Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2066769.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Durarara!!
  Relationship:
      Orihara_Izaya/Reader
  Character:
      Original_Characters, Orihara_Izaya, Kida_Masaomi, Celty_Sturluson, Reader
  Additional Tags:
      Cell_Phones, Dysfunctional_Relationships, Secrets, Lies, Trust_Issues,
      Mind_Games, Izaya_Being_Izaya
  Series:
      Part 3 of Playing_Favorites
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-02 Completed: 2015-03-21 Chapters: 24/24 Words: 70591
****** Exformation ******
by Poppelganger
Summary
     You're a cell phone psychic--when someone texts you, you get the
     message they sent you and a message that tells you what they were
     thinking when they sent it. In Ikebukuro, where the information trade
     is a ruthless business, it's a profitable talent. That is, until you
     run afoul of one of its most notorious informants, who would love to
     put you out of business.
     This is how you got on Izaya Orihara's bad side, and sort of meant
     to.
Notes
     And here is another Izaya/Reader, as promised! This one features a
     much more devious reader who doesn't stumble quite so obliviously
     into Izaya's company.
     Okay, maybe a little bit.
***** Setting the Board *****
At any given moment, there are 1,000,000 people squeezing past each other
through the streets of Ikebukuro, and all of them are lying.
This is not a bullshit statistic, nor a product of misplaced paranoia.  This,
you're certain, is a fact.
You might not be able to test each and every one of them, but the empirical
data speaks for itself.  All you need is a text—nothing big, just a few
words—and the truth comes to you in the form of an additional text message from
the sender's phone, even though they'll later claim to have never sent it.
 This text contains the things they don't say but mean, their purest thoughts
and intentions.
Your cell phone has turned you into a mind reader, and this has proven to be
more detrimental than beneficial to your social life.
Think about it; every time someone sends you a message, you get a text telling
you what their true motivations are.  Your friend's message of "Let's go to the
karaoke bar tonight :)" is immediately followed by, "I'm broke and you have
money."  Your crush's text, "We should hang out more," comes just before, "Your
friend is cute."  And this is the more innocent end of the spectrum; let's not
get started on passive-aggressive texts and "we need to talk," followed by
everything that they want to talk about.  
After a few years of this, you've realized that people are not honest when they
talk to each other.  That's just how communication works; quick texts are just
a sentence or two, and even if what they want to ask is benign, you only get a
little information at first.  But when every request and even a majority of
greetings are paired with that person's actual feelings, you get a little sick
of all the insincerity and become who you are today: a grumpy, reclusive cynic.
Phone calls are even worse.  You hear two voices when people call; one is what
they're saying, and the other is their inner voice, telling you what they're
not saying.  
Obviously, your phone is the problem here, a relic from the stone age of cell
phones that has never heard of apps and doesn't even have a camera, but you've
become so reliant on it that you can't imagine getting a new one.  Having a
mind reading phone sucks, but it's also brought you a bit of happiness, too.
You told at least your closest friend, Rika, because you've known her since
grade school and she's had the least incriminating truths come with her texts,
and she thinks it's the coolest thing ever, which is sort of flattering.  She
also occasionally asks you if she can forward you messages she's gotten before
to see if someone's not being honest with her, and catching people in a lie has
become something of a guilty pleasure.
She also hangs out with you in downtown Ikebukuro after school, and you lounge
in restaurants and on benches as she excitedly tells you about new clients.
Okay, so it's not just a hobby.  Rika has made a business out of your talents,
telling classmates that with a small, upfront payment, she'll forward their
messages to her "mysterious contact" and learn the truth behind them.  This is
unsurprisingly lucrative, because high school students do nothing but text each
other.  When you started, she only charged a few hundred yen, but supply and
demand has driven up the price considerably from those days, and the inflations
seems to only be getting worse.  You're not concerned about it, though.  Rika's
never tried to keep your half of the profits from you and has remained a good
friend, which you're thankful for, since she seems to be getting into some
dangerous things.
"One of those guys from the Yellow Scarves came again," she says in a hushed
but excited tone as she leans over the table you're sitting at.  Open air cafes
are your preference for talking business in a discreet fashion, mostly because
nobody thinks to listen in to two high school girls giggling stupidly over
smoothies.  "I told him 5,000 is a discount fee for your first time.  We're
bumping up to 10,000 now."
"You shouldn't do that," you tell her, "You're going to get hurt if you try to
work over someone from a gang."
"It's fine," she says, "It's not like he’s the only one getting charged that
much.  10,000 is the new standard."
"That's twice the old rate.  Is it really okay to do that?"
She giggles and waves you off, "Don't worry, you just leave that to me."  She's
appointed herself as the go-between for the average citizen and the "Ikebukuro
Prophet," a name that strikes you as both inaccurate and overly dramatic.  
At the end of junior high, the only people who approached Rika were your
classmates, kids who just wanted to see if their friends were lying.  When you
got into high school, things became more complicated as your reputation spread,
and suddenly you were in the middle of a gang war.  You didn't know how Rika
kept so calm--now and then, you'd be out in Ikebukuro with her and would be
approached by intimidating-looking men much older than either of you who would
nervously pull her aside.  Money would trade hands, she'd smile and mutter,
"Thank you for your business," and he'd hurry off.  So far, neither of you have
gotten personally involved in anything to do with color gangs, but you worry
that it's only a matter of time.
"Oh, hey, that reminds me," she says, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
 "I've got a couple from yesterday.  This first one's pretty vanilla; Yui wants
to know if her boyfriend's cheating."  Your phone buzzes on the table and you
read over the message on the screen.
Forward: From Rika, XXX-XXXX, 16:23: Contents
"I'm fine, really."
After a few seconds, the next one comes.
Forward: From Rika, XXX-XXXX, 16:23: Contents
"God, you are such a nag.  Maybe I should ask Kana out—she’s a better kisser,
anyway."
"Yes," you say shortly, deleting both messages.  Rika begins typing up a
message to the client with your answer and you lean forward to take a sip of
your smoothie.  
"Next one's from Kouta; wants to know what to get his girlfriend for her
birthday."
Forward: From Rika, XXX-XXXX, 16:24: Contents
"I don't really want anything!  Let's just hang out together."
Forward: From Rika, XXX-XXXX, 16:24: Contents
"One of the blouses in the Uniqlo summer collection would be the best."
"A blouse from Uniqlo's summer collection," you read.  
"Last one; this one's from Mai."
This makes you pause.  Mai is a mutual friend from school with a bit more
maturity than most of your classmates, and she's never used your service
before, having been displeased with Rika for "lying to people and getting their
hopes up."
"You know how she's been hanging around with that creepy guy lately?" Rika
asks, "Well, she got a text from him and wanted it sent the Prophet's way just
to see what they come up with."
Forward: From Rika, XXX-XXXX, 16:24: Contents
"I'm going to be downtown near the department store tomorrow night.  You should
come by."
Forward: From Rika, XXX-XXXX, 16:25: Contents
"Yeah, I'm not really going.  But some particularly frustrated guys from the
Yellow Scarves are, and I told them you were willing to give some comfort."
"Tell her not to go," you say hurriedly, and Rika doesn't ask, she begins
dialing.  "Will she believe you?"
"I dunno," Rika says, looking a little lost, then says, "Hello?  Mai?  Listen,
you remember how you said you just wanted to try the Prophet thing for fun?
 Well, he got back to me and said it's dangerous for you to go."  There's a
short pause.  "I'm serious!" she says angrily, "Come on, better safe than
sorry, right?  I'm not making fun of you, I know you've had a rough time
lately, and I'm trying to help."  Her face went blank and she angrily ended the
call.  "She hung up on me."
Your heart sinks.  Mai has never believed that Rika's overpriced service was
real, and she's not likely to change her mind now.  This is exactly what you've
been afraid of--one of your friends getting involved in gang activity.  The
worst part is that you can see it coming but aren't sure you can stop it.  "Who
sent this to her?" you ask, and Rika frowns.
"Izaya Orihara," she says, voice much softer now as though suddenly afraid of
being overheard.  "You know about him?"
"Sounds familiar."
"People talk," she goes on, "Mostly the guys from the gangs.  He's like an
informant or something, and he's really good.  Nobody messes with him."
"What's Mai doing with him?"
"Dunno.  Right around the time she started getting really depressed, he just
showed up.  He's like an emotional crutch, I guess."
That sounds incredibly suspicious to you.  "Do you have his number?"
Rika looks a little unnerved.  "Um, yeah, only because Mai forwarded me that
message."
"Text him.  Tell him to leave her alone or call off the Yellow Scarves."
"Are you out of your mind?" she whispers harshly, "I just told you nobody
messes with him.  That means us, too."
"I can't stand liars, you know that."
"Okay, how about this?  We go with Mai, or something.  Maybe she'll listen to
us if we talk to her in person."
"Mai is going to get raped if she goes," you say firmly, "And I am not going to
let that happen.  Text him."
Rika bites her lip and stares at you for a long time before picking up her
phone.  "So, what?  I'm like, ‘Hey, I'm Mai's friend, leave her alone, pretty
please?’”
"No."  An idea comes to you, one that will seem incredibly stupid later but
makes you smile now because everything seems smarter in the heat of the moment.
 "Tell him the Ikebukuro Prophet is onto him, and that he'll continue exposing
his secrets if he doesn't do what you say."
Rika's eyes widen and then she grins and laughs nervously.  "We are so going to
die," she says, giggling as she types out the message, and you shrug.  You
disagree.  You don't know this Izaya guy, but if he's an informant, then he's
probably heard of the Ikebukuro Prophet and knows about how accurate the
service is.  Your identity has never been linked to the Prophet in any way, and
Rika's been pretty careful about covering her tracks.  Even if he searchers
her, he shouldn't figure out you're involved.
You are about to find out just how badly you're underestimating the
information-collecting abilities and network of Izaya Orihara.
***** Egotism *****
Izaya doesn’t reply to the message, so you and Rika wait around the crosswalk
closest to the department store and keep yourselves hidden in the crowd as you
wait for Mai.  To your surprise, Izaya shows up first, checking his phone
periodically and surveying the people passing carefully.  You and Rika move
back a bit further, hoping to go unnoticed, and see Mai approaching.  Ducking
into the nearest convenience store, you both pretend to browse magazines
towards the entrance and watch them meet up.  They talk for a while, and
eventually, seem to come to a decision, because Mai waves and goes back the way
she came. 
Rika gets a text saying, “I just went downtown, and guess what?  Nothing
happened :P” from Mai, but Izaya lingers a while before leaving, and you don’t
doubt he’s looking for anyone who might be the Prophet.  When they’re both
gone, you and Rika exchange secretive and excited grins before bursting into
laughter, and the man at the register looks at you both disapprovingly for
making so much noise.
Covering her mouth to suppress her giggling, she quickly types out a message on
her phone, and yours buzzes in your pocket.
From Rika, 19:01:
“We totally just duped THE Izaya Orihara.  Oh my god.”
From Rika, 19:01:
“As much as I’m fearing for my life, this is the most amazing thing I’ve done
all week.”
You’re smiling so wide it hurts your mouth but you can’t stop.  You quickly
text back, “Now what?” 
From Rika, 19:02:
“What do you mean, ‘now what?’  This Prophet thing has gone to the next
level!!  Wait a few days, and all of Ikebukuro is going to know about this!”
From Rika, 19:02:
“Maybe we should increase the rates again, lol”
You exchange another grin and leave the store, heading for home with your arms
locked together, and no one would guess by looking at the two of you that you
were conspiring anything.  You part ways at the train station, Rika going her
way and you on yours, and given time to reflect, you start to panic a little as
the gravity of the situation finally sinks in. 
You just screwed over Izaya Orihara.
You just screwed over Izaya Orihara.
You just screwed over Izaya Orihara.
What the hell is wrong with you?  Clearly, you’re lacking any sense of self-
preservation, because that’s not something anyone with plans to live very long
would do.  He’s an informant, what the hell makes you think he won’t find you? 
You don’t know how he would, but it’s his job to find out stuff like the
identities of every major player in the underground.  You wonder if Rika is
freaking out yet.
It’s too late now, of course.  You fell into this head-first, so now you’re
just going to have to play the game, and carefully.  Doing business in broad
daylight?  Ha, no.  Discussing the Prophet in public?  Not anymore.  You
regularly delete all text messages that have anything to do with your service,
and from now on, you’re going to be doing it even more often.  Somehow, you’ve
got to throw him off of your trail and keep him in the dark for as long as
possible.  Maybe you should stop taking any jobs?
Right, like that’s an option.  Rika would be livid if you told her the Prophet
was taking a vacation for, oh, ever, and it’s not like you want to quit,
either.  And on top of that, would it look suspicious if the Prophet suddenly
stopped operating as soon as they got Izaya’s attention?  It would only tell
him that he was already getting warm, and that couldn’t happen.
You can do this, you tell yourself, you knew what you were getting into.  You
and Rika just need to change how you operate and you’ll be fine.  Paranoid, but
fine.
Your parents greet you when you come home and you’re kicking off your shoes and
running to your room before they can even ask how your day went.  Dropping your
school bag and flopping back on your bed, you call Rika. 
Phone calls are a little crazy, what with two voices talking at once, but if
Izaya somehow gets a hold of your history, you’d rather he just see who Rika
calls rather than damning evidence like your text messages. 
 “Hello?” Rika answers excitedly, and it sounds like there are two of her.
“We need to be careful about how we do this,” you tell her, “Anyone who makes a
living off of getting information isn’t stupid.”
“I see what you mewhoa, whoa, whoa, calm down!  Everything’s going to be
fiobviously no talking about you-know-who where everyone can hear us?”
“Yeah.  And don’t text about it either.  And maybe be a little more discreet
about the whole business in general.”
“No problem.  But, wait, does this mean we can make it even MORE expensive?!”
“No,” you say, “We can’t change too many things at once or he’ll know
something’s up.”
“I never said we had to change anyOh, I forgot you could do that.”
“Seriously, be careful.  I’m starting to think this whole thing was a bad idea,
but it’s too late to worry about that.”
“Caution is my middle nahonestly, I’m more worried about you, you’re the one
with the gift herebut nothing in the immediate futureyou’re still going to take
jobs, right?  Please say yes.”
“Yes, I’ll still take jobs.”
There’s a pause.  “This is why I hate talking on the phone with you.”
You laugh.  “See you tomorrow.”
That’s really all you can do for now.  At least Rika is aware of your anxiety
and has agreed to rein it in a little bit.  You’re just going to have to wait
and see what happens in the next few days. 
*
Stories of the Prophet ordering Izaya around become nearly memetic in under
twenty-four hours, and all of your classmates are gossiping the next morning,
wondering about the specifics and speculating about who the Prophet might be. 
You quietly take your seat and open a book to read.
Rika is your closest friend, and with her, you open up.  But most of the time,
your cynicism makes you reluctant to talk to people.  Conversations in person
are infuriating because you just know that whoever you’re talking to isn’t
being honest.  They’re outright lying, or withholding information and not
telling you what they really think, and you can’t stand not knowing, so you
prefer to avoid those situations when you can.
“I heard the Prophet is really young and handsome,” one of the girls in the
corner says.
“That’s bull,” someone else shoots back, “The Prophet’s gotta be older.  I
mean, the name “Prophet” just makes me think of an old guy.”
“I heard he and Izaya fought, and he made it out alive.”
“I heard he has laser vision!”
It’s only the first day, and the stories are already ridiculous.  What worries
you, though, isn’t the content of the rumors, but that they appeared so
quickly.  To your knowledge, that message had only gone to Izaya, so he
should’ve been the only person who knew.  The fact that it’s the new hot topic
could only mean that he wanted people to know, and though you don’t know why
yet, you’re sure it’s part of some kind of plan to expose you.
Rika comes in then, and the whole class falls silent for a minute before
swarming around her, begging her for information.  “You know the Prophet,
right?” somebody says, “Were you there when it happened?  What’re they gonna do
now?”
And Rika must be taking this a lot better than you, because she grins, enjoying
the attention.  “Well, I know of the Prophet,” she says, “But it’s not like
we’re buddies or anything.  I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what happened. 
What he does is his business.”
There are a million more questions after that, but she deflects them all very
calmly, keeping the Prophet just as mysterious as the first day you’d started
the service together.  You relax a little bit, glad that she has your back, and
go back to your book.
When class starts, everyone reluctantly goes back to their desks and all talk
of the Prophet is put aside for later.  Rika sits a few rows over, checking her
phone whenever the teacher turns his back to the class, grinning and typing out
responses every so often.  You probably have a dozen new requests already.  But
suddenly, she freezes, eyes wide in shock and she quickly slips her phone back
into her pocket and leaves it there for the rest of the class period.  When she
picks up her pencil to take notes, her hands are shaking.
*
“He already found me,” she cries over the bathroom sink, “What am I gonna do? 
Oh my god, I could die!”
“What did it say?” you ask for the fiftieth time, and she finally takes her
phone out of her pocket and hands it to you. 
Forward: From Rika, XXX-XXXX; 08:37, Content
“According to a reliable source, you would be Miss Rika Higuchi, a first year
student at Raira Academy, as well as the only currently known connection to the
so-called Ikebukuro Prophet.  I’d like to speak with you in person as soon as
possible to discuss the Prophet, whom I’m very interested in learning more
about.  Do you think you could meet me by the comic store closest to your
school today around 14:30?  It’ll be quick, I promise.
PS  I’m sure you already intend to do so, but I would like to encourage you to
forward this message to the Prophet.”
Immediately, you forward the message to your own number and give her phone back
to her as yours goes off.  You get the same message first, but the second one
surprises you.
Forward: From Rika, XXX-XXXX; 12:48, Content
“Dear Prophet, I’ve heard you can read the intentions and hidden desires
embedded within something as simple as a text message.  I wonder if you’ll ever
read these thoughts?  Right now, I’m thinking that you’re someone who goes to
Raira Academy.  This means you’re young and brash, and your transgression
against me is forgivable.  The truth is your presence in Ikebukuro concerns me
because I suspect that you could tip the balance in ways that I’m not prepared
for.  I have yet to determine the nature of your abilities and your true
identity, but it’s my business to know these things, so I’m sure I’ll figure it
out soon.  In the meantime, try not to get on the bad side of anyone in town. 
I’d like to speak with you sometime, but I won’t have the chance if you get
yourself killed.”
A chill runs down your spine.  Never has a secondary message been so coherent
and deliberate.  Izaya must know enough about your strange ability that he was
able to focus and produce a clear message in his head even while typing out the
one meant for Rika. 
He knows what school you go to, too.  That’s also freaking you out.
Rika is looking at you expectantly, wondering what you got, and you close out
of the message and type up a new one without sending it to her, holding the
screen up for her to read.  “I’ll go with you,” it reads, “And ask Mai if she
could come, too.”
She looks confused, but nods anyway and leaves the bathroom first, already
writing a new text.  You haven’t thought this whole thing through yet, but you
know you need to act quickly to avoid looking suspicious.  You’ve got to
convince Izaya that his hunch is wrong, which will hopefully send him on a wild
goose chase elsewhere and take the pressure off of you and Rika.  But he knows
that she’s the only way to the Prophet, which means she’s in more danger than
you are right now.  Rika’s a good friend; you don’t think she’d rat you out
just to save her own skin.
At least, you hope so.  You really don’t trust anyone these days.
***** Official Introduction *****
As soon as class is over, Mai meets you and Rika in the school entryway,
glancing over you both uneasily.  “What did you do?” she asks, looking
pointedly at Rika, who fidgets nervously.
“Did you get my text?”
“Yeah, I got your text.  What did you do?  Why does Izaya want to meet with
you?”
“Oh, so you know he’s dangerous and just hang out with him more than us because
you have a death wish?” Rika snaps, and Mai rolls her eyes.
“It’s not like that.  He was there for me during a hard time, okay?”
“So were we.”
Mai just shakes her head and looks at you.  “She’s always dragging you along
with whatever scheme she’s cooked up.”
“I’m still here, you know,” Rika says.
“I know.  We let ourselves get dragged along because we’re friends.”  You and
Mai share a smile and Rika rolls her eyes.
“Okay, whatever.  So will you come with or not?”
“Sure,” Mai says, and with that, the three of you leave.
Mai is an upperclassmen a year ahead of you.  You met her through Rika in
junior high, but lost touch with her for a little while when her parents got
divorced.  The entire ordeal was hard on Mai, and as much as you’d tried to be
there for her—in person, of course, because phone calls are a bad idea and
texts always came out as garbled, incredibly depressing notes that made you
wince—she just kept withdrawing away from you both.  It was during this time
that she met Izaya Orihara, and he apparently was able to do things you and
Rika weren’t, because after that, she was back to her old self.
Well, mostly.  She has a bizarre mix of admiration and fear of Izaya,
constantly singing his praises yet urging the two of you not to get involved
with him.  The messages you’ve gotten from her since have been extremely eerie,
revolving around Izaya most of the time, and you’ve since told her that you
don’t like talking over the phone to minimize the amount of those you get.
You and Rika have both erased all of the texts in your phone, though you
haven’t thought too much about what you’re going to say in hopes of it sounding
less practiced and more authentic.  Rika is the only one who knows anything
about the Prophet, so it’s not like you’re supposed to have any information for
him. 
You’re just going for moral support, as well as to look less suspicious. 
Although Izaya suspects that the Prophet is a student at Raira Academy, he
doesn’t know if it’s someone that Rika is friends with, and your hope for this
confrontation is to instill an impression that that’s simply not the case.
And if things really get bad, Mai is the only one of you who knows Izaya at
all, so you asked her to come in case you need to plead for your lives.
The walk to the comic store is a lot shorter than you hoped.  All three of you
exchange nervous glances before you go in, though yours and Rika’s are for a
different reason than Mai’s, and start looking for Izaya.  Mai spots him first,
looking incredibly conspicuous in the shoujo manga aisle, and you follow her in
that direction. 
“Ah, Mai,” Izaya greets with a wide smile.  You hadn’t gotten a good look at
him before, and you take this opportunity to do so.  Izaya has a very
distinctive look despite not wearing anything flashy; he’s wiry and a little
taller than Mai, definitely older than all of you.  There’s also something
unnerving about his smile.  You’re not sure if you’d be able to pick him out in
a crowd, and that worries you.  “Fancy meeting you here.  Did you come in just
to say hello to me?  I’m flattered.”
“Erm, actually,” she stammers, and that also gets your attention.  Mai isn’t
the type to get flustered over anything, much less a guy, “I came here with my
friends.  Rika said you wanted to talk to her.”
His eyes flick back to you and Rika and you hold your breath.  There are a good
ten feet between you, but you still feel like you’re not standing nearly far
away enough from someone who looks at high school girls like that.  His gaze is
predatory, and not in the overt way that a bystander would be able to notice,
but just enough that the recipient doesn’t interpret it as anything else. 
Everything he does—every movement and every word—is so deliberate and subtle
that it’s making the hairs on your arms stand on end. 
You would kill to know what’s running through his head right now.
“Oh?” he says, interested, “And which one of you two is Rika?”
Rika looks like she really, really doesn’t want to answer, but eventually, she
takes one for the team and steps forward, swallowing the lump in her throat
before she says, “That’s me.”
“What a coincidence!  I didn’t realize you were friends with Mai,” he says, his
smile growing a little wider.  Evidently, he hasn’t forgotten about you,
though, because he fixes his gaze on you next and says, “And what would your
name be?”
You introduce yourself.  You don’t think you sound nervous.  You really hope
you don’t. 
This is apparently sufficient, because he then forgets about you for the moment
and focuses on Rika.  Your hopes that you would be able to get in and out and
only be indexed as “Friend 1” to Izaya were shot down, but it’s not such a
great loss.  Hopefully, the more he gets to know you, the less suspicious
you’ll seem.
The irony of you, who hates liars so much, needing to become an expert at
lying, is lost on you at the moment, but you will later reflect on it and
laugh.  And then feel kind of disappointed in yourself.
“Let’s get down to business,” he says, though he’s still smiling and his tone
is still playful, “I can only assume that Mai sent one of my messages to you to
pass along to the Prophet.”
“I’m sorry,” Mai starts to say, but he cuts her off with a glance.
“That’s fine,” he says, “Really, I could care less at this point.  If anything,
I should thank you for the opportunity you’ve provided me with.”  He looks back
to Rika.  “You see, I’ve heard about the Prophet a great deal before now, and
I’ve been hoping for an opportunity to meet him.  Do you know anything about
the balance of power in Ikebukuro, Rika?”  She shakes her head helplessly. 
“I’ve been keeping a close eye on all of the various factions vying for power
around here, and the fact is that the Prophet throws a wrench in everything.” 
Despite the way the sentence is phrased, he sounds excited about this.
“What I’d like you to do is get in touch with the Prophet and tell him that I’d
like to meet in person, preferably alone,” he continues, “The Prophet and I
have something in common, and that’s that it’s much better to be our ally than
our enemy.”
Rika is visibly shaking now, and Izaya is still just smiling away, likely
uncaring rather than oblivious.  Or maybe he does care, and he’s enjoying it. 
You, largely unnoticed at Mai’s side, aren’t faring much better as you puzzle
over his words.  You’re under the impression that everyone lies now and then,
but never have you heard someone who gave so many half-truths.  There was so
much that he wasn’t saying that every word he said was utterly useless in
deciphering what he actually meant.
Izaya does not merely lie.  Everything that comes out of his mouth is
insincere.  He’s practically made it an art form.
“Can I trust you to arrange this?” he asks with an expectant yet somehow
threatening smile, and Rika nods.
“I’ll try, but I can’t tell him what to do,” she says slowly, “So if he says
no, don’t be mad at me.”
“I understand,” he nods, “Do whatever you can.  I’ll take it from there.”
And with another chilling smile, he tells Rika he’ll be seeing her around, says
goodbye to you and Mai, and waltzes out the door and back onto the streets of
Ikebukuro. 
Mai lets out the breath she’s been holding since she first saw him.
“Still alive,” Rika sighs.
“So this Prophet thing is real?” Mai asks, “You weren’t making it up?”
“This is a golden opportunity to be all like, “I told you so!” but luckily for
you, I’m too emotionally drained to bother.”  Rika puts her hands on her hips. 
“Since you know him so well, Mai, what are the chances that he’s telling the
truth?”
“I don’t know,” she admits, “It’s kind of hard to tell.  I can’t believe you
got tangled up in this mess with the Ikebukuro underground to begin with.  You
should quit this Prophet thing.”
“How much do you know about the underground?” you ask suddenly, hoping they
haven’t forgotten you there.   Mai looks surprised.
“What, you’re in on this, too?  I mean, I sort of expected it from Rika, but
not from you.”
“Hey!”
“Well, I’m not just going to leave her to the wolves,” you say, “You heard
Izaya.  There’s a lot going on, and a lot of dangerous people involved.  If you
know anything, it would be really helpful.”
Mai looks reluctant, but Rika has come to stand next to you and puts on her
best pitiful expression.  “Alright,” your upperclassman sighs, and gestures
towards the door, “Let’s find somewhere to sit down.  You’ve got a lot to
learn.”
***** A Bit of Bravado *****
After an hour of Mai’s brief history of Ikebukuro and color gangs, you think
you’ve got the underground pretty well figured out.  There are a lot of
players, but only a few are in the lead, and those are the ones that everyone
else is hitching their horses to.  The ones you have to watch out for are the
gangs—the Yellow Scarves and the Dollars—and a couple dangerous individuals,
like the monstrously strong Shizuo Heiwajima and the Headless Rider.
And then there is Izaya Orihara.
The informant is in a threat class all his own, partly because of his interest
in the Prophet and partly because of his role in the underground.  Izaya has
not been putting himself in the middle of the conflict, nor has he made any
grabs for power.  He’s been content to watch from the sidelines, leading along
the other players like pawns for some yet unseen purpose.  He’s aware of all of
the pieces on the board and their likely destinations.
At least, he was, until you came along.  You’ve supposedly “thrown a wrench”
into things, after all.  You’re not sure if that was the truth or not.
Naturally, the Prophet told Rika that he wasn’t interested in any kind of
meeting or collaboration, and she’d passed those words along to Izaya.  Izaya
had apparently been expecting this answer and told her that he’d “take care of
things himself,” which, when sent to you, told you that he’s getting to work to
find out who the Prophet is.
The longer this drags out, the fewer ways this could end favorably for you. 
That doesn’t mean you’re going to jump out and proclaim your true identity to
the world, but at times it seems tempting.
You haven’t told Mai because of her connection with Izaya, and she’s worried
for you both, thinking you’re caught up in some strange situation and in over
your heads.  She isn’t wrong, of course.
The way you see it, you have a few options.  You can lay low for a while, which
used to seem like the best idea, but all that really amounts to is giving up
and idling around while Izaya inevitably closes in on you.  You can also
deliberately involve yourself in the underground, stepping onto the game board,
making your presence known, and forging alliances in an effort to dissuade
Izaya from messing with you.  Of course, he said he didn’t plan to, but you
trust him about as far as you can throw him.
