This wasn't how Izaya planned to spend his weekend.
This isn't the first time that he's thought this. He's fairly sure the idea has crossed his mind with every subsequent kidnapping; with every strange occurrence desensitizing him to things that most would see as out of the norm. He'd like something simple, he thinks now, as he pads along the sidewalk in the fastest motion his body can currently carry him under present circumstances. He could have gathered information for some lowlife businessman; he could spend his time sitting at his desk gathering information on his computer in the relative quiet of his apartment. It would be nice to listen to the soft, rain-like drizzle of his beloved coffee maker as it brews instead of the desperate calls directed toward him to go back. Most of all, he misses the comfort of his office chair; to sit at his desk for hours on end gathering information or talking in the chatrooms he frequents and make idle conversation with individuals behind the protection of fake names and ambiguity.
"There he is!" Izaya chances a glance behind him to see three men gaining speed. He looks away, willing his feet to carry him faster as panic kicks in. "Get him!"
Unfortunately, the most interesting things were never simple.
Izaya maneuvers his body through the crowd of people; his steps uneven as adrenaline overrides any thought of a set destination. The streets are busy, too crowded to follow a single person for a long distance and Izaya tries to take some comfort in that fact. It'd be easy to lose them, to manipulate his body enough to flow through the crowd and in between bodies as if he were a fish swimming through the Sumida River.
That's easier said than done, though. Even with Izaya's lean body, it's difficult to move any length of distance without getting stepped upon or tripped. His humans are impatient, too focused on their own lives and thoughts to pay any mind to their surroundings more than they have to. Any other time Izaya would stop to appreciate the way that they ignore beings they deem lesser than them in favor of focusing on whatever selfish thing they desire.
"Get out of the way!" They're closer now. He can hear their feet land heavily on the pavement as they run, pushing people out of their way to get to him.
Izaya pushes his body to run faster, to work harder and past the ever-growing exhaustion he's sure he's going to feel if he slows his pace. He bumps into someone; he can feel the weight of their body on his as he pushes past them even before he's realized he should apologize. It gets him another yell in response, another command to slow down or to stop that he's not going to listen to.
He deems himself lucky, in a way. His humans don't bother to intervene; don't make an attempt to try to grab at his sides or back in an attempt to stop him. They pass glances instead; curious looks that give him an insight into the unvoiced questions they're asking. Izaya can't answer them even if he tries, can't put words to the unlikely situation at hand.
Izaya trips, his feet skipping over the sidewalk and other feet alike. His heart skids in panic, his blood running cold for a fraction of a second as he catches his footing. They're closer now, much closer than what he would like them to be. Whatever distance he made is previously gone with just that one trip, that one slip-up and he's afraid he's going to pay for it; and Izaya is paying for it.
It happens fast, too fast for him to make an attempt to avoid it. At first it's a glancing touch, a brushing of fingertips on the back of his neck. Then there's a pressure there, a hand at the back of his neck; then a pull hard enough to make Izaya lose his balance. His heart stops, his blood running cold as he's lifted off the ground, his legs dangling underneath him. There's a huff behind him, a breathless sound that could be a laugh as it tousles his hair.
"I finally caught you." The grip on him tightens, then a breathless chuckle. "You're one slippery bastard, you know that?"
Izaya doesn't fight back; he can't fight back. His body is pliant in his hold, his muscles numb from the extended use. Not slippery enough, it seems.
"What should we do with him?" That's another voice, deeper than the man who's holding him.
"Well, the boss wants him back in one piece. We should just head back to the lab."
Izaya has stopped listening, stopped paying attention in favor of fixating on regulating his breathing to something similar to calm. He can get out of this, he's smarter than they are and can use this to his advantage. His eyes bounce between the men. None of them are looking at him; their focus is on each other entirely as they speak. They're distracted. It would be easy to slip away unnoticed if his body would cooperate.
"What's so special about this one? He usually doesn't care about the ones involved."
"It's a matter of personal interest, I believe, or it could be a matter of self-preservation. This man knows too much to be left to his own devices. Who knows the damage he could do with the information he knows?"
That would be true, Izaya muses, if it weren't for the fact that the information he knows holds no significance to his current plans. It's flattering that they think he's more invested than he truly is, and that they think the information they've provided him with is more important than in actuality. He can't even use the information he's collected on this process. There's no way he can find a practical use for anything he's gathered.
