#masked observer

He'd have to talk to Bigwiggins separately. Not right now, but a little later. When Light was sure his new idea was rooted in thought, not emotion. He'd already screwed up just now by revealing his plans, and now no one would think of dragging L into it. The ideal scenario wasn't being able to slip in the idea at the right time, but being able to get everyone else to say it without directly interfering. Then, when Light received the offer to pretend to be L, he'd first feign thoughtfulness, and then say, "…oh, maybe I'll do that."

Either way, he could still carry out his plans secretly, even if he had no idea how. Under surveillance, Light had no choice but to follow the rules. Especially now, when it came to changing his location. He couldn't act even if he were alone. For obvious reasons. Walls have ears, after all. Despite how many people he knew were nearby (literally or figuratively, since participation in the plan implied the word "near"), he couldn't say he trusted them. Although, perhaps that was the power of these events? So many people.

Um…one more thing.

Light said after a while.

We do have a backup plan, right?

@god-ofthenewworld

Power of the press, said Bigwiggins, nodding. He's not making that his top priority for nothing... what they've been doing all day is beyond me, but we'll be able to rectify that. Well, me, obviously, on camera, and we've decided to jump through hoops every time I make a statement - but we--

He apparently thought better of whatever he was going to say, ducked down to his feet to grab his computer bag, and started setting up the laptop. No biometric keypad, apparently, but he was taking care to shield the password.

At least Montag was on top of things. So, the “face of Kira” was beginning to find the spotlight just a little too bright for comfort, finding his way into the darkness like a roach. That wasn't cause to crow. Roaches breed much better in darkness, and they're not particular about how they do it.

Near could even defer to his discretion with Lady Phantasme. Though dealing with Lady Phantasme was always like playing catch with nitroglycerine...

Spiderkiller, no need to flip any particular CCTVs at the moment. Just... two phone calls to two idiots.

After that, I think we can start considering Senator Fredericksen's social schedule.

First thing through the door, Ice Dragon alighted on the top-of-the-line camera against the tinted window and had it switched off and into his bag before anyone could say boo. Of course he had. Lady Phantasme hadn't specified priorities.

"Hey. Guy. We're a little more interested in the resident..."

Naturally, Bigwiggins was visibly contemplating breaking through. Fine; she was ready for that. Lady Phantasme splayed her arms Red Rover fashion across the doorway, and shook out her left sleeve went. Because that sleeve wasn't where she kept the gun.

@the-best-man

Right... it's a match.

And here. We. Go.

[Happy-go-lucky music. Not perfectly edited: the trailer is not, after all, due for another nine hours.]

[Smooth, professional voiceover:] Meet a man who needs a new direction in life.

[Two figures, shrouded in shadows on a couch.]

???: So the whole, um, backstory won't actually be in the show?

Knight of Swords: Yup. No backstory so long as you keep your daily cooking resolutions.

???: Awesome.

[Touta Matsuda in his customary suit and an orange cat mask, holding a landlines phone to his ear, because he is carrying a precarious stack of cooking implements.]

Moshi-moshi, Mochi! How are you today?

[Separate take:]

[Matsuda, aside:] If Mochi's ever upset, I might as well not cook at all. That's the magic word, right?

[Knight of Swords, offscreen:] That's the magic word.

[Matsuda, continuing the phone conversation:]

Just don't make me separate the eggs today. Today's eggs should have a happy marriage.

[Smooth professional voiceover:] This is a man beginning life in the direction he wants.

[Matsuda, opening a wrapped brown package:] I always wanted to be a fashion critic!

[The package contains a set of highly expensive, tight, olive-green distressed clothing.]

Do I have to wear this, or can I just criticize it?

[Matsuda, contemplating a desk carefully kitted out with a luxury audio set, an e-reader, and a word processor:]

Offline and paperless, huh... that'll take getting used to.

[Matsuda opens the first of a set of boxes on the hall, which turns out to contain]

[a black-and-white kitten, which immediately reaches out to the nose of his cat mask. If this were the final cut, the music would have paused in reverence.]

I just... I just died.

[Smooth professional voiceover:] ...Every direction at once.

[Matsuda hastily lunges to keep the kitten from ravaging the fish he was preparing.]

[Title logo: THE TARO CATSUI SHOW!]

[Smooth professional voiceover:] The Taro Catsui Show. Mondays at 3 PM, available for streaming, and sold on DVD at the Masked Observer vendor nearest you.

[Matsuda, earnestly waving to the camera:] Thank you to all my fans. Please, never go bald!

Bigwiggins muted his TV.

Any questions?

Having no need for the pork, Bigwiggins had disposed of it the moment the radio conversation was done and he'd sent up the set.

How much time had passed since then? Hours, he was sure. Two, ten... it felt more like ten, but he was miserable and impatient and he didn't even have a clock to watch, so probably less. He'd taken to the studio and begun picking at a random Miss Marple story that completely failed to hold his interest when he heard the first rattlings of construction work.

Right, the logistics. Setting the lines of powder in place, vertically... making sure nothing else gets burned down in the process... time wasn't as much of the essence as he'd pictured in his head. Blame the movies for that.

He'd have no trouble getting to the cantina, and there was no sense keening in front of the garbage chute if he could simply curl up numbly in his camp bed.