The last option would be to play the game quietly, which means going solo but
trying to communicate with Izaya as the Prophet, probably through Rika and
other channels, and try to figure out what his game is and beat him at it.  It
might take some creativity, since he’s already aware of your ability, but
you’re nothing if not creative.  This option seems favorable because you’d be
actively protecting yourself, keeping one step ahead of him without stepping on
his toes by teaming up with the wrong people yet keeping the door open if he
turns out to be genuine about his proposal of an alliance.
That’s a big “if,” but you can’t be too careful.
And there you have it, you’ve just talked yourself into the underground game,
playing the sidelines as Izaya does and hoping to get even better at it. 
You’re getting awfully devious lately.
You and Rika discuss your plan after school in your room in hushed tones.  Your
parents aren’t sure what has you two meeting together and whispering every day,
but they think it has something to do with boys, and they’re close enough, so
you let them believe it.  Rika is all for your plan and back to her usual,
fearless self.
“So, what’s our first move?” she asks, “I mean, we’re a little limited on
resources compared to him.  I think he’d know better than to send me anything
while thinking incriminating thoughts, and Mai’s a no-go.  She’s already ratted
him out once.”
“What about me?” you ask.
“It’d only work for a while,” Rika says, “He’d draw a connection pretty quick,
and then it’s only a matter of time before he figures out it’s you.  You should
keep your involvement to a minimum.”  That’s all the more you agree on that
night, but at least it’s a start.  You’ll figure the rest out as you go.
*
Things get weird the next day.
Rika is approached by a few people during class, and a few gang members later
in the day in Ikebukuro.  You don’t linger in public like you used to, and
intend to answer all of the requests when you get home.  Rika is scrolling
through them as you sit on the train together, though, and she’s completely
silent.
“They’re all from Izaya,” she says shakily, “Every single one of these messages
were sent from Izaya.”
You don’t like the sound of that.  The train slides into the next station and
people flow in and out. 
“Is he messing with me?” she murmurs, “Is he trying to slow down business? 
What the hell?”
You’re about to comment, but first notice someone standing close by and staring
at the two of you intently.  Your eyes sweep up from the floor and only reach
the ends of their fur-lined jacket before you know who you’re looking at. 
Luckily, Rika notices as well and goes rigid.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you took this train, as well,” he says with a laugh,
“School just got out, right?  Do you live in Ikebukuro?”
Rika wisely chooses not to answer.
“I assume you’ve gotten a number of messages for the Prophet today.  Have you
passed them along yet?”
“Yeah,” she says, “But he doesn’t always get back to me right away.”
“I see.”  Unfortunately, you’re sitting next to her, and Mai isn’t there to
soak up some of the attention, so he sees you next.  He grins and plops down
into the open seat beside you.  “We’ve met once before, haven’t we?” he says,
and doesn’t wait for an answer.  “Yes, I think we have.  You were there last
time, too.”  He leans forward and you try to lean away.  “Are you also part of
the Ikebukuro Prophet service?  A secretary, maybe?”
“No,” you say meekly, and he gives you space.
“Just a friendly meeting, then,” Izaya muses, and you hope you’ve thrown him
off.  He gets to his feet as the train approaches the next stop.  “Well, I
suppose I’ll let you go for now,” he tells Rika, smiling eerily, “Please
encourage the Prophet to look into those messages as soon as possible.”
And then he’s gone, leaving you both shaking in your boots.
*
Rika is just excited that he isn’t onto you, but you’re a little nervous about
the content of these messages.  You come home, say hello to your parents, and
disappear into your room again.  Rika sends you the first forward and as soon
as the messages come in, you put it down on the bed so you can both read it.
Forward: From Rika: 17:53: Content
“Psi is the non-spatial, non-physical substance that some believe can account
for anomalous phenomenon, such as telepathy.”
“This one was sent to one of the kids in our class,” Rika says, “He and Izaya
have talked before, but he said he had no idea what this message was supposed
to mean.” 
“Is he talking about the Prophet?” you offer, “Maybe he’s trying to figure out
what’s behind the service.”  The message that comes paired with it only makes
things more confusing.
Forward: From Rika: 17:53: Content
“Dear Prophet, thought is the process of discarding information, which is so
central to the habitual behaviors of human beings.  It is for this reason that
it is most important to mankind.”
You both read it a couple times, and then look at each other helplessly.  “Do
you know what the hell he’s talking about?” Rika asks, and you shake your
head.  “Maybe it’s some kind of code.”
“Why would he send the Prophet a code, especially since he doesn’t even know if
they’re on the same side?” you wonder aloud.  Neither of you have the answer. 
“What’s the next one?”
“This is from someone who claimed to be with the Dollars,” she says.  Your
phone buzzes twice.
Forward: From Rika: 17:54: Content
“The idea that signals and information could be transmitted across space
without fading and losing strength or meaning  is inconsistent with the laws of
physics.”
Forward: From Rika: 17:54: Content
“Dear Prophet, thought is the process of discarding information, which is so
central to the habitual—”
You stop reading.  “Let me guess,” you say, “All of the messages are weird
nonsense?”  Rika nods.  “I guess we should check them all, but I have a hunch
that they’re all the same.”
And they are.  All sixteen messages are bizarre statements regarding psi,
telepathy, the transfer of information and scientific analyses of
parapsychology, and all of the messages following them are the same, too.  You
think he might be trying to figure out how your abilities work and what their
limits are, which is a frightening prospect. 
“So….” Rika says, the unspoken “now what?” hanging between you.
You think on it a moment longer.  “Tell Izaya the Prophet got his message,” you
say, and take a notebook out of your bag to write the phrase on a page in the
back.  “I’m going to figure out what it means.”
“Shouldn’t we figure out what it means before we tell him we got it?”
“No,” you say, “We have to make it look like we already understood.”
She shrugs and begins typing.
***** Baiting the Trap *****
Chapter Notes
     So I had an exam waiting for me on my first week back to class, which
     usually means no update. However, you guys are incredibly luck! I
     love this story so much that I managed to crank something out. It's a
     little short, but the chapters will be getting longer from now on.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
You search the exact phrase on the internet and come up with a perfect match—a
blog run by someone known only as “Toyama.”  He claims to be a philosopher of
technology and posts regularly about “technological utopianism” and “semiotics”
and various other topics that you don’t really know anything about, but what
you’re interested in is the post that you’ve been lead to by Izaya.
Thought is the process of discarding information, which is so central to the
habitual behaviors of human beings.  It is for this reason that that it is most
important to mankind.
Izaya’s message is displayed word for word in a post about something called
“exformation.”  From what you can understand, it has something to do with the
transfer of information that’s only seen as important between the original
sender and the intended recipient.   You aren’t sure why Izaya sent you that,
but you can see the connection between exformation and the Prophet.  But rather
than answer your question, this only raises a whole lot more, including how
Toyama fits into all of this.
The way he writes makes it seem like he’s an academic, maybe a professional or
expert in his field.  This is exactly the kind of person that the Prophet is
theorized to be.  But why would Izaya lead you to this blog?  Why lead you
anywhere?  There’s a trap somewhere, but you aren’t sure where yet.
Rika sees potential in Toyama right away.  “This is perfect,” she says, “Izaya
thinks this guy is the Prophet, I bet.  The message was trying to psyche him
out, like, ‘Hey, I know it’s you, so here’s something only you would
recognize.’  We can use that to our advantage.”
“We can?”
“Duh.”  She grins.  “If that’s what he thinks, I don’t see why we should change
his mind.”
You don’t think it’s so simple.  Izaya has already said that he thinks the
Prophet goes to Raira Academy, so why would he suddenly change his mind?  You
don’t voice your concerns, though.  As nice as it would be to take the heat off
of you, you know you’d feel guilty to push the whole Prophet mess on some
unsuspecting person.
“I should head out,” Rika says, standing from your bed, “We’ll talk more
tomorrow.  Oh, and have you heard from Mai?  Ever since she realized I wasn’t
lying, she’s been texting me a lot more lately.  Mostly about the Prophet.”
“Why?”
“I dunno.”  She shrugs, going to the window to glance out at the sunset.  “You
know, looking back, I never would’ve guessed we’d be in this kind of
situation.”  She speaks softly and thoughtfully.  You wonder if she’s just as
scared as you when she takes a minute to think about what you’ve gotten
yourselves into.  “I’m glad you’re here.  I don’t think I could do this alone.”
Well, of course not, you think, you’re not the cell phone psychic, but you
don’t say that because Rika has this look on her face that she only has when
she sees Izaya.  She steps back from the window and lets the blinds fall into
place.  “Oh my god.”
“Is he out there?” you whisper.  It’s not like he could hear you, but you just
want to make sure.  She nods, then dares to peek through the blinds for a
moment.  She recoils as though it bit her. 
“I think he knows I’m here.”
*
You tell your parents you’re walking with Rika back to the train station, and
Izaya must have thought about them as well, because when you come outside, he
smiles and gestures silently for you both to follow him.  “I don’t usually make
house calls,” he says lightly as you walk, not even looking over his shoulder
to see if you’re following.  He knows neither of you would dare leave when his
back is turned.  “But I just had to come talk to you.”
A few blocks away, the three of you slip into an alley, and he finally stops
and turns around.  “It’s getting dark.  You should head home.  I’m not here to
talk with you,” he tells Rika, and your eyes widen as his attention shifts.  “I
came for you.”
To say that you’re panicking is probably the understatement of the year, but as
much as you don’t want Rika to leave, you don’t want to look suspicious. 
You're not supposed to have anything to hide, after all.  Reluctantly, you look
to Rika and nod.  She looks at her feet in equal parts relief and shame and
then hurries out of the alley and out of sight, leaving you and Izaya alone.
Leaving you and Izaya alone.  That’s got to be a euphemism for certain death. 
Izaya doesn’t waste any time, though.  He gets right down to business.  “You
and the Prophet’s mouthpiece spend a lot of time together,” he says.  “I think
it’s highly unlikely that you’re in no way involved with that.  In fact, if I
had to guess,” he steps forward, you step away, and your back hits the wall of
the alley.  “I’d say that you’re preparing to take over her position.  You’re a
more ideal spokesperson, after all.  Quieter, less suspicious.  A lower risk
for him.”
Oh, he’s close, but not quite right, and your anxiety is very real when you
look at your feet.
He smirks.  “I’m right, aren’t I?”  You nod meekly.  “There’s no reason to be
afraid,” he says, “After all, we’re got a common goal; we both want to stay on
the Prophet’s good side.  I think I could help you, and you could help me.”
“What can I do?” you ask uncertainly.  You didn’t think his smirk could get any
bigger.
He gently hooks his fingers beneath your chin and tilts your head so you meet
his eyes.  “Oh,” he says—more like purrs, “I’m sure I can come up with
something,” and his voice is absolutely dripping with innuendo.
Just as suddenly, he lets you go, backing off to give you room to breathe and
taking his phone from his pocket.  “I’m going to send you information,” he
says, “And in return, you’ll help me find the Prophet.  I’ll need your number.”
Oh hell yes.
You try not to look too excited as you shakily tell it to him.  He enters a new
contact, puts it back in his pocket, and smiles.  “We’ll be in touch,” he says,
and slips out of the alley.  A little dazed from how smoothly it went—and from
the last part where he had to have been propositioning you, what the hell was
that about?—you return home.  Rika texts you not long after.
From Rika: 19:31: Content
“Are you still alive?”
From Rika: 19:31: Content
“ohmygodohmygodohmygod please don’t be dead.”
You tell her you’re fine and conclude with the good news; you’ve got him
thinking you’re going to help him, while actually he’s helping you.  Rika isn’t
sure how you did it but doesn’t ask for the details, only asking that you watch
your step. 
Chapter End Notes
     A QUESTION:
     This story will involve sex--namely, sex that is quite a bit more
     graphic than what I've written before. It's sort-of-kind-of-actually-
     a-little plot relevant (or will be at some point), so I wanted to ask
     if that would seem weird in a reader-insert like this or if I should
     go ahead with it?
     Thank you as always to all of my readers and everyone who is leaving
     comments!
***** A Slippery Slope *****
Chapter Notes
     Last week, I asked whether or not you'd be okay with explicit sexual
     content in this work, and I pretty much got a unanimous "WRITE THE
     SEX" response back, so I'll do my best when the time comes. We're
     going to start off slow, but things will escalate.
     A big thank you to all of my readers and reviewers! My last two
     DRRR!! reader-insert fics have been romance/relationship-centered,
     but this one has a lot more going on, so please be patient and enjoy
     the mind games with Izaya. :)
When you were in seventh grade, Mai’s mother died and her father remarried. 
These two events took place just a few months apart, the implications being
what forever ruined her relationship with her father and his new wife.  When
you first met her, she was cool and confident and brutally honest—that was your
favorite thing about her, even if it made her come off as abrasive to most. 
But after that happened, she became withdrawn and listless, and for a while,
she didn’t talk to you or Rika, despite making it clear that you wanted to be
there for her.  There were rumors that she’d been seen downtown after dark with
an older guy, but you’ve never bought into rumors.
It’s a shame that this one turned out to be true.
It’s funny—if you’d never gotten that text from her through Rika, you never
would’ve known that it was Izaya who had spent so much time with her in those
days.  Mai had recovered, eventually returning to you and Rika, but Izaya had
done something to her that made her different than she used to be.  She seems
independent and back to her old self most of the time, but whenever Izaya’s
name is dropped in conversation, she clams up and gets this faraway look in her
eyes.
But this morning, when you come to school, she’s the one who mentions him and
that meekness is all gone.  She motions for you in the hallway bathroom and the
door has just shut behind you when she says, “I heard you’ve started meeting
with Izaya.” 
You freeze; did somebody see you come out of that alley and start spreading
rumors already?  God, you hate people sometimes.  The only other person who
knows is Rika, and you don’t know why she’d tell Mai.  Your confusion must show
on your face, because she sighs and says, “He told me himself.”
Well, that’s not good.  “What else did he say?” you ask carefully.
“That it’s got something to do with the Ikebukuro Prophet.”  She puts a hand on
your shoulder.  “I already told you how dangerous Izaya is.  I know I met with
him before, but that was different.  He’s not the kind of person you want to
get involved with.  Someday, you might not want to have anything to do with him
anymore, but it’ll be difficult to get away from him.”  Her eyes soften.  “Have
you ever even met this Prophet?”
You hate lying, especially to a friend, but you shake your head.  “Thank you
for looking out for me,” you tell her sincerely, “But I have to do this.  I….” 
You choose your words carefully.  “I’m dedicated to the Prophet.”
Mai is silent.  Slowly, she takes her hand from your shoulder, eyes unreadable
and then, without a word to you, she leaves.
You feel a little sick to your stomach. 
*
Rika is the next person to pull you into the bathroom several hours later and
she checks if all the stalls are empty before speaking.  “Does Mai knows
something?” she whispers, “She asked me like a million questions about the
Prophet this morning.”
“Izaya told her we’re meeting,” you say, “I don’t know why.”
“To cause trouble, obviously.  I mean, where do you think her loyalties lie?  I
bet he only told her to make her distract us, or try to get information out of
us.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s our friend,” you insist.  Rika pauses.
“We’re talking about the power struggle of Ikebukuro,” she stresses,
“Friendship isn’t the moving factor here; it’s alliances.”
“What’s the difference?”
“When your friends ask, you go out to lunch with them.  When your ally asks,
you poison your friend’s food.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” you argue, then pause.  “Wait.  What are we then? 
Allies or friends?”
“We’re both.”
You raise a brow.
“No, really.”
“Then text me that.”
She rolls her eyes.  “Seriously?  You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust anybody.”
She doesn’t argue with that.  Grumbling, she takes out of her phone and does
ask you ask.
From Rika: 12:42: Content
“We’re friends and allies.”
From Rika: 12:42: Content
“I mean it.  Happy now?”
You nod.
“So we don’t know Mai’s motivation yet, and we can’t trust her one hundred
percent.”  Rika looks at you seriously.  “She’s my friend, too, you know.  But
we’ve gotta watch our backs.”
As she leaves the bathroom, a familiar, fleeting thought, something like, “This
is dumb, and you’re dumb,” passes through your mind, but you banish it as
quickly as it came because you don’t have time to be beating yourself over it. 
You’ve got a game to play, and you’re going to focus, because Izaya is your
opponent, and you’ve got a lot to lose.
*
You feel your phone buzz in your pocket just as class is letting out and see
Izaya’s name pop up on the screen, and your heart beats a little faster in
anticipation.
From Izaya: 16:44: Content
“Let’s get down to business.  I think it goes without saying, but I’d
appreciate if these texts stay between us unless I tell you otherwise.  The
Prophet doesn’t need to know I’m contacting you.  Don’t think of it as keeping
secrets; consider it a personal affair rather than business, or a third party
correspondence.  I can trust you not to tell on me, can’t I?”
You’re certain he doesn’t trust you anymore than you trust him.  He must have
some way to track whether or not the message is forwarded.  Not that it’ll help
him any, you think, and suppress a smile. 
Uh oh, smiling while thinking devious thoughts?  You’d better watch it, you’re
acting an awful lot like the competition.
The next one comes and makes your heart stop.
From Izaya: 16:44: Content
“Color gang conflict to be triggered at 18:30 downtown.  Location suggests
possible civilian injury or casualties.”
Thisis his insurance.  The Prophet interfered with color gang activity before
when you saved Mai.  If it happens again, he’ll know that you’re passing the
messages along, or worse, he’ll decide it’s you who can read them. 
In other words, any death or injury that’s caused tonight can be avoided if you
send an anonymous tip to the police, but doing so will blow your cover.
Remembering that you’re not even supposed to be able to see the second text,
you hurriedly respond that your correspondence won’t be shared with anyone
unless he grants permission.  Is the underground and this stupid game and your
secret identity as the Ikebukuro Prophet really so important that you’d risk
the lives of others for it?
Apparently, yes, and you feel disgusted with yourself.  You’re no better than
the people you rat out for lying and keeping secrets.  If someone dies, it’ll
be your fault.
You think, with a sinking feeling, that you’ll just have to deal with that.
*
Rika invites you out for sushi downtown.  On your way, you tell her about
Izaya’s message and the latest developments, and she listens intently.  You see
the wheels turning in her head as she tries planning your next move, but you
see nothing like regret or worry for the people who’ll potentially be caught up
in the gang war.  Well, at least you’re not the only subhuman asshole around. 
You feel a little better.
You agree that while you’re out, you’ll put all business aside for a while and
just talk as friends rather than allies, because it’s been a while since you’ve
really dedicated some time to that and you both miss it.  You may be co-
conspirators planning to cause a major disruption in the power scheme of
Ikebukuro’s underground, but you’re also a couple of high school students. 
There has to be a balance.
Russia Sushi is empty—it always seems to be, and you think that must be a sign
or a warning—so Rika steers you both in that direction.  The tall Russian guy
who’s always shouting for patrons looks like he could die of happiness when you
walk in and eagerly seats you, leaving to get your drinks.
“So, now that I’m more or less a celebrity in our class, do you think getting
dates’ll be easier?” she asks with a grin, leering at you over her menu. 
There really is more to Rika than business and boys; those are just the things
she’s most vocal about.
You shrug; romance is not your strong point.  It’s not as though you’ve never
dated in your life—you’ve had relationships before, though they lasted even
shorter than what one might expect for a girl your age on account of your cell
phone.  You wouldn’t say you’re jaded against dating altogether, but…yeah,
okay, you might be.  It’s not anybody’s fault; the nature of the text message
is to communicate just a snapshot of your thoughts with just a few words.  In
hindsight, there were a lot of things that you got in those paired messages
that probably weren’t cause for panic or breakups. 
The Russian guy comes back for your orders.  Everything on the menu is strange
so you pick the first thing that catches your eye within your price range and
hope for the best. 
“I think there are plenty of people who want to use you because of your
status,” you tell her, and she pouts.
“I guess,” she says, but her grin returns, “Your chances are looking pretty
good, though.  You said Izaya was all over you the other day.”
You frown.  Your wording had been much more eloquent than that.  “That
absolutely does not count,” you say, and she shrugs.
“Hey, you know what they say about love and war.”
“What do they say?”
She rolls her eyes.  “I don’t know, I was hoping you did.  Anyway, what do you
think you’re gonna do?  Like, is he expecting something from you?”
“I thought this was a conversation between friends.”
“It is,” she says, “And as your friend, I’m seriously worried about you.”
Fair enough.  “I don’t know yet,” you admit, “Maybe if I don’t bring up
compensation, he won’t do anything.  But if he does expect something, then….” 
You’ve never seriously considered Izaya’s words before when he so obviously
hinted at sexual favors in exchange for your cooperation; you interpreted it as
teasing, or a lie, or something, because he’s got to be at least five, six
years older than you.  Does he really intend to do that with a high school
girl?
Rika surprises you with the solemn look in her eyes.  “You don’t have to do
anything,” she says seriously, “If it comes to that, just tell him no; don’t
even worry about the deal.  We’ll figure something else out.  There are some
things that you shouldn’t just give up like that.”
Namely, your virginity, she doesn’t say, but you hear it all the same, even
without your phone.  Heartless scumbags who sacrifice innocent people for the
sake of power you may be, at least you look out for your own kind.  Makes you
feel kind of warm and fuzzy.
The food comes with a flourish and you’re honestly not sure what the hell
you’re looking at.  Your plate has a row of strange imitations of sushi rolls
on it, and you’re not quite sure you can identify any ingredient but the rice. 
Rika shares a funny glance with you before she picks up the first piece and
digs in. 
“Do you ever think about your future?” she asks suddenly, after you’ve both
tried your sushi as well as each other’s and established that it is edible and
maybe even quite tasty.  “Like what you wanna do after you’re done with
school?”
“A bit,” you say.  The trend for your generation is to be indecisive about
career paths, and you are no exception.
“Do you think you’re gonna keep doing it?” she asks, looking pointedly at your
phone on the table. 
You have considered it.  If your phone is going to instill paranoia in you for
the rest of your life, you might as well get something good out of it, too. 
“Only if you do,” you say, and she winks.
“Deal.”
You finish up the meal talking about music charts and TV dramas and all of the
things that friends talk about, and feel better by the time you’ve paid and
left the restaurant.  Rika seems animated, too, and you think that you probably
both need to have more frequent outings where you put aside your Prophet
service identities and just be yourselves, even if it’s just for an hour on a
Friday afternoon.
Speaking of afternoons, this one is supposed to end in bloodshed.  You check
your phone for the time; there’s still half an hour left.  Rika sees you do it
and walks a little faster, urging you to keep pace with her. 
“There’s nothing we can do,” she says.  It’s a lie, and you both know it, but
you keep walking.
“Maybe he’s bluffing,” you offer, and she nods.
“Yeah,” she says, “Maybe,” and you repeat it to yourself in your head until you
believe it.
He’s bluffing.  He’s got to be.  This is just to test his suspicions and your
loyalty, and not only will you pass, but nothing will happen.  It almost sounds
plausible now, maybe even likely.  It seems like the kind of thing Izaya
Orihara would do.
Then again, you don’t know a damned thing about Izaya Orihara, and fooling
yourself into thinking you do is dangerous.
*
When you get to your house, your parents are watching the news.  A dispute
between two gangs escalated into violence only moments ago, and a few
bystanders were caught up in the middle.  The shots of the scene—police
officers arresting instigators, people cowering on the sidewalk, an ambulance
speeding down the street—almost bring tears to your eyes as you wait with
baited breath to listen for any reported deaths.
This is all your fault.
Your parents are still too distracted to notice—they’re just glad you’re
home—but Rika looks at you and puts a hand on your shoulder, and the two of you
go to your room.  You wipe your eyes as she gives you encouraging words, all
truth and no lies.  The truth is that you can’t back down now, and you can’t
show any weakness.  And you shouldn’t accept it so easily, but you make the
tears stop and get yourself together, and you nod.
The game has only just begun.  You don’t have any time to mourn the necessary
sacrifices.
***** Into the Lion's Den *****
Chapter Notes
     My poor old laptop's age is finally catching up to it, so I've had to
     update. I haven't lost all of my chapters or anything, but I can't
     afford a real word processor right now so I'm using word pad for
     everything. If there are more typos than usual, that's why.
     Also, I have to confess that this semester is a little more intensive
     than I thought it would be. More and more of my stories have gone on
     a temporary hiatus, and while I hate to leave anyone hanging, I'm not
     sure I'll be able to keep up with this one, either. Hopefully I'll
     get a break in the action soon! Thanks again for all of your
     comments, you guys are the best.
Nobody dies.
You try not to get too excited about it, because this kind of thing might
happen again with different results, and you need to be able to make the same
choice.  What troubles you now is that the only thing Izaya has sent you so far
is a request to keep everything a secret with a hidden test.  You’re still
waiting for him to be of use to you and wonder if he needs to be reminded or
something.  It hits you on Saturday morning, as you’re reflecting on the
situation thus far, that he’s expecting you to make the first move. 
As in, he’s expecting you to come onto him.  That’s doubtlessly the trade
implied by what he said in the alley; you’re compliant with his requests and
help him get to the Prophet, and he gives you information and performs sexual
favors.  You can’t imagine it would be suspicious if you told him that you
really don’t need anything like that as part of the deal, but it might strain
your tentative alliance, and you need everything within your control to go
smoothly so you can better handle everything that’s not. 
In other words, you are going to have to hit on Izaya Orihara.  You know of
several girls for whom you suspect this would be a dream come true.  At least
he’s not hideous.  In fact, if you think about it, he’s actually attractive,
maybe even your type.
Okay, that’s going a bit too far.  That’s not the kind of thought you need to
be having about the opposition.  You consider him to be competition rather than
your enemy, because he had a point; he’s not the sort of person anyone wants to
make an enemy out of.
As soon as you realize what you need to do, you’re out of bed and getting ready
for the day.  You send Izaya your message—something that sounds like a
relatively innocent request for information with a sudden implication at the
end when you ever-so-sweetly ask if you could convince him to relinquish some
information sooner rather than later, and if he’d be willing to discuss this in
person today, maybe soon, maybe at his place of residence?
The reply is nearly immediate.
From Izaya: 08:54: Content
“Certainly.”
His address is below, along with a recommendation on which train line to take
for the quickest route.  You’re not sure you want to see the next text, but
your phone doesn’t give you time to mentally prepare yourself.
From Izaya: 08:54: Content
“I was starting to think you were having second thoughts.”
So you chose right!  You mentally do a little victory dance and resume
preparing; taking a shower, washing up, doing your hair, and finally choosing
something to wear.  You think carefully about this before settling on a nice
blouse and skirt and some tights underneath for good taste.  Nothing too crazy
and nothing your parents should be suspicious about.
Apparently it does the trick, because upon coming down for breakfast, your
mother says, “Oh, going to meet with Rika again?” and you say that yes, that is
exactly what you’re doing.  Exactly.  “I’m glad you’ve been spending more time
together lately,” she goes on, “You should try to get Mai to come with
sometime.”
You agree that this would be a good idea, though you think that it would only
be a good idea if you were sure that she wasn’t a double-agent for Izaya.  You
hate thinking about her like that, but Rika has a point.  Since the day you
talked to her in the bathroom, she hasn’t gone out of her way to talk to you
much, though she has spoken with Rika on occasion, mostly about the Prophet. 
The things she says make you feel less like she’s mad and more like she’s just
concerned, which is good. 
But right now, you focus on the task at hand.  As soon as you finish breakfast,
you sling your purse over your shoulder, head out the door, and consult Izaya’s
message again for directions.  He doesn’t live quite downtown, but the route is
similar.  The business district gradually changes into a residential area, and
his apartment is located right where the merge occurs.  Accordingly, it’s a
high rise apartment that blends in well with either side.  You’re just walking
into the building when you get a text and find a message from Rika.
From Rika: 10:01: Content
“We should get together today sometime soon.”
From Rika: 10:02: Content
“Need to talk to you, Mai’s on our side after all, but there’s a lot more than
that.”
The good news makes you smile but you tell her it’s going to have to wait;
you’ve got a meeting with you-know-who concerning you-know-what.  You put your
phone on silent after you send it and tuck it safely away into your purse and
get into the elevator.
When you step out again, you search the hallway for his number and eventually
find it, standing still for a minute to calm your rapidly beating heart,
collect your thoughts, put on an anxious but expectant smile, and knock.
There’s a short pause before you hear soft footsteps and the door opens.  Izaya
is dressed almost identically to when you last saw him, save for his jacket
being absent, and he smiles when he sees you.  “Come in,” he says, and steps
out of the doorway to let you through.
You hadn’t had any exact expectations, but it’s nice.  Really nice.  Everything
looks expensive, from the couches to the bookcases and multiple computers at
the desk.  You glance at him once more and are suddenly reminded that he’s a
lot older than you.  You feel just a little more uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to stand there like that,” he says smoothly and gestures
towards the couches while he moves in that direction himself.  You make a
decision quickly and sit on the same couch as him with just one cushion between
you.  Perfect.  Enough distance that you don’t look overeager, but not so much
that you look uninterested.
Your attention flies immediately to the chessboard on the table, because it’s a
mess and most of the pieces aren’t even chess pieces.  You try not to look at
it too hard—you’re not supposed to be the mastermind here—and return your gaze
to Izaya, who is studying you intently with his usual smile. 
“It’s Ikebukuro,” he explains, and leans forward to point to the pieces, “Each
piece represents somebody on the main stage.”
“Who’s winning?” you ask curiously, and his smile widens.
