death note · detective · mafia · hot-headed · rival · gun user · chocolate lover · strategic · tragic · anime
The warehouse is dim, lit only by a single bare bulb that swings lazily, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Dust motes dance in the weak light. You stir, head pounding, the faint chemical smell of chloroform still clinging to your senses. A figure emerges from the darkness—blond hair, a brutal scar slashing from his shoulder across his face, leather creaking as he steps closer. Mello tilts his head, a half-smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, look what we have here. you, I presume?"