resolved with a nod. Arrogance would not serve her purposes at all, and even lead to her capture if she slipped up enough. The first step was to calculate the most effective usage of the Death Note that suited her purposes.

As the news channel continued its broadcast, Cynthia got an idea.

'Bullies... a tad petty. Murderers, thieves, these are the types to eliminate from society. The undesirables should be cleansed first, then I can worry about personal vendettas.' Cynthia planned as she turned on her laptop and began scouring the internet while eying her television set.

She has a society to cleanse of its sins.

[ShadowofaDoubt]

"Checkmate."

A company embezzler, using his ill-gotten gains to fuel a sickeningly luxurious lifestyle.

"Checkmate."

A blatant murderer, escaping a guilty verdict only due to the incompetency of the prosecution.

"Checkmate!"

A despicable hit man that brutally slew dozens on the whim of their employer.


The mantra started out of habit. Cynthia's victories were always denoted by the phrase 'Checkmate'. The emphasis came from slowly ignited zeal that became almost sent the gray scale teen into a state of religious fervor. The moment Cynthia shouted, she stopped - even dropping her pen from her hand. Her breathing was erratic and short, her writing arm quaking from the heat of the moment.

'What is wrong with me?' Cynthia implored her own mind, almost not believing how easily she lost her composure. '[/i]This is[/i] murder I'm committing. Even if the right people are dying, I cannot let it consume me. That would ruin this opportunity to make a difference far more than anything else.' Cynthia reflected using her left hand to prop up her head as she stared at the pages of the notebook. She lost count how many people were executed by her hand after the twentieth name. 'I need to rest from this, for my own health if nothing else. Sanity remains, as always, a commodity I cannot live without.' Cynthia mused, her prior zeal preventing the monochrome teen to show even the slightest bit of amusement.

It was rather sobering to be that close to losing her mind.

'A walk, perhaps back to school. Something to relax...' Cynthia nodded as her inner monologue continued. Just getting out of the house would make her feel better, but there was also the prospect of potential chess games to play or philosophical discussions to hold... regardless of how probable the chances actually were of such events occurring. Still, Cynthia made her way out of what may as well be her home and began walking towards the high school.