Bête Noire

The familiar characters of Ikebukuro return to face off with the infamous and elusive SCP Foundation, but not without the assistance of the reformed genius prosecutor and his bumbling detective sidekick.

Rated: T for language and future violence/gore. No lemon, No yaoi. Pure action.

Authors' Notes:

1. Previous knowledge of Durarara! (anime): Not mandatory, but to understand some one-liners and grasp the characters' personalities and backgrounds, it is advised. Based off of the anime only; although certain novel/manga characters are mentioned for the sole purpose of supporting the plot.

2. Previous knowledge of the SCP Foundation (website): Mandatory. The SCP Foundation is "a wiki that serves as a collection of reports on paranormal artifacts/humanoids, based around the idea of an international agency that contains items that threaten the normality of the world. These items are referred to as SCPs, with each one given containment procedures, a description, and a history of experiments on them," according to TV Tropes. Visit "Members' Pages"* for more character information. Individual SCP case links may be provided within this document, as some unmentioned details may pertain to the story.

3. Previous knowledge of Ace Attorney (games/manga): Not mandatory, but helpful in character and circumstantial understanding.

In this Chapter:
MAIN - Durarara!: Izaya Orihara, Shizuo Heiwajima, Celty Sturluson
MINOR - Durarara!: Tom Tanaka, Namie Yagiri, Mr. Shiki

CHAPTER 2

– Around the Tokyo Metropolitan Art Space; Ikebukuro, Japan. July 10 – 11:32 pm –

"You know what to do, right?" The smooth voice caressed the words silkily, sending shivers up Celty's spine. It was the kind of voice that belonged to a serpent. She wondered if he called her to freak her out on purpose, since a text would have been much more appropriate, knowing what he knew about her.

She hung up the phone, her yellow helmet shaking back and forth in exasperation. She shot a quick text before vaulting onto the back of her black motorcycle, revving until it whinnied. With that, Celty Sturluson shot forward into the night.

– An apartment complex; Shinjuku, Japan. July 10 – 11:35 pm –

The large, airy penthouse suite was quiet. Its high-ceilinged interior was spacious, the entire southern wall sporting a plane of glass overlooking Shinjuku, and the eastern wall lined with shelves, heavy with philosophical books. Stairs on the west wall led up to the hallway that looked over the open den. A countless number of books about human behavior covered the second floor's eastern wall.

A young, black-haired man sat at a large steel desk in front of the window, computer monitor humming. His phone chirped in his hand, and he smirked as he read the message:

I know what to do. Stop calling me.

Izaya Orihara threw his head back and laughed, delighted. Oh, how he loved how human she sounded. She really was an interesting character, he mused to himself.

An email alert popped up on his computer screen, and at the same time a chirp sounded once again, this time coming from the top drawer of his desk. Izaya glanced over the email and pulled out the second cell phone, skimming through the text and pursing his lips. This was going to be a boring job. Too boring. His lips turned up into a mischievous grin. He could change things around, spice things up a bit. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up, so Izaya stood and headed to the door, grabbing his fur-trimmed coat.

"I'm heading to Ikebukuro tonight!" Izaya called up to his secretary as he waltzed out of the suite.

Namie Yagiri looked up from the books she was browsing through on the second floor, frowning. "Ikebukuro? Is he suicidal?" Her frown cleared. "Oh well, I suppose it won't be a huge loss if Heiwajima beats him into a pulp tonight," she pondered aloud. Then she sighed. "I would be without a paycheck though," she grumbled. "That damn info broker."

– The red-light district; Ikebukuro, Japan. July 10 – 11:57 pm –

"Look! It's the Black Bike!" A girl on the street shouted out as a leather-clad figure with a cat-eared helmet whizzed past on a silent motorcycle. A loud whinny filled the air as Celty screeched to a stop in front of the apartment complex bordering the pleasure district of Ikebukuro. She dismounted without removing her helmet, and proceeded into the lobby, heading straight into the elevators.

On the fourth floor, Celty marched up to a door and rapped sharply, sending the gold plaque labeled "404" rattling. Panicked shuffling could be heard inside the room before everything went silent.

Celty heaved a mental sigh, and then swung her leg around to kick the door. The door jamb splintered with the force, swinging open with a squeak. She walked into the swanky apartment just in time to see a man trying to climb out the window and towards the fire escape ladder, clutching a metal case in his hand.

Celty waved her hand forward, and shadowy, finger-like projections shot out, wrapping around the man's waist and lifting him clear off the ground. He struggled, screaming once before the shadows gagged him. He continued to fumble with his pockets, the glint of a silver knife flashing. The shadows tightened, restricting his movements, then spread to cover his whole body, smothering him until he lost grip of his consciousness. Celty slowly lowered the inert body to the floor, calling the shadows back. He never stood a chance.