---

It was one of the most surreal points in Stone's career. There was a sense in which Kira was gone, never to darken his doorstep again. And there was a sense in which Bigwiggins mourned that. Most surreally of all - Stone found he could understand both at once. Stone motioned for the door guard as he entered. There were desultory signs of life in the studio - Agatha Christie would be Bigwiggins for certain, and that card deck was neatly stacked, but not boxed and put away. There wasn't a sound.

Bigwiggins, he called. Bigwiggins - we're here.

Nothing.

A pang struck him: what if the four hours' delay had been too much for Bigwiggins? He wanted to discount that out of hand, but... the boy he'd heard this morning simply didn't seem like the same who'd gone in on the sixth.

He rushed into the cantina (the forensics duo rushed to back him up.)

Bigwiggins--

Not dead, no. Stupid fear, really. Just dead asleep, right there. Not even out of his day mask.

He handled the waking as gently as he could, but Bigwiggins rose like he'd been pulled from the bottom of a lake.

We need to get you out. Can I - can I make you something?

Bigwiggins smiled wanly. Stone. Where were you?

Stone shrugged in a professional way. He didn't actually have an adequate answer to that question himself.

I could kind of go for a specialty coffee right now. I'm a little sick of 3-in-1. He shook his head. No, I just... I just don't want to be here. You know. But egg coffee's a plus.

He blinked at the others. Gonna -- verify, huh. Look, I... I really don't want to talk about it again.

That's fine, said Stone, although nothing was. They can see for themselves.

I... need to bring you up to speed, before some idiot out there rushes to it, or you find out on the news... (Bigwiggins' attention visibly sharpened.) I'll make what's in the cabinet for you, all right? Why not out in the studio, where it's a little more...

Bigwiggins peered around the green screen. That honor guard in the doorway's a bit... I mean, what else have you got for me? Mink coat, kimono of many colors? His voice seemed steadier already.

This was Bigwiggins, after all. He'd be all right.

Did Near arrange this...? And -- up to speed--

In the end. He'd be all right in the end.

No, Spiderkiller can think for himself. He doesn't think it's necessary to shut Near out, but he's humoring us. Anyway, the point of the guard is that Lady Phantasme's dead, and that means we're not taking chances... sit down, please. I'll fix you some ube.

Sako's dead, SK.

( @bigwiggins )

What in the hell--? Looks like he passed the free-will check, but...

Spiderkiller started checking the scan for cute little artifacts, just by force of habit, but no, there didn't seem to be anything else to it. He brought up a PiP of the scan on Near's screen.

I mean... Kira-2 didn't do it. Bigwiggins didn't do it. He didn't - what - slip on the soap in the shower. And I think someone would have mentioned if Lady Phantasme had picked up his name at some point last night? So... yeah, what in the hell.

Near looked up, idly twirling his hair. Kira-2 might not act like the type, but he wouldn't be the first interim seat-filler to get hooked on the post. And sometimes, it truly is an accident. And, of course, Bigwiggins may be lying.

Strictly for his sake, said Spiderkiller, I actually hope he is. That's just too much to go through in one night.

Yes, since you mention Montag... his scenario is the one that happens to make the most sense. He'd taken a new LEGO figure out of the Star Wars bin - Han Solo frozen in carbonite - and given it a perch on the front edge of his laptop. Reverential, in Near's weird way. Let's assume this is simply Bigwiggins' way of saying Kira has returned. Perhaps he's found the message to Orochi... perhaps he simply doesn't overrate his own intuition.

All the same, why don't we cover all our bases.

---

About seven minutes after Bigwiggins sent the message up, another package came down.

A two-way radio adorned with an orange sticky note (done directly with marker, in Japanese).

We don't need to look happy, anyway. We aren't happy, it'd be weird if we were. All we really need is to look unified, and then we need to make sure the photo doesn't pop up if things get, y'know, inconvenient...

As they rode in the back seat, Bigwiggins was elaborating in that slightly frenetic way that meant whatever he was discussing wasn't the most important thing on his mind.

Half the point of picking the apartment had been that they'd had more than enough impromptu Nobu Orochi Memorial for an afternoon, and... well, either Lady Phantasme had been both uncannily well-informed and impossibly quiet about it on the night of the second, or... yeah, that burned-out building was yet more Nobu Orochi.

Also: if it were Lady Phantasme, Bigwiggins would have found some kind of news story while searching for directions to the address. People had died. And maybe nobody figures NHN is an outlet that's interested in random arson... maybe they figure the others will cover it.

Well. That had been his theory all along. Never mind that Near backed it up, and took it in directions it didn't need to go: Sako had been meant as Kira's weapon.

He wasn't confident that Sako got that. Even now.

The other half still loomed.

Neither the apartment nor the house was situated in a mask-friendly part of town, so the thing that had tipped Bigwiggins toward the apartment was simple.

The apartment complex had had a parking garage. (Yeah, the garages had cameras too in this neck of the woods, but the odds of someone checking them for masked men at any given moment...) Sako's old house - which Bigwiggins now saw was luxuriant, especially on a police officer's salary, must've been bought before that big economic downturn - had nowhere to hide between the car and the road.

He traced a nervous finger along the bottom of his mask.

Nope, said the guard in the passenger's seat. Not allowed.

(Bigwiggins had begun wonder if there was a point where they'd intervene. But... yeah, that was entirely reasonable.)

Okay, if we're going to risk being seen as burglars, let's wait till the coast is clear to get onto the sidewalk. At least the windows are tinted...