It's a shame, really, to not have use for the information he has. It's not something he's unused to; truthfully it's a common occurrence to have things stored in his brain that he can't use in day-to-day life. He could use this as blackmail, to save it for future emergencies should they arise; and knowing his humans that will happen eventually. It would be easy to do under different circumstances; to sit behind his desk and manipulate others to where he wants them and set up situations he wishes to watch them get out of. First, though, he's got to figure out how to get out of this mess and to somewhere relatively safe.
"Well, let's take him back to the boss. He'll get this sorted out."
"Do you think we should get something to eat on the way? I'm not sure when we'll get a chance otherwise."
"They told us to return once we caught him."
"Yes, but that doesn't mean we can't get something to eat beforehand."
"Maybe if it's quick. I don't want to listen to him complain later."
"In that case where should we go?"
Izaya blinks slowly. They caught him, but instead of taking him back they are arguing about food. His head tilts, eyes gleaming with amusement as he listens to the bickering. Interesting. He can feel the grip one of them has in him loosening; it must be an unconscious action.
If he loosened his grip any more Izaya could easily twist his body as if he were a gymnast and escape before the shock of his actions fully registers. That's wishful thinking, he supposes; nothing seems to be going his way today.
"We both know that the wait there is long. We need to find something quick before this one finds a way to escape.. Again."
Izaya holds in a chuckle he can feel forming deep within his chest. What makes you think I won't escape again?
"How did he even get out the first time?
"Fuck if I know. I told you he's a slippery little bastard."
Izaya tilts his head to the side, opting to change his focus from the three men to the mass of people littering the sidewalk. Lunch must be over soon; his humans are slowly dispersing, going back to their places of work rather than being out and about for him to observe despite the situation. It's organized chaos. It reminds him of the holiday season; people pushing past each other in favor of going back to their desired destination than the politeness of societal norms.
He's not sure why he's being held like this; as if he's nothing more than a flea-bitten animal that's more than ready to be put down or some unwanted child, being held at an arm's length. If he were anyone else, he would be offended to be treated as such; as if he's not worth nothing more than the expanse of this mission rather than the god he knows himself to be. It's amusing all the same; to listen to their conversation about his important capture, but to also be treated as if he's the scum of the Earth. There's a shift pulling him out of his musings; a drop so sudden his heart and his stomach plummets at the same rate he is.
"Watch where you're going!"
It's a surprise when Izaya drops to the ground, his legs almost buckling as his feet land heavy onto the pavement. It takes him a second to realize what happened, to put logic to the sudden jerking motion before his untimely plummet. Someone bumped into them, whether it be an accident or on purpose, he wasn't sure.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. It was an accident!"
Izaya wastes no time in escaping. It's almost second nature at this point, to turn his body around and push it into a full sprint. The adrenaline is back in full force, pumping through his veins as if it's his life's blood and showing no signs of dying out as he gains distance. He's faster this time. He's pushing his body harder that way when the shock of his disappearance lifts from their eyes he'll be blocks away, hidden in plain sight or tucked deep inside an alleyway somewhere.
He's not sure how long he's been running. It must have been hours, he thinks, since he woke up in that room. He remembers the sun being high in the sky, heating up the Earth below to a comfortable mid-day temperature. It must have been around noon then; the streets were crowded with people going to lunch before they headed back to their mundane lives.
There are more people out now; more bodies populating the sidewalks and roads than there was earlier in the day. It's harder to move around this way, to shift his body in between people so he can push himself to move faster. It's easier to lose them, though. Izaya's body has always been on the smaller side, making it easier to squeeze between bodies and into an alleyway several meters away unnoticed.
He collapses by a nearby wall. The cement is cool under his body, the alley walls keeping it shaded and safe from the early July heat. It's a nice contrast. His body is too hot, the adrenaline that was coursing through his body moments ago is slowly dying, fading from the all-consuming fire it was to the now dull embers that leave his body exhausted. His body is drained, his limbs throbbing as the pain of running starts to register into his overworked muscles.
The next time that Izaya sees Shingen he'll make his life a living hell. Shinra should be lucky that Izaya respects him enough to not murder his father. It'd be so easy to accomplish; to weave his hands in the webs he's created in the underworld and manipulate others to do his dirty work, but then where would that leave him? Surely Shinra would be upset with him, even if it's for just a small period of time, but that's something Izaya can't risk at the moment. Shingen could also be useful when he's not messing up Izaya's plans.
