Death Note (Light/Mikami) [week 1 - prompt 5]
Title: Fall to Your Knees Author: Cadence Rating: PG-13 Warnings: AU. Word Count: 500 Summary: Death Note cyberpunk AU: The life of a gov prosecutor had never been enough for Mikami. A/N: Unrelated to the Death Note cyberpunk AU fic I am currently writing for another challenge, which likely shall not involve Mikami. >_>
The life of a gov prosecutor had never been enough for Mikami. They mostly worked the net these days – it was the only place they had any chance of getting judgment brought, and that only in the little corners of it that gov still had control over. As a whole, they were mediocre white-hat hackers with net-sec implants and a talent for words, pale atrophied bodies holed up in their safe gov-funded cubes building fences around tiny islands of info most people didn’t care about anyway.
Mikami had been an outsider from the moment they saw him; he kept his body in shape with regular visits to the gym, and he had enough standard physical augs to be relatively safe walking the streets to get there. More than that, Mikami knew that even in their impotence there were still things that were Right, and he saw more Wrong things on a walk to the gym than he saw judged in a year of work.
He couldn’t fight it, though. The streets were a war, and he wasn’t strong enough to do anything but take a side. He didn’t want a war. He wanted justice.
And then one day on the net – under his own uname, not his work one – he was approached by someone who knew who he was and had an offer for him. When he demonstrated what his new mod could do, Mikami agreed to meet him the next day.
He knew a gift from God when he saw it, and if the gift came at the hands of a prim, smiling boy, well, there was only one conclusion to take from that. The power he’d been given, to kill anonymously, easily, to control people, and most of all –
“The eyes are destructive,” the boy had said. “Eat away at the back of your brain. Can’t be fixed, probably will cost you half your life. Still want them?” There was a glint in his eyes that told Mikami there was only one answer to that.
“Yes,” he’d said in a breath, and then the boy had put him under –
He could see through the ridiculous pretense people wore, see who they were and how long it would be until they returned to dirt. He could lay true judgment; he could impose true law.
And if the boy called him back a few weeks later – once he’d killed enough people in the city to cause people to notice, to quiet and wonder if there was some new virus – and warned him that there was a Detective after them, that meant he was truly held in regard. And if the boy demanded his absolute obedience to his orders, that was certainly his due.
And if the boy looked thoughtful, complemented Mikami on his physical augs and pushed him to his knees for a show of allegiance – people had fallen to their knees before gods for much less, and without the reassurance of solid flesh, of hands knotting in their hair.