~Shizuo's POV~

That damn flea. Shizuo had been following this stupid gang through the alleys for over an hour now, and had still barely made any progress. The rain was coming down hard, a rather recent yet impactful development as it soaked through his clothes and drenched his hair. He'd long since dropped the bench he'd been dragging earlier, figuring that if a fight ensued, he'd find a way to win with just his fists.
Izaya looked pale. Maybe it was just the lighting, but the raven man looked almost sickly. Were these bastards just going to let him bleed out? That didn't seem like a very good plan. They could at least torture him for a while… something to make him atone for whatever the hell he'd done to wind up in this mess.
Just when he was about to lose his patience and beat the crap out of the thugs, they stopped. Alarmed by the sudden halt, the blonde took a few steps back and hid behind a corner, glancing around it and trying to figure out what the others were saying. His lip-reading skills had never been of much use, and they unfortunately remained that way.
Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit. Just what the hell were they doing?! And why the hell did he care so much? This was stupid. This was so stupid. He needed to hit something, throw something. GOD, he hated this.

Shizuo did what he needed to, and focused all his energy into his left hand. His fingers curled into a tight fist, so tight that his nails dug into his palm, and his knuckles turned white. That fist shook, and he let it. It was a technique that Shinra taught him to help him "manage" his anger. Why was he angry? he didn't know… but he decided to chalk it up to the idea that Izaya had somehow dragged him into this mess by being an idiot as per usual.
Once a little calmer, he turned the corner again, but the men were gone, a door to one of the more abandoned looking buildings shutting behind them. He rushed up to it and pressed his ear to it, listening for anything he could pick up. He made out only one thing:
"This is going to be fun."