Things could have gone worse, he imagines. He could be held captive, bound and gagged with seemingly no way to escape in an abandoned warehouse. He could be dead in an alley somewhere, forgotten until the smell of his corpse becomes pungent enough to warrant an investigation. He could even lie at the bottom of Tokyo Bay, his body long forgotten until it eventually floats to the surface or buried under rubble from some abandoned construction site, his body broken and battered. No one would know to look for him. His absence would go unnoticed and his humans would be blissfully unaware of his demise.
It's now that Izaya believes that his original plan was flawed. He was too hasty, too excited for a chance to put himself in danger without thinking about the possible outcomes. He should have investigated more; he should be sitting behind his desk and scavenging the forums for any clues, for any hints behind the lies and fake names. With more knowledge, he could do so much more damage to their plans. He could postpone any progress they have, or he could destroy the operation altogether; make it to where they have no choice but to either disband or die.
At least there's no one here to see him; no one here to recognize him for who he is, so he takes a moment to linger in the disappointment and annoyance of his situation. He's not sure how Shingen did it. Not sure how he managed to not only catch Izaya off-guard, but also manage to keep him captive for an extended period of time. Shingen did a number on him, and Izaya would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't impressed with Shingen's work.
It's that thought that gets Izaya to chuckle, to find humor of any sort in his situation. There's something about The Kishitanis and their obsession with the supernatural that always intrigues Izaya, always makes him think about the copious amounts of folklore in the world and the possibilities of what might actually exist. Magic is real, Izaya has experienced it first hand; witnessed the unfathomable happen right before his eyes.
Izaya stretches, feeling his muscles protest his actions and the gravel dig into his body. He doesn't want to get up, to move his aching limbs into obedience and move to a different location. A safer location. It would be ideal to go to one of his many safehouses; to lock himself in a familiar space and wait out the ensuing search party.
It would be easy to hide there. No one, with the exception of Shinra, knows their locations-and even then Izaya is sure Shinra doesn't know the locations of all of them. There's a comfort there; to be alone and away from everyone, to gaze out his windows and watch humanity below going about their daily lives. He could find solace there; he could find the energy and time to sit at his desk and find a cure for whatever Shingen had done to him. First, though, he will have to figure out how to even get there; to find the strength he doesn't currently have to move his limbs and gather himself from the alley floor and back into the hustle and bustle of the city.
There's a noise that draws his attention up and away from himself. It's loud, the sound grating over his ears in a mass of sensory overload. It's hard to decipher it without looking; everything sounds vaguely the same and it takes him a moment to register them as individuals. Izaya curses himself mentally. It's not safe to lose himself in thought when he's compromised; to let his mind wander to the what-ifs and what he should dos before he's actually in a safe place to do so.
It's a door, that's the first thing he could identify; the small creaking of the hinges and the soft click of a latch clue him in. There's laughter next, loud and inebriated as they stumble in and out of the door and down the street. Their footfalls are heavy if not a little bit inconsistent; their natural stability hindered by the alcohol coursing through their systems. He'd watch them on a normal day; see where they go when they're done with the bar and see what they do, but drunk humans never held his interest long. They were boring, too bashed to do basic functions without difficulty.
The door creaks again, causing Izaya to look in the direction of the bar he's sure is there. He's right; the sign out front is brightly lit, painting the windows and sidewalk alike in a slightly golden hue. There's a sign above the door; big enough to be read at a distance, but not enough to be gaudy and in the way. There's a name printed there, the katakana printed black and large enough to stand out against the off-white of the sign s backdrop. The Midnight Carp. It's a strange name for a bar; not something Izaya himself would have picked, but he's never claimed to be good at naming things.
Izaya squares his shoulders as he gains the strength to finally stand. His limbs are heavy, borderline numb from his delayed fatigue. It's difficult at first. The simple act of standing has his legs wobbling enough for him to lean back against the alley wall for purchase. The first step is the hardest; his legs shaking and barely holding his weight and he almost trips. The following steps are easier; he's slowly getting the feeling back into his limbs with every step he takes toward the eternal golden hue the sunset paints over the pale sidewalk.
Izaya doesn't usually condone the excess intake of alcohol, but he really could go for a drink right about now.