A/N Thank you all for the kind words and support! Enjoy!

When Izaya had first heard the knock, he wondered if he was imagining it. Everything that had occurred earlier in the day had exhausted his usually ever-moving mind, and he found himself feeling achy and unfocused. Although he was usually so sharp and alert, this wouldn't be the first time that his mind had played tricks on him. There had been several times that he had overworked himself, usually when he was consumed by an assignment, or had a particularly violent clash with Shizuo. Truly, he would be the first to admit how fragile human sanity could be. Just a night or two without sleep could cause hallucinations, both visual and auditory. Despite the fact that he did sleep the previous night, he knew he was exhausted; he knew that he needed sleep in order to be able to work the next day. He sighed. Pleased with the explanation he had come up with, Izaya took a step toward his bedroom, but stopped when a second bout of knocking echoed throughout the apartment.

This series of knocks had shifted his sluggish mind into a state of alertness. It had gone from thinking only of sleep, to dashing from thought to thought in a desperate attempt to formulate a plan. Lists of names, faces, motives, and information danced and twirled through his brain with such clarity, that Izaya thought he could see the words stretch out before his eyes, as if they were tangible: Arata, blackmailed, Daichi, framed, Inari, defamed. There were so many people that could be knocking on his door; it would take forever to sift through them all. A part of him even wondered if Shizuo was standing outside, although he quickly tossed that theory aside. If it were him, the door would have already been ripped off its hinges.

Still, he had to admit that regardless of who was actually at the door, they had the clear advantage if they were looking to finish him off. His left shoulder throbbed under the bandages; his arm remained cradled and useless in the sling. Things were not looking good. His eyes turned to his cell phone, which was lying on top of his desk, just next to his keyboard, its blank, dark screen only made him feel more anxious. There was no one that Izaya Orihara could call for backup, well, at least not for free, and even if there was, he didn't have the time. As a precaution, he slid the phone into his pocket anyway.

A third round of knocking. This one was louder, more urgent than the previous two. At this point, Izaya knew that he had to open it. If he didn't, the person could very well break the door down and cause a scene, and that was the last thing he wanted. Making sure his knife was concealed, unopened in his palm, he cautiously walked to the front door and put his eye up to the peephole. Darkness was all he saw. With a resigned sigh, he opened the door just a crack, deciding not to undo the chain, just yet.

"Can I help you?" He asked, glaring though the crack in an attempt to figure out just who this person was.

"There is no need for this chain, Mr. Orihara. I am just here to speak with you, that is all."

The voice belonged to a man. It wasn't particularly deep, nor was it particularly high, but there was a certain bounce to it, an affable bounce that no doubt was supposed to make him appear trustworthy. If anyone knew how important a charming tone was, it was Izaya. After all, before you can manipulate someone, you have to get them to like or—at the very least—trust you.

The hallway was too dark to see anything. The man had pressed four pale fingers in between the door and its frame, and was lightly gripping the wood, showing that he demanded to be seen, but did not want Izaya to think that he had violent intentions. He knew this type of person all too well, and knew instantly that this unexpected visitor of his was using tactics that he himself would use if he happened to be a more physically abrasive person.

Izaya unchained the door and took a step back before opening it completely.

The man in front of Izaya was slightly shorter than himself, and was dressed in all black. Despite his monochrome fashion sense, he was dressed quite nicely. His black boots were shined and unmarked, his dress pants had been ironed, and his collared shirt, tie, and thin jacket were unwrinkled and clean. There were only two things that seemed odd. A black beanie sat atop of his head, so that no hair stuck out from underneath, with the exception of a tiny, light-brown strand that had slipped out above his right temple. The other strange thing is what Izaya was really focused on. His entire face, with the exception of his eyes, was completely bandaged. He couldn't help but wonder how this man was breathing and speaking normally. The man, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by this. Despite the bandages, Izaya could tell by the creases under his dark eyes that he was grinning.

"Aren't you going to invite me to sit? Or perhaps offer me a cup of tea?"

"If I offered you tea, would you even drink it?"

The man chuckled, and decided to take a seat on Izaya's couch. Reluctantly, Izaya took a seat opposite of him on a chair. He usually liked to take the couch for himself whenever he dealt with visitors. He thought a larger seat made him appear more intimidating, more in control of whatever situation he found himself in. Sitting in chair made him feel oddly claustrophobic and restrained.

"Are you going to introduce yourself?" Izaya asked after a few seconds of uncomfortable, almost ominous silence.

"Yes, of course," replied the man, as he crossed one leg over the other, "I cannot tell you my real name—which shouldn't be a surprise to you—but you can call me, Akito."

"That's pretty informal, wouldn't you say, Akito?"