“Nobody.”
In the middle of the mess of pawns, rooks, discs and shogi pieces is a small,
ebony elephant figurine.  “What’s that?” you ask.
“Ah, that represents the Prophet,” he says, and hands the piece to you.  “It’s
a fairy piece from ancient Indian chess.  I had to think about what would best
depict the sort of unpredictability that the Prophet has brought.”
“Why is the Prophet so unpredictable?”
“Hm,” he says, taking the piece from you when you offer it back, “It’s not so
much the Prophet himself that is unpredictable, but his actions have
unpredictable repercussions.  I doubt he’s even aware of what he’s truly
capable of.”
You’d like to ask what he’s truly capable of, but Izaya has put the elephant
back on the table and returned his attention to you, eyes narrowed slightly and
his smile seeming much eerier than before.  “I suppose you’re expecting
something more than just information in exchange for all you’re doing for me,”
he says, voice a little lower than it was a second ago, and that really hits
you.  You feel the heat rise to your face immediately.
“Well,” you say, and haven’t really thought of a good response, so the word
hangs there.  Izaya doesn’t wait long, however; he moves like he’s going to get
up, but instead, he scoots across the one cushion between you and invades your
personal space.  His face is close, just like it was that day in the alley, and
you instinctively move away, but there isn’t a lot of room and you almost end
up falling.  Izaya reaches out and catches you by the arm, turning your body so
he’s pressed against your back.
You don’t think your heart can beat much faster.
He laughs, low and quiet.  “If I didn’t know better,” he teases, and you feel
his breath on your ear, “I’d say that you’re a little apprehensive about this,
and that won’t do at all.  I’m going to need your complete consent to do much
of anything.”
You’re not sure how far he intends to take this, but you’re probably about to
find out.  “I am consenting,” you say, and it sounds stupid the moment you say
it and even more stupid when you think about it.  You never imagined you’d have
to argue with someone that you are, indeed, giving consent.
“I see,” he says, though doesn’t say what he sees, but you don’t think on it
too hard because he reaches around in front of you and begins unbuttoning your
blouse with practiced skill.  You hesitantly cooperate when he’s got them all
undone and lift your arms over your head to get it off, leaving you with only
your bra.
His fingertips touch your collarbone and you inhale sharply.  “Relax,” he
murmurs, rubbing circles in your exposed skin.  His hand moves slowly and his
touches are feather-light and pleasant.  He moves straight down, over your
breasts and to your stomach, fingers splayed across your skin, and that’s when
you really feel something.  It builds slowly, from the moment he first put his
hands on you, and soon you find yourself getting much more aroused than you
thought you could from being touched in what you didn’t consider to be
erogenous zones.
Izaya has apparently been waiting to see you start squirming ever so slightly,
because he suddenly shifts his attention back up.  He doesn’t bother to move
back and unhook your bra, choosing instead to gently push the cups down and
expose your breasts, and you flinch.  You feel a sudden twinge of self-
consciousness and are suddenly thankful that he’s behind you.
Both of his hands cup your breasts and he starts to massage them, and you let
out a really embarrassing sound.  Izaya chuckles, clearly pleased with himself,
as he gives a gentle squeeze, and one hand begins toying with your nipple.  You
didn’t know this could feel as good as it does and try to take deep breaths to
keep yourself calm, but Izaya’s fingers twist, and he steadies your shaking
body by pushing his knee between your legs, and you find yourself pushing your
lower body against it without even being fully aware of what you’re doing. 
“Oh, good,” he says, and you’re impressed you even notice him talking through
your haze, “I’m glad I’m not the only one having a good time.”
You wonder about that.  You haven’t noticed anything resembling an erection
pressing against you—not that you’re looking for it, but it shouldn’t be hard
to miss (that’s so not funny)—and though Izaya is attending to you dutifully,
you suspect his labored breathing is only to get you excited.  It’s kind of
embarrassing, knowing that you’re unraveling under someone who is completely
lucid.
He rolls your nipples between his fingers and you think you feel him thrusting
his hips into yours from behind, and you’re sweating and your head is spinning
and Izaya is talking to you, his voice low and purring into your ear.  “Is this
fair?” he murmurs, “Is this a good exchange for what I’m asking of you?”  You
can hardly believe that he’s expecting any kind of coherent answer from you,
but he’s insistent, one of his hands leaving your chest and trailing down your
stomach, slipping below the fabric of your skirt and leggings, thumbing the
waistline of your panties before skimming over them even lower. 
His fingertips stroke a long line down the middle of a slowly-growing damp
spot.  You force yourself to nod.
“I need to hear you say it,” he teases, and you’d probably be mad at him if you
weren’t so turned on.
“Yes,” you whimper, “it’s fair,” and he sighs contentedly.
“Then I suppose we should work in weekly appointments,” he continues.  You
should be paying attention, but his other hand is working your clit and you
feel tears burning in the corners of your eyes it just feels so good, “So that
I can continue to properly compensate you for your cooperation.  I wouldn’t
want you to think that I don’t appreciate it.”
He leans forward just a bit more, and he murmurs, “It’s going to be a pleasure
working with you,” before he licks along the shell of your ear and nibbles very
lightly.
You think you’re going to lose your mind if you don’t come.  Izaya’s hands
continue to make a mess out of you, teasing and pulling and pinching and
caressing, and it’s just one more rub at your entrance, one more squeeze of
your breast and one more bite at your earlobe and you’re gone, crying out as
your vision fades to white and you feel like you’re in pleasant free fall.  You
fall back into Izaya’s chest, and he holds you there until you come back down,
panting for breath.
Izaya smiles and removes his hands, moving you so you lean against the couch
cushions, and smiles at you like you did something cute.  Even when he leans
back, you don’t see anything to indicate that he got any pleasure out of what
had just happened, and you worry.  Izaya seems to notice, though.  “You’re a
virgin,” he says, “So I’ll take this slow.” 
You’re absolutely certain you never told him that, but it must be obvious to
someone who has experience.  In the back of your mind, you wonder idly how many
other people he’s done this with.  You think of the throngs of young girls who
deify him and promptly think of something else.  That’s a lot of people; you
don’t want to think about that right now.  Or ever, really.
You sit up to accept your blouse back from him but your hands are shaking so
badly you can hardly get the thing back on.  Izaya leans forward then, and
chuckles lightly as he pushes your hands away and buttons it for you, and you
know your blush has become even brighter.   “Based on the information I have so
far, I believe the Prophet is actually a student at your school,” he tells you
as he finishes, sounding a lot more serious than usual. 
You act surprised, a little disappointed that he doesn’t have anything new to
tell you.  Then again, you’re not supposed to have heard this before. 
“Really?” you squeak, “I thought it would be someone older.”
“It’s only a guess at this point,” he admits, “But between the two of us, I’m
sure we’ll be able figure it out.  I’ll be in contact should I find anything
out.  And let me know if you learn anything.”  He isn’t even touching you, but
just the way he looks at you makes you shiver.  “I’ll give you appropriate
compensation.”
Izaya doesn’t push you towards the door but you remember that Rika texted you
earlier and think that you should probably talk to her, so you head that way. 
Long after you’re down the hall, and on the ground floor, and walking out of
the apartments and back onto the streets of Ikebukuro, you’re still in a daze,
still remembering what his hands felt like and shivering at the memory.  All
you can think about is Izaya; Izaya, Izaya, Izaya, the informant, the
mastermind, the opposition.  You’re practically drunk on him, though you’re
apparently a passive-aggressive drunk who becomes obsessed with planning the
downfall of the object of your not-quite-affection.
This is the most fun you’ve ever had, you realize.  The intrigue, the secrets,
the dangerous relationship, it’s all exhilarating, and you never want it to
end.  You want to drag this game out as long as you possibly can.  You want to
drive Izaya absolutely mad with frustration as you dismantle his empire from
the inside out.  You want to feel him again, want your precarious alliance to
blossom, want to play the game.
You want to play the game.
Your hesitation and regrets are all gone.  Suddenly, you understand the way he
thinks and acts, his fascination with the chess board that is Ikebukuro and all
of the pieces on it.  It’s all fascinating, all exciting, all endless
possibilities and outcomes, and you are what makes everything impossible to
predict.  You’ve decided; you’re going to become a major player.  You’re going
to leave your mark on Ikebukuro and lead your double life, and you’re going to
have the time of your life while doing it.
Getting intimate with Izaya is going to be a nice bonus.
*
You leave Izaya’s around noon but don’t actually get back to Rika, because the
first thing you do is run to the hobby store, buy a chess set and figurines,
and then go home to set it up.  You remember the positions of some of the
pieces on his mockup of Ikebukuro, and try to replicate them.  You don’t have
any other game pieces, so you stick with what you do have.  Izaya, as a
nonstandard participant, is represented by a plastic camel—a master at planning
for the long-term.  You put him on the far side of the board, off the board,
even, just on the table.  The Prophet is a horse—the untamed and instinctive
side of you, and you place it opposite Izaya. 
This, you decide, is the truth.  All of the pieces in the middle are blindly
groping for control, destroying everything they touch and leaving chaos in
their wake.  The camel and the horse, the informant and the Prophet, too, play
the game, but not like the others.  They wait outside of the board looking in. 
The informant strives to understand and anticipate each move; the Prophet seeks
to confuse him. 
As things are, there is no winner, only a mess of a game with two participants
who refuse to play by the same rules.  You sigh as you lament over the fact
that you have to be opponents rather than on the same side, but you simply
can’t risk it.  Izaya intends to take you out of the game, but you’re only just
getting started; there’s no way you can quit so soon, not when there’s so much
you could gain.
You doubt there’ll ever be a winner, but as long as the game goes, those in the
right positions will reap the benefits.  The risks, you decide once and for
all, are worth it.  You know it’s unreasonable, maybe even foolish, but you’ve
finally gone beyond caring.  You hope Izaya’s ready, because you’re about the
flip the whole damn table.  This game will never be the same again.
***** Diversion *****
Chapter Notes
     Hiiiiii.
     (anxious twiddling of thumbs)
     I'm not really back yet, but I'm trying to be. Here's this thing.
     (will come back to search for inevitable typos later)
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Getting pulled into the school bathroom by the forearm has become almost a
daily occurrence, so you don't even flinch when Rika does it to you the next
morning.  She spends a minute or two just staring at you before she actually
says anything.  "So?" she asks with obvious hesitation.
"Yeah?"
"Did you...yesterday...you know.  Did you do it?"
"Yeah."  You sigh.  "But not all the way."
 She pauses.  "You sound disappointed."
You are, but you're not going to say that out loud.  It's partly because of how
exciting this whole thing is, and partly because you're a little obsessed with
Izaya and teetering dangerously close to affection.  "I've just been thinking
about it," you say, "And I realized we have a lot in common."
"They call this 'sleeping with the enemy,'" Rika reminds you, "And it's
dangerous, because it's an easy way to get attached.  Or obsessed."
"I'm already obsessed.  But it's a good obsession," you tell her, "Good for
business, anyway.  I'm obsessed with one-upping him every chance I get."
She's quiet for a minute.  "I think this is like your version of post-orgasm
afterglow, and it kind of freaks me out."
Mai comes in not a moment later and you really hope she didn't hear any of
that.  She looks a little frantic, but otherwise fine, so you assume you're
safe.  "I was hoping to talk to you two yesterday," she says.  Rika glances
over with a "this is all you," expression because if she says something, Mai is
more likely to correctly deduce that it's a lie.  She doesn't expect it from
you.  You should really feel bad about this.
"I"m sorry," you tell her, "My mom wanted to have a family dinner, so I didn't
want to ask to leave."
You so don't, though.
If Mai's accepting nod is any indication, you've even gotten good at lying.
 "The truth is," she says, "I want to dedicate myself to the Prophet, like you
have."
Your train of thought derails.  It careens down a hill and straight into a
bustling village, where it plows through homes and schools and city hall,
leaving behind a path of carnage and destruction the likes of which you're kind
of sorry you even imagined.  What were you thinking about, again?
"I know it seems strange," Mai continues, "But sometimes, when you're weak, you
just need someone to rely on and put your faith in.  That person was Izaya
once, but I've come to see that the Ikebukuro Prophet is worth following."
Rika looks at you, and you look at her, and neither of you know what to say.
"I know you guys are trying to keep it a secret, but I want to help.  I'll do
anything."
"We'll tell the Prophet," you allow, "And let you know what we hear."  Mai
thanks you and steps out with only one last hopeful glance back before she
disappears, leaving you utterly confused.  Beside you, Rika shrugs.
"That's what I meant the other day.  Sounds like she's left Team Izaya, which
is good, and she'd like to join Team Prophet, which is awesome."
"You heard what she said, right?" you say uneasily, "She wants to 'dedicate
herself?'  I feel really weird about this.  Doesn't that sound creepy?"
"No, no, no," Rika says, shaking her head as she slings an arm over your
shoulder, "You're thinking about this all wrong.  We need to keep an eye on
her, right?  Both in a friend kind of way and a playing-the-underworld kind of
way, right?  And this would be the perfect way to do both at once, right?"
You shrug.
"Yes," she answers for you, "Yes, it is," and pats you on the back.  "Just wait
and see."  When not shaking in her boots at the sight of everyone's least
favorite informant, she certainly likes to play the mastermind.
Your phone gives off an audible buzz in your pocket and both of your gazes drop
before they rise again and she looks at you expectantly.  "I got it," you tell
her simply, and she deflates but nods shortly and leaves the bathroom, probably
going to chase down Mai and tell her she can join the Cult of the Prophet.
From Izaya: 08:27: Content
"Hear anything interesting since we last saw each other?"
From Izaya: 08:27: Content
"Either you're not as useful as I was hoping, or I'm getting played, too."
You'd actually forgotten that you had an end of the bargain to uphold and
scramble for something vague and useless.  But honestly, it's only been a day
since the last time you talked.  Does he really think the Prophet is so
careless that his giggling, high school girl lackeys could figure out his
identity in under twenty-four hours?
Apparently, yes.  Maybe you should be offended.
The last thing you want to do is give him reason to suspect you, and while
leading him to believe that you're stupid seems like a good way to lead him to
underestimate you, it would probably only make him trust you less.  You're not
quite sure what to tell him; you don't want to be too vague but you don't
exactly have a scapegoat ready.
Or do you?  Toyama comes back to mind, along with all the weird bullshit Izaya
sent you before that lead you to his blog.  So does your hesitation from when
Rika mentioned framing him as the Prophet, but you're beyond that now, and you
text him back, saying that you've been researching and will let him know after
you get out of class whether or not you're onto something.  He doesn't text
back; hopefully, it's a satisfactory answer.  You're not sure he'd say anything
even if it wasn't.
*
Investigating Toyama isn't just for Izaya; there's something in it for you,
too.  You've been meaning to get back to his blog, anyway.  You don't really
know anything about the stuff he writes about, but Izaya seemed to think it was
relevant, so you figure you  might as well start learning.
You tell Rika you've got business to attend to, and her eyes narrow in
suspicion.  "If I have to physically restrain you, I will," she warns you, and
you roll your eyes in response.
"Mind out of the gutter," you tell her, "I'm going home to do some research.  I
have to at least pretend I'm helping him, remember?"
"Just don't get too cozy.  This is not Romeo and Juliet, this is war!" she
cries almost theatrically at your back as you leave.  Good to know at least one
of you has your priorities straight.
You fly past your parents when you get home and head straight for the computer,
opening a search tab and quickly finding your way to Toyama's blog.  You try to
start reading from some of his earlier posts, but most of them read like
academic papers with words you've never seen before and half-page long
footnotes with references that you can't be bothered to look up, so you mostly
skim until you see one of the words you happened across last time.
"...Perhaps exformation and the so-called "heart-to-heart communication" are
related concepts, linked by their ability to pass along significant meaning in
a completely nonverbal manner.  Though they may seem inferior to the
hypothetical "telepathy" largely concerned in my area of study...."
You go back and reread the word telepathy about a dozen times before you
realize you're not misreading it.  There's no doubt that Toyama is an academic
of some sort, but last time you checked, telepathy wasn't a thing, much less a
thing any academic you knew of took seriously.
Of course, they probably wouldn't take you and your psychic cell phone
seriously, either.
The blog post goes on to say that Toyama has met with and even studied people
claiming to be telepaths or something similar, though he calls them "receivers"
and says that they don't necessarily read thoughts so much as they somehow come
into possession of "secondary information," or exformation.  He doesn't
disclose any further results, however, claiming he only wants to share his
research with like-minded and serious academics.  You figure he's probably been
mocked for studying telepathy and don't really blame him.
You give some thought to the best way to handle this; ideally, you'd like to
gesture vaguely in Toyama's direction whenever Izaya asks for information
rather than outright frame him as the Prophet, but if it comes to that, you
don't want a paper trail leading back to you.  The easiest way would be to
communicate without saying anything that could single you out, but you think
that if anyone knows how your cell phone works, it would be him.  This is the
perfect opportunity to figure out exactly what the Prophet is capable of.
You decide to send a private message.  You tell him the truth for the most
part--you think you're one of those "receiver" people he wrote about and you're
interested in his research out of curiosity and just personal interest.  You
try to type it out as eloquently as you can, hoping to pass yourself off as
someone a bit older, read it over once, and hit "send."  All you can do now is
wait.
Turning to your phone, you send a quick message to Izaya like you promised you
would, hinting a bit towards the blog with a few key words that he should
remember, just enough to whet his appetite, and are surprised by the near-
immediate response.  Someone's impatient.
From Izaya: 17:20: Content
"Keep up the good work."
From Izaya: 17:20: Content
"Well on your way to earning another reward."
You actually shiver at the word "reward," but remind yourself to stay focused.
 You'll have to start checking your e-mail and keeping up the correspondence
with Toyama if you want to continue to have things to tell Izaya.  It's getting
a little complicated--you're a regular high school girl, you're the Ikebukuro
Prophet, you're one of Izaya's henchmen, and you're an anonymous telepath
looking for some advice.  You're going to have to start writing this shit down
to keep it all straight.
In the meantime, though, your mom calls you for dinner, and you revert to
"normal high school student," close all your tabs, erase your browsing history,
and leave your room with a smile.
*
You're too impatient to wait until you get home and end up using the computer
lab at school during lunch to check for e-mails.  Sure enough, Toyama has
already gotten back to you.
Hello,
 I am writing to let you know that I received your e-mail and I am delighted
that you're interested in my research!
Mental fist-pump.  You're so awesome.
The first comprehensive study was completed two years ago, so the data is
relatively recent.  To briefly summarize, the project was centered on the
contrast and retrieval methods of information, used in this context to refer to
what data is conveyed by speech, and exformation, which refers to important
details omitted from speech for reasons such as conciseness, etc.  I found that
receivers are capable of obtaining an amount of exformation equivalent with how
much information they would normally be able to process.  The best conditions
were created when there was minimal background noise and visual distraction,
and the form the received exformation took varied, though was most frequently
auditory.
If this guy actually knows what he's talking about and isn't a total crackpot,
then there are apparently people running around Japan who hear what other
people are thinking.  You're not sure what else you were expecting when you
read the word "telepath," but then again, you definitely can't do that.  Maybe
you should suggest he do a research project on telepathic cell phones?
I have attached several of the graphs created from the end of the study as well
as some basic information about the demographics of the receivers who took
part.  If you'd like, I can send you the entire paper with the full details.
Ha ha.  You think you'll have to pass on that.
I'm curious if your experience is anything like what I described.  Recently,
I've been hearing about receivers whose range differs greatly from what I
previously observed, but I haven't had the opportunity to perform another
experiment.  Do you have any specific questions?
You're not sure you could fit them all in one e-mail, honestly.
It's fantastic that people capable of telepathy exist in the world!  I
encourage you not to be fearful of your own abilities, but to embrace them and
learn as much as you can about them.  
Regards, Toyama.
You're left feeling a little strange after reading the whole e-mail, maybe a
little guilty, maybe like Toyama, regardless of the validity of his studies,
seems like a pretty cool guy and you're about to ruin his life.  But more
immediately, you try to narrow down your questions to a few basic ones.  You're
still not sure he's for real, but other than a few curious moments in junior
high, you've never really spent a lot of time thinking of your cell phone and
the things it does through a scientific lens.  What if you figured out how it
worked a little better?  What if you found out you could do more with it?  The
Prophet already has an edge, but this could be the breakthrough that lets you
stay one step ahead of Izaya.  You can't waste this opportunity.
The cursor is hovering over the "reply" button when you hear Rika calling your
name from the other side of the room and almost jump out of your skin, not
having noticed her.  Glancing over the monitor, you see her standing with not
Mai but another girl, someone from your year who you don't really know well but
have seen in the hallway from time to time.  
"Hey," she says as they come closer, taking the seats on your left, "As a
fellow messenger of the Prophet, I thought you should meet one of his newest
recruits."  You try not to scowl at the shit-eating grin on her face.  "This is
Kazumi."
The newcomer is petite, almost an inch shorter than you with her hair cut
short, but she has a really intense stare, and you feel a little uncomfortable
when she looks at you.  "Nice to meet you," she says, sounding like she means
it, but she doesn't smile.
"Kazumi's in the tech club," Rika says proudly, "She knows her stuff, too.  She
used to hack websites for Izaya."  Your eyes widen when you look at the small
girl again.  Kazumi just shrugs.  "She's pretty tired of dealing with him,
though," your friend goes on, "So she's agreed to be our eye on the inside.
 The Prophet's first double-agent!  Isn't this great?"
You have about a thousand new worries right now, but you try to keep them
hidden.  "Yep.  Great."
Kazumi doesn't match Rika's enthusiasm nor your anxiety; she looks tired, and a
little bored.  "Can I go now?" she asks, "I'm hungry."
"Sure," Rika says, "You got my number, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay.  See ya."  
You watch Kazumi walk away over your computer and then duck your head back,
leaning in to whisper to Rika, "What the hell are you doing?"
"What do you think I'm doing?" she whispers back harshly, "Being the go-
between!  The Prophet is calling, and people are answering.  I don't see any
reason to turn away help.  And seriously, this new girl's crazy smart, she
knows everything about computers."
"How can we trust her?" you press, "You said she's a double-agent, which means
she's still working for Izaya.  What if she's reporting back to him and we're
the ones who are getting played?"
Rika looks like she's holding back a laugh.  "I think I know a thing or two
about playing people," she says confidently, and you're about to ask her what
the hell that's supposed to mean when she smirks and says, "You leave the
screening process to me, alright?  I've got it covered."  You decide you really
don't want to know.
"Okay.  Whatever.  Fine," you say, and go back to your e-mail.  "I've got my
hands full with this anyway."
She leans over to see what you're working on.  "What's up?"
"Toyama."
"The guy with the blog?"
"Yeah.  I'm trying to buy a little more time, and maybe figure some stuff out."
"Gotcha."  She stands from the desk and gives a false salute paired with a
farewell and takes off, probably going to find more hapless souls to fill the
ranks. 
You're not so sure you like the idea of your "empire" expanding much further;
it's hard enough to keep track of everything with just the two of you, and now
with Mai and Kazumi and whoever else RIka has in mind, it's just going to get a
lot more difficult.  Really, though, this isn't so much about keeping track of
things and more about trusting people, because you definitely don't trust
anyone.
You ask yourself, if everything goes wrong, if this blows up in my face, if the
shit really hits the fan, what do I do?
You don't have an answer yet.
You'd better get on that.
Chapter End Notes
     More questions, more planning, more characters. More Izaya in the
     next chapter.
     I'm working on it right this very second, so hopefully I'll have
     something when next week rolls around.
***** Denial *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It’s Friday afternoon, which means you and Rika should be sipping down fruit
smoothies at a cafe in downtown Ikebukuro and talking about normal people
things.
That’s not what’s happening, though.
You are with Rika, and you are in Ikebukuro, but you’ve got an extra tag along
and you’re most definitely not talking about normal people things.
Rika puts her elbows on the table and rests her chin on the backs of her hands,
smiling endearingly at the mousy Kazumi who sits beside you.  “Go on,” she
urges, and Kazumi keeps her gaze on the table and the banana-flavored smoothie
sitting untouched and melting in front of her.
You’re not sure why she bought it if she was just going to stare at it.
“I dunno,” she says uneasily, “What do you want to know?”
“Anything,” Rika says, waving a hand in a relaxed manner in an attempt to
dissolve some of the tension, “Tell us about yourself, your hobbies, your
history.  Let us get a better sense of you as a person.”
A formality, she’d told you excitedly earlier, the new standard for anyone
hoping to follow to Prophet.  Apparently, Kazumi had already passed, but you’re
supposed to pretend you’re still thinking it over.  Rika is really doing this
for your benefit, trying to give you the opportunity to voice your concerns and
get to know Kazumi, and you should be grateful, but you’re still a little
apprehensive.  The Prophet business has always consisted of just the two of
you.
Deep down, you think you have a bit of jealousy or something.  Rika is so happy
about Kazumi, and you feel a little bit like the jaded best friend who’s been
pushed to second place.  Pettiness has no place in your situation right now,
but you know it’s there.  You try to push it aside.
“I’d like to know what made you switch sides,” you say when Kazumi still hasn’t
come up with anything.
The girl’s eyes rise to meet yours.  Something about them--the way they’re
always tired and yet looking at everything with laser focus--really freaks you
out.  “Well,” she says, sounding unsure of herself, and that’s got to be part
of it, too; her timid voice doesn’t match her nearly expressionless face, “Have
you ever met Izaya?”
Oh, have you ever.
“In passing,” you answer.
“Then you already know why, at least a little.  You know he likes to play with
people.”
She’s going to have to be a lot more specific if she wants you to trust her.
 “Elaborate.”
“Well, it’s like,” she pauses to choose just the right wording, “Everyone has
hard times, that’s just how it goes.  Izaya likes to find people going through
hard times and just keep an eye on them for a while, and right before they hit
rock bottom, he swoops in and introduces himself.”  She takes a break to
finally sip at her smoothie, and you lean back in your chair, noticing that her
hands are shaking.  Is she nervous?  She’s been doing a good job of hiding it.
 “And then,” she continues, “He gets to know them.  Not like in a normal person
way, but in a cold and clinical way, like figuring out what makes them tick.
 And he pretends that they’re getting to know him, too, but nobody really does.
Then he offers a hand and pretends to pull them out of their rut, but only
about halfway before he lets them fall again, and he walks away without ever
looking back.”
Rika looks pointedly at you, and you’re not a telepath, but you’re pretty sure
she’s thinking something like,Are you getting all this?  Because I’ll write it
down for later reference if you need to be reminded of why you shouldn’t be
sharing the same air as Izaya any longer than strictly necessary.
“But what about you?” you ask, “I get that Izaya does those things to people,
but what specifically did he do to you?”
Kazumi shrinks back into her seat a little.  “Well, I….”  She looks anywhere
but your face.  “He’s got some dirt on me, I guess.”
Now you’re really curious.  Kazumi’s a little unnerving, but she doesn’t look
like the criminal type.  “That’s not unusual,” you press, “He’s an informant,
he has dirt on everyone.”
“Yeah, but,” she sighs and leans over the table, voice barely above a whisper,
“Look, I’ve done some stuff that I really, really shouldn’t have done, okay?
 I’m not talking ‘petty shoplifting’ bad, either, I’m talking cyber theft,
credit card numbers and government communications interception.”
You play with your straw while shooting her a wary look.  “And why did you do
that?” you ask.
Kazumi shrugs.  “Because I could.”
Rika takes over after that, asking a few follow-up questions about Kazumi’s
incredibly extensive criminal history that goes far beyond innocent hacking,
all the times Izaya bailed her out of a jam that let him blackmail her into
doing his dirty work, and a few other details, but you’re not really listening
too closely now, because Kazumi’s answer to your question has raised a red
flag.  You and Rika are not exactly the most scrupulous individuals because of
this Prophet thing, and you won’t try to argue to the contrary.  But you have
reasons for what you’re doing, reasons for lying and scheming and putting
innocent people in harm’s way, and even if they aren’t necessarily great
reasons, you still have them.  You’re concerned about what Kazumi might
potentially do when her track record includes the equivalent of domestic cyber
terrorism paired with justifications that are essentially “for the lulz.”
What you’re even more concerned about is the sparkle in Rika’s eye as she talks
to her.
“Now, the position you’re in requires a great deal of secrecy,” you hear Rika
say, “So I think you shouldn’t do anything that would attract attention to
yourself.”
If you could stop, you know, hacking the prime minister’s e-mail for fun,
that’d be great, okay?  Thanks.
Kazumi agrees to it easily enough, though any insistence that she’s stopped
doing those kinds of things already or doesn’t plan on continuing at a later
date is mysteriously absent.  “Tell the Prophet thank you,” she says as she
gets up to leave, taking her half-melted smoothie with her, “This really means
a lot to me.”
She disappears into the crowd in a matter of seconds, and Rika stretches her
arms over her head and yawns.  “So, convinced yet?” she asks.
You stare at her.  “I’m convinced of a number of things, but I don’t think any
of them are what you want to hear.”
She rolls her eyes.  “She’s got a pretty pathetic story.  Only child in an
upper-middle class family, never learned how to make friends with people her
own age because she was too busy playing on the computer.  Her dad’s an
investigator of some kind and taught her everything he knows, which is where
her own interest comes from.”
