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  Walking the streets of Hell's Kit, Lawliet couldn’t shake the strange sense of déjà vu that had settled over him. The tall buildings looming overhead cast deep shadows that g to the alleys, creating pockets of darkness where the city’s secrets thrived. It wasn’t Tokyo, but it might as well have been. Crime didn’t ge just because the sery did.

  He moved quietly, his steps nearly silent on the cracked pavement. The city was alive with noise—honking horns, distant sirens, the murmur of versations—but beh it all, there was a tension he reized well. This ce where the night swallowed the weak, where justice had to be pulled from the clutches of those who would rather it remained hidden.

  As he walked, Lawliet’s sharp eyes sed his surroundings, noting the details that most would overlook—the flicker of movement in an alleyway, the glint of metal from a fire escape, the faint trail of cigarette smoke drifting from a shadowed doorway. It was all familiar, a grim echo of the world he had left behind. The life and name he left behind… He was known as Lawliet, not "L," not the world’s greatest detective anymore. Just another man iy, blending in with the night.

  His destination was a small, nondescript building, its windows darkened and its entranmarked. It was the kind of pce that thrived in Hell’s Kit, where people came a without leaving a trace. Lawliet approached the door, his hand pausing just before he knocked. He wasn’t sure what he expected from this new world, but he knew ohing for certain—he wasn’t here by ce.

  The door creaked open before his knuckles could touch the wood, revealing a dimly lit hallway that stretched bato shadows. A figure stood just iheir features obscured by the darkness. Lawliet stepped ihout hesitation, his senses immediately adjusting to the shift in light.

  “Wele,” the figure said, his voice low and smooth. It was impossible to tell whether he were friend or foe, but Lawliet didn’t care. He had long since learhat in his line of work, everyone was both until proven otherwise.

  He nodded in aowledgment, his eyes already sing the room for anything out of pce. The figure gestured for him to follow, leading him down the narrow hallway to a door at the end. It opened into a small room, barely furnished with a table, a couple of chairs, and a single dim mp that cast long shadows on the walls.

  “Have a seat,” the figure offered, stepping back to allow Lawliet to enter first. He did so cautiously, his mind cataloging every detail of the space—every potential escape route, every object that could be used as a on.

  As he sat down, the figure remaianding, his face still hidden in the dim light. “You’re here to iigate,” he stated rather than asked.

  Lawliet didn’t bother to firm. Instead, he leaned ba his chair. “I am,” he replied simply.

  The figure moved closer, finally stepping into the light. It was a man, tall and lean, with a face that bore the marks of someone who had seen too much. His eyes were sharp, calg, and Lawliet could see that this man was not easily fooled. ‘Law officer.’ He guessed easily.

  Lawliet tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest, a subtle rhythm that betrayed his craving for something sweet. It was a small indulgence he missed—one of the few forts he’d relinquished when he gave up the title of "L." Now, here in Hell’s Kit, there was no room for such luxuries.

  The man before him watched in silence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Lawliet’s every move. The detective’s gaze was sharp, cutting through the dim light to fix on the man with an iy that could make anyone uneasy.

  “How long has it been sihe st i?” Lawliet asked, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather, though the weight of the question was anything but light. Light, he hated that word.

  The maated, his eyes flig to the shadows in the room as if searg for answers. “A few weeks,” he finally responded, his voice low. “Maybe a month. It’s hard to keep track.”

  Lawliet nodded slightly, his expression giving nothing away. “And before that?”

  “Longer,” the man replied, his hands fidgeting slightly at his sides. “Months, maybe. But when it happens… it’s like everything else fades. You only remember the fear.”

  The detective’s fingers stilled on the armrest, his mind pieg together the fragments of information. He leaned forward slightly, just enough to signal that he was listening ily, but not enough to break the barrier of detat he maintained.

  “Did you see anything—aails that stood out?” Lawliet’s voice was calm, desigo draw out information without causing the man to retreat into himself.

  The man shook his head, frustration flickering in his eyes. “It’s all a blur. Like trying to recall a nightmare after you wake up. You know it was real, but the details slip away.”

  Lawliet remained silent for a moment, letting the words hang in the air. It was a familiar story, one he had heard tless times in his previous cases. Victims who couldn’t recall the faces of their tormentor, who were left with nothing but a vague sense of dread. But this wasn’t just any criminal—it was someone who left an imprint so deep that even memories were tainted.

