It's my turn to laugh like a monster. Like I'm at my wits end. I'm nearly convinced that if it wasn't for the fact that my tear canals have been drought in years i would cry hysterically right now.

You ask why. I will explain it as an addict who can't get his fix. I will explain it as stepping into unknown territory without a clue about the outcome.

I will explain it as losing control.

And gods simply don't lose control.

I drag my pathetic excuse of a body home, all the way to Shinjuku. Passing by briskly roads, cloud-touching-skyscrapers, narrow alleyways and oceans of people knowing all this used to be my home ground, my kingdom. However now those exact places where I usually perform god-alike parkour seems infinite. Ironic how close I was to achieve that wish today. All I wanted was the beast to lit a spark; set fire to my extinct shell and feel life's ecstasy again. But no, oh no, naturally it had to mess up, turning its fucking back on me. Rejecting me. If I wasn't so desperate I would've waved it off, shaking my head at the hilarious, absurd behavior. But I'm not. I'm wheezing curses under my icy dust clouds. If it's even possible I believe my hatred for the brute just additionally increased.

Arriving to the apartment complex in which I have let most days drift away the recent two months I manage as if by a miracle the trip to the top, sighing relieved chills when finally rustling with the various keyholes. I step into something I may consider home, just to be greeted: "Hey, zombie."

Ah, yes. It was originally Namie, The Secretary Bitch above all secretary bitches who came up with that term and for some reason my brain adopted it for describing this … current condition. But even if I in this moment have the sentiment of weakness, flesh rotting, movements creaking I do realize I'm actually not. Yes, some physical changes have obvious occurred, yet the real deal is my mind. My thoughts is hazy by the exposure. Freezing down reality day for day.

"Ugh, do you ever cut your nails?" a certain bitch snap, "Seriously, do something about it. It's disgusting."

Too tired to back bite I just look down, noticing that even though I cut my nails this very morning, she's indeed right.

In denial it's because of my secretary's insult I promptly feel dirty, I leave the spacious room in favour of a bath. Not bothering with stripping, I spin the tap for hot water and crawl into the tub to let wet heat enclose all body parts. It's not satisfying whatsoever. My chest is still aching by chunks of ice.

"… I suppose… Monsters don't really like other monsters, do they?"

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Too exhausted to in fact utter my crazy outburst of laughter, I just let the inner voice echo. My vision blurring by ice smog. Agonizing numbness.

I've all of sudden had enough.

"NAMIE! Boil some water!"

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At least this is a perception of being alive. Every movement is painful, but I keep repeating to myself it's okay as long as my suffering don't emanate from frostbite. The worst part is the low whisper of narcissism, complaining about somewhat ruined smooth porcelain skin.

After using fifteen minutes escaping from soaked clothes and succeeding in taking on an sloppy outfit consisting of an oversized t-shirt and boxershorts I return to the main room, letting myself fall backwards into the comforting leather of the office-chair with the intention of having some work done. Intentional ignoring Namies shocked reaction; her gaze carefully watching my every action as was I at a mental breaking point.

Even so the concern suddenly disappear around work hours end.

I'm currently speaking with a contact on the phone when I pick up rustles in the background unveiling she's rather busy with getting her stuff collected to get away from her crazy employer.

"What should we do with them?"

"Hmm?" I noise bewildered, having all of sudden completely lost the thread of the ongoing conversation.

"The two you hired as observers but in the end betrayed the mission."

"What with those?"

"Ehm, well … they're held captured by now. Shouldn't they undergo some sort of punishment …?"

Ahaha, yeah, so what does those scum deserve? Observing pink fingers clasped around a cup of hot, bitter liquid continuing refusing to absorb the temperature, needless to say, acrimony arise.

They should suffer. They should experience injustice-

Rime frost on my retina melt. I blink away tiny thawing slow flakes as if they were tears, clearing my eyesight. Dumbfounded by such abruptly heat emerging from just the thought alone, I let the command slip.

"Torture them."

Somewhere something catch fire.

"Wha-what? Could you please be a little more specific …?"

I'm on fire.

"I don't care, really, be a little creative ... chop their hands off or something." Before any protests can be vocalized I drop my phone into my coffee. "... Just make sure they scream."

I'm sincere fascinated by the sight; The little machine drowning in the black substance. The muffled voice in the other end silenced by an almost nonexistent splash. And I can as a matter of fact I inhale without tasting blizzards. I see my surroundings whirring as I spin my chair in a pleasing inferno, letting out noises which possibly could be confused with chuckles.

"You're a sick bastard."

Facing toward the horrific statement, tinge-less female eyes pierce me. Second after second ticks away holding each others stares before she defeatist shakes her head, and step out of the door frame, nevertheless able to make me cringe when slamming the door harshly behind her.

My grin transform into a sad smile. Inwardly giving her credit for such true words coming out of her mouth lately.

As the warmth is ongoing, I move restless around appreciating the music of a strong heart rate. Ecstatic from hope of having discovered a cure I dash to the kitchen immediately reaching for a razor-sharp knife. Coming in touch with steel you would have expected coolness, but as I predict I'm rewarded with a fervent rush into my bloodstream. Clinging to the knife handle I carry it with me, instantly longing for sleep. Well, just one last thing to do.

Mirroring my eyeball I poke the sclera gently and fiddle with a brown lens which have covered my iris in public recently.

I place the contacts lenses back into their small container. Then hesitantly, I raise my gaze and catch an intense stare in my own reflection.

Crimson eyes. Blood color. Creepy. Not human.

Not human at all.

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SORRY for the crappy writing.. really … I feel so bad for any person reading this.. I just thought this chapter have taken way too much time. And well I know there must be hiding several stupid mistakes caused by my minor experience with english. I'm so sorry, but my brain is simply incapable of seeing disasters sometimes. :s And I apologize for any reader's time waiting.. half of the chapter was deleted so I had to write it again plus I'm in general a slow writer, err (and not a good one either... have mercy )

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Hi "Nobody"

I really appreciate your review. It made me very happy to get a response and it was even positive. Thank you for pointing out my mistake, I will try fix it! I hope I cleared out about the zombie-thing in this chapter, because even though this is a story with supernatural elements, Izaya is not a real zombie, at any rate not the kind we know from the movies.

What do I mean by "dark fic"... I don't know exactly how this story will evolve because even though I have an idea about the overall plot I haven't totally decided how it will go in the end. I guess I just want to write and see what happens. But if I follow the current plan there will be both violence and dark thoughts. So yea, this fic is mainly based on a "dark" atmosphere..

Thanks again:)