A/N: Wow, this is longer than I thought it would be, but I suppose that's a good thing.
As usual, thank you for reading! Enjoy!

Pulling his coat closer to his body, Izaya made his way to Shinjuku station. The wind was harsh that day. His hair fluttered in the wind, and his cheeks began to turn pink from the cold. It didn't take long before he decided to pull his hood over his head. While he walked, he thought about his defaced front door. It would need to be repainted, and he wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to hire someone to do it. Izaya had no knowledge of the spray-painted mark, but it was probably a type of warning. It had been done quickly, that was for sure. The person who did it must have been watching the hallway because they had managed to do their work in the few moments between Namie's arrival and Izaya's departure.

It's probably gang-related, Izaya thought, but which gang? He frowned at this thought. He thought he knew about all the gangs in both Shinjuku and Ikebukuro, yet the mark didn't look familiar.

As he was lost in the musings of his own mind, Izaya arrived at the station with no memory of how he got there. That was to be expected, though. His subconscious knew how to get back and forth from his apartment to the station because of how many times he made the trip. He probably could've done it blindfolded.

He boarded a Yamanote line train bound for Ikebukuro, took a seat, pulled out his phone, and began examining one of the photos. The black line was sloppily done. It wasn't straight; the right side was lower down than the left. Thin, vertical stripes of paint had trickled down here and there. It was a quick job, after all. The person that did this was cautious, but clearly not a professional.

Izaya turned his attention to the series of numbers painted above the line. They were also crooked, some were thicker than others, and the ones toward the end were wavier and closer together. He began to wonder if the perpetrator had heard him coming and picked up the pace.

The numbers read: 0100001001001000.

With the amount of binary to text translators that Izaya knew existed on the internet, he was confident that he'd be able to figure out what those numbers meant as soon as he was back in his apartment.

The train pulled into Ikebukuro station as soon as Izaya put his phone back into his pocket. He departed, and made his way through the bustling crowd to the West exit. As usual, the station and the city itself were busy. Many people were going to work; all of them bundled up in jackets and scarves with tired, defeated looks on their faces. Izaya never understood why people hated winter as much as they did. He enjoyed the chilly air. He liked watching his breath drift upward to the sky in long, smoky puffs, at least until it reminded him of Shizuo and his smoking habit. After that, he held his breath.

It didn't take him long to reach his destination. He knocked on an old, wooden door and after a moment, a voice spoke to him. He answered back, providing a password with a confident voice. He was let inside. A tall man, whom the voice belonged to, ushered him forward.

"Shiki-san has been waiting for you, Orihara-san," he said in a gruff tone.

"Good."

The man felt the need to direct him to Shiki's office, despite the fact that Izaya had been there plenty of times before. After all this time, and Shiki still didn't trust him. For a moment, Izaya was annoyed at this before conceding to the fact that he clearly had good instincts.

The tall man knocked on the door to Shiki's office.

"Yes?"

"Orihara-san is here to see you, sir."

"Send him in."

The man opened the door, let Izaya in, and then immediately shut it. Izaya knew that he must be waiting just outside, in case his boss called out for help. However, he also knew that doing so was completely unnecessary. Izaya knew better than to do anything that would put him on the Awakusu's bad side. He wasn't stupid. Shiki had value to him, and Izaya had value to Shiki. Their relationship was a symbiotic one; a useful one.

"Have a seat," said Shiki from behind an intricate desk. He had been typing on a laptop, but had since closed it and placed it in a drawer. Izaya took a seat on a plush, red loveseat across from him.

"Good morning, Shiki-san," he said with a hint of a smile.

"Let's cut right to the chase. I have a new job for you."

Izaya didn't reply, but watched as Shiki opened another drawer and pulled out a short stack of papers. He pushed a few of them across the desk, and Izaya carefully picked one up.

It was a photograph depicting the side of a hideous lime green car. On the driver's door, someone had spray-painted a white circle. Inside the circle were two letters: "WG." Izaya was so focused on this detail, that it took him a moment to notice the bloody handprints on the back seat window.

"Igarashi Hiro and Mizuno Hideki. They were two of our low-ranking members, and were killed two days ago not far from here. We managed to take care of it before the police got involved, but we don't know who did it," Shiki paused and let out a sigh, "have you heard anything about this?"

Izaya shook his head. No one had mentioned it on the Dollars website or in the chatroom, and none of his usual clients had either.

"What's this symbol on the car door?"

"We haven't figured that out. It looks like a gang sign, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but I don't think I've ever seen it before...interesting."

"What's interesting?"

Izaya pulled out his phone and showed him a picture of his door.

"That was just painted this morning. Do you recognize it, at all?"

Shiki shook his head.

Yes, this is very interesting, thought Izaya.

"Send that photo to me when you get back to Shinjuku," said Shiki, "I'll ask around and see if anyone knows anything. I'd like you to look into the murders of Igurashi and Mizuno. I'll email you a rough estimate of the compensation you'll receive if you're able to give us enough information."

"That sounds splendid, Shiki-san," Izaya replied. They both stood and Shiki walked him to the door and opened it. Surely enough, the tall man was right outside.

"See Orihara-san to the exit, please."

"Yes, sir."

They were about halfway down the hallway when Shiki called out to them.

"And Izaya, this goes without saying, but keep the details as quiet as possible."

"You worry too much, Shiki-san," Izaya called back with a wave, "Just let me do my job."

And with that, Izaya was back on the street. The meeting had taken less than thirty minutes and it was nowhere near lunchtime, but he decided to pick up some of his favorite otoro sushi before heading back to Shinjuku. It was really the number one thing he missed about living in Ikebukuro.

He only made it two blocks before something heavy crashed just inches away from his heels. If he had been walking any slower, he would have been crushed, but he had heard the vending machine coming before it had even been launched at him. After all, he had developed a killer instinct for large, flying objects being thrown by monstrous men in bartender uniforms.

"IZAYA!" Shizuo exclaimed.

Izaya spun on his heels and faced the man who was quickly advancing on him.

"Aw, Shizu-chan, it's still early. Can't this wait until later?"

Shizuo growled and accelerated.

"I guess not," muttered Izaya as he spun back around and began to run.

And with that, their usual chase began.