  “You mentioned fear,” Lawliet tinued. “Was it fear of the person… or something else?”

  The man’s eyes darkened, his breath hitg slightly. “It was… overwhelming. Not just fear—helplessness. Like I had no trol over myself, no matter how much I tried to fight it.”

  Lawliet’s gaze sharpened, a slight furrow f between his brows as he processed this new piece of the puzzle. “You felt like you were being trolled?” His question oihe tone deliberate.

  The man’s rea was immediate—his hands ched into fists, his jaw tightening as he nodded. “Yeah… no, ly like that. I couldn’t stop myself from doing what… what he wanted but ideas became mine?”

  Lawliet’s eyes narrowed slightly. He had suspected something along these lines, but the firmation solidified his theory. This wasn’t just a man terrorizing Hell’s Kit—this was something much more insidious.

  “You never saw his face?” Lawliet asked, his toral, masking the iy of his i.

  “No,” the man whispered, the word almost a fession. “It’s like… it’s like my mind won’t let me remember. But I know he was there. I felt him.”

  Lawliet leaned back, processing the information carefully. This wasn’t a typical case—this redator who knew how to manipute not just as, but thoughts and memories. The pieces were starting to fall into pce, but there was still so much he didn’t know.

  The man fidgeted again, the silence growing heavy between them. Lawliet could sehe man’s growing ay, the way his eyes darted to the door as if sidering escape. But there was o run—not from this.

  “Who else knows?” Lawliet asked, his voice softer now, less an interrogation and more a gentle nudge.

  The man swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Not many. People don’t talk about it. They’re too scared. The few that do… they’re not around for long.”

  That st sentence hung in the air like a death sentence. Lawliet didn’t o ask what the ma—he khose who spoke out were silenced, one way or another.

  “You came to me,” Lawliet said, his tone even. “Why?”

  The man looked up, his eyes filled with fear and desperation. “Because you’re not like the others. You… you might be able to do something. To stop him.”

  Lawliet's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward slightly, his voice low. “Why you? The previous victims never had repeated enters. He either wouldn’t release you, or he wouldn’t e back. This doesn’t fit his pattern.” He already guessed why, but wao firm his theory.

  The man ched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he bit back the frustration ahat had clearly beeering inside him for far too long. His gaze dropped to the floor, and when he finally spoke, his voice was ced with bitterness. “It’s because of my job.”

  Lawliet remained silent, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before he responded. “Your job?”

  The man looked up, meeting Lawliet’s gaze with a hardened expression. “I’m a detective. I’ve been w in Hell’s Kit for years, and I’ve seen a lot of things that most people wouldn’t believe. But this… this is different.”

  Lawliet’s mind began to work quickly, pieg together the information. A detective. As he guessed. It wasn’t just about fear or helplesshis was about trol, about power. The man before him wasn’t just another victim; he was someone who had likely beeing too close to something—or someone—who didn’t want to be found.

  “And you think that’s why he keeps ing after you?” Lawliet asked, his tone probing.

  The man nodded, a slight tremor in his hands betraying the calm he was trying to project. “I’ve been iigating this for months, trying to find a pattern, a e between the victims. Every time I get close, something happens. Files go missing, witnesses disappear… and then he shows up. It’s like he knows every move I make.”

  Lawliet tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest, his mind w through the possibilities. “He’s keeping tabs on you,” he said, more to himself than to the man. “He’s not just targeting random people—he’s targeting you because you’re a threat to him.”

  The man’s jaw tightened, a out a bitter ugh. “A threat? I don’t feel like much of a threat when he’s inside my head, making me do things I don’t want to do. No, making me want things I wouldn’t want to do.”

  Lawliet’s gaze sharpened. “But you’re still here. He hasn’t broken you, not pletely. That means he’s either toying with you, or there’s something else he wants.”

  The man spped the table with a sudden burst of frustration. “He’s not toying with me!” He took a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself. “He knows I o show up regurly, or people will start asking questions. When he’s in our heads, we’re not ourselves. We move differently, speak differently—it’s like we’re puppets. And a detective ag like that iation? It would raise arms. He knows that.”

