Chapter revamped/replaced 3/29/2108.
Chapter One
The Oldest Trick in the Book
The only thing I can suppose I can say I'm grateful for is that with the flood of Rio's memories, I'm distracted enough to focus on getting through the present before having a major freak out and trying to figure all of this utter existentialist bullshit out.
All I know is that in this moment, given the wild swerving and screeching of the car, Celty is probably en route.
The car comes to a sudden halt and I immediately know that I should close my eye and pretend to still be unconscious until the men are outside brawling with Celty, who I also know will kick their asses pretty efficiently. My second thought is that I should try to escape, to not see Orihara Izaya, who will likely fuck with me to the best of his ability. He had literally caused Rio in canon to commit suicide—the only thing that had saved her was an interfering Celty.
A sudden rush of anger comes to me, burning in my chest like scalding water that comes up as bile against my throat. In the show, it had been a very abrupt introduction to Izaya's character. Also succinct and to the point, immediately showing in bright glowing neon fucking letters "THIS IS THE ANTAGONIST!"
Which, ultimately, he was.
But as I'm hearing Celty outside kicking ass, if you ignore the fact that this is a scene out of an anime and simply take into account that Izaya was a predator who had literally caused a girl to nearly die because he found it interesting to watch her reaction, it's so disgusting I feel like I want to vomit. Rio's what, fifteen, sixteen? I don't remember her canon age at this point, but I know one thing for sure: in another world, another life, a predator preyed on me in a different but equally as damaging way.
And while I can't hope to outwit someone like Izaya—I'm not a sociopath, I'm not that kind of scheming villain, and my mind simply doesn't work that way—I can, for sure, mess him up a little by not being the person I inhabit, by making him think that innocent, pliable Kamichika Rio who just wanted to die to hurt her parents had played him hard.
Whether this is some kind of afterlife, or a really weird, meta-type of reincarnation—I can't help but wonder if maybe those self-insert fics had an unknown grain of truth to them, but I really hope not because I am still me and I do not want to be me—or if I had somehow botched the job and the remaining tumors in my brain are making me dream vividly on my deathbed, I know one thing.
This is way too good of a chance to pass up to stick it to a guy who thinks himself invincible. And maybe he is, but the likelihood is that no matter how he denies it, he's just as human as I am and a knife through the ribcage will bleed blood as red as mine. He is human, he does have faults and make mistakes, and I am the anomaly in this situation that can take him down a peg or, at least, try to.
The last time I faced off with a sociopath, I was just as vulnerable as Rio was to Izaya, but I think I've learned plenty of their tricks by now, know better than to fall for their bullshit. Also, if I remember correctly, I'm actually older than Izaya despite the agelessness anime characters seem to be drawn with.
So, as something wild and otherworldly screeches in my ear—Celty, who else—I make my decision. I'm going to face the villain and see what I can do to, even if only slightly, get some revenge for the other girls he's hurt and manipulated in order to study them under his microscope.
When Celty opens the door to the back of the van, I'm wide awake and my mind is clear. I'm already forming words to say, both in action and and reaction to whatever he'll present me with. I'm coming down with both feet because if I'm lucky, this will be the last time I ever have to deal with him or anyone similar.
But I don't want to tip Celty off to a change in demeanor. It would only take one inquisitive text to Izaya for all of this to become a complete disaster, so when she taps a message on her phone telling me I need to come with her, I just nod my head and comply.
I loved Celty in the show, but right now I'm too pissed off with white hot rage at Izaya to contemplate speaking much with her, even in parting, not even considering the ramifications of acting out of character. Watching the unfamiliar and yet familiar of Ikebukuro skyline as we cross an overpass, I focus on holding on and enjoying the view.
I don't really know how long this is going to last or when I'm going to actually be dead—I almost feel like it could kick in at any moment—so the air, though smoggy compared to my hometown's, is a nice coolness against my face, a reminder that for now, I am alive.
We arrive at the preordained building and Celty taps out another message, telling me that this is where her job ends and to go to the rooftop for the person waiting for me. I nod meekly and comply yet again.
At the door leading out of the building and onto the roof, I suddenly am assaulted by nerves. This could be bad. I could be making a horrible decision here. I almost want to turn tail and just leave, a sudden fright of selfish cowardice. This man is a sociopath—if I threatened him too much, if I was too bold, would he really not dare to hurt me? This place is a suicide spot, though you wouldn't know it from the way nothing seems to be cordoned off, and what's to say the willing suicide from canon couldn't turn into a homicidal push?
They'd never know, and Izaya wouldn't care.
And then I remind myself that I'm already dead, it doesn't really matter, this place is fictional, and I really want to tear Izaya a new one. So with steady, calm hands, I push open the door and walk out onto the moonlit rooftop.
I know Izaya comes from behind, so I simply walk over to the railing that overlooks the alley and look down.
…Whoa.
That's a lot of stories that my thighs hadn't even registered. Rio must stay pretty in-shape despite her depression. I automatically step back and at the same time scold myself. That was a tell and I definitely won't put it past Izaya to notice from wherever he is.
A few seconds of observation later, a sickeningly friendly voice calls out, "Mazenda-san?"
I grit my teeth. What teenager wouldn't fall for this? Nonetheless, I turn around to greet the voice, and though I want to call out in return, "Yes, Orihara Izaya?" I don't. However, I can't force anything but a stormy expression at the moment and simply say irritably, "Yeah?"
