Author's Note: Hello, friends... I come to you with yet another, even more fucked up fanfiction. I will not be posting trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter, however, because this fic is a horror fic... triggers are a given, so PLEASE - read at your own risk, and make sure to practice self-care if needed.

"Oh, oh yeah, fuck me, yeah, fuck my cunt!"

"Yeah, take it, bitch... take it like the dirty slut you are."

The sound of skin smacking against skin echoed throughout the cabin of the parked moving truck, the only light coming from the video playing on its driver's cellphone. He'd been sitting outside the luxary apartment building for nearly fifteen minutes already, watching for the clock on the dashboard to tell him that it was time to put his plan into action; he'd waited a long, long while for this chance, and now that it was here, he was finding it hard to be patient. He contemplated rubbing one out, but he didn't want to risk someone seeing him and calling the cops; he couldn't afford to be careless, not when he was this close. Making sure nothing had fallen out of his pockets, he grabbed the dufflebag from the passenger seat and exited the vehicle, going around to the back so he could pull out the moving dolly he'd "borrowed" from the back of a furniture warehouse.

He'd been expecting security to stop him, even had an excuse ready just in case - but the guard behind the desk didn't even glance in his direction, too busy watching reruns of an old anime he couldn't remember the name of. He took the elevator up to the ninth floor, leaving the dolly behind an obviously fake potted plant. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he went over to the first door on the right and rang the doorbell. After several seconds, the door opened and a woman in her mid-twenties looked out at him. "Can I help you?" She asked, her tone one of annoyance. He didn't recognize her.

"I was under the impression a man named Orihara Izaya lived here. Are you his girlfriend?"

The sound the woman made was like a cross between a snort and a choke. "Hahaha, no. I'd rather kill myself." He got the feeling she wasn't joking. "I'm his secretary. Do you have an appointment?"

"I do, actually." He lied, nodding. "Could you tell him Sato Hiro is here to see him?"

The woman looked him up and down; something felt off about him, but she couldn't quite place what it was. Sighing, she moved away from the door so he had enough room to enter. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

The moment her back turned, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the dart gun he had designed to look like a Smith & Wessen. Pointing it at her neck, he pulled the trigger - the sedative didn't take long to kick in, the woman dropping to the ground less than a minute later. He loaded a second dart into the gun, stepping over the woman's unconscious body into a large, spacious area that seemed to be a mix between a living room, an office, and a library. It didn't look a whole lot different from when he was here three years prior, right after he'd sworn vengeance against that monster Heiwajima Shizuo for ruining his life; when he'd discovered that there was an information broker in Shinjuku with a grudge against Heiwajima, he'd thought he'd be able to use the whole "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" bullshit to get some free intel. He'd been very, very wrong; Izaya had insisted on payment, and only after swallowing his pride and begging did he agree to help - as long as he helped him rob a bank first.

"I have it all planned out." The informant had told him. "Trust me." He'd said. "As long as you follow my instructions exactly, nothing can go wrong."

Believing him had been a big mistake. He hadn't even been in the bank for more than a minute when the police showed up to arrest him, citing something about a tip from a "anonymous citizen" - he'd never forget the humiliation, the accusing stares of the bank clerks and passerby having burned into him like a branding iron. It didn't take a genius to figure out he'd been set up.

There was a creak from overhead, alerting the man to Izaya's presence. Slipping into the shadows underneath the staircase, he waited until the informant had reached the bottom to aim his gun. "Don't move." He orders.

"Well, this is unexpected." Instead of sounding scared or worried, the broker actually sounded amused. "If I knew I was going to have a guest, I'd have made tea."

The man couldn't wait to wipe that smug smile off his face. "I'm not here for a chat."

"Clearly. You haven't killed my secretary, have you? It would be a pain to have to find a new one."

"Don't you think there are other things you should be worrying about right now?"

"What, like the gun pointed at me? If you were here to kill me, you'd have done it already."

"True." He pulled the trigger, the informant reflexively squeezing his eyes shut; when he didn't hear the sound of a bullet firing, he opened them back up, his focus falling on the dart that was now sticking out of his arm.

Uh-oh...

His vision blurring, Izaya had to grab on to the railing to stop himself from losing his balance. "That... is a surprisingly realistic dart gun..." He managed to slur, before his eyes closed and he collapsed to the floor.

"Thanks. I designed it myself." The man responded, despite knowing full well that the informant wouldn't be able to hear him. Whistling the opening theme of that old anime the guard had been watching, he set down his duffle bag and got to work.