  Lawliet’s gaze remaieady, unfling as he absorbed the man’s outburst. The man’s description of the unnatural behavior—the gzed eyes, the strange movements—aligoo perfectly with the idea of mind trol. Whoever this was, they weren’t just instilling fear; they were maniputing their victims down to the st detail, ensuring they didn’t draw too much attention. This wasn’t just about power; it was about precision.

  “You’re saying he’s careful,” Lawliet said, his to, as if he were merely stating a fact. “He doesn’t want you to be noticed. He’s using you, but he’s also proteg his anonymity.”

  The man he tension in his posture still evident. “Exactly. If I start ag toe, people will talk. They’ll iigate, and that’s the st thing he wants. But he’s also making sure I ’t do my job properly. It’s like he’s walking a tightrope, keeping me just funal enough to avoid suspi.”

  Lawliet tapped his fingers against the table, his mind rag through the implications. This was a methodical approach, ohat required an intimate uanding of how people worked—how far they could be pushed before they broke, how to maintain trol without slipping up. It was the work of someone who was not just powerful but calg, someone who khe stakes and pyed the game with an unnerving level of skill.

  “He’s keeping you on a leash,” Lawliet observed, his voice low but firm. “You’re not just a target—you’re an asset. But one he’s careful not to lose.”

  The man’s eyes darkened, and he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’ve tried everything to get him out of my head. But it’s like fighting against a tide—you know yoing to lose, but you have to keep trying. Because if you don’t, you’re not just dead—yone. Like you never existed. I will do anything to keep him out of my mind!”

  Lawliet’s gaze sharpened, his mind zeroing in on the man’s words. The desperation, the fear—these were not just the reas of someone being huhey were the reas of someone who had already lost so mud was ging to what little trol he had left. But there was something else there too, something Lawliet had seen before in victims who had been pushed to the brink: a flicker of resistance, a will to fight even in the face of overwhelming odds iving up on morals, betraying even self. Whie was it?

  Lawliet’s gaze shifted to the man’s sleeves, noting the subtle tears in the fabrid the faint scars that peeked out from beh. The cuts were deliberate, methodical—a pattern that suggested a form of self-inflicted trol. The detective didn’t o ask; he khe man was trying to recim something of his own, a desperate attempt to prove to himself that his as were still his own. It was a stark remihat evero wills could be broken, twisted until they no longer reized themselves.

  'Self-inflicted,' Lawliet cluded silently. 'He’s trying to vince himself he’s still in trol, still the master of his own body. But the truth is, he’s just as trapped as the others—maybe more so.'

  The man noticed Lawliet’s eyes on his sleeves and instinctively tugged at them, pulling the fabric down to cover the scars. There was a flicker of shame in his eyes, quickly masked by a hardened expression, but Lawliet caught it. The man’s need for trol had driven him to the point where harming himself was the only way he could assert his will against the invisible force that had taken hold of his mind.

  Lawliet didn’t mentios, didn’t even aowledge them beyond that brief gnce. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his voice steady, calm. “You’re still fighting. That’s more than most would do.” He propped, leaning on the sed option.

  The man’s eyes met Lawliet’s, and for a moment, the hardness in them ged to something else, guilt? It was only for a sed then repced by a flicker of gratitude. “What choice do I have?” he replied, his voice tinged with a bitterhat spoke of too many sleepless nights and too many battles lost within his own mind. “If I-if I don’t, I’ll lose myself pletely. And I ’t let that happen. I have to… I have to do it.”

  Lawliet nodded slightly, his mind already w through the implications. This wasn’t just a case of someoing power over others—this was something far more dangerous. Whoever was behind this ying a psychological game, ohat left its victims questioning their own sanity. But Lawliet knew how to navigate such a battlefield. He had spent years unraveling the minds of criminals, and this would be no different.

  “What do you remember about the st time?” Lawliet asked, his tone even as he returo the matter at hand.

  The man swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the memories themselves were too painful to face. “I remember... not wanting to go, but I went anyway. Like I was being pulled. And then... I was just there, standing in that pce, doing things I didn’t want to do. But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt... iable.”

  The detective remained silent, processing the man’s words. 'pulsion,' he thought. 'A deep-rooted pulsion that overrides rational thought and will. This is more than just fear—it’s a plete subjugation of the mind.'