Izaya comes into view. "It's Nakura, from the chatroom," he says patiently with a smile on his face, sinister only because I know his true nature. And disgusting.
Oh, I can see how he pulls in his little projects. Just like another sociopath I knew, he's handsome—heartbreakingly so. He stands, tall and lean, almond-shaped eyes and messy, bad-boy haircut. But I don't spend much time acknowledging it; it was only another blessing to the cursed.
I close my eyes briefly. I don't know how I appear to him, but I know what I feel. I'm furious. Just confirming the good looks he'd been given in the anime makes me so fucking angry.
Suddenly, I don't even know how I'm going to contain this fury. Just fucking kids, I think. Could have easily been me.
It was me.
I've hesitated too long. "Are you alright?" he asks, perfunctorily and I know he doesn't care, is just imitating what he's learned through observation throughout life.
I gather myself.
"You know, it's funny you ask that, Izaya-kun," I say, smarmy and irreverently—the ultimate disrespect. "Because I'm really not, and it's all your fault."
Izaya pretends to be innocent for the moment—unless you know who you're dealing with, like I do, and then he's just mocking. "What's my fault?" he asks with teasing eyes, apparently finding no problem with my rudeness and knowledge of his actual name.
I scoff. "I'm not even going to answer that." Take a breath. "You gotta stop, man. Seriously. Go after adults, sure, they're old enough to take responsibility for their actions and if they're stupid enough to be misled by you, that's their fault. But kids? Really? You're going to manipulate people who are all messed up with hormones and fluctuating brain chemicals? Please tell me that's not the best you can do. I think there's a phrase for it—pick on people your own size. This whole thing is honestly really pathetic."
I don't watch his face while I'm calling him out. I do notice that my words have translated properly, getting across what I wanted to, and also that I was speaking, very, very rudely and abruptly. Not unlike how they spoke in anime.
Now, though, I side-eye him.
And freeze.
He's not intimidated. He's not angry, or offended, or even surprised.
He's gleeful.
"And I thought this was going to be boring," he says with a wicked grin.
"I apologize for that," I say, trying not to grind my teeth or let the wind go out of my sails. Of course I couldn't one-up him. I was straightforward, honest to a fault, and literally had no room for the bullshit that people like Izaya surrounded themselves in.
"No, no need to," he says, flapping his hands dismissively. "This turned out to be worth my time."
My brow furrows angrily. "Excuse me?" I'm two seconds away from throwing my first ever punch and I know that it will only end badly. I remember clearly how Rio had been dangled over the side of the building with anime physics and only Izaya's strength to rely on. Not happening to me here. "Your narcissism is even worse than I thought."
Izaya raises a curious eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"DSM-5," I explain, trying not to sound angry. "You're a malignant narcissist, which goes hand in hand with sociopathy. Antisocial personality—you have one."
Izaya hums. "I didn't realize you knew me so well," he replies thoughtfully.
"I thought it was pretty damn obvious."
"How, though?" he muses. "You played your part well. Better than I thought you would be capable of. You always were disappointingly average, Kamichika Rio, or…?"
"Or…what?" I'm honestly baffled. I have no idea what he's talking about.
"Who are you?"
I just stare at him, wide-eyed. I have no idea how to respond. There's absolutely no way to respond to this honestly without opening a whole new can of worms.
Izaya seems excited to have the tables turned. "You see, Rio's been pretty consistent her whole life. Boring, boring, boring," he says almost manically. "I decided to stir the pot, see if there's anything else besides boring. No one can be that plainly average.
"But now! I'm seeing a whole new part of her, what I wanted to see! There's a problem, though." His eyes narrow and mine narrow back, seeing where he's going with this. Apparently, he's been observing his project—Rio—a lot more closely than I expected. Who could have known, though? Rio was supposed to be a side project, just one of the many pies he had his fingers in.
"What's that?" I ask suspiciously, not sure I want to know the answer.
He raises a finger. "You're an entirely different person," he tells me. "And you have green eyes, not brown, and there's no sign of colored contacts. So! I want to know who my intriguing new friend is."
I balk. "I'm Rio," I say, trying to sound firm but completely thrown by his words. I also had no idea why my eyes were green. There was absolutely no explanation.
All I get is a clucking of his tongue. "You're not. Let's not lie now." His right hand is subtly reaching for the pocket of his jacket and from that, combined with his less playful tone that's leaning towards stern, I know I'm screwed.
"I'm not lying," I insist, inching away from the railing.
Izaya smirks dangerously. "Why wouldn't you be? Just tell me who you are and we won't have any problems."
"Honestly, I'm Rio," I say. Shit, how is this happening? My eyes are green when Rio's were brown. And while I wouldn't deny there was a chance that Izaya could be suspicious of me after my accusations, I never thought that he would actually think I was a different person.
Because I'm not, not in identity. The only tip off would be the green eyes, and apparently it was enough. I silently curse to myself, then pull a childish trick out of the book that's so stupid and reckless it might actually work.
Affecting shock, I look sharply over the railing and gasp. "What was-?"
It must have been convincing, because for a split second, his attention is off me before he realizes the ruse. I'm halfway to the door by then. It's sad that the single one-up I was able to manage with him was a childish trick that worked only because I had presented myself maturely and there was no reason to think I'd pull something out of a five-year-old's books.
Izaya laughs, loud and clear in the air, and I push myself harder. I'm only making myself more suspicious, but I'd rather resume this conversation somewhere public. Where he couldn't outright hurt me without facing consequences.
So I ran.
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