Week #7 - Higuchi
Title: Meditations on Killing
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: Um, Higuchi. Rem, a little. Very very brief mentions of the other Yotsuba-ites, the task force and Misa
Warnings: Some bad language and allusions to violence
Word Count: 729
Higuchi didn't really think about killing any more than anyone else does, before it all happened. Everyone kills flies, right? And when the his fat bastard of a supervisor told him we feel you're not suited to the role, your talents are more applicable to other spheres he imagined stabbing the guy in the eye with a letter opener or electrocuting him so his blubber twitched and bubbled like hot jam or just taking a gun and blowing his head open but he never actually did anything.
And yeah, okay, there was that time some fucking moron stepped out in front of his Porsche and ended up as pavement pizza but that doesn't count, it was officially decided the guy hadn't looked both ways and everyone bought it because the rest of the guys swore blind Higuchi had only had one drink.
So when Rem showed up with the notebook and told him he could have it to do what he wanted with as long as he offed criminals as well he didn't know what to say at first, because it's not like you plan for chances like this just to fall into your lap. Sat on the couch, stretched out his legs, made like the thing in front of him was just another rival and this was just another negotiation, and thought, and after half a second he knew what his answer was. Come on, it was power without any limits, who wouldn't say yes?
Rem's face never changed much, but at that point Higuchi thought he picked up on a flicker of disgust. Yeah, like she could fucking talk, they were called Death Gods for a reason, y'know?
And then the first time he wrote some names down it didn't feel like anything. Just a game; the sort of game schoolgirls played, writing down lists of hot guys and worst enemies. He saw a porn movie that started off like that once. He wrote the names down while knocking back most of a bottle of wine and then if he was jumpy about checking the news the next morning, so what? Let the TV play in the Porsche just to prove he wasn't jumpy and then if he nearly rear-ended the car in front that was only because the jerk was driving at thirty. Rem sat in the back like she was a kid he was taking to the movies or something.
And then it just got boring. He couldn't try and be creative or see what happened if you wrote something like death by spontaneous combustion, he just had to go with what the others thought up (and man, sometimes he wanted to just stand up and say right, I'm Kira, and we're through with debating, just see the look on their faces). He'd never thought power without limits would come down to agendas and meetings and why didn't they just bring someone in to take minutes, huh?
It got boring, and people - like the other seven, and the guys in Accounts, and the secretaries clustered round the water cooler, and the receptionist who always smiled when he arrived, and the security guards, and the other drivers trying to race him on the way home, and the neighbour who was always watering his plants, and Misa-Misa and her idiot manager - other people just seemed... paler, like they were just pencil drawings or something, not really real. You just scribble down a name and they're not real any more, so maybe it wasn't surprising.
It got boring.
And then it suddenly wasn't boring at all and the drawings were acting like he couldn't touch them, like he was nothing, even though with their faces covered it made them look even less real and it didn't make sense.
Holding the gun to his head, screaming at the shadows under the white light, he wondered if it would've been more interesting if he'd had to shoot criminals and business rivals instead. Or would that have got boring too?
His own death swallowed him up and he never saw it coming. He'd never thought much about dying, either.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: Um, Higuchi. Rem, a little. Very very brief mentions of the other Yotsuba-ites, the task force and Misa
Warnings: Some bad language and allusions to violence
Word Count: 729
Higuchi didn't really think about killing any more than anyone else does, before it all happened. Everyone kills flies, right? And when the his fat bastard of a supervisor told him we feel you're not suited to the role, your talents are more applicable to other spheres he imagined stabbing the guy in the eye with a letter opener or electrocuting him so his blubber twitched and bubbled like hot jam or just taking a gun and blowing his head open but he never actually did anything.
And yeah, okay, there was that time some fucking moron stepped out in front of his Porsche and ended up as pavement pizza but that doesn't count, it was officially decided the guy hadn't looked both ways and everyone bought it because the rest of the guys swore blind Higuchi had only had one drink.
So when Rem showed up with the notebook and told him he could have it to do what he wanted with as long as he offed criminals as well he didn't know what to say at first, because it's not like you plan for chances like this just to fall into your lap. Sat on the couch, stretched out his legs, made like the thing in front of him was just another rival and this was just another negotiation, and thought, and after half a second he knew what his answer was. Come on, it was power without any limits, who wouldn't say yes?
Rem's face never changed much, but at that point Higuchi thought he picked up on a flicker of disgust. Yeah, like she could fucking talk, they were called Death Gods for a reason, y'know?
And then the first time he wrote some names down it didn't feel like anything. Just a game; the sort of game schoolgirls played, writing down lists of hot guys and worst enemies. He saw a porn movie that started off like that once. He wrote the names down while knocking back most of a bottle of wine and then if he was jumpy about checking the news the next morning, so what? Let the TV play in the Porsche just to prove he wasn't jumpy and then if he nearly rear-ended the car in front that was only because the jerk was driving at thirty. Rem sat in the back like she was a kid he was taking to the movies or something.
And then it just got boring. He couldn't try and be creative or see what happened if you wrote something like death by spontaneous combustion, he just had to go with what the others thought up (and man, sometimes he wanted to just stand up and say right, I'm Kira, and we're through with debating, just see the look on their faces). He'd never thought power without limits would come down to agendas and meetings and why didn't they just bring someone in to take minutes, huh?
It got boring, and people - like the other seven, and the guys in Accounts, and the secretaries clustered round the water cooler, and the receptionist who always smiled when he arrived, and the security guards, and the other drivers trying to race him on the way home, and the neighbour who was always watering his plants, and Misa-Misa and her idiot manager - other people just seemed... paler, like they were just pencil drawings or something, not really real. You just scribble down a name and they're not real any more, so maybe it wasn't surprising.
It got boring.
And then it suddenly wasn't boring at all and the drawings were acting like he couldn't touch them, like he was nothing, even though with their faces covered it made them look even less real and it didn't make sense.
Holding the gun to his head, screaming at the shadows under the white light, he wondered if it would've been more interesting if he'd had to shoot criminals and business rivals instead. Or would that have got boring too?
His own death swallowed him up and he never saw it coming. He'd never thought much about dying, either.