– Outside Ikebukuro Station; Ikebukuro, Japan. July 10 – 11:57 pm –

"Tch," the blond man grumbled into his cigarette. He bared his teeth and wrinkled his nose as he looked around the street. "Smells like shit."

A shorter, brown-haired man, worn dreadlock-style, walked beside the blond. He shot the taller man a slightly amused look, eyebrow raised. "I don't smell anything. You should get your nose checked, Shizuo. You always smell shit when everything smells fine to me."

"Ah… Whatever." Shizuo Heiwajima kept walking, cigarette in his mouth and hands in his pockets. His lean body was clad in an immaculate bartender uniform, despite the fact that his real job was not nearly as tame as making drinks at a bar. "Where are we going this time?"

"Near the red light district, about five minutes away. The guy we're after has been putting us off for about three months now. His credit line's maxed out, yet he's still living the high life. The boss thinks he's going to off himself any day now, but he wants me to get as much out of him as possible before that happens." Tom Tanaka sighed and ran a hand over his face, dislodging his glasses a bit.

"Sounds like a spoiled prick, living in the pleasure district. Don't know what you need me in this job for." Shizuo took a drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke billow out from his nose and mouth.

"You never know what kind of things these crazy people will do. With their debt so high, they're desperate for just about anything that will help them avoid the consequences, including killing either themselves or the people after them." Tom grimaced.

Shizuo stubbed out his cigarette, and they trudged slowly along in companionable silence for a few minutes. As they neared their destination, a sleek, black shape hurtled by, sounds of horse snorting filling the night air.

"Is that... Celty?" Shizuo squinted at the blurred figure, making out only the yellow helmet and a flash of silver clutched in the rider's arms. "Huh. Probably on a job."

"Looked like she was in a rush," Tom commented with a shrug.

They reached the apartment complex, standing outside and staring up at the building. Shizuo suddenly flinched, his nose wrinkling. "Tch. Smells like fuckin' shit."

– The Keio Plaza Hotel; Shinjuku, Japan. July 11 – 12:12 am –

"So, Mr. Shiki. My company will receive the percentage we agreed on, provided that we can trust you to handle the transporting business?"

The Awakusa-Kai mobster looked at the big-shot American billionaire, his face impassive. He's a good acquisition, Shiki thought as he stared down the Caucasian man, reaching over to tap his cigarette ashes into the glass tray.

"I am nothing if I have not my honor," Shiki responded in lightly accented English. "Trusting the Awakusa should not be a question."

The bleached-blond American shrugged nonchalantly, but he couldn't quite hide the cunning gleam in his green eyes. "Hm, I suppose so. Honor really is a big deal for the Japanese. I apologize if I sounded impugnable, but my eyes and ears in Tokyo have whispered that you have the tendency to scam clients out of money. I was just ensuring the security of our agreement."

Shiki's head snapped around toward the foreigner, eyes narrowing dangerously. It seemed to take a moment before he could speak. "It... is a severe crime to insinuate such blasphemy. If you are inclined to believe it, my men can show you out now." The three men in black suits and sunglasses shifted on their feet behind Shiki, readying to toss the white man out the 10-storey window.

"Oh, that won't be necessary," the American responded with a lazy grin. "I could see by the way you conducted this business that you are a respectful and honorable man. Like I said, I meant no disrespect. I was merely minimizing my risks. It'd be a pleasure to work with you, Mr. Shiki."

The Japanese man couldn't help but grudgingly admire the other man's gall. He's clever and cautious. A good head on his shoulders. We need him. Definitely a good asset. Shiki stood up and bowed, reaching out to shake the American's hand. "If you would be so kind as to tell me where you heard this... rumor, we would be more than happy to increase your profits by five percent."

The white man smiled, clasping Shiki's hand with his own. "We have a deal. The information came from Shinjuku, actually." He paused as Shiki visibly stiffened, then continued, "It was quoted that he was quite the reliable info broker, but now I'm not too sure."

Shiki managed to end the meeting stoically. When the hotel doors closed, he snapped out in rapid Japanese, "Get Kazamoto on the line. Now."

All three bodyguards started at the vehemence in his tone as one quickly pulled out his cell phone to do his employer's bidding.

"Tell him that he's gonna be digging up dirt. Lots of it," Shiki said grimly. He strode over to the windows, staring out over the luminous city. "We're taking that Orihara bastard down."

"It's about damned time," a bodyguard muttered under his breath.