Title: Lest Thy Covet

Ratings/Warnings: This part R. Be advised, this is not a horror fic, but it will have some scenes of horror. Beware of intense violence involving a child and blood for this part. Do not read if it may trigger you.

Pairings: Shizaya, explorative other charactersxIzaya, other pairings

Summary: Izaya Orihara must find someone worth loving above all others, or risk losing what he values most: his immortal soul. His humanity.

Chapter 1: Jar of Hearts

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Kabukichō, the city that never sleeps.

Awash in the crowd, letting the tide of humanity determine his pace as he made his way to his destination, Izaya Orihara indulged in the one pleasure he could never get enough of.

Human observation, surely, was the reason he existed.

Ikebukuro was without a doubt Izaya's best-loved city, despite being the nesting grounds for almost all of his natural enemies. Shizu-chan, Celty, Simon; it seemed like all of the people who could interfere with his plans congregated into one place. Then again, perhaps that was part of Ikebukuro's appeal. Really, it was the best city, always with something interesting taking place, with events even he couldn't predict. It had just the right mix of people to keep things interesting. People there set themselves up like dominos, just asking for someone to come along and give a delightful little push.

But on this night, Izaya chose to conduct his business in Shinjuku. He was unwilling to chance an encounter with Shizu-chan, the hateful protozoan having an uncanny ability to track Izaya down once he stepped foot onto Ikebukuro pavement. Izaya was adept enough at avoiding the monster when he had a schedule to keep, but Shizu-chan was unpredictable to say the least. And this was not the time to get caught up in a life-or-death chase through the city night.

It was early evening, the night pleasantly cool. The bright lights from the surrounding buildings beckoned patrons into the warmth of various bars, night clubs, shops, restaurants, and love hotels. The chatter of humanity filled the streets accompanied by a symphony of footsteps, rumbling engines, tires squealing on pavement, laughter and movement. Life.

Hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets, Izaya made his way into the little hole in the wall that was the agreed upon meeting place. The bar was almost empty, with a few patrons here and there, most of them too drunk by this point to even recognize themselves in the mirror. While inebriated humans were interesting in their own right, mostly because in that state they'd willingly divulge almost anything if he applied a little charm, that wasn't why he was here. At a table in the back corner, hunched over an untouched glass of something alcoholic, was his source.

Hisano Amagi was an old, shrewd woman with some very unique contacts. Contacts Izaya was unwilling to deal with personally, thus the middleman. Her black hair had a light dusting of gray, and her skin was wrinkled with age. But her eyes were as keen as ever, and she glanced at him interestedly as he sat down across from her.

"Hisano-san," he greeted pleasantly, flashing her a smile meant to charm. "I hope this place was easy for you to find. Most people just walk by without ever realizing this place even exists."

She regarded him for a moment, dark brown eyes taking him in, before she smiled, hand absently curling around her glass. "Why yes, it is one of those places that are impossible to find unless one knows exactly where to look." Her voice was a bit raspy, but not unpleasantly so, and held a hint of amusement. "But I must say I am a bit surprised, Information Broker, you are much younger than I imagined you'd be." Certainly much too young to have amassed what he had, be it his network of information, his money, or his enemies, she thought. This young man was certainly not what she had expected.

"Yes, well I get that a lot," he returned. Usually with a contact, client, or source, Izaya liked to poke at them a bit, see what additional information he could gleam, what feathers he could ruffle. Find out the best method for pulling their strings. This was important, however, and he couldn't risk losing what he came for, couldn't risk her getting up and walking away because he pushed just a bit too far.

He could still feel it, even now. The phantom ache from the long healed stab wound in his abdomen. A reminder of his mortality.

"Do you have it?" He cut to the chase. There wasn't an ounce of anticipation in his voice, despite its presence in his heart.

Hisano sighed, young people were always so impatient, before she reached under the table and grabbed her purse. From it she withdrew a glass vile filled with red liquid, and when she presented it to the young man, he took it carefully, relief in his like colored eyes for only a moment before it was gone like it never was.

