Elamimax

author's note: all the names in this story were chosen from name-generators to avoid someone going "why do you want to kill x? :(" any similarities to people, real or imagined, may or may not be intentional though. no i don't take criticism

Chapter 2

That’s weird.

Aaron sat up, the black notebook in his hand. He leafed through it. It looked… thumbed through. Second hand, thoroughly flipped through but unused. He cocked his head. He hadn’t seen the show in… what? Five years? Ten? When had it even come out? And he couldn’t even remember when he’d read the manga. By all accounts, this was a pretty faithful replica, including the whole “how to use it” thing on the first page. It was also clearly meant to be leafed through from right to left. Whoever made this deserved points for authenticity. 

He kicked his shoes off and stood up, sauntered over to his desk and threw the notebook down on it. He could study, sure, but he was going to ace his last two exams anyway. His laptop was broken anyway. 

Getting an idea, he fished his phone out of his pocket. Hand-me-down and who knew how many generations out of date, it worked for social media and looking stuff up. One google search later, he found out that an authentic replica of a Death Note was worth… a whole fifteen bucks. And that was Amazon, probably charging a premium or something. Probably not buying a replacement laptop with that thing, then

Rubbing his eyes, he drummed his fingers on the cover. There was an extremely childish part of him that wanted to just write Steve’s name in it. He picked up a pen, flicked the booklet open, and put his hand down. 

What am I doing?

This was ridiculous. Death Note, to Aaron, had been a mediocre manga from twenty years ago that had never lived up to its promise. It was not reality. There was no way it was reality because reality didn’t drop this kind of stuff in your lap, did it? 

Did it?

He picked up the pen again, and tapped the desk with it. There was no harm in trying, right? Well, there was harm, but only if it worked. 

Which it wouldn’t. 

Obviously. 

But why would someone give this to him? It wasn’t like you could smuggle something in a notebook. There was no room for a camera or a listening device, it didn’t plug into any computers to put a virus on. There was no reason for this to be here. Well, no logical reason. That only left illogical reasons. 

He opened the notebook. There was one way to find out, right? But that was ridiculous! Aaron didn’t want to entertain something as ridiculous as magic or shinigami or whatever they were called existing in real life. He put the pen down again.

But maybe it was a good thing to do anyway? Like, maybe it would be cathartic? He needed to blow off some steam, right? Maybe writing his frustrations off of him was a good and healthy thing to do? When he was younger, he’d taught himself to bottle up his anxiety and anger at the way the world worked, because he lashed out if he didn’t. Maybe this was healthier?

He picked up the pen again and put the tip down on the paper. But should he really write Steve’s name? Did he even know the bully’s last name? Well, that shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. He could probably just find him in a facebook group for class, or even just a school registry. He reached for his phone, and then stopped himself. 

Does Steve deserve to die? 

Not that the Death Note was real or that it would work. But what if it was? What if it did? He frowned. Maybe someone more deserving then? There was a guy, someone named Harper something, who had been arrested not too long ago. He remembered some classmates at school talking about it because Harper had been found harassing some of the younger kids. An investigation had led to an immediate arrest and conviction. 

Nobody would miss someone like that, right? But what was his n—

Kyle. Kyle Harper.

Aaron even remembered the guy’s name from the newspaper his dad had left on the kitchen table. He put the pen down on the paper, and pushed down. 

And then put it down again. This was a mistake the manga had made, wasn’t it? This had been the protagonist’s first mistake. Honestly, that was the mistake almost every murderer had ever made: starting at home. Aaron stared at the paper. This wasn’t even real, was it? So why was he out of breath? What was he scared of? This wasn’t even going to do anything. This was just a joke. A silly game. 

So why am I so scared?

His hand was shaking as he reached for his phone again. 

Because I’m considering it.

It wasn’t real, of course. Just a silly game. 

But what if it isn’t?

Then he’d be a murderer. Sure, maybe not legally. But in reality? And that being a chance he was willing to take? That scared him. There was a gun on the table, and the only question was whether or not it was loaded. And the only way to find that out was to point it at someone and to pull the trigger. 

Aaron looked at his phone, and opened an app he didn’t use very much. But if there was a place he might find someone that would be worth experimenting on, it was probably Twitch. He scrolled the front page for a bit, until he found someone who looked like an ass. To his disappointment —

Why am I disappointed?

— the person actually turned out to be very nice and was happily telling his followers about how he’d proposed to his husband. Okay, that was a no-go. Back to scrolling. Opening random channels, he finally stopped when he heard one. Some shithead named N1ghtm4re.

Someone who had beef with other users on the platform, and easy to sling slurs around. Not that that was worth death, obviously. But gleefully talking about doxxing people and how one person had actually been killed. He threw up quotation marks when he said he didn’t endorse violence. 

“For legal reasons,” N1ghtm4re said, “you should never hurt people. Wink.” Okay. This guy. He was worth a shot. Aaron did a quick google search. N1ghtm4re was a pretty public figure, apparently, and his real name was in his Twitter bio. Jamie Bains. He lived in Australia, apparently. Perfect. Aaron opened the stream on his phone again and put it next to the notebook. Then, very carefully, he put the pen on paper, and wrote.