“Her dad’s an investigator?” you ask incredulously, “Are you kidding me?  This
is a disaster.  How did she get away with anything when someone living under
the same roof is an investigator?”  
“Because she knows exactly how they think and what they look for,” Rika says,
and you have to admit, it makes sense.  “She must’ve messed up somewhere,
though, because Izaya found out about her eventually.  And it’s not like I
brought her on board without checking her out, alright?  You notice how she
talks really quiet but has this deer-in-headlights look and her hands shake?
 Mai told me she wasn’t like that before.  Izaya pretty much broke her.”
“How would Mai know?”
Rika grins.  “Because she’d like to bump up the number of people we have on the
inside.”
You almost choke on your smoothie.  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up,” you say, but
Rika just keeps plowing ahead.
“Yeah, Izaya has no idea!  It’s gonna great.”
“Slow down,” you demand, “What are you talking about?”
“Mai’s helping us,” Rika says impatiently, “She’d been drifting away from Izaya
before, but now she’s trying to get back in his good graces, going over to his
place and spending time with him again.  He tells her stuff all the time,
doesn’t even think about it.”
“But….”  You don’t like this at all.  “Rika, I don’t know about this.”
“She’ll be fine,” Rika insists, “She’s still our friend, and we’ll still look
out for her.”
“I don’t mean that.” You bend the top of your straw absent-mindedly, looking
down at your drink and thinking of all of the conversations you’ve had at the
cafe before about things other than Ikebukuro’s underground.  “I feel like this
Prophet thing is getting out of hand, like we’re not the same people we were
before.”
“That’s not true,” she argues, but you cut her off before she can continue.
“When is the last time you did something that had nothing to do with it?”
She opens her mouth.  Closes it.  Opens it again.  Leans back in her chair.
 Slowly, her gaze drops to her lap.  She gives a frustrated huff.  
“Exactly,” you say, “And it’s not just you, it’s me, too.  When you told me we
were going downtown today, I thought we would hang out and talk about normal
things.”  She nods, looking a little guilty.  “I don’t want the Prophet to take
over my life,” you say softly, “Or yours.”
Her eyes soften and she looks up at you, but a moment later, her gaze is pulled
away from your eyes to somewhere over your shoulder and they’re wide again, and
you automatically stiffen when someone slides too easily into the empty chair
next to you.
“It must be hard,” Izaya says, leaning over the table towards you and sitting
similarly to how Rika was before, hands laced together and resting over top of
them, “Trying to balance your identities.”
You try not to panic.  “What do you mean?” you ask, voice wavering.
He chuckles.  “I mean the “you” that does her homework and comes home on time
like a good girl, and the “you” that’s at the beck and call of some mysterious
stranger.”
You relax just a little bit.  “It’s not easy,” you admit.
“I was just passing through,” he says, “But then I saw you two sitting here,
looking like you were about to cry.”  He reaches for you with one hand,
stroking your cheek in a surprisingly intimate gesture, and you feel heat
rising to your face.  “I simply couldn’t leave you without coming to see if you
were alright.”
You catch Rika’s expression out of the corner of your eye--she looks like she’s
going to be sick.
“Thank you,” you tell him, “I’m okay, though.  It’s not really as bad as you
make it sound.”
“I didn’t think it was,” he says, suddenly pulling his hand away as his grin
widens, “But who knows?  Maybe it’s awful, and you just don’t want to tell me.
 Humans put themselves through needless suffering so much more often than I
expect.  Maybe the Prophet’s holding something over your head.  Maybe you’re
feeling lost.  Or maybe….”  He stands up.  “You’re just waiting for something
better to come along.”
“Maybe,” you say, and the smile he gives you is heart-stopping.  Sometimes you
really wish he wasn’t a scumbag.
“I’ll see you around, voices of the Prophet,” he says, acknowledging Rika at
last, who looks like she was fine with being forgotten.  
The moment he’s out of earshot, she spits, “That guy seriously gives me the
creeps, how do you stand him?!” to which you can only shrug.
You get a text a moment later and eagerly check it.
From Izaya: 16:56: Content
“I’d be more than happy to cheer you up if you don’t feel well. ;)”
You’re almost mad at yourself for getting flustered at the flirty emoticon at
the end, because you’ve got to step up your game if you want to hold his
interest.  You know he’s only doing what he does because you’re his ticket to
the Prophet, but you don’t see anything wrong with enjoying it while it lasts.
From Izaya: 16:57: Content
“And maybe next time, we can go a little further.  I’d love to see your face
while I eat you out--”
You almost drop your phone and fumble to catch it, clutching it to your chest
as you debate whether or not you feel like you can read the rest in public.
 Holy shit, you weren’t expecting that, but maybe you should have?  You suppose
a message like that would have to be loaded with innuendo, but to actually see
it laid out plainly is startling.
“You know what?” Rika says, slamming her palms on the table as she stands up,
“I won’t ask, because I don’t even want to know.”
You get to your feet, too, putting your phone back in your pocket.  “Good,
because I don’t think I can repeat it.”
*
You and Rika make plans to hang out for real, and you split off from her a
little sooner than usual to get some figurines from the hobby store to update
your chess board.  You find yourself at the same shelf where you bought the
last few, and pick up some more little, plastic animals.  When you get home,
you carefully position the new additions on the board.
Mai, represented by a deer, gentle and innocent, is placed beside Izaya’s
camel.  Though not actually working for him, she has to appear that way for
now.  Rika, represented by a fox for her quick-wittedness, goes beside your
horse.  And Kazumi, whom you’ve chosen to represent with a cat due to her quiet
nature and still unclear motives, you place on your side of the board but not
too close to your piece.  
You keep the chess board in an empty storage cupboard at the bottom of your
closet so it won’t be disturbed, and as you slide the drawer back into place,
you kneel on the floor to look at the setup through the plastic, trying to
think like Izaya.  The Prophet hasn’t made any moves recently--business has
been going as usual, and you haven’t interfered with anything.  You know Izaya
is patient, but you wonder just how far that patience extends, and if making
him wait too long might not be good for you.  Business has slowed down lately
and a lot of people have felt pressured to pick a side in anticipation of--of
what?  You don’t know, and you doubt anyone else does, either.  They just know
something’s coming.
Your parents are uncharacteristically quiet over dinner.  You see the worry on
their faces and get a little tense.  Your dad starts the conversation with, “Is
everything alright at school?” and you’re immediately on the defensive.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”
“We’re just a little worried about you,” your mother says, “You’ve been acting
a little...odd lately.”
“Odd?”  You try to laugh it off.
“Secretive,” she elaborates.
Unhelpfully, Izaya decides to text you at that moment.  Your parents’ eyes
never leave you as you slowly take out your phone and check the message under
the table.
From Izaya: 18:42: Content
“What are you doing right now?”
From Izaya: 18:42: Content
“Would you rather be here, letting me have my way with you?”
“Is that Rika?” your mother asks, concern evident in her voice.  
“No,” you say, and then scold yourself,why the hell didn’t I just say yes?!
“Who is it?”
“Nobody,” you say lamely, and shoot a quick text back, asking him why he wants
to know.  What is up with his texts today?
“Sweetheart,” your mother says, “We don’t want you to feel like you have to
keep secrets from us.”
“I’m not.”
You get another text.
“Just invite him over,” your father says, and you freeze, looking up at him.
“Who?”
“Your boyfriend.”
Your parents must interpret your shocked silence as having hit the nail right
on the head, because a moment later, all of the tension is gone.  Your mother
laughs and your father rolls his eyes.  “I told you!” she says, “I knew it!”
“It didn’t necessarily have to be about a boy.”
“But it was!”
You check your phone while they debate who has better intuition.
From Izaya: 18:44: Content
“Just curious.”
From Izaya: 18:44: Content
“I would get you worked up first, squeeze your breasts and kiss your neck just
like last time.”
Is he...masturbating while he texts you or something?  The thought kind of
freaks you out, but it also makes something inside of you stir and heat spread
throughout your lower body.  Your parents are looking at you again and you
become acutely aware that this misunderstanding can definitely be used to your
advantage.
And also that it’s incredibly awkward.
“You could have just told us,” your mother says, beaming, “The way you and Rika
would always run straight to your room and be on your phones all night, I knew
something was going on.”
Apparently, you’re not nearly as discreet as you thought you were.
“When do we get to meet him?”
“It’s not like that,” you say, amending it with a, “Not yet, anyway,” when she
looks at you with obvious skepticism.
“So you haven’t asked him out yet?” she asks.
“No.  Not yet.”
She sighs happily and looks at your father with a warm smile.  “I remember what
that was like.”  He smiles, too, and then they’re staring into each other’s
eyes, and you use the opportunity to slowly get out of your chair.
You tell Izaya you’re at home not really doing anything.  He replies quickly
again.  It strikes you as unusual, considering the usual gaps of at least half
an hour that usually happen whenever you text.
From Izaya: 18:49: Content
“Well that’s not very interesting.”
From Izaya: 18:59: Content
“And you wouldn’t know whether or not to beg me to stop or keep going, because
even when you come, I’ll keep pounding into you and filling you up, until you
can’t take it anymore.”
You read over the words a second time and shiver, and very hesitantly, you ask
him what he’s doing right now.
From Izaya: 18:50: Content
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
From Izaya: 18:50: Content
“If you knew I was getting off thinking about you, I wonder how you’d feel?
 You’d probably like it.”
Knowing you’re right makes you unbelievably embarrassed, and a little more
turned on.  It’s bizarre because he seems to be just making normal
conversation, but at the same time, he’s unconsciously sexting you, and you
can’t quite wrap your head around it.  Once again, you’re dumbfounded by
Izaya’s ability to conceal the truth, and both thankful and a little terrified
by the power of your cell phone.
There’s a long period of silence that you spend laying on your bed, trying to
calm yourself down because you know your parents have been peering into your
room lately, and then you get another text.
From Izaya: 18:54: Content
“Are you free Sunday?”
From Izaya: 18:55: Content
“I can’t wait to see your reaction.”
Your face flushes at the possibilities of what he expects you to react to, and
you quickly tell him you are.
From Izaya: 18:55: Content
“You should come over.”
From Izaya: 18:55: Content
“Better yet, I wonder what Mai will think?”
And you are automatically not turned on anymore.  What does Mai have to do with
this?  You’re temporarily assaulted by panic and jealousy before you remind
yourself to calm down, calm down, it shouldn’t matter either way, but you’re a
little worried now.  Rika did mention that Mai’s been going over to Izaya’s
lately.  
Shakily, you type out a quick affirmative reply, and then turn your phone off
for a few hours.
Chapter End Notes
     Something else was supposed to happen in this chapter, but then the
     texts from Izaya started and I just.
     I don't know what happened.
     I guess Izaya being Izaya and unintentionally awkward family dinners.
     He'll make a much more prolonged physical appearance in the next
     chapter.
***** Encounter *****
Chapter Notes
     I wanted to give a quick thank you to everyone, new and old readers,
     for your continued support! It's good to be back.
     Also, I wanted to let you all know that I'm in the home stretch of a
     lengthy research paper that'll be due soon and need to give it my
     undivided attention, so I probably won't have an update ready next
     Saturday. I will be back the week after as normal, though!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Rika comes over on Saturday.  You had originally intended to go window-shopping
together in search of purses on sale, but you mention in passing that your
parents think Izaya is your boyfriend, and after she laughs so hard that she
starts to cry, you sit down for further discussion.
“Do you understand how hilarious this is?” she asks between gasps for breath,
“Do you really?  I don’t think you do.  Oh my god.”
You just shrug and check your e-mail, interested to find that Toyama has
replied to you.  Rika frowns when she sees what you’re doing, though.  “Hey,”
she says, “I thought we were going to do normal stuff today.”
“We will,” you promise, “Just let me check this real quick.  It’s important.”  
“Does it have something to do with your boyfriend?”  She covers her mouth when
she almost starts laughing again.
“No.  But it has to do with me.”  You glance down at your pocket.  “And my
phone.”
Curious, she leans over to read the e-mail with you.  
It’s good to hear from you again!  I’m glad you found the data useful.  Your
comment about your experience differing greatly interests me, and I would like
to hear more about that.  If you’d like, I’d be more than willing to help you
explore the limits of your abilities as a receiver. I believe you mentioned you
are located in Toshima, which works well, because I’m currently lecturing at
Rikkyo in Ikebukuro.
“You told him where you are?” Rika asks, sounding uncertain.
“Roughly,” you say with a shrug, “I’m trying to get him to trust me, and look,
it’s paying off.  He’s right close by.”  You skim the rest--thinly veiled
requests for you to elaborate on your “version” of being a receiver and
pleasantries--and start on a reply.  
“Well,” she says, “Just so you know, Izaya has been monitoring this whole
exchange between you and this Toyama guy.”
Your fingers freeze on the keyboard.  “And when were you going to share this
with me?”
“Don’t freak out,” Rika says with a laugh, and you’re a few seconds away from
doing exactly that, “I only found out yesterday when I talked to Kazumi
because, surprise, he wasn’t doing it himself, he was having her do it.  Your
tracks are covered now, though.”
You don’t feel reassured in the least, especially since Rika has apparently
been talking to Kazumi more than she’s been talking to you.  Turning away from
the computer, you give her your full attention.  “I’m going to need to know a
little bit more about what’s going on to not freak out.”
Sighing, she leans back in her chair, looking way too relaxed for the
situation.  “Here’s what’s been going on,” she says, “The text Izaya sent
intended for the Prophet that led to Toyama was bait.  He doesn’t think Toyama
is the Prophet, but he knew the Prophet would go to him for advice.”  She
hesitates.  “And you kind of walked right into that one.”
“You didn’t exactly stop me,” you argue, and she shrugs.
“Guilty, alright?  It’s not like I haven’t beat myself up about it already.
 The same day you sent the first message to Toyama, Kazumi contacted me, saying
she could help us and we could help her.  She doesn’t know it was you, I guess;
she said it was just some throw-away e-mail address.  I doubt it would’ve taken
her long to figure it out, though.”
You take a deep breath.  In other words… “If Kazumi hadn’t decided to turn on
Izaya, we’d have been finished right there.”
“Pretty much.”
You still don’t fully trust Kazumi, but you feel a little better about her than
you did before.  You don’t doubt that if she were really working for Izaya, she
could have just waited for a few more e-mail exchanges and then told Izaya all
about it.  But she didn’t; not only has missed her best chance, but she’s told
the people the Prophet works with about it.  The more you think about it, the
harder it is for you to think she’s against you.
“So she hasn’t told Izaya anything?” you ask, “Not even that the Prophet
contacted Toyama?”
“Nope.”
She’s even put you in a good position.  You can work with this.  Nodding to
yourself, you return to the e-mail you were writing.  “Good to know.”
Rika sits quietly for another minute or two before she starts fiddling with her
phone, and the next thing you know, you have a text message.
From Rika: 11:51: Content
 “Hey you know you’re my friend right?”
From Rika: 11:51: Content
 “Kazumi’s a good business associate and all, but I don’t like hanging out with
her like I do with you.  Just wanted you to know.”
You glance over at Rika, who’s turning her phone over in her hands anxiously.
 “What’d the second say?” she asks quietly, and you’re surprised at how upset
she sounds.  You don’t want to admit that it really does make you feel better
and a little less jealous.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you say.
She rolls her eyes.  “You wouldn’t have believed me if I just told you.”
The words sting a little, but you know she’s right.  “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
You finish the e-mail, hit “send,” and shut the computer down.  “I don’t know
about you, but I could definitely go for a fruit smoothie,” you tell her, and
she jumps out of the chair grinning.
“Lead the way.”
*
You don’t quite make it to the smoothie stand.
You’re a few blocks from the train station when you hear a commotion up ahead
and see a crowd of people gathered at the next corner.  As you get closer, you
see what you suspect was once a vending machine, now rendered useless and about
a third of its original size.  At the sound of shouting in the distance, you
look up the road and think you can make out two figures sprinting away.  You
look at Rika, and Rika looks at you, and from the smile on her face, you know
your normal day off has just come to a close.  Neither of you say anything, but
the next thing you know, she’s running, and you’re going after her.
Like Izaya, Shizuo Heiwajima is a household name in Ikebukuro, a legendary
monster in a bartender uniform who is responsible for a phenomenon now known as
“Street Cleaning” because of how quickly the thousands of people in any part of
Ikebukuro vacate the area and any debris left outside--be it non-burnable
garbage put out on the wrong day or things that are actually supposed to be
there, like traffic signs--are almost immediately relocated.  Street Cleaning
is a habitual part of life in Ikebukuro, promoting commerce and tourism, as
most people milling about nervously inside whatever store they’ve taken refuge
in will buy a magazine or coffee to pass the time, and many people find
themselves in new and interesting parts of Ikebukuro they never would have gone
to otherwise.
Right now, you’re experiencing the tourism angle for yourself, heading down
some small road in what is becoming a progressively sketchier part of town.
 “Maybe,” you huff, trying to keep pace with Rika, who is a few steps ahead of
you, “Maybe we should turn back?”
“No way!” she says, “This is a golden opportunity!  Are you seeing this?  He
just picked up a bicycle!  Imagine what we could do if we could get that guy on
the Prophet’s side….”
“Please, no,” you say, but apparently go unheard because Rika is still running.
 You lose them just a minute later, stumbling to a stop beside Rika as she
bends over with her hands on her knees, practically hyperventilating.  
“Dammit,” she gasps, “We’ve...we’ve gotta be...half their age!  How...how did
they...outrun us?”
You’re not as concerned about that as you are with trying to figure out where
you are, though.  Gone are the familiar restaurants and shopping centers that
the two of you frequent on Saturdays--you’re surrounded by seedy book stores,
high rises plastered with the faces of attractive men and women promising “a
good time,” girls in skirts too short to hide anything and guys with tattoos
peeking out of their jacket collars.  Rika is quiet even after she catches her
breath, and you think she must have caught on, too.  “Say,” she mumbles, “Did
we…?”
“Yep.”
“Is this…?”
“Yep.”
The east side of Ikebukuro is like any other red light district--ads for
“working girls,” not-really-but-definitely-yakuza hanging around, and just
being seen there might ruin one’s future from rumors alone.
“We ran in a straight line, right?” Rika asks, “If we just turn around and go
the other way, we’ll get back, right?”
You both know you made turns at least six times.
Somebody approaches you calling, “What’re you kids doing here?” and you both
turn, looking up at an older man in a white suit sneering down at you with a
couple of guys in darker ones behind him.
For once, Rika has absolutely nothing to say, and she looks to you for help.
 You scramble to come up with something, but you don’t think there’s an answer
you can give that won’t work against you.  Timid schoolgirls who wander in by
accident are seen as easy prey, but if you act like you belong there--or work
there--you’ll no doubt be made to follow through with your lie by
demonstration.  
“Let me guess,” he says after a few moments, “You’re looking for the
informant?”
There’s really not any reason to ask which one.  When you still don’t reply,
Rika says, “Um.  Yeah.  How’d you know?”
He scoffs, saying, “You look the type,” and the words, “what the hell is that
supposed to mean?” are undoubtedly on Rika’s lips but never leave her mouth,
because said informant arrives on the scene, miraculously not looking like he
just ran a marathon.  He must have finally given Shizuo the slip.
“Ah,” Izaya says, grinning as he approaches, “There’s my one o’clock
appointment,” and honest to god winks at you.  You don’t know how he could
possibly know that you’re using exactly that as an excuse to get out of the red
light district safely, but since he’s playing along, you don’t care.  He turns
to the man in the suit, whose scowl seems to widen in proportion to Izaya’s
smile.  “Protecting my girls from the dangerous streets of the east side?
 Thank you, Shiki, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Keeping track of your slaves isn’t my problem,” he snaps, “If you’re going to
have them meet you all the way out here, maybe you should start branding them
or something.  These kids are going to get eaten alive out here.”
“You’re getting soft,” Izaya says, and despite his lighthearted smile, his tone
becomes dark, “Or maybe you wanted them for yourself?”
The man in the suit is tall and imposing, his glare alone enough to silence
you, not to mention the thugs in sunglasses behind him.  And yet, Izaya stares
him down with his hands in his pockets, smiling and looking him in the eye.
 There are all kinds of threats going unsaid right in front of you, but for
once, you’re kind of glad you’re not a telepath, because you’re not sure you
want to hear any of it.
Eventually, Izaya’s opponent backs off, taking a drag from his cigarette and
saying, “We both know you’re the only one who likes them that young,” before he
turns and saunters away, and Izaya waits a few counts before turning to give
you his attention again.  The playfulness returns to his eyes again, but you
think you can still see the frightening glimmer from before, just buried
somewhere.  He suddenly looks a lot more intimidating than before.  He gestures
for you to follow him, and you do so silently.  When his arm snakes around you,
pulling you closer, Rika falls a step behind, despite your eyes pleading with
her not to put even that much space between you two.
“I’ll let you keep your dignity and won’t ask what you’re doing on this side of
town,” he teases, hand rubbing your shoulder, and you try not to be completely
freaked out because it’s really starting to sink in just how terrifying Izaya
can be, “But it really surprised me to see you here.  What would you have done
if I hadn’t come to the rescue?”
Your thoughts fly back to the man’s words--get eaten alive.  
“It’s alright,” Izaya says, “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here,” and you can’t
believe it, you’ve practically handed him blackmail material.  “Just promise me
I won’t find either of you here again for a few years.”
“Promise,” you and Rika can’t get the word out fast enough.  
Slowly, you make your way into familiar territory, coffee shops, department
stores, Russia Sushi, and Izaya stops.  “Now be good,” he says, squeezing your
shoulder one last time before leaving, and Rika finally exhales.  
“I am so sorry,” she says immediately, “That was stupid.  I was stupid.  God, I
know that isn’t good enough, I can’t believe we just--!”
“It’s fine,” you say, feeling done with everything, “Let’s just...have a normal
day now.  Please.”
She salutes.  “Smoothies on me.”
As you get in line, you feel your phone buzzing in your pocket and hesitate a
moment before checking it, already fairly certain that you know who it is.
 Everything you’ve heard and seen today has rattled you more than everything up
to this point, because you’re realizing that you and Rika and maybe even Kazumi
really have no idea what you’re doing.  You’re just a bunch of stupid kids--you
thought you were so smart before, but it turns out you weren’t fooling anyone.
 Even your parents knew you were acting funny, and though they may have drawn
the wrong conclusions, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been getting by
so far on misunderstandings and coincidence rather than skill.
You should quit while you’re ahead.  You should quit being the Prophet and tell
Izaya you can’t help him anymore and just be a normal person for the rest of
your life.  But you think about how sloppy you’ve been so far, about the things
Izaya knows about you, about the things you might’ve let slip, about all of the
dirt he has on you.  Maybe part of it’s paranoia, but with someone like Izaya,
being paranoid is a safety precaution.  The way you see it, pulling out of the
game now, if it doesn’t automatically give you away, will only prompt Izaya
into blackmailing you.
So you have no choice.
You told yourself before that you crossed the point of no return, but you were
just being dramatic.  This is the point of no return, right here, right now,
and having a change of heart sucks because you’re in too deep.  Reluctantly,
you check the text.
From Izaya: 1:38: Content
“Are we still on for tomorrow?”
From Izaya: 1: 39: Content
“Red light district, huh?  My guess is it was an accident.”
For some reason, you’re happy that this is the opinion Izaya draws, and not
even in an insincere, trying to pull the wool over his eyes kind of way.
 You’re just glad he doesn’t think you’re the kind of person to hang around
there.  You’re feeling a little nervous still, but you eventually text him back
that yes, you are, and you don’t hear back from the rest of the afternoon,
which is fine.
You and Rika get your smoothies and sit in your favorite spot, but neither of
you can seem to think of anything to talk about.  Instead, your eyes wander the
crowd in search of familiar faces, local legends, gang members, nefarious types
that you never thought you’d ever recognize.  
I’m the Prophet, you think, and it really sinks in.  Izaya is metaphorically
turning the city upside down looking for you, and there are people who fear
your power and even worship you.  They don’t know who you really are.  Maybe
you just have to think the way they must imagine you do, like some skilled
tactician with years more experience than you have.  Like Izaya.
The thought doesn’t bother you as much as it should.  All you have to do is
start thinking like Izaya, exercising his caution and restraint, only moving
when you are absolutely certain.  No more going about this like the high school
kid you actually are.  Of course, to think like Izaya, you’re going to have to
get to know him a little bit better, a task that anyone will tell you is
impossible, but that you’re going to have to commit yourself to.
You make plans for tomorrow; what you should wear, what you should and
shouldn’t say, the questions you need to ask.  Start small, one step at a time.
There’s an empire that’s been waiting for you, if only you’d just accept it.
 Tomorrow, you’ll tell Rika that you’re willing to start recruiting for your
cause. Tomorrow, you’ll play Izaya exactly the way he thinks he’s been playing
you.  
Tomorrow, you stop treating this as an exciting pastime and start thinking of
it as the high-risk business venture it actually is.
Chapter End Notes
     Next time: More bad decisions, more self-discovery, and a lot more
     Izaya.
***** Leaping Without Looking *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm bumping up the rating because things like this chapter are going
     to start happening a little frequently. There is still plenty of plot
     in between, though. A good subtitle for this fanfiction would be: How
     to abandon your morals for momentary excitement, a step-by-step
     process.
     (Also, I've never actually written out the fine details in things
     like this, so apologies for any clunky wording. I'll get better, I
     promise.)
Sunday morning comes too early.
You’ve been rehearsing in your head since last night, anticipating questions
and coming up with coy responses, tried to think of the best ways to handle
whatever Izaya might throw at you.  But an hour after your alarm goes off,
you’re inspecting your reflection in the mirror--a quarter-sleeve shirt, a
skirt that’s a daring inch shorter than the one you wore last time, tall socks
to leave just a hint of that “absolute territory” you hear is such a turn on--
and you know you’re not ready.  It might be to your benefit not to be so
prepared, though, since sounding rehearsed wouldn’t do you any good.  But you’d
honestly rather be too prepared than not at all ready when it comes to dealing
with Izaya.
Your parents, who are so sure they know everything about you, just smile
knowingly when you give a quick greeting on your way down the stairs, going
straight to the computer in the next room to check your e-mail.  Towards the
top of your list of Things to Do to Rule Ikebukuro is score really high on your
next test and ask for your own laptop, since it’s both inconvenient and
dangerous to be using the family computer for anything at all.  According to
Rika, Kazumi has sworn an oath to simply keep the correspondence a secret and
never read any of the messages, but to cover your bases, you’ve asked Rika to
convince her that the Prophet is masquerading as an adolescent girl in his
digital communications.  No word on whether or not she buys it yet, but you’ll
worry about that when the time comes. 
To your surprise, you haven’t heard back from Toyama yet.  In your last
message, you chose to tell him that your “receiver” ability also seems to
appear in your cell phone, and you figured he’d be all over that.  A bit
disappointed, you close out of it and head for the door.
The walk to the train station has your heart pounding.  Izaya, too, has been
uncharacteristically quiet today, though you think it’s because he doesn’t feel
the need to check and see if you’ll be keeping your appointment.  Risking his
disappointment isn’t something someone in your position should even think about
doing, after all.  In no time at all, you’re standing on the man’s doorstep
again, and even though you know you should be used to it by now, it still makes
you pause when you stop to think about how you got here.  You put on what you
hope is a mischievous smile and give the door a soft knock, surprised when it
gives and swings in a bit, not completely closed.  You stand frozen in the
hall, unsure if you’re supposed to wait or just go in since the door’s very
clearly open.  Glancing over your shoulder self-consciously, you push the door
the rest of the way open and slip inside, and you’re pretty sure your sharp
intake of breath is audible.
Sitting on the couch where you usually would is Mai, a smile tugging at the
corners of her lips.  Izaya is sitting beside her, close enough that their legs
are touching, and he’s in the middle of saying something to her when his eyes
catch yours and he grins.
“I didn’t expect you so early,” he says, drawing Mai’s attention to you.  Mai
looks a bit like you remember her as she cozies up beside the informant;
strong, beautiful, without a care in the world.  She smiles at you as Izaya’s
hand on on her knee moves up just a bit, and you’re not sure what you’re
supposed to be reading from it, because your reasoning is completely overrun by
irrational, red-hot jealousy.  “Silly me, scheduling all of these appointments
on the same day,” Izaya says lightheartedly, moving away from Mai after what
you think is far too long, and standing from the couch.  She follows his
movements and heads towards you on her way to the door, and it’s only when her
fingers come to the front of her blouse that you notice all of the buttons are
undone.  Her pace slows deliberately when she reaches you, and she stops just a
moment, smile widening with some emotion you can’t identify, before she slips
past you and into the hall.  The door slams shut behind her.  
Izaya stands in front of you now, that infuriating, perpetual smile on his
face, eyes half-lidded and clothes a little disheveled like he’d dressed in a
hurry, and you don’t know what to say to him.  There are things you want to say
or ask, notions you try not to entertain for more than a second because you
know you shouldn’t think like that, can’t think like that, can’t be possessive
about something that’s not yours.  But this thing you have with Izaya is
intoxicating and impairing your judgment, and even though something in the back
of your mind that sounds suspiciously like Rika is telling you that you’re
being dumb, the rest of you really wants this game and this excitement.  