  In another world, Lawliet might have been baffled by the idea of a person being trolled so thhly—especially a detective who should be traio resist manipution. But in this world, such abilities were not just possible; they were being increasingly on. The more he learned about this pce, the more he realized that nothing could be dismissed as mere fantasy. Mutants—or Neogenes, as they were now known—were capable of almost anything.

  Lawliet leaned forward slightly, his posture still rexed, but his gaze sharp. “Do you remember anything specific about the pce where you were taken? Anything unusual about the surroundings?”

  The man shook his head, frustration flickering in his eyes. “It’s all a blur. It’s like I’m there, but I’m not really seeing anything. Everything feels... distant.”

  Lawliet nodded slightly, abs the information. It was what he expected—whoever was trolling this man was not just maniputing his as but also clouding his perception, ensuring that even if he remembered, the details would be too vague to be useful. It histicated method, ohat spoke of a mind well-versed in the subtleties of psychological manipution.

  He asked a few more questions, probing for any fragment of information that might have slipped through the mental fog, but the man’s answers remaihe same—frustratingly vague and filled with half-formed memories that refused to solidify. Lawliet knew he wouldn’t get much more out of him tonight.

  Rising from his chair, Lawliet moved toward the door, his mind already shifting to the steps. There was little more he could do here. He o gather more data, perhaps speak to others who had been affected, and start pieg together a profile of this unseen maniputor.

  He paused at the door, turning back to the man. “Would you be willing to wear a device? Something that could alert me if you’re trolled again?”

  The man stiffened, a flicker of fear and shame crossing his face. “No,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “I ’t... I don’t want anyone knowing. I ’t risk it.”

  Lawliet studied him for a moment, then nodded. He uood the man’s reluce. In his position, it would be a stant reminder of his vulnerability, a symbol of his loss of trol. But it also meant Lawliet would have to find another way to track this.

  “I uand,” Lawliet said quietly, his voice devoid of judgment. “If you ge your mind, you know how to reach me.”

  The man didn’t respond, just nodded, his gaze fixed on the floor. The shame alpable, and Lawliet didn’t press further. He opehe door and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the sound of the door closing behind him eg softly in the quiet.

  As Lawliet stepped into the dark alley, a sudden, uling presence washed over him—a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced. It wasn’t just the usual feeling of being watched; it was something far more invasive, like tendrils of i reag into his mind, trying to grasp at the edges of his sciousness. It reminded him too much of that fateful enter with the Shinigami, the unseen force that had led to his death in his previous life. But this was different—this wasn’t death seeking him out. It was trol.

  For a split sed, he felt the force pressing down, attempting to bend his will, to and his as. But before it could take hold, a barrier—one he hadn’t been aware of until this moment—fred up inside his mind, repelling the intrusion with a force that surprised even him. The presence recoiled, and the pressure eased, but the sense of danger lingered.

  “e with me.” The voice was calm, almost soothing, yet beh its smooth tone was an undeniable and.

  Lawliet’s mind raced, eg the dots with the precision that had made him the world’s greatest detective. The man ihe building—really betrayed his morals? Sold him out? The detective hadn’t been under direct trol, that much was clear from their versation, but his vague respohe shame in his eyes—had he made a deal with whoever or whatever was behind this? He already guessed it, but perhaps a little hope still burning inside of him wa to be false.

  Lawliet didn’t let his surprise show, his expression remaining as ral as ever. He made no sudden moves, no signs of resistance. Instead, he allowed himself to slip into a bnk, passive state, mimig the behavior of those who had been truly trolled. He followed the and as if his will had been overpowered, his feet moving automatically as he walked deeper into the shadows.

  The presence around him liesting the boundaries of his mind. It was an odd sensation, like being under a warm, sticky b—f in a suffog ressing in on him from all sides. But Lawliet’s mind was a fortress, built from years of intense mental ditioning and honed by his experiences in another life. And the new mysterious barrier within him held firm, repelling the invasive influence even as he preteo succumb.

  He tio move forward, his eyes dull, his body nguage that of a puppet on strings. Whoever was trolling him— to—was skilled, but they had uimated him. Lawliet knew how to py the long game, and right now, his best strategy was to let the enemy believe they had won.

