**COMPLETED** In an Alternate Universe where the Death Note never comes to the human world, agent Naomi Misora is contacted by L- the world's greatest detective- to work with him on his cases. What begins as a professional relationship swimming in...
The matronly landlady knocked for the third time. This particular young tenant was four days late on rent and, although four days wasn't much, it simply wasn't like the girl to be late. Also, several days worth of mail was left uncollected and her car was sitting frosted over in the lot outside.
It was a bright January morning in the little French town just outside of Paris. The streets were lined with dirty, grey slush, and the sun shone down upon glistening patches of leftover snow, causing the icy, cold day to appear deceitfully warm.
With a sigh, the landlady flipped through the keys on her key ring and began unlocking the door. She opened it slowly, calling out to whomever may be inside.
But no one was home.
The neighbors hadn't seen her.
Her family hadn't heard from her.
A phone call to her university revealed that she had missed every one of her classes for about a week.
She was just... gone.
The landlady finally alerted the police and, after a more thorough search, the third-year law student was officially declared "Missing."
It took three more days, but they finally found her.
She was in a partially-constructed building whose completion had been put on hold for some irrelevant reason. Her cold, stiff body was surrounded by the melted remains of candles whose wicks had burnt out days ago, and a gruesome, scarlet gash encircled her throat.
An icy chill ran down the spine of the police officer who found her as his eyes came to rest on the wooden crucifix that was held in her hands over her heart.
The officer lifted his walkie-talkie to his mouth and pressed the button, his breath forming little clouds in the frigid air as he spoke.
"Uh... Sergent?"
The voice on the other end crackled through. "Oui, c'est pour quoi?"
The officer swallowed hard as he stared at the terrible, and yet all too familiar vision before him. He pressed the button again and spoke with urgency in his voice.
"Appelez le détective, L!"
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Directly contacting the mysterious detective known all over the world as "L" was no easy task.
To begin with, one would first need a passcode given by L himself. These numeric passcodes were given only to law enforcement officials whom L had worked with on a case, and contact was only to be made if said case were to be reopened for some reason. The 16-digit code was to be memorized and never written down.
A long and complicated URL was also given on three separate cards in sealed envelopes, to be kept in three different, secure locations. When the URL was put together and typed into the search bar of an internet browser, a blank, white page consequently appeared, containing a single text box with a blinking cursor. Once the correct passcode was entered, the text box was replaced with a phone number. The phone number, which was heavily encrypted five times over, sent an alert to Watari containing all of the information connected to the passcode and its related case, and the person calling heard a synthetic voice instructing them to hang up and wait for further contact.