You want him.
“Jealous?” Izaya asks, voice low and husky.  You know he’s messing with you,
that messing with people is what he does, but you still find yourself nodding
when he takes another step closer, mouth dry, words escaping you.  Izaya shoves
you playfully and you find yourself with your back pressed to the door as he
rests his forearm against it beside your head and leans in to whisper, “Want to
do something about it?”
The honestly surprised look on his face when you cup your hands around it and
pull him down to meet you is all it takes to convince you that, no matter the
outcome, you aren’t going to regret doing this.  The kiss is sloppy and
amateurish on your part, bumping foreheads and teeth a few times, but if
anything, Izaya is only spurred on by this, his own fervor increasing as he
slips his hands beneath your shirt and runs them over your skin, the urgent
touches leaving you wanting more.  When he grinds against you, you feel him
hardening against your leg, and something like a moan escapes your lips.  This
isn’t anything like the last time you were here; Izaya was meticulous and
detached then, watching you come apart under him.  Now he’s almost as frantic
as you are, greedy and wanting, and that's even more exciting.  It makes you
wrap your arms around him and hold on with a grip strong enough to leave
bruises.  If he’s with someone else, you want them to see the marks, want them
to wonder who he got them from.  You loosen your grip and let one of your hands
wander down his chest, but you become timid again when you brush the front of
his pants.  Izaya growls, hands finding your ass through your skirt and
squeezing, sending a shiver down your spine, and your mind becomes a little
hazier.  You palm him experimentally through his jeans and you can feel his
breath coming in puffs against your ear.
“Take it out,” he says hoarsely, not giving you the opportunity to become
nervous again as one of his hands slips into your underwear, fingers massaging
your womanhood.  Your knees are shaking and you’re letting out some really
embarrassing sounds, but you manage to get the button on his pants undone and
pull the zipper down enough to reach in.  
Izaya is big.  You don’t exactly have enough experience to make a comparison,
but he feels hot and heavy in your hand, a bead of pearly white liquid at the
tip.  You’re anxious but it only makes you go faster rather than slow down,
giving a light squeeze and watching Izaya’s face scrunch up before you start
sliding your grip over his cock, all the way down to the base and back to the
tip.  
Suddenly, he tears away from you, and you’re left panting and red-faced and
cold until he pulls you by the arm past the couch and around the corner into
his bedroom.  The bed is completely undisturbed, a detail you don’t notice
right now but will later reflect on with relief.  Izaya kisses you again,
swipes his tongue over your lips to get you to open for him, and starts pulling
at your clothes.  Time is working in funny ways right now, so you don’t know
how long it takes for you to get completely undressed, but the next thing you
know, your clothes are in a pile on the floor and his are quickly joining them.
 Izaya forces you to back up until your knees hit the bed and you fall onto it,
and he directs you to turn onto your stomach before he climbs over you.
Your entire body tenses when you feel his cock poking your naked thigh, and
heat rushes to your head, along with a little sudden lucidity.  “W-wait,” you
squeak, frightened, not sure he’ll even let you back out at this point, “Wait,
I don’t...I don’t know….”
Izaya reaches around to cup your breasts in both hands the way he did before,
rolling your nipples between his fingers and drawing long moans from you as he
says, “It’s alright.  Spread your legs a little.”
“But….”
“We’re not going that far today,” he says, “I didn’t think we’d go this far,
honestly.”  You expected him to be disappointed, but you hear the smile in his
voice.  “Relax.  The whole point is to feel good, right?  I wouldn’t do
anything you won’t enjoy.”  Going against everything you know about Izaya
Orihara, you trust him, and your legs open just a bit.  His cock slides in
between your hips, and you shiver when you feel the veins pulsing against your
clit.  “Now close them,” he murmurs, still toying with your breast, and you do
as you’re told.  
You’re rewarded immediately; Izaya begins moving his hips, cock rubbing against
your womanhood with each thrust, and he licks a long, hot trail from your neck
to your ear, nipping at the flesh along the way.  You feel yourself responding
to his touches, arching your back and pressing your body against his, wanting
to be even closer, to melt into him.  The hands on your breasts continue
pinching and teasing, and as his pace increases, the bed lets out soft,
protesting creaks.  All you can smell is Izaya, the faintest traces of whatever
cologne he usually wears, his sweat and his body.  All you can feel is Izaya,
his hands, his tongue, his cock.  All you can think of is Izaya; Izaya, Izaya,
Izaya, and nothing else matters--not Kazumi, or Rika, or Mai, or Ikebukuro, or
the Prophet.  It’s just the two of you in his bed, skin sliding against skin,
breathing heavy, abandoning all of your carefully thought out plans and schemes
for a moment of pure, animalistic instinct.
And it ends too soon.
You try to hold on, but climax wracks your body with shudders, a moan tearing
from you as you push your body back against his, and Izaya’s hips are slamming
against yours as you bring him to the edge, cock pulsing, and you feel
something wet splashing on the insides of your thighs.  Izaya rolls you both
over so you lay over top of him, your head on his chest, and you both stay
there, catching your breath, for a few minutes.  The reality of what you just
did comes crashing down hard as the afterglow wears off, and you suddenly feel
a rush of panic and embarrassment and shame.  You try to lift your head slowly
to locate your clothes on the ground, but Izaya pulls you back down.
“What’s the hurry?” he laughs breathlessly, “Sorry, but you’re going to have to
give me a minute.  I’m not as young as I used to be.”  His hand stays on your
head, and he gently threads his fingers through your hair in a surprisingly
intimate gesture.  “Just stay put for a moment.”
You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything.  It takes you a while to
relax, but when you do, you hear the satisfied sigh that Izaya gives.  The
guilt is still there, though, and you don’t think you can reason it away.
 Rika’s the only one who knows about this, and even she doesn’t realize the
full extent of your attachment to Izaya.  You know that there isn’t a person
alive who really knows you inside and out--not her, not your parents, not Mai
or Kazumi or any of your devoted followers, and certainly not Izaya.  But when
you try to put a finger down on this elusive “real you” that you’ve been
hiding, you have trouble coming up with a definitive answer.  If you’re not
really the Prophet or one of his followers, and you’re not really a regular
student or the good girl your parents think you are, and you’re not really a
double-agent for Izaya, then what--and more importantly, who--are you?
You’re not sure you have an answer.  
When you glance up at Izaya’s face, dark eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks as
he rests his eyes, looking almost serene post-orgasm, you think he’s helping
you find out.  All of the masks you’ve had to wear to stay on your toes around
Izaya has gotten you thinking about what’s underneath them, and maybe that’s a
good thing.  Your peers have all at least started their periods of self-
discovery, seeing different people, wearing different clothes, doing different
things.  Your reclusive tendencies have stunted your growth in that department,
but Izaya has forced you out of your shell and put you in situations that have
made you examine yourself and what’s really important to you.  Sometimes, the
things you’re capable of and the things you’re willing to do scare you in
hindsight, but you don’t think you can turn your back on that part of yourself,
either.
So it’s about the Prophet, and about having fun, and about being smart, and
about finding out what kind of person you are underneath all of that.  You’re
going to stop complaining about how complicated things are getting, because
there isn’t a single aspect of your life that’s simple anymore.
*
“Who was that guy the other day?” you ask, sitting on Izaya’s couch like
normal, “From when Rika and I were on the east side, I mean.”
You had wondered if things would resume as if nothing had happened, but Izaya
is sitting closer to you than he usually does, not touching, but maintaining a
physical closeness as though some barrier that had been between you isn’t there
anymore.  “Oh, you must mean Shiki,” he says, smiling with a distant
expression.  He seems to be remembering something.  “He’s an occasional
customer.  He’s not particularly fond of me, but he’s not too proud to hire me,
either.”
“Is he yakuza?”
“The Awakusu organization, in fact.”  The ease with which he divulges
information to you now is satisfying, but you know you’re expected to return
the favor.
“I’m exploring a lead on the Prophet,” you say, and Izaya looks interested.
 “It’s something I stumbled upon online.”
“Online?” he repeats, “I wouldn’t bother.  A single false lead is all the more
I’ve gotten from online investigation.”  It could be that he doesn't want you
to waste time with something he's already looked into, but that he tells you at
all is still encouraging.  Izaya doesn't "trust" you any more than you "trust"
him, but you've wormed your way into his circle of business associates, at
least.
According to Rika, he’s already dismissed Toyama as a possible suspect, going
as far as to use him as bait.  Getting him to second-guess himself is going to
be tricky, but could give you an edge for a while.  “I won’t spend too much
time on it,” you say, “Give me just one more week, and I’ll be able to tell you
definitively if it’s a dead end.”
“Oh?  And what exactly did you find?”
“A blog.”  He loses interest immediately, so you make a gamble, “I hacked into
the author's e-mail, and I think he’s been corresponding with his followers.”
He’s suddenly very interested again.  “You should really be careful,” he says,
smiling widely, “Those kinds of things can get you into a lot of trouble if you
get caught.”
He thinks he has leverage on you, that you’ve just walked into another
opportunity for him to blackmail you later, and with the excited rush you’re
getting from your little lie, you're simply unable to stop what comes out of
your mouth next.  “I know it’s wrong,” you say with a shaky smile, “But I’m
willing to do it to help you.”
You are laughing so hard inside at the utterly pleased look on Izaya’s face.
“And you’ll be rewarded for all of your hard work,” he says, reaching for your
hand and smoothing his thumb over it.  You feel heat rising to your face again
and turn away, embarrassed.  “I shouldn’t keep you any longer.”
“Right,” you say, but there’s still a question burning in your mind that you’ve
been avoiding so far, and even though you don’t really want to ask, you think
not knowing the answer would be worse.  “Um.  Mai was here earlier, right?”
He just smiles, seeing no reason to confirm what you already know.  “What you
mean to ask is why, isn’t it?”  He moves a little closer.  “I’m afraid I don’t
know exactly why.  But if I had to guess....”  Izaya’s lips brush your ear.
 “It’s just because she wants to be here.”  That’s not what you wanted to hear,
and it must show on your face, because when he pulls away, he puts a hand on
your cheek and has a smile that is probably supposed to be tender.  “You don’t
have to worry about a thing, though.  You’re far more interesting.”
You won’t admit that it actually reassures you when he says that.  
*
Your allowance has taken a hit thanks to your frequent visits to the hobby
store, and in the interest of saving money, you just use a rook to serve as
Shizuo’s placeholder, placing it in the middle of the Ikebukuro rabble, a mass
of pawns.  With much deliberation, you end up moving Mai’s piece over to
Izaya's, but you’re still not sure what to make of what happened earlier.  On
one hand, she looked like she was enjoying herself, and it’s not like you can
really judge her on what she does in her free time, or who for that matter.  On
the other, there's definitely something weird going on.  You wonder if it could
have something to do with the Prophet, or worse, something Rika might have
suggested she do.  The entire situation has everyone acting strangely, you most
of all, taking huge risks and telling lies.  
Izaya is going to want proof of these email correspondences Toyama “the
Prophet” is having, but you think Kazumi can help you come up with some
convincing fakes.  You’ve given yourself a week to get the information you want
out of him, and you intend to use every second.  Izaya still seems pretty
confident, and you’d like nothing more than to ruin that for him.
You think a slightly-more aggressive Prophet would throw him off pretty good.
***** A Change in Strategy *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter is dedicated to TrickedThem for reminding me that there
     is a chat room in DRRR!!. (The Prophet is not involved in it...yet.)
     Thank youuuuu!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Setton: I heard something interesting today.
Setton: People say the Prophet is on the move again.
Taro Tanaka: Hasn’t he always been on the move?
Setton: No, he was quiet for a little while, at least more than usual.
Setton: He’s new to Ikebukuro, after all, something probably scared him.
Kanra: The Prophet?  Scared?  Pfft.
Setton: It’s just a guess.
Setton: It’s mysterious, though, isn’t it?
Setton: This person who can discern any truth.
Bakyura: Is that for real?
Bakyura: I keep hearing Prophet this, Prophet that….
Saika: I don’t think it’s impossible.
Kanra: It does seem like anything’s possible in Ikebukuro lol
Bakyura: Hmm…
Bakyura: Maybe I should try it…
Saika: Really?
Setton: Let us know how it goes!
Bakyura: Nah, I’m just kidding.
Bakyura: I don’t need anything like that, even if he is real.
Kanra: Really, Bakyura?
Kanra: Maybe I’LL go instead, then!
Kanra: There are all kinds of things I want to know!
Taro Tanaka: Like what?
Kanra: That’s a secret~
Taro Tanaka: Aw you can tell us lol.
Bakyura: All the people I know go for stupid reasons, like
Bakyura: “OMG DOES THIS GUY LIKE ME?!!!1”
Setton: That’s not so bad.
Setton: No matter how petty it seems, I don’t think there’s really any stupid
reason.
Setton: If you could know any little thing from any text message, wouldn’t you
want to find out?
Setton: Truth is such a rare commodity these days.
Bakyura: Wow
Bakyura: Deep stuff man
Kanra: In that case, I guess I should go after all.
Kanra: I’ll find out how he feels about me!!
Taro Tanaka: That’s not what you’re really going to find out, is it?
Kanra: lol of course not
Kanra: How much does he charge?
Kanra: You know, for future reference
Bakyura: lol sure
Setton: 10,000 ￥
Saika: 5,000 actually
Taro Tanaka: Wait, really?  
Taro Tanaka: Since when?
Saika: Since yesterday.
Saika: There is some kind of special condition, though, I believe.
Bakyura: Half-off, huh?  Wonder what’s going on
Taro Tanaka: Funny, seems like we’ve all been keeping up on pricing.
Setton: I’m sure everyone who’s ever heard of the Prophet has had a fleeting
thought about going.
Kanra: Alright, it’s decided!  
Kanra: I’ll go tomorrow!
Bakyura: Ehhh, I’m still not sold on it
Kanra: Suit yourself~ More truth for me
Taro Tanaka: lol Kanra it’s not like the Prophet has a monopoly on truth or
something
Taro Tanaka:...does he?
Bakyura: How does somebody have a monopoly on truth?
Saika: Well, if he’s the only one who knows the truth, doesn’t that count for
something?
Setton: There definitely isn’t anybody else who offers the same service.
Taro Tanaka: Hold on, that sounds dangerous, doesn’t it?
Taro Tanaka: It’s all innocent kid stuff now, but what if the Prophet gets
involved in other things?
Kanra: Taro Tanaka, I think it might be too late to worry about that.
*
 
It’s Monday afternoon, and you and Rika are sitting on the edge of the fountain
in Ikebukuro park, surrounded by color gang members.  Rika has a sly smile and
her hands resting delicately over her crossed legs, looking like a queen on her
throne.  She knows the names of each and every one of the delinquents around
her and addresses them all like they’re old friends.  You’re not exactly a
social butterfly, but you think Rika’s charisma is abnormal.  
“What’ve you got, Hiro?” she asks one of the guys closer to her, an imposing
man in a crisp suit.  Without hesitating for even a moment, he takes his phone
out of his pocket, presses a few buttons, and hands it to her.
“I don’t know if it’s anything useful.  I used to have frequent exchanges with
Orihara, but working with him is a gamble, and I’m not interested in taking
risks any more than I have to," he says lowly, and you don’t miss the casual
sweep his eyes make across the park, as if waiting for the informant to appear
at the mention of his name.  You wouldn’t put it past him.  "I had a question
for him about whether or not our territory is being encroached on, but I think
I’d rather ask the Prophet.”
Rika’s eyes light up as she scrolls through the conversation, apparently
finding something she likes.  “I understand completely,” she says and glances
pointedly at you, reminding you of the clipboard in your lap and the reason
it’s there.  You hurriedly pick it up again and start filling out the boxes you
drew in the lines--client’s name, request, and whether or not they had any
information on Izaya.  Your phone is in your pocket and is set to neither ring
nor vibrate, and yet you feel a light tingling on your spine when you see Rika
forwarding the messages your way.  It’s something that always seems to happen
when you’ve got your phone somewhere on your person, as if you can feel the
transfer of information.  It’s one of many questions you intend to ask Toyama,
who you’re thinking you might have to meet in person just once.
“Step right up, don’t be shy!” Rika says brightly as she hands Hiro his phone
back, smiling in a warm and welcoming way at the rest of the people gathered
around.  “For a limited time only, the Prophet will be taking any text
correspondences between you and Izaya Orihara in exchange for a discount.  We
have a strict confidentiality policy--as long as you don’t tell him you’ve
switched to a quicker, more affordable service, then neither will we.”
If, for some reason, the Prophet ever needs commercials, you already know who’s
going to star in them.
“How about you, Kichi?  What’ve you got?”
And it goes on.  Rika is friendly and personable with each and every one of the
rough-looking people clustered near her, dumb kids, small-time crooks, yakuza;
it doesn’t matter to her as long as they’re paying.  You keep jotting down
names and job details--part of a plan to keep track of your clientele and stay
a little more organized--and Rika keeps taking and hand back phones, forwarding
you message after message and making you feel like someone’s tapping on your
back from the inside.  You’d hesitated to settle on Ikebukuro Park as a
business place, in broad daylight no less, but it won’t matter even if Izaya
does stumble upon you.  Your clients knew the risks coming in--you’re sure
word’s already spread to all of Ikebukuro that the Prophet is trading texts
from Izaya for half-off of their questions for the Prophet--and Izaya is
confident you’re playing a double-agent, patiently biding your time as Rika’s
shadow and waiting to overthrow her as the Prophet’s new mouthpiece.
With the huge amount of new requests, you know you’re going to be busy, but
it’ll pay off.  That personal computer you were hoping to get is as good as
yours after just a single night, and who knows how much more you’ll make for
the rest of the week?  You don’t want to keep up the half-price deal for too
long--”This is a business we’re running here,” a suspiciously Rika-like voice
reminds you in the back of your head--but while it’s still going, you’re going
to get your hands on as many of Izaya’s text messages as you can.  
The sky turns orange with sunset, and Rika taps on your leg as she gets to her
feet and says, “Sorry, but that’s it for today.  If you didn’t get your request
in yet, we’ll be here again tomorrow.”  You clutch the clipboard to your chest
and follow her closely, expecting trouble, but you watch in awe as the crowd
actually parts for her, glancing back over your shoulder in disbelief.  Rika
claps a hand on your shoulder, grinning.  “I don’t know about you, but I could
get used to this.”
You laugh.  “The boom in business is only because the usual fee was halved.”
“It might start that way, but just you wait.”  She’s excited despite her hushed
tone, her eyes shining.  “We’re going to have a regular client base that’s more
than just the girls from homeroom.  We’ve got color gangs and yakuza now, and
they’re gonna tell all of their associates about the Prophet and how he’s
everything they like about Izaya, but better.”
You can’t help the smug smile that works its way onto your face at the thought
of stealing Izaya’s customers.  As you reach the station and start down the
stairs, one armed linked with Rika’s and the two of you giggling stupidly, you
wonder just how far you should take this.  Of course, the plan is to ride this
wave as long as you can and make him sweat a bit, but if you really get the
jump on him, do you actually want to put him out of business?  You could
probably make a truce of some sort, maybe benefit from one another’s work by
becoming partners.
Except, you can’t.  You can’t, because that’s your hormones talking.  He’d
never go for that.  More importantly, neither should you.  Yes, you want to
outdo Izaya Orihara, and yes, you want to completely topple the empire he’s
built for himself in Ikebukuro.  The only reason you should even consider a
truce is if he comes begging on his hands and knees.  He’s not the type to
grovel, and you know it, but the mental image brings a smile to your face.
A smile that quickly vanishes the moment you reach the platform and notice
someone approaching you, someone just a bit taller with longer hair, someone
you’ve been trying to avoid since Sunday.
Mai.
“Hey,” she greets both you and Rika with a wave and a smile that isn’t out of
the ordinary.  You still regard her with suspicion.
Rika, whom you have wisely chosen not to say much about Sunday to, is
oblivious, and suddenly reverts back to “Prophet spokesperson” mode, putting on
her PR smile.  “Hey, Mai,” she says, “How’s it going?”
“Great,” Mai tells her, smiling a little wider, and smiling specifically at
you.  It’s a little weird.  
The train slides to a stop and all three of you get into the same car, you and
Rika sitting below the window while Mai stands over you.  She leans down a bit
and lowers her voice.  “I’ve gotten back into Izaya’s good graces,” she says,
and Rika stiffens, eyes darting around the train car nervously.  “Don’t worry,
he’s at home right now,” Mai says, “I doubt he’ll be leaving for a little
while.”
You are staring at Rika, trying to spontaneously develop true telepathic
communication so you can tell her to please for the love of god don’t ask her
how she knows--!
“How can you be sure?” Rika asks uneasily.
Mai laughs, short and quiet, glancing at you only briefly.  She looks proud of
herself, like she’s expecting you to praise her for something.  “He likes to
stay in for the night after having guests,” she says, innuendo laced through
the way she says the last word, “And I was just there.”
Oh goddddddd.
Rika isn’t naive; she catches the implication and her face flushes slightly,
probably embarrassed for Mai, since your senior appears completely shameless.
 “Wow, that’s...um.  Have you been spending a lot of time there or something?”
“A bit,” she shrugs, “I’ve got his usual routine down by now, but he’s been a
little hesitant to let me in on anything important.”  The carefree smile
returns to her face too easily.  “Looks like your stop is coming up.  Text me
later, alright?  I’ve got some information for the Prophet.”
“Will do,” Rika says, all business again, and you hesitantly get to her feet as
the train slows.  Before you leave, though, Mai catches your arm.  
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” she tells
you, “I’m your upperclassman; let me look out for you, alright?”  Her voice
softens, the bravado replaced with something more sincere.
Look out for you?  She’s getting up close and personal with Izaya not just for
the Prophet, but because she’s trying to protect you or something?
“Mai,” you choke, “Y-you don’t have to...do this.”  Rika tugs on your sleeve to
remind you to get off the train.
Mai shakes her head.  “I want to,” she assures you, and the doors of the train
separate you.  You watch her gentle, motherly smile vanish down the tunnel, and
feel guilt weighing down on you.  
“So when she said you don’t have to anything you don’t want,” Rika starts to
say, leaving the question hanging there, Are youbothsleeping with Izaya?
You choose not to answer--it’s a bit late to lie, anyway.  “We can’t let her
keep doing this,” you say, but Rika only shrugs uncomfortably.
“You heard her; she said she wanted to.”
“I know, but…”  But it still makes you feel terrible.  Mai isn’t who she used
to be; she’s been hurt, and her emotional wounds were probably only exacerbated
by Izaya.  She’s trying to hold onto whatever she thinks is the sturdiest
pillar, and right now, that’s the Prophet.  That’s you.
There’s a lot of things you can deal with on your conscience--innocent
bystanders getting caught in the crossfire of your battle with Izaya, lying and
manipulating your way to the top, being someone you’re not.  But you don’t want
Mai sleeping with Izaya, because you’re feeling a little jealous and a lot
guilty and she’s your friend, you don’t want to do this to her.  The best thing
to do would be text her and tell her the truth--that you’re the Prophet, and
this whole thing is just a big mess you can’t get out of anymore.  
You’ve obviously changed, too, because that’s not what you do.
*
“You want me to what?” Rika’s voice and a reverberation asks.  You’re lying on
your bed staring up at the ceiling with the door to your room shut.  Your dad
thought you wanted privacy to talk to your boyfriend, and you didn’t correct
him.
“Forward a message from the Prophet to Mai,” you repeat, “I think even if I
told her ‘the Prophet wants you to stop,’ she’ll just think I’m worried about
her.  This way, she’ll have to listen.”
“Clever,” is all Rika says, but the secondary voice of her thoughts is saying,
“But, uh, are you sure?  I mean, Mai messaged me a little bit ago, and she
wasn’t kidding about having Izaya’s routine down.  She even knows where he buys
his groceries.”
“I’m sure,” you say, “Mai can keep doing whatever else she wants to do, but I
don’t want her sleeping with him anymore.”
She doesn’t say anything for a minute, probably still realizing that she hadn’t
said any of that out loud, but she’s thinking, a little more quietly this time,
“Are you jealous?”
“I’m not jealous,” you say far too quickly and heated for it to sound
convincing.  You stop yourself and take a deep breath.  “I’m not,” you try
again.  Much better.  “This isn’t about me, this is about Mai.”
“This isn’t just about Mai, though, is it?”
“God, would you just say what you’re thinking?  You know I'm going to hear it
anyway.”  You don’t realize you yelled until you notice your parents have
stopped talking in the other room.  You don’t hear Rika or her inner voice for
a minute.
“Sorry,” she says finally, “I didn’t mean it like that.  I know you’re worried
about Mai.  It’s fine if you’ve got a crush on Izaya or whatever, I just don’t-
-!”
“I don’t have a crush on him,” you say, very firmly.
“Really?” Rika asks incredulously, “Come on, you just got on my case for not
saying what I was thinking, and now you’re gonna lie to me?”
“I’m not….”  You pause.  It’s not really a crush, is it?  Of course you get a
little flustered whenever you hear from him, but only because you’ve come to
associate him with what happens during your inevitable meetups.  And yeah, you
won’t lie you felt a little bit like the second choice the last time you went
over to see him and Mai had already been there.  And you suppose you think
about him a lot and wish you were on the same side, and it’s not that your
rivalry isn’t fun, because it’s one of the best parts of all this, but you
wouldn’t mind really knowing what makes Izaya tick, seeing sides of him that no
one else has….
Okay, so maybe you have a teeny tiny crush.  Maybe.  You won’t rule it out
altogether.
You remember you’re still on the phone when Rika’s echoing, inner voice goes,
“Are you still there…?”
“Sorry, I’m here,” you say, “I’ll let you go for tonight.”
“Sure.”  She sighs.  “You know what you’re getting into, right?”
“No,” you answer honestly, “But I’ll manage somehow.”
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry about the slow chapter, but there are some things that needed
     to happen first.
     Also, next week is finals week, so no updates. Sorry.
     The good news is that I'll be on break right after and officially off
     of my hiatus, so updates will become regular once again after that.
     As always, thank you everyone for your interest and support!
***** Trial and Error *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Five days of half-priced Prophet deals, more Izaya text messages than you ever
care to read again and triple the number of customers you expected later, it’s
Friday, and you’re at Kazumi’s.
She lives on the nice end of town in a spacious apartment with her parents, who
she claims are workaholics and come home maybe three days a week.  You have to
admit, having a regular base of operations and some privacy is pretty nice.
 When Kazumi first offered you start using her place, you’d been a little
hesitant, but now that you’re here--nice and quiet, away from prying eyes, no
parents trying to peer around hallway corners to listen in--you’re glad you
decided to give her a chance.
Kazumi’s bedroom doesn’t have much in the way of decoration; no stuffed
animals, no posters, no cute lampshades or old cell phone charms or even
clothes lying around.  That being said, her room isn’t impeccably clean,
either.  There’s just enough space for a futon and a single clear path to it,
but the rest of the floorspace is dominated by a tangled mess of black cords,
and at the desk set up in the corner has not one but three computers.
“Sorry about the mess,” she says sheepishly, and you wonder if she’s ever had
guests before as she awkwardly smooths the sheets of her bed before going to
sit at her desk  “Just, uh, go ahead and sit wherever, I guess.”  You and Rika
tiptoe carefully to the bed, trying not to step on any cords, while Kazumi
leans over to turn on two of the three computers.  They make a sound like a jet
engine taking off, and while you don’t think that’s quite normal, you’re not
the computer expert here.
“Let’s commence the first ever official Prophet meeting,” Rika says in a
surprisingly serious tone, “Today marks the end of phase one of Operation Steal
Izaya’s Customers.  Great name, I know.  Over the course of just this week, we
raked in more yen than I’ve ever seen in my life.”  
“The client base has definitely expanded, too,” you add, “We saw significantly
fewer high school students, and a lot more of Ikebukuro’s big names.”
“Also, the messages the Prophet deciphered from Izaya and sent back to Rika,
and Mai’s carefully-documented schedule of the informant’s day to day life will
be a big help,” Kazumi says, typing quickly on one of several keyboards crammed
onto the desk, “The opposition hasn’t made any big moves yet, either.  I don’t
think he’s done much in the way of investigation.”
“Why hasn’t he made any moves yet?” Rika wonders aloud, “Now especially, but
even before the deal was announced, he’d been pretty quiet.  It seems like he
should be doing something.”
Kazumi shrugs, glancing over her shoulder at us.  “I won’t claim to be an
expert on his behavior or anything, but from what I’ve seen so far, my guess is
he’s biding his time.  He likes to have all the cards before playing his hand.
 I think the Prophet is still a big mystery to him.”
You know Izaya’s careful, but it does strike you as odd that he’s let you run
rampant for the most part.  Other than the time he led you to Toyama’s blog by
flooding the Prophet service with weird messages to your clients, he’s been
letting you operate freely.  Maybe it is just because he doesn’t know who the
Prophet really is yet, but he hasn’t even made much in the way of threats.
Something’s got to be coming, and it’s going to be big.
“You’re really invested in all this,” Kazumi says, looking at Rika, “Not that
I’m not.  I want to help to Prophet, too.  But what’s in it for you?”