Izaya examined the vile, and after finding nothing lacking, he pocketed it, planning to transfer it to a sturdier, more portable container as soon as possible.

He reached into the inner pocket of his fur lined coat and produced an envelope filled with the money owed. Hisano took it, counting the bills inside before nodding in satisfaction and depositing it into her purse. Her eyes found his.

"You know my dear, it certainly isn't everyday that someone asks me to retrieve such a token. And it's a good thing indeed, as they rarely allow outsiders to take part in their gifts."

"Do they now?" Izaya said agreeably, masking his complete disinterest, eager to leave and make sure his purchase was taken care of. "Well then, how fortunate I am to have asked someone capable of such a feat, given how unlikely its success."

Hisano laughed. "Oh, I don't think it was me that convinced them." Her eyes sparkled before turning sharp, her gaze measuring as she looked at him with renewed interest.

Izaya didn't understand, and he didn't care to. He had no interest in non-humans, no interest in monsters, no love. As long as she completed her job, he didn't care. Ideally he would make no such request as this, but circumstances gave him few options. He needed a contingency plan, and this was simply the best option available.

After a few pleasantries, or pseudo pleasantries in Izaya's case, they left the bar and parted ways.

As she walked home, the dark of the night welcoming, Hisano Amagi couldn't help but frown, worry wrinkling her brow. Perhaps she should have warned him. That young man, that information broker, he didn't even realize, did he?

Izaya Orihara had a lot more to worry about then whatever was occupying his mind on this night, of that she was certain. She could definitely feel him at some point during their meeting. She couldn't tell where, just that he was watching, and a feeling of unease slowly stole through her. Making up her mind to warn the boy, Hisano hurriedly made her way home. Her two grandchildren were waiting for her.

They'd still be waiting for her in the morning.

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CHATROOM

Kanra

Good evening! Kanra-chan's here!

Tanaka Taro

Ah, good evening

Setton

Evening

Saika

Good evening

Kanra

It's good to see everyone's alright. I was worried! :-S

Tanaka Taro

?

Tanaka Taro

What do you mean?

Kanra

Didn't you hear? It's been all over the news

Setton

Oh, you mean about the recent murders around Tokyo

Saika

How horrible

Tanaka Taro

It is a little scary. And they still haven't caught the person yet

Kanra

Kanra-chan is scared! I heard that the victims all had one thing in common

Kanra

Their hearts were missing!

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Somewhere, In Ikebukuro

Keiko Sanada was seven years old.

Keiko Sanada was dying.

She came to consciousness slowly.

The carpet was warm against her cheek where she lay, soaked red and sticky, the scent of blood overwhelming. Her chest heaved desperately, slow wet breaths leaving her as every beat of her heart pulsed more and more blood out of her body, the red pool slowly growing around her. It felt like her chest was on fire, the skin burning away into ash. It hurt to breathe. It hurt more than anything she had ever experienced in her short life. It hurt even more than when she broke her arm after a clumsy landing from the monkey bars last year, or when stupid Kenji-kun accidentally kicked a soccer ball straight into her stomach, winding her.

Afraid to open her eyes, she kept them tightly shut, the book of fairy tales she had been reading kept clutched in a death grip in her small hands, cradled against her stomach where she was curled on the floor. Tears of terror and pain dripped from her eyes, and her nose itched from running.

Was…was that man still here?

Keiko strained her ears, searching for any sound that would mean he was still in her family's apartment. Hopefully he was gone. Hopefully he thought she was dead and left. After a few minutes of hearing nothing, she gathered her courage and opened her eyes. She would have screamed, had she had the breath. Instead, she felt her mouth open silently, twisted in shock, terror, and if the tell-tell feeling at the pit of her stomach meant what she thought it meant, disgust. Body shaking in its entirety, she abandoned the book as she weakly propped herself up on her hands and knees and scrambled away as fast as she could, mindless of nothing but distance until she found herself with her back pressed against the white wall, newly smeared with a child sized imprint in red, her knees bent against her chest and her arms wrapped around them.