~Izaya's POV~

He hadn't awoken during the cauterizing process, which was probably in his best interest. He hadn't awoken for the bandaging of his wound either. Izaya awoke a few hours after he'd been restrained, a blindfold covering his eyes. This was interesting… judging by the rough texture of his restraints, he could assume with almost complete certainty that he was bound by rope. His position suggested that he was sitting on a chair, and the sound he made when he tapped a fingernail against it suggested the chair was metal. He rocked forwards slightly, barely lifting the back legs of the chair off the ground before setting them down as gently as he could. So… the chair wasn't bolted to the ground then. That could only mean that this room wasn't specifically designed to torture people in. So, what was this, then? An interrogation? Some sort of fetishism he'd been unaware of?
"He's awake." Izaya heard a whisper, and a smirk grew on his face. He figured he wasn't supposed to hear that.
"You must be amateurs." He spoke clearly, then laughed, only to wince at the sensation of a painful pulling just above his lower right hip.
Right… he'd been stabbed. Trying to play it off, he continued.
"Anyone knows that when you blindfold someone, it heightens their other senses. Did you really think I couldn't hear you? That's almost laughable." He heard footsteps, and his lips pulled into a grin, although his fists were balled behind his back with uncertain anxiety. Yes, even Izaya was capable of feeling mildly fearful. However, he wouldn't use it as an excuse to "tone himself down" or anything like that.
"Laughable, huh?" The voice he'd heard was closer now, and before he could reply, the blindfold was ripped from his head. The informant squinted against the harsh light for a moment, before his eyes finally adjusted and settled on the bulky figure in front of him.
Actually, bulky was an understatement. The man was tall, covered in so much muscle that the informant failed to see how his bones didn't shatter every time he flexed. He had deep black hair and the slightest hint of stubble shadowing the lower half of his face. Behind him were two other men, both with light brown hair. One was tall and lanky in structure, the other tall as well, but more filled out… maybe a little too filled out. The raven haired man shoved his thumb into Izaya's side, pressing against his stab wound and causing the other's breath to hitch. The informant gritted his teeth and balled his fists a little more tightly, grunting. "We'll see who's laughing."
"That's your…ah…" he took a moment to get ahold of his breathing before continuing. "That's your… line…? You really are an amateur, aren't you?" The man pulled away, and Izaya took a moment to scan his surroundings. This room was almost empty, walls coated in chipping paint and floors so filthy it was as though all life and no life had existed here simultaneously. "I take it you're not part of the Blue Squares, you're way too stupid for that. So, what are you going to do? Torture me? Put a price on my life? C'mon, at least make it interesting-" He was cut short by a punch to the face, one that actually hurt a lot more than he cared to admit. He'd only been hit like that so many times, but he could equate it to the pain he'd felt when Simon had sent him flying all that time ago. The force of the impact was enough to knock the chair onto its side, and Izaya's head hit the ground, causing his ears to ring. He didn't even have time to recover before his hair was pulled, yanking his head from the floor.
"You're right about one thing, we ain't the Blue Squares." The muscled man smirked, then let go. He didn't bother hoisting Izaya up, simply left him on his side. The weight of the chair was hurting his arm, it almost felt as though it was going to break. "See, we're part of the Orange Hexes. We work low key, so you wouldn't know us. Not unless you're part of a gang that likes to play dirty."
Izaya coughed, then managed the will to speak.
"Ahh, I see. So, you take care of the guys that other colour gangs don't want to deal with themselves?" He couldn't help but let out a little laugh when the two in the back nodded their heads. "You realize that makes you a gang of lapdogs, right? Just doing whatever others want and profiting. I don't think I've ever heard of such a pathetic excuse for a colour gang in my life! You're ambitionless, how disappointing." He should have known nothing good could come out of what he was saying. In fact, he almost always knew the second he opened his mouth someone would probably want to kill him. His hair was taken, and he grunted out again, this time having his entire body and the chair pulled up into a sitting position once again.
"Look Orihara, I'd quit the act now if I were you." The muscle said, a smirk appearing on his face. "We coulda let you bleed out on the pavement, but we decided it'd be more fun to dish out some justice. See, the guys and I, we've been real bored, so we decided to have some fun with ya. You know, see just how far we can push ya before you snap. Sound like fun?"
Izaya sighed. In all honesty, this was already beginning to feel like such a nuisance.
"Sounds rather boring actually." He confessed. "See, what you're saying sounds a whole lot like you really do intend to torture me, and I don't have time for that. It's a busy world out there, so why would I sit in here and let you 'entertain' yourselves, when there's much better entertainment elsewhere?" He wouldn't say it aloud, but he was getting a little uneasy. He knew he was in a vulnerable place, a little too well in fact. He couldn't escape, and he couldn't talk his way out of things either. Even he wasn't sure why he was talking back so harshly. Maybe it was to save himself his pride, or just to hold onto his sanity.
The man released Izaya's hair and rolled his eyes, having the audacity to turn his back on the broker and walk away. Izaya's own demeanour faltered for a moment as his eyes narrowed. This guy… just what did he have planned? What drove him? And more importantly, why was he-
"You want to know why you're here, right?" The muscled man asked, and this time, Izaya didn't talk back. "Huh. Thought so. Well the truth is, the black bike sold you out, and the kid in the Blue Squares hired us to get rid of you. Let's make one thing clear, Orihara. No one gives a damn that you're gone. You're a pest, and when you're gone, they're all gonna celebrate. I can take your backtalk all night and sleep well knowing I'm the leader of the gang that exterminated you." He looked over his shoulder and grinned, before snapping his fingers. Instantly the two other men were in front of him, looking him up and down. Interesting… so Celty had finally turned on him. He supposed he deserved it after the way he'd been treating Shinra, especially after setting the cops on him while he was in the hospital. But still… something wasn't adding up here.
"What should we do?" The lanky man asked.
"Anything you want." The leader replied over his shoulder. "Just don't kill him yet. I want his screams singing me to sleep." The door opened, then closed, and the two remaining men folded their arms.
"This'll be fun." The bigger one said, and the more slender one nodded in agreement.
"So much fun. Don't you agree, informant?"
For the first time in his life, Izaya remained silent.