She shrugs noncommittally.  “It’s a lucrative business,” she says, “Being the
spokesperson, I get a cut of whatever he makes.  I get some influence in
Ikebukuro, too.  Anybody who wants anything to do with the Prophet has to go
through me, after all.”  She pauses.  “What about you?”
Kazumi stops typing, turning the office chair slightly so she can see both of
you.  She tends to have this perpetually anxious look on her face, but she
looks more pensive than anything now, taking the time to consider Rika’s
question.
“I’ve been watching Ikebukuro’s underground politics for a little while,” she
says, “Maybe it seems weird, but I’ve always wanted to be a part of that.  You
guys have probably noticed, but I’m not exactly a people-person.  I don’t get
to be a part of things a lot.”  Her expression doesn’t change, but her tone
becomes even softer than usual.  “I like what the Prophet is doing.  I’m not
exactly some paragon of morality, and neither is he, but….”  She shrugs,
looking uncomfortable to be on the spot.  “I dunno.  There are some people who
you just feel like you can follow because they’re going the right way.”
It gives you a strange feeling to hear someone say that about you, especially
since you’re fairly certain you’ve heard similar things before.  Kazumi doesn’t
even know the Prophet, wouldn’t be able to pick them out in a crowd, and
obviously doesn’t realize they’re in the same room as her right this very
moment.  And yet she, like so many others that Rika has been talking to lately,
is willing to do all sorts of things for some stranger she only knows through
hearsay.
This is something you and Izaya have in common; your seemingly magnetic
personalities.  Magnetic for attracting people and getting them to do all sorts
of things in your names.  Seemingly because actually meeting Izaya causes some
cognitive dissonance--you think the same would probably happen if people found
out who were, too.  Not because you’re a jerk, but because they’d probably be a
lot less willing to blindly follow some high school girl.
“What about you?” Kazumi asks, and you startle to attention when you realize
she’s talking to you now, that curious, wide-eyed expression back on her face.
 
You laugh a little nervously, glancing at Rika, who’s trying to hide a knowing
smile behind her hand.  “Me?” you ask, putting a hand to your chin as you
pretend you’re thinking, “Well, Rika and I have been friends for a long time.
 We do almost everything together.  So when she started doing things for the
Prophet, so did I.”  You smile.  “Now, though, I’m doing it because it’s fun.”
*
The meeting concludes with a few final statements from Rika on cooling down for
the next week to watch for Izaya’s reaction, and you leave shortly after.  It’s
taken a little while, but you finally feel like you’ve gotten to know Kazumi
well enough that you can trust her, at least a little bit.  If it weren’t for
Rika, you think you’d be just like her, holed up in her room with her
electronics and never talking to anybody if you didn’t have to.  Even if it was
just because of the Prophet service and the need for a computer expert, you’re
glad you met her, and wonder if maybe a friendship can come out of this
eventually.
Rika stops you halfway to the station.  “I’m headed to the department store,”
she says with a grin, “There are a pair of designer sunglasses I’ve had my eyes
on for a while now, and they’re finally coming home with me.”
You pause.  “I’ll come with.”
“Really?  I thought you hated stores like that.”
“I kind of do.  But I want to get something nice to wear for tomorrow.”
“Ohhh.”  Rika narrows her eyes.  “Trying to impress somebody, huh?  I doubt you
need to dress up, though.  Obviously he likes younger girls just fine.”
“What?”  Your face is probably completely red.  “No, that’s not...I’m going to
meet Toyama in person tomorrow, and I want to look a little more professional.”
“Really?  You sure that’s a good idea?”  The two of you start walking.  
“Yeah.  I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I think this is my best option.  I
need a favor, though.”
Rika grins.  “Name it.”
*
You step out onto Ikebukuro’s crowded Saturday morning streets looking like a
supermodel.  
An hour earlier, you were on the phone with Rika and standing in front of the
bathroom mirror with two bags full of new clothes you bought yesterday in front
of you.  “Help me,” you’d said simply the moment she answered, and despite
laughing, she agreed, because she’s a great friend.  She’d helped you decide on
a high-waisted skirt and blouse, and you put both items and a pair of
sunglasses in your school bag before going down for breakfast before heading
out.  You’re not sure how exactly your parents would react to your sudden
interest in current fashion or recent acquisition of clothes that they didn’t
buy you and you definitely can’t afford, so you go into town and change in the
station bathroom.  The sunglasses look a little tacky, but you’re taking every
precaution you possibly can to keep Toyama from getting a good look at you.
 You’re dressed differently, stand a bit taller thanks to your wedge sandals,
have your hair tied back in a ponytail and don’t intend to show your eyes.
 You’re impressed with yourself when you take a good look in the mirror of the
bathroom before you leave.
It’s a little early yet, but when you reach the park, you see a man who looks
like he’s waiting sitting at a bench, checking his watch.  “Toyama?” you ask as
you approach, and he turns to look at you.
“You must be Miss K,” he says, using the nickname you’d sent him in your last
e-mail.  You nod and he stands from the bench, smiling.  “I’m Hironori Okuno.
 It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The two of you go to the closest cafe, and he gets a coffee while you anxiously
sip at a cup of water while wondering how this is going to go.  This Hironori
guy seems to know what he’s talking about, so you’re hoping this turns out to
be worthwhile.
He watches you carefully as you turn the cup to get the ice at the bottom to
slide around, and you wonder if he’s waiting for you to read his mind.  You
decide now is a good time to be a little honest.  “I was hoping you could help
me understand my…” you think for a minute, “Ability.”
“I’d be glad to,” he says, sounding sincerely excited, “Why don’t you give me
some background first?  You mentioned you receive exformation through your
phone?”
Technically, your phone is the psychic here, but you’re going to play along.
 You nod and take out your phone, choosing to show him a few innocent texts you
got from Rika earlier and turning it so he can see.  “When someone texts me, I
get two messages,” you tell him, “The first one is the one they actually wrote,
and the second one is what they were thinking when they sent it to me.”
As if on cue, Rika texts you, and you check to make sure it’s nothing Prophet-
related before showing it to him again.  
From Rika: 10:03: Contents
 “Just found out there’s a swimsuit sale today.”
From Rika: 10:03: Contents
“I’m going to buy them all, not even exaggerating.”
“My friend just texted me,” you explain, “And if I ask her if she sent me two
messages, she’d say she only sent one.”
“That’s very interesting,” Hironori says as he rubs his chin, “And this happens
with anyone, no matter where the sender is in relation to you?”
“Yeah.”  You take your phone back, typing a quick response to Rika--a warning
not to blow all the money in one day.  “There’s also something weird that
happens when I get calls.  I hear another voice that sounds just like whoever’s
calling, but it’s their thoughts, I guess.  It only happens when I’m on the
phone, though.”
Hironori takes out his phone.  “Would you mind if we performed a little
experiment right now?” he asks, and you return his smile, telling him you
wouldn’t mind at all.
*
It seems a little strange to tackle something like psychic phones with
scientific investigation, but Hironori is determined to help you discover the
limits of your so-called ability.  He sends you a series of texts with
secondary messages of varying length and content, and though you don’t learn
many new things, it’s cool to put your phone to the test.  You confirm that you
can receive words you don’t know the meanings of and words you’ve never heard
before.  You also establish an approximate cut-off; whatever the sender is
thinking has to be thought within about a minute before they send the text.  He
offers to try calling you to investigate how that works, but before you can
respond, you get a text from someone else.
From Izaya: 10:42: Contents
“Any news on the blog you were looking at?”
From Izaya: 10:42: Contents
“I don’t have time to fuck around with dead ends, so you better have something
good.”
You frown, a little concerned at the content of the second message.  You know
from experience that Izaya really is as confident as he appears to be.  While
he’d probably be loathe to admit it, he is only human, and you know that
everyone has bad days, but it still seems a little odd for him to be so honest
when his thoughts are usually so collected when he texts you.
When he’s not accidentally sexting you, anyway.
Hironori doesn’t say anything as you ponder over the message and you almost
forget he’s there until he clears his throat and asks, “Your friend again?”
You look up at him and his very gentle smile, and you know your time’s run out.
 For whatever reason, Izaya’s gotten really antsy, and you can’t keep him
waiting if you want to stay on his good side.  “Yeah,” you tell him, and stand
from the table, “Sorry, but something just came up.  Can we meet again some
other time?”
He brightens again at the promise of another meeting, and you agree to discuss
it over e-mail.  You go your separate ways, and you carefully wait until
Hironori is out of sight to go over to a rough-looking guy who’s been lingering
nearby during the entire conversation.  “You didn’t see him, did you?” you ask,
and he shakes his head.
“Not once.”
A little worried about meeting the blog author in broad daylight, you asked
Rika if you could “borrow” a few of the new clientele to keep watch for you.
 With the promise of a small discount the next time they needed to Prophet, it
was easy enough to round up a few volunteers.  You dismiss them as you leave,
hurriedly typing out a few texts on your way back to the train station.  The
first person you message is Rika, telling her you have one more favor--you need
her to tell Kazumi to fabricate a series of e-mails that look like they’ve been
going on for a while between you and Hironori that make him look like the
Prophet and then send it your way.  Not a moment later, she texts back an
affirmative.  She does not ask if you’re sure, or if you’re thinking about what
might happen to this poor guy once Izaya’s set his sights on him, probably
because she’s not too worried about it and doesn’t want you to back out now.
 And it’s not like you would back out--it’s just that having met Hironori and
putting a face and a personality to the name makes you feel a little regretful
that you have to do this.
The next message you send is to Izaya, assuring him that you’ve been doing some
research and will send it to him in just a minute, and--you wait an extra
minute before sending the second half of the message for dramatic effect--you
think you’ve found the Prophet.
His reply is near instantaneous, too.
From Izaya: 10:55: Contents
 “I’m looking forward to seeing your research.”
From Izaya: 10:56: Contents
 “I’m not going to get my hopes up.”
You’d really like to ask him what his problem is, but he hasn’t knowingly
texted you anything that should make you think that there is a problem.
 Instead, you hurry home as fast as you can, speed-walking from your stop all
the way back.  You really hope this works.  Even if he doesn’t buy it, you’d
like if you could get just a little more time from this to plan your next move.
 You don’t have another scapegoat outside of Hironori, but you hadn’t thought
you’d need one with how passive Izaya has been.  Apparently, though,
something’s got him a little anxious, so you’re going to have to change your
strategy.
You don’t know how long it takes to make convincing fake e-mails, but you get
on the computer as soon as you’re home anyway, ready to forward the “evidence”
to Izaya and come up with the next step.
*
Yogensha: Ikebukuro Prophet speaking.  
Yogensha: The “trade your text messages from Izaya Orihara for 50% off your
next request” deal has been discontinued.
Yogensha: Thank you to everyone who participated.
Bakyura: Seriously, Yogensha?
Bakyura: You’re probably not even the real Prophet, but you still can’t just
breeze in here like that.  Talk about anticlimactic.
Bakyura: We’ve been all excited about this whole Prophet thing, and you’re just
like….
Bakyura: “Hi guys I’m the Prophet.”
Bakyura: Can’t you say something more dramatic?
Setton: I dunno.  Don’t you think an imposter would be more grandiose?  
Kanra: Oh, that makes sense! The real Prophet would just be brief and to the
point.  An imposter would talk themselves up, right?
Bakyura: Yeah, I’m not convinced.
Saika: Why is the discount being discontinued?
Yogensha: I just don’t want to do it anymore.
Taro Tanaka: It’s great that you decided to come chat with us.
Taro Tanaka: Although honestly I’m surprised I haven’t seen you on here before.
Taro Tanaka: If you don’t mind my asking, what made you decide to suddenly come
here?
Yogensha: I’m still getting customers asking about the half-off deal, so I’ve
been trying to tell people that it’s not on anymore.  
Yogensha: I figured this place gets at least a bit of traffic, and you can all
spread the word for me.
Yogensha: As for why I haven’t been on here sooner….
Yogensha: Well, I probably shouldn’t say too much about myself.
Saika: That is largely how you operate, I suppose.
Saika: I mean by word of mouth.  You impart wisdom, and it’s passed on by
others.  Like a real prophet.
Kanra: Mr. Prophet, I have a question!  Is it true that you have high school
girls working for you?
Yogensha: There are some young women about that age handling public relations,
yes.
Kanra: Doesn’t that seem dangerous?  They’re just kids, after all.  What if
they do something stupid and get you caught?!
Yogensha: I’m not really concerned.  
Yogensha: I am aware that they might not make the best decisions, but it hasn’t
been a problem so far, and I’ll cross that bridge if and when I get there.
Setton: It’s really incredible that you’ve managed to amass as many followers
as you have, especially in such a short time.  They really admire you and what
you do.
Setton: But what about you?  How do you see your work?  Is it a noble cause, or
just a hobby, or a second job?
Yogensha: The answer to that question is very complicated.  I suppose it’s a
bit of everything put together.
Yogensha: This seems to have become an interview.
Taro Tanaka: You’re only the most talked about person in Ikebukuro now.  Can
you really blame us?
Saika: You’re a celebrity despite no one knowing your true name or face or age,
or anything about you.  
Yogensha: It’s mysterious, isn’t it?  
Yogensha: Well, I have work to do, so I’m leaving for now.  Maybe I’ll come
back some other time.
Kanra: You’d better!  I have like a zillion more questions!
Bakyuran: Are we really treating Yogensha like they’re the real Prophet without
any proof?
Setton: He’s at least very convincing.
Saika: The persona seemed to match the general consensus on what the Prophet is
like.
Bakyuran: Shouldn’t that be a red flag?
Setton: Not necessarily.
Setton: The Prophet doesn’t want to be recognizable as any certain individual.
Setton: Adopting the traits given to him by his followers would be the perfect
cover.
Bakyuran: Hey, it’s fine, I don’t care if I’m the only skeptic in chat.
Taro Tanaka: Kanra, are you okay?  You’ve been really quiet today.  I thought
you would’ve said a lot more when the Prophet came in.
Kanra: Oh, don’t worry about me!  Now that I’ve gotten to talk with the
Prophet, I’m feeling just fine~
Chapter End Notes
     My finals are over! Update will continue without interruption.
***** Wolves in Sheep's Clothing *****
Chapter Notes
     More plot. Things are going to start moving faster now.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
You don’t hear from Izaya at any point during the weekend after sending him
that e-mail of false evidence Kazumi put together, and spend Sunday secluded in
your room with Rika, the chessboard spread out between you on the floor.  “So,”
she says, staring at the mess of figurines and pieces, “What exactly is this?”
You glance back at the door to your room, making sure it’s completely shut.
 Your parents have been a little less nosy since you “admitted” to having a
not-yet-boyfriend, but better safe than sorry.  “Izaya has something like this
set up at his place,” you explain, “It’s how he keeps track of what’s going on.
 See, all the standard pieces represent various clients and mostly ordinary
people.  I’m the horse over here, Izaya is the camel over there, and you’re a
fox, right here next to me.”
“Okay...I guess that makes sense.  If it were a game, it doesn’t really make
any sense.”
“It’s a game, too,” you tell her, “It’s just that the only way to win is to not
play by the rules.”
Poking the fox figure, she raises a brow at you.  “You’ve given this a lot of
thought.”
“I have to, if I want to stay on top of things.”
Ignoring the chess board for the moment, she sits up and leans back on one arm.
 “Speaking of, still no word from Izaya?”
“Not yet.”
“You think he bought it?”
“I don’t know,” you rest your head in your hands, “Kazumi helped me make up a
scenario that made the guy from the blog look like he’d duped Izaya before and
kind of hid in plain sight, and that I’d dragged the truth out of him, but it
wasn’t a perfect story.  He’s probably picking it apart for inconsistencies as
we speak.”
“Calm down,” Rika says, reaching forward to put a hand on your shoulder, “Look,
we don’t know what he’s thinking yet, alright?  Let’s focus on planning for the
outcome.”  She leaned back and smirked.  “On the bright side, one of our
classmates got a hold of me yesterday and says he wants to meet after class
tomorrow.  He’s got ties to the Yellow Scarves, and I think he’s someone
important.”  Leave it to Rika to find a business-related silver lining no
matter the situation.  “So you’ve got that to look forward to.”
“I guess.  I just….”  You sigh.  “I don’t think I’m very good at this.  At
least, not as good as I should be to be playing against Izaya.”
“Come on, don’t say that!  Who got us this far?”
You stare at her for a long minute.  “You did.”
“Well, I couldn’t have gotten here without you.”  She crosses her arms over her
chest.  “This has never been a one-man show.  We’ve been a team from the
beginning.  So don’t worry about not being good at it or whatever, because I’ll
cover your weaknesses as long as you cover mine.”
It’s odd--and comforting--to hear such heartfelt support coming from Rika, and
you muster a smile at last.  “Thanks.”
“No problem.  Now, since we’re headed into a new fiscal year, how do you feel
about changing pricing policies?”  Back to business.  You would laugh but you
know she’s serious.
*
Masaomi Kida, Raira’s self-proclaimed lady-killer, is the sort of person that
you’ve always been aware of because it’s hard not to be aware of him--he’s
always making a spectacle wherever he goes and perpetually getting turned down
for dates, though his charisma makes it difficult to dislike him.  Rika
arranges for him to meet with the assembled Prophet negotiators--you, her,
Kazumi and Mai--downtown in front of a theater, and while you’re waiting for
him, you have a hard time imagining him having anything to do with a color
gang.
“He’s late,” Rika grumbles, tapping her foot on the sidewalk impatiently and
checking her phone again.
“By one minute,” you remind her, “Maybe he got held up at school?  We all left
a little earlier than we probably should have.”
“If he’s serious about this, he would be here five minutes early.  What does he
take us for, amateurs?”
“We should wait a bit longer,” Mai says quietly, “The network tells me he used
to consult Izaya on a fairly regular basis.  Despite appearances, he’s got a
lot on his mind.  I think he’d give us a lot of business.”
‘The network’ was a new favorite phrase of hers used in regards to some
apparent information network she’d set up after the Prophet had asked her to
stop sleeping with Izaya.  She’d done as she was asked, but still eager to
prove herself, she’d found track of Izaya’s other lackeys with some help from
Kazumi and swayed several to the side of the Prophet.  Rika had personally
screened through the new recruits, or so she claimed, and was fairly certain
they didn’t pose any risk, but still told Mai to only give them information
that was absolutely necessary.  You’re not sure what she told them to get them
to help, or if there’s anything in it for them.  Part of you wonders if it’s
just the nature of the beast--one can only work for Izaya for so long before
they miss not walking on eggshells to avoid saying the wrong thing and getting
damned to eternal servitude.
“What do you think?” she asks Kazumi, apparently looking for a tiebreaker.  
The mousy girl with the owl-like gaze shrugs.  “I agree with Mai,” she says,
“Getting him on board is, um, a good move.  Strategically.”  Her gaze shifts to
somewhere behind Rika, and she turns to follow her gaze.  The very person
you’ve been waiting for has rounded the corner down the block, and maybe it’s
the scarf around his neck proudly showing off his allegiance, but he doesn’t
look the same as when he’s at school.  If you were looking at boys your own age
like you probably should be instead of older informants, you probably still
wouldn’t look at Masaomi too much because of his personality but you might
spare a passing glance because he isn’t bad looking.  But right now, he doesn’t
have a bright smile or a goofy grin and he isn’t marching proudly down the
sidewalk.  He has his hands in his pockets and he’s walking slowly but with his
shoulders squared, like he’s trying not to be noticed but he wants to scare
anyone off who does notice him.  
He’s also got a little blood on his shirt.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, not a hint of his usual playful tone anywhere in his
voice, “Ran into some trouble earlier.”
Rika glances pointedly to the blood stain.  “You weren’t followed, were you?”
she asks, and he shakes his head.
“Definitely not.”
She looks back at you, Mai and Kazumi for approval to proceed.  You don’t move,
still a little shocked, but Mai and Kazumi nod and you’re outnumbered, making
your vote worthless anyway.  She turns back to Masaomi.  “Alright then, down to
business.”  She launches into her usual spiel with new clients about your
privacy policy but the moment she gets to pricing, he stops her.
“The standard rate is 10,000,” he says, and it isn’t a question nor a request
for clarification.
“The standard was 10,000,” she corrects him, “Now it’s 15,000.”  His eyes
narrow a little but Rika doesn’t back down.  “I don’t make the rules, the
Prophet does,” she says with a shrug.
“You’re all the Prophet’s got, right?” he asks, voice dangerously quiet.  To
her credit, Rika doesn’t flinch when he comes forward, very nearly getting in
her face, “Just four high school girls who couldn’t handle a deal if it goes
sour?”
“If a deal goes sour, the Prophet isn’t going to be happy,” she warns.
Mai and Kazumi are completely silent on either sides of you, and you follow
their gazes over Masaomi’s shoulder and spot a couple more guys from the Yellow
Scarves hanging around a few feet away.  Waiting.  You’re not sure if Rika
notices or not, but she’s not standing quite as firm as she was before.  You
wonder why she didn’t call in her usual thugs to stand close by just in case
something happened, but now that you think about it, more than half of the
usual clientele are Yellow Scarves anyway.  
“So, what, are you saying he’d come to your rescue if something happened to
you?” Masaomi asks and you’re wondering where the class clown you’re so used to
seeing went and who this gang kid is that replaced him.  He’s already called
her bluff once.  Rika wisely doesn’t make another.  There’s a tense silence.
 “Drop it down to 5,000 for me,” Masaomi says, “And I’ll offer you protection.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Rika growls.
Masaomi actually smiles--not warmly, but not in the same way Izaya does.  It’s
suddenly clear to you that Masaomi has had you fooled, and that he’s been doing
this a lot longer than you have.  You don’t have any chance of winning.
“How about 10,000,” Kazumi suddenly pipes up, “And we don’t sell you out to
anyone who might want your head?”
Everything seems to freeze.  You hardly hear the chatter of people passing by
on the sidewalk or even notice they’re there.  Masaomi’s eyes widen and Rika
whips around to face Kazumi who has suddenly appointed herself as the brains of
the operation.
“You made the mistake of assuming that you were approaching us on your
territory,” she goes on, sounding a lot more confident than usual, her wide
eyes almost glowing with the sunset reflected in them.  “But all of Ikebukuro
is the Prophet’s territory.  That’s a dangerous mistake to make.”  Far behind
Kida, you notice several men, greatly resembling the yakuza you saw in the red
light district, having stopped near the Yellow Scarves members.  You think
there must be more of them, because Masaomi suddenly stiffens at the sight of
something behind you.  
“We know where you go to school, Masaomi,” Kazumi says, “And the Prophet knows
everything else.  Where you live, where you go on the weekends, who you
associate with...the things you’ve done.  There are a lot of people you
wouldn’t want to know all of those things.  Entire gangs, even.”
You wonder briefly if he’ll call her on a bluff--or if it even isa bluff--but
he looks scared.  You think that maybe Kazumi has been doing this longer than
both of you.
“10,000 it is,” he says with a nervous smile, and holds out his hand to seal
the deal.  Kazumi’s gaze slides to Rika, who needs a minute to collect herself
after the confrontation, but eventually offers her own and they shake on it.  
He texts her the first message and leaves with the other gang members, and
Kazumi’s allies disperse with only a nod in your general direction.  You’re all
looking at Kazumi, and she glances between each of you looking a little self-
conscious.  “I may have, um, picked up a few things from working with Izaya,”
she says.
Rika laughs and throws her arms around her in a bear hug.  “I want to be just
like you when I grow up,” she cries.
“That was really amazing,” Mai adds, “I thought we were done for.”
In case you were ever in any danger of forgetting, life has once again decided
to remind you that this isn’t a game you can play very casually.  “Yeah.  I was
really scared for a minute,” you say, leaving out that it was a really long
minute that stretched the entire encounter, “Thanks, Kazumi.”
She smiles shyly, apparently embarrassed by the praise.  “Don’t worry about
it,” she mutters.
The good news is you’ve all just dodged a bullet thanks to Kazumi.  The bad
news is you’ve just realized that people are pretty good at pulling the wool
over your eyes, especially if they have any experience with the Ikebukuro
underground.  There’s a lot more to Masaomi than a harmless goofball, and you
can’t help but wonder and worry that there may be a lot more to Kazumi than a
timid computer genius.
Chapter End Notes
     I had to think a lot about this characterization of Masaomi, but in
     the end, I think it's okay. He's not necessarily a bad guy, he can
     just tell that Reader and friends are new at this and doesn't want to
     be taken for a ride (And neither does Kazumi). Let me know what you
     think.
     Next week, we finally hear back from Izaya.
***** Cat's Paw *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Unsurprisingly, tales of the Prophet suddenly adopt a much more sinister tone
by the next morning.  Before class has even started, you’ve heard that he
tricks the young woman in his service into prostitution and runs a human
trafficking ring.  At the center of the rumor mill adding fuel to the fire sits
Masaomi Kida, playing the part of innocent and ineffectual lady’s man yet
again, but he shoots you and Rika a knowing look every bit as biting as his
expressions the previous night.  Rika rolls her eyes and ignores him, and tells
you to do the same.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she says, “If anything, this’ll only make people
less hesitant to try screwing us over, and probably scare away the small fry
who aren’t serious.”
More problematic, however, was Kazumi’s solution, which was essentially
blackmail.  It’s not as though you can fault her for it, though--you certainly
didn’t have any better ideas, and since Masaomi tried to pull the same trick on
you first, he just got a taste of his own medicine.  If anything, he walked
away with a slap on the wrist since you agreed to charge him the old rate
anyway.  That said, you’re a little worried about how this might affect your
regular business model.  Masaomi has no doubt spread a more truthful story to
his fellow gang members to watch out for the Prophet extorting them.  Being
straightforward and not holding anything above anyone’s head used to be your
big edge over Izaya.  Without it, what reason do people have to go to the
Prophet rather than him?
Your teacher walks into the room and talk dies down for now, Masaomi no doubt
coming up with more elaborate tales for later, and you try to pay attention
despite thinking that your empire might come crumbling down sooner than
expected.
*
“I have some bad news,” Mai says as she joins you, Rika and Kazumi by the
school gate at the end of the day.
“Do you have good news, too?” Rika asks hopefully.
She shakes her head.  “Sorry, I don’t.  According to the network, the Yellow
Scarves are boycotting the Prophet service.  Their boss has forbid any member
from contacting us.”
“Where are they going to go?  To Izaya?”  Rika rolls her eyes.  “I give it a
month before they’re crawling back, regardless of what their leader says.”
“This is serious,” Mai says uneasily, “A large portion of the Prophet’s client
base consisted of Yellow Scarves members, probably more than we realized.”
“Well, it’s a little late to worry about that now,” Rika snaps.
There’s obviously tension mounting between the two of them as Mai looks
offended for being attacked for simply telling the truth, but before it
escalates any further, your phone goes off and all eyes are on you.  You slowly
take it out of your pocket, unnerved by their silence and expectant
expressions, but your eyes widen when you see Izaya’s name on the screen.  It’s
the first time in days that he’s texted you.
From Izaya: 16:49: Content
“Can you come over tonight?”
From Izaya: 16:49: Content
“Just when I think I’ve got you figured out, you manage to surprise me.”
You try not to jump to conclusions--maybe he believes you and he’s just
impressed?--but it’s really hard not to.  You don’t hear from him for days,
manage to piss off the entirety of the Yellow Scarves, and suddenly he contacts
you like this?  Did Masaomi say something to him?  No, he couldn’t have, you
hardly even know Masaomi.  The two of you have never even spoken before; even
last night, you and Mai were just there, he was only talking to Rika and then
Kazumi threatened him.  If he had to make a connection between the Prophet and
one of his associates, he had no reason to think it was you, because Kazumi
seemed the most intimidating, Rika seemed the most cunning, and if it came to
being the least-likely, neither you nor Mai had said a word the whole time.  
“Is it, um, Izaya?” Kazumi is the first to break the silence.  You’re frozen
and don’t answer.
He replies in a matter of seconds.
From Izaya: 16:50: Content
“I’ve got some good news.  See you soon.”
From Izaya: 16:50: Content
“It’s a shame, I’m almost going to miss having you around.”
Oh no.
“What’s wrong now?” Rika practically hisses, high-strung as it is and probably
wanting none of Izaya’s shit today.
“It’s….”  Think fast.  Kazumi and Mai are here, too, so you can’t say that
Izaya has figured out that you’re the Prophet.  But should you pretend
everything’s fine, or would it be wiser to admit that there’s a problem and ask
Kazumi to come with you?  You’re not good at thinking on your feet.  
Thankfully, Rika is.  “Could we have a minute?” she asks the other two, and
there’s enough of an edge to her voice that they don’t ask any questions,
starting off towards downtown without you.  She turns to you once she’s sure
they’re gone, her voice a bit above a whisper but most definitely a firm
demand.  “What. Happened.”
“He knows,” you whisper anxiously, “I-I don’t know how, but he, somehow, he….”
“Calm down,” she says, hands falling onto your shoulders.  “Breathe.  You can’t
panic.  What did he say?”
“No, no, it’s what he didn’t say,” you whimper, “He-he was thinking he’s going
to miss having me around, and….”