  The alley twisted and turhe darkness deepening with each step. The faint glow of streetlights barely reached the edges of this pce, leaving Lawliet in near-plete darkness. It was the kind of setting where most people would feel vulnerable, their seraining to pick up any sign of danger.

  He could feel the presence guiding him, like a leash tugging at his mind. It was subtle, almost gentle, but there was a sharpness beh the surface, a razed trol that left no room for disobedience. Lawliet’s mind cataloged every detail, every nuance of the sensation, as he pieced together what he could about his unseen adversary.

  The path ahead narrowed into a tight corridor between two crumbling buildings. Lawliet’s steps slowed as he approached a rusted metal door at the end of the alley. It was almost invisible in the darkness, blending into the decrepit brickwork around it. Without hesitation, he reached out and pushed it open, the door creaking loudly on its hinges.

  The room beyond was small and dimly lit, the air heavy with the st of damp and decay. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a sickly yellow light that barely reached the ers of the space. The walls were lined with old, battered furniture, and a small, grimy window provided the only e to the outside world.

  Standing in the ter of the room was a man—tall and lean, exuding an air of fidehat suggested he was used to being in trol. He wore a lic suit, impeccably tailored, the color striking against the dim, grimy surroundings. His face was obscured by a full mask, its smooth surface giving nothing away.

  Lawliet remaiill, his posture rexed as he studied the man. The aura of trol radiating from him alpable, almost suffog. Lawliet’s mind worked quickly, gathering every detail. This wasn’t just someone who was fident in their power—this was someone who khey were untouchable.

  The man’s voice broke the silence, low and smooth, carrying an edge of curiosity. “How did you learn about me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he scrutinized Lawliet.

  Lawliet’s expression remained ral, his tone calm aached as he replied. “Three people were killed in their homes, under unusual circumstaheir behavior prior to their deaths was insistent with their usual patterns. I ected the dots.” He spoke as if reting a simple fact, his voice devoid of aion or emphasis.

  The man’s posture shifted slightly, a hint of surprise evident in his stance. “From just that?” There was a note of admiration in his voice, as if he hadn’t expected ao e so close to unc his existeh such little information.

  Lawliet offered no response, his expression remaining bnk. Sileretched betweehick with unspoken thoughts, as the man tio assess him.

  After a moment, the man took a step closer, his tone inquisitive yet measured. “And who do you work for? SHIELD? The police?”

  Lawliet hesitated just enough to appear as though he was uhe man’s influehen responded, “I work alone. I’m not affiliated with any anization.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed slightly behind his mask, as if weighing the truth of Lawliet’s words. He didn’t push further, instead shifting to a different line of inquiry. “Do you have a special power, then? Something that lets you track people like me?”

  Lawliet hesitated again, this time allowing a flicker of uainty to pass across his features. He khis question was a test—a way for the man to gauge his abilities, to see if he posed ahreat. Lawliet decided to py along, knowing he o give just enough to keep the man ied, without revealing too much.

  “Yes,” Lawliet finally said, his voice soft, almost relut. He let the silence hang for a moment, then, in a subtle demonstratiourned invisible for a brief sed before reappearing. The movement was quick, almost imperceptible, but enough to show that he wasn’t bluffing.

  The man’s i sharpened immediately, his posture straightening as he absorbed the demonstration. Lawliet he subtle shiver of excitement that ran through him. "Another ohe man murmured, almost to himself. His tone carried an eerie mix of delight and anticipation. The words were ced with something darker, something possessive.

  He took a step closer, his gaze fixed on Lawliet with a predatory iy. "You’re ing with me," he anded, his voice smooth and authoritative. There was no question, no room for refusal—it was an order ed i.

  Lawliet gave a small nod, feigning pliance. His expression remained bnk, his eyes distant as if the man’s will had fully overtaken his own. Iy, his mind was w at a breakneck pace, analyzing every detail, every word the man uttered. He had to be cautious—one wrong move could reveal that he wasn’t truly uhe man’s trol.

  The man’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, as if he’d already won. "Good," he said, a note of approval in his voice. He turned on his heel and began walking toward the far side of the room. "We’re going to a special pce," he tinued, his tone almost versational. "I want to introduce you to my wife. She’ll be very ied iing you."

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