"That may be true, but you're an expert in these kind of things, aren't you? Considering I just barged into your apartment at ten o'clock on a weeknight without an invitation, would you say that I find significance in formality?"

"You make a good point," said Izaya, a slight grin emerging on his face. This man, this "Akito," was certainly a mystery; a mystery that Izaya intended to solve. His mind was now whirring along, tying to save details about this man: his attire, his manner of speaking, and his movements, to memory. It was always the little things that gave people away.

"What do you want to speak with me about?"

"That's certainly a loaded question, Izaya—can I call you Izaya?—There are many things that need discussing, but, I'd like to start with your recent activity on the Dollars website."

"Oh? What about it? I wasn't aware that some innocent lurking on a message board would really be something that a color gang would be concerned about."

At this, Izaya thought a bit of surprise or shock would appear, even briefly, in Akito's eyes. However, his face betrayed nothing. He was still, one leg still propped up on the other, shoulders relaxed, with hands folded in his lap. It was obvious that this man was somehow involved in the gang-related activities that Izaya had seen just that very day. Maybe he was even the one who had spray painted his door, or killed Shiki's men.

"Look, enough about me, let's talk about you," Akito said suddenly serious, ignoring Izaya's comments. He abruptly slipped a gun out of a holster that had been hidden on his left side, behind his jacket.

"I thought you were just here to talk."

"I am, but threating is a form of talking, isn't it? I don't plan on shooting you, at least not tonight, Izaya. I have orders not to, you see," he paused and used his free hand to scratch at the back of his neck, "I need you to be honest with me, as I have it on good authority that you've been doing things that my boss has some problems with."

Izaya's tongue squirmed. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, but knew he shouldn't. At best, he'd get silence, and at worst, he'd probably get a bullet in the foot.

"Tell me, Akito, are you a curious person?"

"I involve myself in things that concern me, my boss, and my colleagues. Nothing more."

"I just don't understand that way of thinking. These days, humans have so many ways to learn new things. Why wouldn't you want to learn as much as you can? Especially about the city you live in, and about the people who live in that city. Information is important and—to be frank, Akito—it's also how I happen to make a living."

Akito was silent. Izaya couldn't be sure if he was pondering over what he had just said, or if he was trying to come up with another question. Either way, a tension had eased itself into the atmosphere around them.

"As much as I don't want to deprive a man from doing his job, that is the job that I have been tasked to do," Akito said, stroking his chin thoughtfully over the bandages, "or maybe, that's not quite right…you see, you're still welcome to look into matters that don't involve my superior."

"And who is this superior of yours?" Asked Izaya. After yet another moment of silence, he decided to hazard asking something different.

"Are you with 'BH' or 'WG'? Or, are perhaps both? Or are they actually the same thing?"

"BH," He replied, suddenly candid, "I won't be telling you much, but I will tell you that you should stay away from looking into BH and WG, if you want to live. That includes Shiki's men, and that girl you found in the alleyway earlier."

"So, you're tracking me in real life, and online, then."

"That is correct."

"Tell me something. What is the point of a color gang who doesn't want to be noticed by other people? Isn't that kind of the point?"

"Just because we don't want to be noticed now, doesn't mean we don't want to be at some point in the future."

Akito stood, arms at his side, still holding the gun in one hand. For a brief second, Izaya's heart stopped, and the grin that he had been wearing vanished off of his face. He saw something change in the man's dark eyes. They had narrowed and had grown cold somehow.

"I told you that we'd just be talking today, information broker, but that was actually a lie. There is something else I require."

He took a few steps toward Izaya, who stood, and cautiously flicked his knife open.

"Bringing a knife to a gunfight?"

"I thought you had orders not to shoot me."

"Who said anything about shooting you?"

Akito lunged forward, the butt of his gun facing forward. Izaya used his good arm to deflect his attack, and slashed at his face, hoping to slice off the bandages. However, Akito was too fast and managed to easily dodge his knife every time. Izaya's shoulder throbbed. His breathing quickly grew labored. His poor physical condition had forced him to be defensive, and he spent most of the time dodging Akito's gun by moving backward. His living room wasn't all that big, and he knew that he'd eventually wind up cornered.

"You're doing much better than I thought you'd do in your condition. I'm impressed."

Izaya said nothing; he was too focused on not getting his head bashed in. At one point, he managed to duck and used this opportunity to slash upward at Akito's chest. The blade sliced through his shirt and through the skin below. It wasn't a deep cut by any means, but Izaya felt proud of himself for a brief moment. However, Akito didn't seem to notice, and instead, used Izaya's low position to his advantage. In one swift motion, he brought his gun down, hard, on top of his head.

Izaya crumpled to the floor. He struggled for a moment to stay conscious, but soon, everything faded to black.