She snags your phone out of your hands to see for herself and is quiet for a
long time, reading the messages several times.  “He wasn’t thinking outright
that he caught you,” she says at last, though she sounds a little uncertain,
“But you can’t just not show up now, because then you'll really look guilty.
 And if he thinks you’re the Prophet, why would he text you to ask you to come
over if he knows texts are what you work with?”
You suppose it makes sense, but at the same time, Izaya has demonstrated before
that he can control the thoughts he sends with ridiculous precision.  Maybe he
purposefully sent something vague to see how long you would stall for?
“How about this,” Rika says a little bit more gently, “I’ll tell Kazumi that we
have reason to believe Izaya is secretly collaborating with the Yellow Scarves.
 She can have some backup put in place around his apartment.”  It’s not enough-
-if Izaya is out to get you, there’s probably a trap waiting for you already.
 Rika must see the hesitation on your face, because she looks at you sadly.
 “I’m sorry.  I don’t know what to do.  I guess I’m not very good at this,
either.”
You shake your head.  “It’s okay,” you tell her, even though it’s really not.
 You’re terrified, and you don’t know what’s going to happen to you, but you
don’t have a whole lot of choices.  Izaya knows everything about you and where
to find you if you don’t show up.  The last thing you want to do is drag your
parents into this.  “You cover my weaknesses, and I cover yours, right?”
She doesn’t smile, but she nods.  You’re both thinking the same thing; it’s not
enough to make up for a lack of experience.
“Call me when it’s over,” she says--begs--and you say you will.
*
Izaya must have had his ear pressed to the door or something, because it opens
the moment you’re within a few steps.  He’s already smirking, looking far too
pleased with himself, and you feel your heart beating faster.  “So glad you
could make it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.  His apartment doesn’t
look any different than usual, and there doesn’t seem to be anybody else there
but you two.  Then again, he probably doesn’t need anyone else.  Izaya is
plenty intimidating all on his own.  You try to think of an escape plan if
things go poorly, but you doubt you’d make it to the door before he does, if
your failed chase that led you to the red light district of Ikebukuro is any
indication of how much faster he is.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he says, shutting and locking the door
nonchalantly, yet you still interpret the gesture as malicious.  He takes the
seat directly next to yours on the couch, your hips pressed against each other,
and you try to steel yourself to remain where you are instead of scooting to
the far end away from him.  He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and you’re so
distracted and worried--is he going to kill you?--that you don’t notice it’s
quiet until he says, “What’s wrong?  You look miserable.”
A trick question.  You look up at him and he’s still smiling.  Well, fine, but
you won’t back down, and you won’t admit you’re guilty unless he confronts you
with it first.  “I had some trouble the other night with a client,” you say.
His smile softens.  You feel one of his hands at your waist, thumb gently
stroking your side.  “I'm sorry to hear that,” he says, almost sounding
genuine, but you don’t fall for it.  “I think I might have heard about that.
 Yellow Scarves, right?”
You wouldn’t be surprised if he heard from Masaomi himself.  “Yeah,” you say,
“It was...well, we’ve never had trouble before.  It was a humbling experience,
I guess.  We all think we’re so tough because we’re connected to the Prophet,
but we’re just kids.  We don’t really know what we’re doing.”  You doubt he’ll
feel sympathetic, but maybe he’ll pick up on your honesty about being a dumb
kid and not knowing what you got yourself into and be a bit merciful.
Or maybe you’re being stupidly optimistic.  Worth a shot either way.
He chuckles.  “I wouldn’t worry about Masaomi,” he says, “Though I do wonder
what you’ll get into now that we’ve got the Prophet’s identity figured out.  I
don’t suppose you’d be interested in continuing to help me?”
Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on.  “You...what?”
His smile widens.  “I assumed, with your incredible perception, that you must
have already found something else to do since you’ve unearthed the Prophet’s
identity.  Honestly, I had looked right over Okuno as a possible suspect.”  He
turns his body to give you his complete attention and raises your chin to meet
his gaze.  “But you sound like you haven’t considered your options yet, so
maybe it’s not too late to persuade you to keep working for me?”
All of the anxiety leaves your body in a rush, replaced instead by hunger for
what Izaya’s offering you.  His eyes are half-lidded and unfocused, and you
decide you definitely deserve something nice for being able to trick someone
rather than be the one who’s tricked for once.  “I think I could be persuaded,”
you tell him, and Izaya is on you in an instant, mouth pressing against yours
with enough force that you fall onto your back on the couch.  You’re still not
very good at this, your nose constantly getting in the way as you try to figure
out how to angle your face, but it doesn’t really matter.  Izaya’s mouth moves
on leaving a trail of bites down your throat and he starts unbuttoning the
jacket of your uniform.  You try your best to cooperate, shrugging it off your
shoulders and getting your shirt for him while he sits up just long enough to
take off his own.  He presses against you as soon as it’s on the floor, hands
pulling down the cups of your bra to roll your nipples between his fingers and
you arch into his touch, but suddenly he pulls away again, looming over you and
smiling a little hesitantly.  
“How far do you want to go?” he asks.  You freeze completely, because you have
no idea, and he seems to understand that this is the wrong question to ask.
 Leaning forward again, he nips at the shell of your ear, asking, “Condoms are
in the bedroom, so if you want to do anything that would necessitate their use,
now’s the time to speak up.”  There’s a teasing edge to his voice.  His hands
start at your shoulders and rub down your arms, and he presses a much slower,
gentler kiss to your lips, nipping once at the corner of your mouth before
pulling away to wait for an answer again.
You probably shouldn’t.  You definitely shouldn’t, and you know it.
But instead of saying that you have to go or that you’re fine to stay on the
couch, you pull him back down for another kiss, taking the initiative this time
and pushing your tongue into his mouth, catching him by surprise momentarily
before he’s responding twice as fiercely as before.  You pull back just far
enough to pant, “Let’s go,” on his lips, and he’s on his feet in seconds,
pulling you back to the bedroom.
Once you get there, though, you realize you don’t really know what you’re
doing, and stand awkwardly in the doorway while Izaya digs through the cupboard
on the nightstand.  He notices you’re not on the bed and laughs a little,
throwing you a teasing glance.  “You can lay down,” he says, “I’ll be right
there,” and you awkwardly strip the last of your clothing and climb into bed,
not sure how you should be laying.  You hear the zipper of Izaya’s pants and
and are actually too embarrassed to look over when the rip of plastic follows
shortly after.  A moment later, he’s climbing over you, pouring some clear
liquid onto his palm from a toothpaste tube-sized bottle.  This is all a lot
more embarrassing when you slow down enough to actually get embarrassed.  The
hand with the gel is at your entrance, fingers touching and teasing, and you
try your best to keep on a brave face until one actually goes in.  You inhale
sharply and tense up, and Izaya doesn’t move at all for a minute.  “You can
relax,” he says, smiling tenderly, “I promise, I know what I’m doing.”
He repositions himself a bit, sliding down so his face is level with your chest
but keeps his hand at your entrance.  His mouth closes around your nipple,
tongue sweeping over the nub, and the moment you let out a sigh, the finger
inside of you crooks, moving a little deeper.  It feels strange, a little
uncomfortable, but not necessarily bad.  You find yourself starting to move
your hips against his hand eventually, the constant licking and sucking at your
breast easing the tension, and when his fingertip grazes something inside you
that you haven’t felt before, you arch your back and moan.
Izaya moves up your body again for another kiss, and you wrap your arms around
him, barely noticing the second finger when it slips in, stretching you and
moving deeper.  “How is this?” he asks the next time he pulls away for breath,
and you manage to whimper and nod, not sure you can speak.  When you’re
suddenly empty, you whine, and he chuckles, telling you to be patient while
reaching for the bottle again.  You squirm a little when he rubs some of the
cold gel on your womanhood, but the next thing you know, he’s gently pushing
your thighs apart and settling between them, and you feel the smooth texture of
the condom pushing where his fingers just were.  “Are you ready?” he asks.  
You try not to be nervous.  You want to do this, want to be involved with
Izaya, want your first time to be with him.  “Yeah,” you say, almost
whispering.  
He leans in for another kiss and you wrap your arms around his neck.  He starts
pushing in, and his breathing is almost as labored as yours.  “God,” he pants
against your lips, and you can feel yourself stretching further, trying to
accommodate him.  It hurts, but you want him to keep going.  “Ah...are you
okay?”
You try to get enough air in your lungs to answer when he starts to slow down,
gasping, “I’m fine, don’t-don’t stop…”
“You’re sure?”
You rake your nails down his back and he hisses.  “Keep going,” you order him,
and he laughs breathlessly.
The time it takes to get him inside all the way feels like a lot longer than it
probably really is, but eventually, his pelvis is pressing against yours and
you take a moment to catch your breath.  Izaya is still trembling, though,
staring down at you, lips parted and face flushed.  Arousal pools in your
stomach, winding in tight circles, and you reach around to the back of his head
and pull him back down, whispering, “Move,” and crushing your lips together.
He pulls out halfway, and then slams back in, and it both hurts and is the most
wonderful sensation in the world.  
“How is it?” he pants, starting a slow but steady rhythm, and you hear it every
time he slides back in, skin hitting skin.  “Everything you ever wanted and
more?”
“What….”  You moan.  “What, ah, makes you think I a-always wanted this?”
“Maybe not always,” Izaya says, “Just about as long as I have, probably.”
You start moving, trying to keep up with him, moving your hips forward to meet
his thrusts.  Izaya fills you up completely, and the feeling is overwhelming,
the way he’s on top of you, inside of you, all around you.  “You’re so good,”
he groans, “So honest.  Your body tells me exactly what it wants.”
“Yeah?” you ask, “Then why aren’t you going faster?”
He actually laughs at that, but your own giggle turns into a moan when he
suddenly starts doing exactly that, his lower body pistoning into you with
enough force to make the bed creak.  “I think I really like you,” is the last
thing he says before his thrusts become even faster and he folds his body
against yours, tongue forcing its way between your lips.  The kiss is desperate
and violent and the most genuine one you’ve ever gotten from Izaya Orihara.
 He’s buried inside of you when your body seizes up with your orgasm, your arms
holding him in a crushing grip against you, fingers digging into his skin and
toes curling, and you think you might even have screamed.  Izaya only gets a
few more shallow thrusts in before you feel his cock pulsing inside of the
condom, and he stays draped over you, sheathed inside as he tries to catch his
breath.
“Have I convinced you?” he asks, smiling lazily.  
You almost forget what he’s talking about.  “Was this a one-time thing?”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Then I’m convinced.”
*
You add “showering at Izaya’s” to the ever-growing list of things you never
thought you’d find yourself doing, taking care to rinse away the last of the
lube.  After drying yourself off, you glance at your reflection in the mirror,
because you’ve heard people say that when someone loses their virginity, they
look different.  You don't think you really look much different, but you do
have a few red marks around your neckline and shoulders, and make a mental note
to avoid low-cut and sleeveless shirts for a while.  After redressing, you head
out into the apartment, finding Izaya on the couch staring intently at his
chessboard.  The elephant piece he uses to represent the Prophet is still where
he had it last time you looked.
“Now that you know who the Prophet is,” you say, sitting next to him, “What are
you going to do?”
He has a slightly vacant look on his face, as though lost in thought, but his
features are overtaken by a smile at the question.  “It probably sounds a bit
petty,” he says, “But I really want revenge for all the times my work was
disturbed.”  You feel a twinge of guilt.  Poor Toyama has no idea what’s coming
his way.  “Of course, I can’t predict yet how the Prophet will respond, but I’m
fairly confident he won’t give me too much trouble.”  He turns his attention
from the chessboard to you.  “In the meantime,” he says, “I think it would be
best if you lay low in case there’s any retaliation.  I won’t have anything for
you to do until this is all over.”
You agree to the plan and head for the door, but before you leave, Izaya stops
you and presses your lips together for a slow, passionate and way too short
kiss that leaves you a little unsteady on your feet.  If he were a normal
person, you would feel like this meant you were dating or something. Even
though you’re still enemies, you leave feeling lighthearted and a little giddy,
practically skipping back to the train station.  So maybe you haven’t been
doing this as long as other people; you’re catching on, and you’re obviously
just as good at deceiving others as they are.  You remember the excitement you
had when you first left Izaya’s after realizing you had him right where you
wanted him, and this is that same feeling, except with a little bit more
dangerous affection.  You’re confident you can keep it together, though.
 You’ve gotten this far, and you’re only going to get better the more you play
the game.  Your feelings for Izaya aren’t exactly platonic and might be a
little more involved than Rika would like, but you’re not too concerned about
it yet.
There’s something a little more immediate to worry about first, anyway.
*
You try looking for Hironori’s blog the next morning after finishing breakfast
to see if there’s been any recent activity, but it’s gone, which means Izaya
has probably made his move.  As you pack your bag for the day, you get a text,
and get a little disappointed when it’s Rika instead of Izaya.  Then you tell
yourself to stop being disappointed.
From Rika: 6:18: Content:
“Have you seen the paper?”
From Rika: 6:18: Content:
“Do we wait a week or do we start taking requests again right away?”
You haven’t seen the paper, so you’re not sure what she means.  Your mother is
sitting at the table reading it, so you walk past and go to the cupboards.
 “Everything okay?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder at you, and you open
the one closest to you.
“Almost forgot my lunch,” you tell her, and she looks back down again.  Leaning
over, you read the front page headline over her shoulder--
IKEBUKURO AREA LECTURER STEPS DOWN IN RESPONSE TO SUPPOSED SEX SCANDAL WITH
HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT
The photo on the cover is of Hironori and you in Ikebukuro park.
You stop messing with the cupboards and fly out the door, hoping the sunglasses
in the photo are enough to keep your parents and pretty much everyone from
putting two and two together.  You may or may not have completely ruined the
career of some poor man, and you also might have gotten yourself involved in a
legal investigation.  Why didn’t Izaya warn you that your face would be
plastered all over the front page of the local newspaper?  And more
importantly, how does he have a photo?  The only people who knew about this
were you, Rika and Kazumi, and the people Rika asked to keep an eye out for
Izaya.  Why would any of them take a picture of you?  You’re getting
increasingly worried about a snake in the grass, and you know you’re going to
be getting the gang together for a long talk, maybe having them all send the
Prophet texts swearing their allegiance just to be safe.  
There’s also the issue of how to proceed, now that your scapegoat is gone.  As
Rika asked you earlier, do you wait a while for the heat to die down and get
Izaya to relax, or do you move now while tensions are still high to hold onto
your momentum and current clientele?  You weigh the pros and cons, make up your
mind, and send Rika a reply.
Chapter End Notes
     Well I'm out of the country right now, and it's possible that I won't
     have a chapter ready by next week. Sorry about that! I'll be back for
     sure the week after.
***** Down, Not Out *****
Setton: I hear the Prophet’s done for.
Taro Tanaka: What?  No way!
Saika: There was a story in the paper the other day.  People say that was him.
Kanra: The Prophet was sleeping with a high school girl?!
Bakyura: Are you really surprised?  He had a bunch working for him.
Bakyura: Seriously, good riddance.
Taro Tanaka: So it’s really over then?
Taro Tanaka: It’s kind of hard to believe, since he was so mysterious not that
long ago.
Taro Tanaka: It seems too easy.
Saika: You think it wasn’t him?
Taro Tanaka: Hmm...guess I’m not sure what I think just yet lol.
Taro Tanaka: Truthfully, I wanted to ask him a few things, so I’m torn.
Kanra: In the end, he was just some old pervert though, right?
Kanra: It’s a good thing someone like that isn’t doing whatever they want
anymore
Setton: I agree with Taro Tanaka.
Setton: Something about this is strange.
Setton: I don’t think it’s over yet.
Bakyura: Whatever, I say it’s done.
Bakyura: People are saying that was him, and I believe it
Yogensha: You’d better check for yourself before you believe the hearsay
Yogensha: Or worse, before you start spreading it yourself
Bakyura: You have got to be kidding me
Taro Tanaka: Were you the guy in the paper?!
Yogensha: No
Kanra: I bet you’re some imposter!
Yogensha: Right, that’s why I have the same username as last time.
Bakyura: Well duh what other username would you have?
Yogensha: You don’t have to believe me.
Yogensha: It’s just that everyone’s been talking about me lately, so I thought
I should make an appearance.
Bakyura: Still charging unreasonably high rates?
Yogensha: If you don’t like the price, don’t buy the product.
Yogesha: You won’t like what happens if you keep harassing my negotiators about
it.
Kanra: What?
Taro Tanaka: Bakyura do you know the Prophet?
Bakyura: Oh I get it
Bakyura: You’re not really the Prophet
Bakyura: You’re one of his mouthpieces
Bakyura: I don’t know who you think I am but just let it go okay
Bakyura: The Prophet’s gone
Yogensha: I know who you are.
Yogensha: And you should really take my advice.
Yogensha: People you care about have been hospitalized before because you were
careless
Yogensha: Maybe next time it’ll be your legs that get broken
Bakyura: Wtf
Bakyura: Who the fuck is this?
Setton: No answer?
Taro Tanaka: Must’ve left.
Kanra: What a jerk :( Are you okay, Bakyura?
Kanra: Hello?
Bakyura: I have to go
Saika: Take care
Setton: We should all be a little cautious, I guess
Taro Tanaka: Seems like the Prophet is a little dangerous
Yogensha: Only when provoked.
*
After a brief hiatus, the Prophet service resumes on Friday afternoon, as you
agreed with Rika it would.  You find her after school standing at the school
gate with a crowd gathered around her.  Mai and Kazumi are among the assembled
students, and they explain that she’s spreading the word.  “Everyone, if I
could have your attention, please,” she says, holding up her cell phone like
one might a religious icon, “I have just received a message from the Prophet,
and he would like you all to know that he was not the same person as the one in
the paper the other day.  We’ve all heard that rumor, and the Prophet would
like the assure us that it isn’t true.  Also, he has told me that the service
will resume now.  If any of you have any requests for the Prophet, talk to me
or any of the other Voices of the Prophet, and we’ll make sure your question is
answered.”
Masaomi is the first to leave, looking disgusted.  You don’t blame him,
considering how his interactions with the Prophet service so far have gone.
 Those remaining, however, swamp the four of you with questions, mostly wanting
to know who the Prophet really is.  You can only smile and say that nobody
knows for sure.
Despite this, you don’t get many requests.  Most of the students are just
curious and don’t actually have a job for the Prophet.  When you head to
Ikebukuro Park, you and the others wait around for almost an hour and not a
single person comes.  “What gives?” Rika asks, “High schoolers gossip at the
speed of light; there should be somebody here by now.”
“Give it time,” Mai says encouragingly, “I heard from the network that a lot of
people bought into the rumor about the guy in the paper being the Prophet.  I
bet we’ll be swamped tomorrow.”
You wanted people to believe it was him, so really, it shouldn’t be surprising
or frustrating that it’s taking time for your clients to come back.  At the
same time, though, something about this isn’t quite right.
Unfortunately, you don’t have time to worry about it right now, because your
Prophet life has gotten in the way of your real life, and you have a crazy
amount of homework waiting for you.  “Sorry, but I have to go,” you say, “I
haven’t even started on the paper for Monday.  Let me know if things pick up.”
“Sure,” Rika says, waving you off without a glance in your direction.  You know
she’s worried about this, too.
You’re not quite home yet when you get a text from Izaya and you actually get a
stupid smile on your face at first until you remind yourself that this is
probably not going to be a good text, considering he knows by now that his arch
nemesis has not been defeated yet.
From Izaya: 17:09: Content
“It seems we got the wrong man.”
From Izaya: 17:09: Content
“Of course it was too good to be true.”
On the bright side, it doesn’t seem like he’s suspecting you quite yet. You
don’t have a suitable cover lined up, but you text him back that you figured as
much, considering you and the other “Voices of the Prophet” aren’t out of a job
yet.  You tell him that so far Rika is the only one with direct contact, and
that you’re concerned that trying to establish such a connection for yourself
might look suspicious.
From Izaya: 17:09: Content
 “Don’t worry about it.  I’m pursuing a new lead now.  I’ll let you know when I
have something.”
From Izaya: 17:10: Content
 “Communicating directly with the prophet would be too risky right now.”
You frown, noticing that he didn’t say anything about this lead, and ask if he
wants any help.
From Izaya: 17:10: Content
“No, that’s alright.  I think it would be better if we keep our distance from
one another for a little while.  It wouldn’t be good if he drew a connection
between us.  I’ll contact you again when it’s safe.”
From Izaya: 17:10: Content
“Miss me already, huh?”
You try not to blush as you open your front door, thinking about what this
means.  Already, Izaya’s named a new suspect and has also decided to cut you
out of the investigation.  You’d like to know who he’s got his eye on so you
know what to expect.
You send a text to Rika to get ahold of Mai on the Prophet’s behalf.  Time to
see just what this “network” is capable of.
*
You’re standing near the fountain of Ikebukuro Park the next morning feeling
more than a little disappointed.  Not only has the Prophet’s client base
apparently shrunk to half the size it was before--no doubt partially due to the
Yellow Scarves boycotting the service--but Mai’s network didn’t come through
for you after all.  Although the girls who make up that group are a little bit
more on the “inside” when it comes to Izaya, having worked with him for much
longer than any of you, they’re all around the same age as you, and while there
are some things that Izaya has let slip around them, he doesn’t trust them any
more than he trusts you.  They apparently haven’t heard anything about Izaya’s
new search for the Prophet either, leaving you on your toes.
The silver lining today is Toshi, a guy Kazumi brought with her when she showed
up who claims the territorial dominance the Yellow Scarves have on the
Ikebukuro area has irritated the smaller gangs, meaning there is still
potential for a growth in your client base, even if they aren’t as big of names
as what you had before.  Toshi claims to be in one of these small time groups,
though for an underdog, he seems to know quite a bit about what’s going on.
“I thought there’d be more people here,” he says as Rika gives him his phone
back.
“So did we,” she admits, “But we just announced that we were still in business
like yesterday, so I guess we just have to give it some time.”
He’s quiet for a minute.  “Hm.  I bet it’s because of Izaya.”
If you were a dog, your ears would have perked up.  “What do you mean?” you
asked, and Rika shoots you a look for suddenly joining the conversation.
“It’s kind of like what the Yellow Scarves did,” he tells you, “Remember how
their leader blacklisted the Prophet?  Well, Izaya has done that, too.  Anyone
who works with him is under contract to have no further ties with the Prophet.”
Ah.  Well, that explains why no one’s been coming by.
Rika reminds Toshi to tell all of his friends about the Prophet service as he
leaves, and you talk with your friends to plan your next move.  “Where’d you
find that guy?” Rika asks Kazumi, who shrugs.
“Met him the other day,” she says, “He, um, used to go to Izaya for this sort
of thing, but he’s choosing us instead.  He knows people.  Should be good
publicity.”
“What’s this about Izaya blacklisting us, though?” you asks, “How do we deal
with that?”
Mai smiles.  “I have an idea.”  If it involves the network, you’re not going to
get your hopes up.
“In the meantime, I guess we just keep doing business as usual,” Rika says, “I
think we’ve phased out all of our younger customers, so we work exclusively
with gangs now.  Which means we can charge a little more.”
“Is this really the best time to bump up the price?”
She puts her hands on her hips.  “You know, I feel like you ask me that every
time I suggest it.”
You let her have that one.  Rika has never steered you wrong when it comes to
handling the finances.  The four of you part ways after that, though Rika
mysteriously texts you later that day,
From Rika: 13:15: Content
“Clear out your messages, because you are about to get a metric shitload.”
From Rika: 13:15: Content
“We’ve so got Izaya now.”
The “metric shitload” doesn’t actually start coming for another hour or so, but
when they do, your phone goes off over and over again, each vibration
interrupted by the next one as you receive text after text, all of which are
forwarded from Mai’s number.
Forward: From Mai, XXX-XXXX: 14:02: Content
 “I’ll contact you with the details once payment comes through.”
Forward: From Mai, XXX-XXXX: 14:02: Content
 “The rendezvous point is going to be by the owl statue; watch for the signal.”
Forward: From Mai, XXX-XXXX: 14:02: Content
 “I’d rather not get the informant involved in this.”
Forward: From Mai, XXX-XXXX: 14:02: Content
 “Working with him is too much of a risk.”
You eventually put your phone on silent and try to ignore it, but you feel a
little jolt almost like a gentle static shock every time a new message comes
through, and you go back to glancing at them.  You don’t recognize any of the
numbers the forwards come from and have no context to know what you’re working
with, but they look like the high-profile kinds of people you used to work
with.  You’d love to know how Mai convinced them Izaya wouldn’t eventually
track them down for using the Prophet service, something that has to be a lie
because this isn’t the kind of thing Izaya would just let go, and you have no
intention of offering any kind of protection to people who knew Izaya didn’t
want them coming to you.  They knew what they were getting into the moment they
handed their phone to one of the Prophet’s correspondents.
The text bombing comes to an abrupt halt after your inbox tells you to start
checking your 300-some messages, but before you can even get started on poring
over them more carefully, you get a text from Rika.
From Rika: 14:33: Content
 “Sorry hopefully they’ve all come through by now.  Just pair up the numbers to
see which ones go with which.  And text me when you’ve got some coherent info.
 We didn’t make any money off of this, so we’d better get something out of it.”
From Rika: 14:34: Content
 “Like being able to stick it to Izaya.”
A little confused but nonetheless interested, you get out a pen and paper and
start writing down the relevant parts.  You’ve been given a bunch of pieces of
conversations from apparently important individuals, mostly about upcoming
business ventures and shady dealings, many of which involve Izaya in some way.
 Come to think of it, you could probably use a lot of this.  You’re betting a
lot of gangs could use some dirt on one another.  There’s even stuff on the
Yellow Scarves in here.  You’re just getting excited and circling the important
stuff when you get yet another text.
From Izaya: 14:45: Content
 “Are you free tomorrow?”
From Izaya: 14:45: Content
 “I hope for your sake you have nothing to do with this.”
You try not to answer too quickly.  Nothing to do with what?! you want to ask,
but instead you give a simple affirmative and wait for a response.
From Izaya: 14:45: Content
 “I’d like it if you could come over around noon.”
From Izaya: 14:45: Content
 “Then again, I suppose that could be interesting, too.”
You tell him you’ll be there, but he never texts you back.  Now you’re
panicked.  What the hell is going on?  Rika would never run the Prophet service
for free, no matter how reluctant your clients must be to use it.  And what’s
up with Izaya?  Who was he suspecting before, and why is the blame likely to be
shifted for you?  Suddenly things are more hectic than ever.  Which is funny,
because for once, you actually haven’t been doing anything to actively sabotage
him.
So who has been?
***** The Perfect Couple *****
Chapter Notes
     I realized, as I happened to notice the word count, that this is
     getting really long. Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me so far,
     or anyone's who's just tuning in. I keep saying things are going to
     pick up, and we're about a chapter or two away from the "point of no
     return" where things really accelerate.
     (For real this time.)
You’re thinking about giving up on the chessboard.
It’s been a huge waste of space in the bottom of a drawer and with how chaotic
Ikebukuro has gotten you can’t make heads or tails out of the way things are
arranged.  You’re starting to think Izaya only has one set up for appearances
because you can’t see how it possibly helps him predict anything, but maybe
it’s your lack of experience that has you saying that.  After all, he’s been at
this for a while.  
You’ve got your collective of animals centered on your side of the field, even
the cat now that Kazumi has convinced you she’s got your back, with the
exception of Izaya the camel who remains on his side of the field, of course.
 There’s a minefield of chess pieces between you, gang members and unlucky
civilians who happen to be in the middle.  The Yellow Scarves have been pretty
loud and proud about not wanting anything to do with the Prophet, and with
Izaya imposing restrictions on his own clients, you’ve had to start considering
other options.  The gangs of Ikebukuro are going to start picking sides, and
you’d like them with you rather than against you.
Ever since parsing through the text bomb Mai forwarded you, you discovered an
almost semi-coherent narrative on current events in Ikebukuro through the eyes
of some of its most dangerous residents--new alliances, dirty secrets, meet-ups
and exchanges, it was all there.  You sent Rika back what you’d figured out
last night, and she’d acted immediately, sending the word out to Mai, who had
passed it along to the network, and overnight, the Prophet was a force to be
reckoned with all over again.  People were now convinced that the Prophet could
be in several places at once; he’d exposed the slow encroachment of a new
yakuza group to their Ikebukuro rivals, sabotaged a weapons deal by sending a
“signed” tip to the police, and obtained the names and home addresses of at
least a third of the Yellow Scarves’ members, several of which were posted
publicly “to make an example.”  Within a matter of hours, you’d managed to
erase the last traces of doubt that the Prophet was gone.  Of course, for every
ally you made, you gained at least a few more enemies, and that’s something
you’re going to have to deal with at some point.
First things first, though, you’ve got a meeting with Izaya.
*
After a few stations, you transfer lines, but on your way to catch the last
train to your destination, you hear a commotion on the platform across the way.
 Pressing your back to the wall to get out of the way of the crowd passing by
you, you wait until the train leaves to get a good look across the tracks.  You
see Mai and Kazumi there with a couple of other girls--more Prophet devotees if
you had to guess--and they’re looking a little intimidated by the Yellow
Scarves thugs staring them down.