She could do nothing but stare, shaking. Sprawled out on the floor, not far from where she fell herself after that…thing got her, was her grandmother. Her head was lolled to the side, face turned toward Keiko, displaying her ripped out neck. Her once immaculate snow white hair was soaked through with red, warm brown eyes now turned sightless in death, but frozen in a look of wide-eyed horror. Her chest was completely torn open, the flaps of skin pushed to the side and the chest cavity completely exposed. She looked like a piece of meat and…the heart was missing.

Keiko slowly stood on shaky legs, leaned over supporting herself with a red painted hand on the wall, and wretched. It all came out red. Eventually she couldn't heave anymore and Keiko unsteadily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. What…how…she had to get out. She had to get out! She felt her whole body stiffen, still hunched over, and the hairs on the back of her neck raised as soft footsteps came from deeper inside the apartment. He was coming! With a shot of adrenaline she tried to make a run straight for the door. She was in the living room, it was right there! She took not three steps before her legs collapsed from under her, and she fell hard to the floor with a bang and a grunt. She landed on her stomach, and it felt as if it split open, and the amount of blood pooling around her did little to convince her of otherwise.

"Hahaha." He was standing over her. The oppressiveness of the shadow he cast felt like death come to steal her away. "To think you'd still be alive. Humans can be so resilient sometimes, even the children." His voice was deeply happy, and cruel. And it sounded almost as if two people were talking when he spoke, like his voice had its own echo. "Almost like cockroaches."

The man prodded her side with the tip of a black polished boot, and turned her over so that she was lying on her back. She stared with terror up at him, and wondered, if death were a person, would it look like this man? His skin was deathly pale, and his mouth was stretched into an inhumanely wide grin that touched both sides of his head. It didn't seem like he had any hair, and he wore a dark bowler hat and a suit. His eyes were a glowing green, and they examined her with amusement.

He was holding her book at his side.

Amusedly, his eyes followed the path of hers. "Ah yes, this," he laughed, raising the book to examine it better. "I do so enjoy fairy tales. You can get a lot of useful information out of them, a lot of false information too." He opened the book and thumbed through it, stopping at something that must have caught his eye. "Here's a good one." He crouched down and held out the book for her to see. It was The Little Mermaid.

His eyes turned sharper, and his forever smiling mouth took on a wicked curve. He seemed almost angry.

"Do you know what makes a human, human? What makes you, different from me?" He closed the book with a sudden snap that had her flinching, before tossing it aside. He then reached into the jacket of his suit, withdrawing a long, sharp blade. Keiko made a sound not unlike a dying animal, tears reappearing in her terrified eyes, racing down her cheeks, her breath ragged. She didn't want to die! "Now now," he said, admiring how the light reflected off the blade. "No need to worry." His glowing eyes returned to hers, and she saw in them death. "Because you see, humans like you never die, at least not really." He reached out his other hand and laid his palm flat on the middle of her bloody chest. It was freezing cold. "The human soul lives forever. It cannot die." He withdrew his hand slowly, angrily, and regarded her for a moment. She couldn't breathe. "So really, you shouldn't mind if I take your heart right?" He plunged the knife into her chest, into the existing stab wound, and she screamed. She thrashed. Undeterred, he slowly, carefully carved through the child's chest, one hand holding her still as he tore through her flesh. She didn't stop screaming until finally, the heart was fully exposed, and he ripped it out with a spatter of blood that stained his suit.

Abandoning the child's corpse, he carried his prize over to the black suitcase he brought with him for this job. He unlatched the suitcase and carefully deposited the organ into a glass jar nestled inside. After making sure the contents of the case were secure, he cheerfully left the apartment. Whistling a happy tune, he disappeared into the night. "Eight down, five more to go." Thank goodness he was almost done with this stupid job. Usually he liked to be a bit more creative when taking a wretched human life. This kind of thing just drew too much attention. However, a debt was a debt, and the sooner he repaid him, the better. But still, how interesting it is that it would take thirteen human hearts to be able to steal one human soul.