The Art of Subconscious Illusion: Rewritten (Death NotexHouse, MD crossover)

Full Summary: The rewritten version of the original well-loved fic, this portrays the story of the fight between House the diagnostician and the mental patient who calls himself Kira. One week is all that is allotted for him and his team to save Kira from the world and himself…and House's neck is on the line.

A/N: Alas, I failed you as an author, and so, with this new version of the story, I wish to make it up to you. It's pretty much the same as the original (as can be found as Art of Subconscious Illusion on fanfiction.net), but some details have changed, and this time, I'm including dates at the beginning when called for, just to clear some things up. The story that I had planned beforehand is now to go on a different path, hence the need for this rewritten version, and so things will go quite differently from the end of chapter six onwards. At the moment, my aim is to be finished by chapter 12 or less – I don't know why, it just seems possible right now.

Yes, there will be a little shounen-ai (boyxboy) later, as planned. Yes, the humour will stay. Yes, any scientific jargon you don't understand will be cleared up, but with any luck, that will get explained in the chapters themselves. No, neither House MD, nor Death Note belong to me, but are out on a loan.

So, please, just read and enjoy. I hope that all you who have stuck dedicatedly to the side of the original will enjoy this just as much, if not more if possible. If you have any reviews to offer, just leave them in the review bucket when you have finished reading.

Chapter I

Tension

Mid-April, 2006

The light shone bright in the 3rd year classroom, the light from the fluorescent overhead lights blinking occasionally. The students sat at their desks in silence, except for the rare cough from their blonde-haired classmate sitting near the front in the third row, the sound somehow echoing around the classroom, making her nervous classmates wince every time. Even the visiting teacher at the front – who had introduced himself to the class as the Invigilator – was feeling the tension as it emanated off of the students.

Looking at his watch, the Invigilator signalled to the usual homeroom teacher, who then began handing out exam papers to the students column by column. "Now, when you've got your exam paper" said the Invigilator, surveying the classroom with a practised stair, as though scrutinising every student one by one, "put your name, candidate number, and centre number in the spaces provided. For this Civics higher tier exam, you need just your pen, pencil, eraser, and yourself. Remember, read the question carefully before answering and write sure to write legibly. This may only be a practise paper, but I'm sure you all know the drill by now!"

Looking up at the clock and watching the second hand tick closer to exam start, the blinking lights and the sound of a pencil tap adding to the tension, the blonde-haired girl in the third row coughed again, her throat feeling more itchy and sore with every splutter. . "You will be expected to do this exam in silence and within the two hour time limit." He glared at the blonde haired girl pointedly, stifling her.

"Now," he said, smiling – or was that a sneer? – "Your exam…starts…now!" And in a flash, everyone picked up their pens, turned over the cover and began scribbling furiously, all of them sure that they'd be facing some sort of wrath from the evil Invigilator if they scored below average come results day.

An hour into the exam and the blonde haired girl was still coughing loudly, stopping her writing every few minutes to lift her hand to her face and cough. Despite this though, the sound still echoed around the classroom, getting harsher and harsher, the lights blinking more and more, and the sounding of the nervous pencil tap against a wooden desk adding to the tumult. Finally, she stopped, her throat newly lubricated, lifting her hand away to show blood. Scared, she put her bloody hand up, only to find that someone else had caught the Invigilator's attention: A tall brown haired boy was walking to the front, test paper in hand, his left hand twitching slightly.

The Invigilator walked towards him, placing a gentle hand on the boy's left arm, making the boy flinch as though the undue affection was painful, "What are you doing?" The Invigilator asked, muttering quietly, trying not to disturb the others, "You've still got an hour to finish the exam, yet!"

"No," replied the boy, "I finished." The hand twitched again, this time the spasm running through the arm. The Invigilator noticed, and tightened the grip on the boy's arm.

"Are you okay? Is anything wrong?"

The boy's hand flexed at this, and he smiled like the devil. "No," he said, his voice almost a whisper, "there's nothing wrong with me…" Suddenly, in one quick movement and barely a blink, the Invigilator was pinned against the blackboard, the boy holding him by the collar. The homeroom teacher dropped to the ground in fright, and the students looked up from their papers in unison, unable to believe what they were seeing. The students on the first few rows stood up, loathing the idea of getting too close.

"But there's something wrong with you." Sneered the boy. It was a hushed voice, but one that echoed around the room with ease. "Every crime you have committed…every person you have hurt… every lie you have uttered to save your own worthless skin…" the satanic smile creaked through his mouth, his white teeth almost bared. His eyes seemed to glow red in the blinking eyes, dim but threatening, and his fists began to shake. The Invigilator didn't – no – couldn't say anything; too shocked by the boy's transformation, the only movement he could make being the widening of his eyes.

"Do not worry," he mocked, relishing in the man's fear, invoking the polar opposite emotion, "your end shall be swift – your guilt and what conscious you have would have tortured you enough…" One hand leaving his collar, the Invigilator almost sighed with relief, but that was soon stopped, as it planted itself at his throat. "However…the soul of that poor boy calls out for at least some degree of pain!" the lights flickered quicker and quicker, the students only able to look on, mouths open like koi carp at their classmate's madness.

The hand clenched tighter, and the man put his hand at the boy's wrist, trying to pull the hand away, but his captor just clenched tighter. "This world is rotting…" he said, lowering his head as though in prayer, "and you cannot be part of the revolution." The Invigilator gasped, as the seriousness of the boy's intended action hit him. He had never been assaulted in such a way before, and to experience the terror of it first hand was a nightmare, like the devil himself had handpicked him for the pleasure.

Suddenly, the flickering of lights grew stronger, switching on and off, going through the sequence with speed. The boy's eyes widened, his mouth went slack, and with barely a word, he collapsed to the floor, his body convulsing sickeningly. The female classmates screamed, the homeroom teacher picking herself off the floor to carry out emergency procedures. His classmates called out to him, trying to make him snap out of it – but being in the middle of a seizure, the boy couldn't respond to them even if he tried.

As you can see, it is basically almost identical to the original, except a little more snazzy, and with an altered timeline. Apart from that, not much has changed, apart from the fact that I have the Invigilator have a capital letter at the start of his title, like an actual noun. I'm sorry if you didn't get my little joke, but basically I did this because doing so made him sound like an actual bad guy, or, at the very least, a WWE wrestler. I just got the urge to when starting this chapter, and felt like giving into it. For those of you who’ve just read this for the first time on Wattpad, who haven’t read the original, just enjoy this as it is, because this is the only version you’ll see.

I welcome all of your reviews, constructive and critical, but just keep in mind that is a civil place, and should stay as such. Flames are fine, as I suspect that some of you are not that happy with my decision to rewrite this story that you love, but I assure you, I only did this with your best interests at heart, and a wish not to subject you all to bad storytelling.

Thank you, please R&R (Rate and Review), and stay tuned for chapter two of The Art of Subconscious Illusion: Rewritten.

Ruin Lee Oxford XXX