“The Prophet must be desperate if he’s stooping this low,” the guy closest to
Mai says, holding out a hand expectantly, “Give it back and we can all pretend
this never happened.”
You think you see a cell phone in her hands--and unless she got a new one since
the last time you saw her, it definitely isn’t hers.
You start to panic.  What are they thinking?  You never told anyone to start
pick-pocketing.  What made them think that would be a good idea, and from a
Yellow Scarves member, no less?
“I hear your Prophet’s pretty protective of you when it comes to getting paid,”
he says, sneering at Mai,  “Would he still come to your rescue if there’s no
money in it, though?”
You’re waiting for Kazumi to bluff her way out, or summon a bunch of the tough-
looking guys she usually brings to jobs, but apparently this isn’t a job, which
means they aren’t prepared.  You try to decide if crossing to the other
platform would do anything but put yourself in danger.  They’re already
outnumbered, and you showing up isn’t going to make a difference, but you can’t
just leave them there.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” someone in the crowd around them says,
turning to become part of the conversation.  You’re about to sigh in relief,
thinking Kazumi must have planned ahead, but she looks surprised.  It can’t
just be some random stranger, can it?
One by one, more of the bystanders begin to join the circle, surrounding the
Yellow Scarves, and you’re searching for some identifying article of clothing
or something they have in common, but you don’t see anything.  It’s just a
bunch of people of varying ages who looked totally passive a second ago.  
It hits you just as one of them, a kid probably about your age, says it out
loud.
“The Dollars are with the Prophet.”
The Dollars; the first you heard of them was a while back when Mai was
explaining what to look out for in Ikebukuro.  They were a “colorless” gang
with a fearsome reputation, partially because of the mystery--with no calling
card or distinctive marker, they could be anybody from the high school kid on
his phone to the salary-man checking his watch.  Their quick ascension into
Ikebukuro legend was soon followed by a tense relationship with the Yellow
Scarves, and the two have been known to fight before.  
The Yellow Scarves members look tough, but they don’t look willing to take on a
platform full of people, so eventually they back off and disappear back the way
they came.  Mai, Kazumi, and the other girls are still reeling from the sudden
rescue, but just as suddenly as it happened, the members of the Dollars slip
back into their roles as normal people, returning to texting or waiting for the
train or talking with their friends.  It happens so quickly you probably won't
recognize them as Dollars members if you see them again.
Having that kind of power on your side is exciting, but you’d like to know what
the Dollars have invested in the Prophet.  You suppose that’s a question for
someone with a bit more insight than you.
*
Izaya is, for once, completely unprepared for your visit, and that’s almost
unsettling all by itself.
You knock on the door and actually stand out there for almost half a minute
before it opens.  “Sorry,” he says with a small, very obviously forced smile,
“Come in, please,” and walks away to go back to his desk.  You slip inside and
shut the door behind you, slowly making your way to the couch.  You’ve clearly
interrupted him--he’s typing furiously, fingers little more than a blur over
his keyboard, and his eyes are focused on the screen.  He has his cell phone
close by, and glances at the screen now and then but doesn’t pick it up.  He
doesn’t even say anything for a minute, which is fine, because it gives you a
minute to look at the messy chessboard sitting in front of you.
You’re not sure what exactly refers to what, only that the elephant is the
Prophet, but he has things arranged in a very peculiar way; there are a ring of
rooks of different colors surrounding the elephant, a bunch of pawns clustered
in front of it, and somewhere off to the side of the board sits a new piece.
 It’s a tiny figure of a man on horseback holding a sword, and the detail on
the piece as well as the paint make you think it must be from the same set as
the elephant.  You’re fairly certain the black king standing opposite the
elephant on the board must represent Izaya, so you’re not sure what this third
figure is supposed to be.  
“You’ll have to excuse me,” Izaya says, and you look up to find his eyes still
glued to the computer monitor, “This most recent mess has taken some time to
clean up.”
“Mess?” you repeat curiously.  Normally, Izaya is completely focused on the
conversation; you’re hoping that being forced to multitask will make him think
a little less about exactly what he wants to say and what he wants to hide.
 You’re not expecting anything game changing, but even the tiniest slip up
could help.
“This fiasco with Prophet,” Izaya says, exasperated, hitting the keys a little
harder, “Do not go to the Prophet if you want to continue using my services is
a pretty simple proposition, but some people will always look for loopholes.  I
just didn’t think they would be so blatant about it.”  He’s practically glaring
at his screen.  “Messages from my clients are still reaching the Prophet,” he
says, “Either every single one of my clients no longer values their
partnerships with me, or I have a mole on my hands.”
A lot of them, actually, you think.  “A mole makes sense,” you say, trying to
hide your pride at having him so worked up.
You could make a joke here, but you're classier than that.
Izaya finishes typing before he answers, finally turning to look at you.
 “Honestly,” he says, standing from his desk, “I’m more inclined to believe
this isn’t an inside job.  I think someone on the outside may have compromised
my clients.”
You’re trying to figure out what he means when it suddenly occurs to you what
you saw just a little bit ago--the Prophet’s followers stealing.  More
specifically, stealing phones.  The realization strikes you and makes your
shocked expression genuine.
Izaya doesn’t need a mole for the Prophet to be intercepting information; Mai
and the others have been cutting him out altogether by stealing phones from his
known associates and forwarding the texts to the Prophet.  This raises a few
questions--come to think of it, you always have gotten exformation from
forwards even though they’re sent from different people than the original
text’s author, and anyway, who told Mai to start doing this?  It wasn’t you--
but you push them to the back of your mind for now in favor of engaging Izaya
now that he’s actually paying attention.
“Of course, I can’t overlook the possibility that I’m the one who’s been
compromised,” he says as he joins you on the couch, “I’ll have to take a close
look at what all of my associates have been doing lately.”
You hope Mai’s network has been careful; this could get you all in trouble.
You try not to look nervous when Izaya’s smile slowly returns to his face as he
leans in close to you, one arm draped over the couch behind you.  “You wouldn’t
happen to know anything useful, would you?” he asks.
He doesn’t usually ask you point-blank like this, but weeks of constantly lying
to your parents, your classmates, and even your fellow Prophet spokespeople
have helped you develop a good poker face.  “No,” you say, and then pause,
“Well...no, I guess not.”
“What?”  Izaya leans away and you’re almost disappointed until he grabs one of
your arms, lying back and pulling you until you’re straddling his legs.  You
know this game by now--he’s expecting you to slip up the way you were just
waiting for him to do it while distracted.  You smile shyly and bend your body
over him, face hovering inches from his.  The more you play, the better you’ll
get, after all.
“I don’t know if it’s related,” you murmur, “But I heard that the Dollars are
supporting the Prophet.”
Izaya doesn’t even look surprised; he just smiles a little more, and you feel
his hands resting on your hips, trying to find their way to the edges of your
clothing.  “Is that right?” he asks, sounding a bit like he already knew.  You
wonder how he might’ve heard it before you, since Mai and Kazumi just found out
a little bit ago, too, and first-hand.  “Is this from a reliable source?”
“Very,” you breathe, and lean in the rest of the way to press your lips against
his.
Izaya is much more controlled this time, but he’s moving quickly, tugging at
your shirt until he gets you to part from him and lift your arms.  The two of
you detangle just long enough to go to the other room and undress, and then
he’s lying back on the bed and beckoning you closer with one crooked finger.
 Before you can climb on top of him again, he scoots back and places a hand on
your head, pushing you down until you’re eye-level with….
Oh.
You can feel your blush through your entire body, blood pumping in your ears,
skin heated.  Izaya chuckles, and his other hand cups your cheek.  “Never done
this before?”
You think that should be obvious by now, but shake your head anyway.  
“It’s okay,” he says in a soft, encouraging tone, “Just try.”
It’s not that you don’t want to--you really, really want to, actually--you’re
just a little nervous about messing up.  Then again, if your previous
encounters have been any indication, Izaya doesn’t seem to care whether or not
you know what you’re doing.  If anything, he probably prefers that you don’t
because it lets him stay in control.  And that’s fine, you don’t mind; it’s
best if he thinks he’s winning.
Experimentally, you try touching first, putting one hand on his hip to steady
your position leaning over him, and you close the other around the base of his
cock, sliding up to the tip with a light squeeze.  
Izaya doesn’t say anything, but you feel him shudder.  Outwardly, you’re still
nervous, and start rambling a little to cover it up.  “What are you going to do
about the Dollars?” you ask, and start stroking him.  Two can play at this
game.
Izaya lets out a shaky sigh when you balance your weight on your thighs,
freeing up both of your hands to pay attention to the base of his manhood.
 “I’m not worried about them,” he says.
“Really?”
“No.  They’re large but disorganized, and their interest in the Prophet won’t
last.”
“You don’t think they’re capable of intercepting your client’s messages?”
You give a tentative lick to his leaking tip, and he inhales sharply.  “No,”
you almost make him stammer and can’t help but smile, “They’re dangerous only
for their numbers and ability to hide among their enemies.  They’re not
particularly cunning, and they don’t know what they want; not individually, and
not as a group.  If the Prophet has anything to do with them, they’ll probably
lead me right to him.”
Note to self, don’t recruit from the Dollars.
You don’t want him to get suspicious or impatient, so you forge on ahead,
opening your mouth to take just the head into your mouth, and the moment your
lips close around it, Izaya’s hand falls on top of your head to keep you from
backing away.  “Go on,” he urges, and you wince at the bitter taste of precum
but do your best anyway, trying to get more of him into your mouth but get
uncomfortable not even halfway down.  You work with it, though, licking along
the underside of his cock while bobbing your head.  Your jaw is just starting
to get a little sore when Izaya suddenly pulls your head away and lays back,
stroking his cock as he looks up at you with lidded, lust-clouded eyes.  He
reaches into the nightstand drawer for a condom and the bottle of lube, and he
meets your eyes when he notices you staring, holding your gaze as he unrolls
the protective covering over his cock and rubs it down with cold, clear liquid.
 “Come here,” he says, voice almost hoarse, and you find yourself straddling
him again, this time without any clothes to separate you.  
You haven’t done it this way before.  You’re a little nervous, but you’re
excited to try.  Izaya’s hands find your hips again, gently coaxing you to lift
yourself onto him, and you try to relax as you feel his head at your womanhood,
starting to push in.
“Go as slow as you need to,” he says, despite sounding a little strained.  His
thumbs rub slow circles into your sides, and gradually, one uncomfortable inch
at a time, you work him inside, feeling his nails dig into you.
Izaya’s cell phone starts ringing, and you’re so startled that you slide the
rest of the way down, sheathing Izaya completely inside and letting out a
strangled cry.  Izaya’s head falls back against the pillows and he doesn’t move
for a minute, apparently trying to control himself, but he manages to reach
over to the nightstand and answer on the fourth ring.
You’re pretty sure his phone didn’t leave his desk, which means he has more
than one.  You idly wonder if he’d notice that one was missing, and then remind
yourself not to get too ambitious.
“Hello?” he says, sounding a lot more collected than you expected.  You wonder
if he has a thing about getting off while being on the phone, thinking back to
the weird texts you got from him a while back.  You don’t wonder for too long,
though, because he rolls his hips while buried inside of you, and you wouldn’t
be surprised if your eyes rolled back in your head, only able to think, why
haven’t we done it like this before?!
“What?  Of course not.  I’m paying attention,” he says to whoever’s on the
other line as he cups your rear in both hands, pulls about halfway out, and
then gives a rough, upward thrust back in.  The phone is resting next to his
head on the pillow, close enough that it’d probably pick up any noise you make.
 As Izaya’s thrusts become more aggressive and you bite down on your lip, you
can’t imagine it matters if you moan; it has to be picking up the obscene
noises of your bodies meeting and skin sliding against skin.  You look down at
Izaya through your hazy vision, and find him smiling up at you.  You’re not
sure what he wants--is he trying to test if you’ll keep quiet, or would he
rather you make it obvious what’s going on?
Not that it really matters; suddenly, he’s going even faster, cock slamming
into you at angles he couldn’t reach before, and you can hardly support
yourself, much less stay quiet.  You’re gasping and mewling and even calling
his name, and Izaya laughs before saying, “Sorry, I’m going to have to call you
back,” not even bothering to end the call before he suddenly sits up, reversing
your positions and lifting your knees over his shoulders, and if it’s even
possible, he fucks you harder.
“I-Izaya,” you moan, practically crying because it just feels so good and you
don’t know how to handle it.  You reach climax first, and you think you hear
him laughing weakly before he’s kissing you again, moaning into your mouth as
his hips start to stutter, and you know he’s found release from the last few
irregular, powerful thrusts.
You don’t think you can move.  Izaya has to take a minute to catch his breath
before he slowly pulls out, pressing one last kiss to your cheek before he
disappears somewhere outside of your field of vision.  Time is working in
strange ways, so you’re not sure how long he’s gone for, but when he comes
back, he has a pair of pants on and a phone pressed to his ear.  You know you
should probably get up, but your eyelids are actually feeling really heavy and
your body doesn’t seem to want to move.  You should really know better than to
fall asleep in Izaya’s bed, but you can’t get up, and you’re fighting just to
keep your eyes open.  You feel the bed dip and hear Izaya say something, but
you don’t process whatever it was, because your eyes shut, and you slip into
unconsciousness.
*
You wake in a panic, bolting upright and trying to find a clock.
Izaya laughs behind you, and you turn to find him watching you with an
entertained smile, dressed neatly like nothing happened.  He holds up a neatly
folded stack of clothes, and you remember you’re naked and get embarrassed.
 “I’d tease you about that being the best sex you ever had,” he says as you
take your clothes from him and get up to go to the bathroom, “But that wouldn’t
really be fair, since you don’t have anything to compare it to.”  
“How would you know?” you mutter, reaching for the bathroom door.  You haven’t
quite stepped onto the tile floor when Izaya is on his feet and has a hand on
your shoulder, turning you around to face him.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asks.  He’s smiling, and yet he says the words
in that dangerously calm tone he uses when he does business.  Or rather, when
he threatens his business partners.  
“It…” you gulp, “It was a joke.”
Izaya’s eyes narrow as though he’s trying to look through you for the truth.
 Even after he seems to relax, apparently having assured himself you aren't
lying, his hand lingers on your shoulder for a moment before he lets go.  You
shut the bathroom door behind you, and even lock it out of paranoia.  You
haven’t seen him looking that dangerous in a little while.  You weren’t scared
he would hurt you or anything, but he looked so angry for a minute, his eyes
glinting like you were taking something that belonged to him.
Possessive, you realize, that’s how he was looking at you.  You stare at
yourself in the mirror, at the red marks along your collar and neck.  You’ve
cautioned yourself against getting too wrapped up in the physical aspect of
your relationship with Izaya, and you’ve failed spectacularly at keeping
emotional distance.  But it looks like Izaya has, too.  He’s gotten used to
you, started to let down his guard when he’s with you.  He’s even incensed at
the idea of you with someone else.
You can use this, you think, smiling a little, you can definitely use this.
 Izaya is rational and proud; like you did before, he’ll probably try to reason
that his attachment to you is a consequence of sleeping together and that no
harm will come of it as long as he’s careful.  This can work.  You start the
shower and step in, shaking your head and laughing at yourself--look at you!
 You’re so devious!  You’re thinking exactly like Izaya now, even predicting
his thoughts.  Seems like you two are more alike than you realized before.  If
he knew how much he and the Prophet had in common, he’d probably be flattered.
***** Caught Red-Handed *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Setton: Is the Prophet on right now?
Yogensha: Yes.
Setton: There’s something I want to know.
Yogensha: Is this a casual question or a job offer?
Setton: Job.  Where can I find you?
Yogensha: You won’t find me anywhere, but you can find my go-betweens in
Ikebukuro Park most afternoons.  Should I tell them to expect you?
Setton: Please.
Yogensha: Not that I can tell much from the way you type, but you don’t seem
like my usual clients.
Setton: From what I hear, I doubt I’m like them at all.
Yogensha: Could I get a brief description so the go-betweens know what to look
for?
Setton: Trust me, they’ll know me when they see me.
Setton: I don’t exactly blend into crowds.
Setton: I have a casual question, too, though.
Yogensha: Go ahead.
Setton: I’ve asked something like this before, but you didn’t really give an
answer.
Setton: Why do you do what you do?
Setton: Is it really just for the money?  Or do you have some purpose you’re
working towards?  Are you trying to prove something?  
Yogensha: Well….
Yogensha: I think there’s a lesson to be learned somewhere.
Yogensha: Look at modern society and the culture of dishonesty that’s
encouraged through complicated social rituals.
Yogensha: There are numerous cultural practices built around putting on an act
or wearing a mask of some sort, hiding your true intentions.
Yogensha: And people are so accustomed to it anymore that they don’t even think
about it or wonder why they do it.
Setton: So you’re trying to teach Ikebukuro a lesson?
Yogensha: Nah, you were right the first time.  I’m just in it for the money.
Setton: Wow, really?
Yogensha: Yeah.
Yogensha: Sorry if I got your hopes up.
Yogensha: I’m just as bad as my clients when it comes to being dishonest, maybe
worse.
Setton: Hm.
Yogensha: What?
Setton: I don’t believe you.
Yogensha: That’s fine, I guess.  You’re free to believe what you want.
Setton: This whole thing is very complicated and there’s a lot I’m still
wondering about, but I’m pretty sure you’re not just in it for the money.
Yogensha: You’re pretty sure?
Setton: Unless you’re not who I think you are, of course.
Yogensha: I’m probably not the paragon of justice everyone seems to think I am.
Setton: That’s not what I meant.
Setton: Hmm...this changes things.
Yogensha: …
Setton: Oh well.  I’m sure things will work themselves out.
Setton: One way or another, I’ll probably end up involved, though.
Setton: You haven’t said anything for a while, so I can only assume I scared
you.
Setton: I wouldn’t worry.  I doubt anyone else has picked up on it yet.
Setton: Makes me curious, though….
Setton: If this kind of thing is going on in here, I wonder what’s going on out
there?
*
The next thing you know, Izaya has declared a manhunt.  
The entire Ikebukuro underground is in a panic as gangs begin searching among
their own for traitors and turning their backs on former allies.  Tension
between the Yellow Scarves and the Dollars mounts to a new high and fights
break out in the streets, and before you know it, your parents have started
enforcing a curfew to make sure you’re not out too late.  Needless to say, all
of the chaos is hampering your already strangled business, and something has to
be done.  Of course, Izaya doesn’t calm down right away, and everyone is still
on their toes for weeks afterwards, so Rika calls the second official Prophet
meeting, inviting Mai along this time.
“Let’s recap,” she says, taking a spot in the middle of Kazumi’s bed, “Business
has taken a hit.  First the Yellow Scarves boycott us, then Izaya forces his
clients to avoid us, too.  Now everyone’s running around looking for a mole,
because Izaya caught onto Mai and the network’s direct collection method.”
“Direct collection method,” Kazumi repeats, from her seat at her computer,
laughing under her breath, “Might as well just say what the Prophet really had
us, um, doing; stealing.”
“Don’t criticize the Prophet, it’s a perfectly legitimate method of obtaining
information,” Rika insists, “People barely noticed, and you dropped the phones
off at the closest police box right after.”
Mai clears her throat.  “About that,” she says, “We got caught recently.  By a
Yellow Scarves member.”
“At, um, Ikebukuro Station,” Kazumi adds.
They must not have seen you, so you act surprised alongside Rika.  “What
happened?” she asks.
“That’s the thing,” Mai says, “Dollars members came out of nowhere and backed
us up.  They claimed to be allies of the Prophet.”
“The Dollars, huh?” Rika muses, glancing at you to see if you know anything
about this, and you’re looking back at her, and around the room at the other
two.  There’s a problem you plan to address, and that’s this sudden undermining
of your authority that’s been going on.
“I have a question,” you announce, “I guess I must’ve missed the memo, but can
anyone tell me why the Prophet suddenly had us stealing phones?  Doesn't that
seem a little risky?”  Your hunch is that either Rika or Mai is behind this--
this whole stunt has Rika’s name all over it, though when you last talked about
how to combat Izaya’s blacklisting the Prophet, Mai had said she had a plan.
 It has to be one of them.
But they both look at you, Mai with confusion and Rika with wide-eyed shock
like she expected you to know because she expected you to be the person who
told them to do it.  
Mai and Kazumi exchange glances and shrug.  “I figured it was to help with
business,” Mai says sheepishly, “Like Rika said, things are bad.  When I got
the text, I didn’t think twice about doing it.”
“You didn’t, um, get it?” Kazumi asks.
You shake your head.  “I guess not.  Probably because I’m not as active in the
field as you guys are anymore.”
Now visibly shaken, Rika takes out her phone and shows you an old text message.
 Whenever you send messages to Rika to pass on “from the Prophet,” you use an
online service to give yourself a fake number--this number is the same one you
usually use, but you’re absolutely certain you didn’t send it.  Sure enough, it
calls for the Voices of the Prophet to begin obtaining messages directly from
the phones of Izaya’s clients, preferably without their knowledge.
You try to cover up your paranoia with a shrug and change the subject, deciding
instead to discuss the involvement of the Dollars, but even with the
conversation focus shifted, Rika is obviously just as worried as you, much
quieter than usual and occasionally glancing in your direction.  There are a
lot of suspects, what with all of the people who have gotten involved, but you
think it’s got to be Mai, Kazumi or Rika, who could easily be faking surprise;
it wouldn’t be the first time someone you thought you knew fooled you.  They’re
your friends, and you don’t want to suspect them, but they’re the ones closest
to you with the most access to information about the Prophet.  
Mai doesn’t seem like she’d be the one behind this, but you can’t rule her out
altogether.  Maybe she has a grudge against Izaya and is taking that to the
next level, going above the Prophet and issuing orders to further her own
agenda and get back at him more immediately.  Kazumi seems more likely, though.
 With her history, she has the technical know-how to get ahold of the same
false number the Prophet normally contacts his followers through.  You’re not
sure what her motivation would be--maybe something like Mai--but you worry that
she has something bigger planned.  Rika, though, is the most likely, having the
most information and direct access to the Prophet.  She would probably think
that you won’t suspect her because you have no reason to.  Maybe she’s tired of
you being the only one in charge and would rather take matters into her own
hands when she thinks you’re not acting quickly enough.
You start tuning back into the conversation, looking around the room anxiously
at the thought that one of these girls has been going behind your back.  If
they’re willing to do that, who knows what else they might do in the future?  
“Are you okay?” Mai asks gently, “You haven’t said much all meeting.”
You think you’re sweating.  “I’m fine,” you say absently.  This is awful; you
haven’t been this paranoid since the very beginning of getting involved with
Izaya, and you were never looking for your own friends to turn on you.  “I’m a
little tired, though,” you continue, standing from Kazumi’s bed, “I’m going to
head home early.”
You’re dismissed easily enough, but don’t go home right away, deciding to go
get a smoothie and walk around a bit to calm down.  Rika texts you to ask if
you’re okay, and nothing suspicious shows up in the second one, so you just
give a short affirmative answer.  The threat of betrayal, no matter how
innocent the motivations behind it, has you scared to be around your own
friends, afraid that they’re lying to your face.  You don’t trust anyone--you
never have, and you probably never really will--but you never felt like you had
to be on-guard around Rika.  She was there for you when your phone’s mysterious
power first manifested and freaked you out, and she made you realize it could
be something really cool.  You told her more than you ever told your own
parents.  You get to the front of the line and order your smoothie, but when
you get it, you stare down and remember all the times you and Rika came here
together and you never once thought she would ever turn on you.
“I never thought I’d see you here by yourself,” you hear Izaya’s voice from a
few feet in front of you.  You’re surprised--after Mai got his schedule down,
you and the others all took the time to memorize it, and while Izaya broke
routine now and then, usually for work, for the most part, her analysis was
spot on.  This is not the regular time for him to be in Ikebukuro, nor is it
even the part of town he frequents, so something out of the ordinary must have
happened.
Izaya slides into the seat across from you, resting his elbows on the table and
setting his head on the backs of his hands.  “Care to tell me what’s on your
mind?”
You stare down at your drink.  “Business troubles,” you say simply, and he nods
in understanding.
“I see,” he says, “I’ve had quite a few myself lately.  That lead I had turned
out to be another dead end.”
Izaya is trouble, and you know that.  If you’re worried about people lying to
you, he should really be at the top of that list, and you have no reason to
trust him with anything.  Maybe it’s all the time you’ve been spending together
lately, or how much you’ve discovered you have in common, but you find yourself
glancing at him a little shyly and asking, “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Everything,” you say, “I don’t do half the work you do in Ikebukuro, but I’m
always stressed out about something.  Now that there are color gangs involved,
it’s gotten even more dangerous.  I didn’t sign up for this, you know?  I was
just looking to make a bit of money in my spare time, I didn’t want to get
involved in all of this for some guy I don’t even know.”
Izaya’s smile is almost sympathetic.  “You had me fooled,” he says, “I thought
you were rather confident.”
“I’m not,” you admit, “Not at all, really.”
Izaya’s hands find your across the table, stroking his thumb over them idly,
and his smile widens a little bit.  “You wanna come over for a bit?” he asks,
voice dropping an octave, and you immediately feel your face flush.  “You don’t
have to,” he says, “But it sounded like you were asking for my advice a minute
ago.  It’s not as though I’m immune to stress, you know.  My occupation demands
close attention to detail; it can get to be a little much at times.  Sometimes,
I just need to let go.  I’m sure the same could work for you.”  He leans over
the table, voice dropping to a whisper.  “Would you like that?”
Leave it to Izaya to get you turned on when you were just a paranoid wreck a
minute ago.  He leads you back to his apartment, sneaking in touches to your
knee or leg on the train ride over, and by the time you get to the front door,
the sexual tension is unbearable.  The second he locks the door behind him,
you’re throwing yourself at him, hands fisted in his jacket to pull him down to
your level for a kiss full of tongue and teeth.  You leave behind a trail of
clothes on the way to the bedroom, and Izaya is laughing the way he usually
does when you do something he finds surprising.  You’re upset and stressed out
and anxious, and it all manifests itself as desperation to forget about
everything that’s going on, giving Izaya just enough time to find a condom in
the drawer before you’re climbing on top of him and grinding your hips
together, nipping at his ear and listening to him let out small, breathy moans.
“I don’t want to think about anything else right now,” you whisper.  Izaya
takes you by the hips and sits up abruptly, sending you toppling backwards with
him on top.  
“I’ll make sure you don’t,” he promises.  
Your nails leave angry, red crescent-shaped marks on his back as he makes good
on his word, thrusting shallowly, one hand at your womanhood teasing your clit.
 Izaya is a bit more vocal than usual, whispering to you about how tight you
are, how good you feel, how he wishes he could come home to you every day and
bend you over his desk, thrusts gradually reaching deeper and deeper inside of
you, hips snapping against yours.  You don’t know which way is up, much less
what’s going on outside of Izaya’s apartment, and you don’t care.  Izaya’s name
leaves your lips as a chant, and he shows his appreciation by slowing his pace,
thrusting deep and gentle, leaving you clawing at him desperately for more.
You forget about being the Prophet, and you forget about him being an informant
and your rival.  You forget about Ikebukuro, and Rika and the others, and the
gang wars, and absolutely everything.  Izaya’s body eclipses yours, and you
don’t care what his reasons are for doing this, you’re just glad he is.  You
love his keen intuition, the way he can just read you even though you’d rather
he doesn’t, the way he holds onto you and makes you lose yourself in new
sensations, you love….
You don’t love him, but you really, really, really like him, and you don’t care
if that’s reckless.
*
You don’t fall asleep, but you linger in Izaya’s bed in a daze for a little
while, going to take a shower when he hands you your gathered clothes from the
other room.  Izaya lets you go without any talk of business, claiming you need
to take the night off.  You feel a lot better, smiling to yourself on your walk
back to the train station without a care in the world.  You know your
relationship with Izaya is never going to amount to anything more than what it
is now, but you’re free to imagine.  The Izaya of your fantasy is mostly the
same as the real one, the only difference being that the two of you are on the
same side, able to trust one another with anything.
Speaking of trusting people, you realize as you’re getting close to home that
you haven’t heard from Rika, Mai or Kazumi since you left the meeting.  You
thought you’d at least get the cliff notes from Rika, unless of course she
really is trying to slowly wrestle your authority as the Prophet away from you,
a thought that makes you a little sick to your stomach.
You’re surprised when you open the door and see your mother and father milling
about in the kitchen, and Rika waiting for you near the entryway.
“Oh, sorry about that,” Rika says with a huge, very forced smile, “I forgot you
were going to the bookstore today, but I figured I’d just wait until you came
back.”  She glances back pointedly towards your parents, indicating that this
is the story she told them to explain what she was doing there when you weren’t
home.  The two of you go to your room, and as soon as the door shuts, Rika
drops dramatically onto your bed.  “Where have you been?” she demands, “I had
to make something up on the spot so your parents wouldn’t freak out.  I’ve been
trying to reach you for an hour now.”
“What are you doing here?” you shoot back, “You know what, never mind, there’s
something more important we have to talk about.”
“The hell there is,” Rika says angrily, “You’re practically attached to your
phone, you never just ignore texts, no matter what.”
“I didn’t ignore your text.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything when I told you I was coming over, or answer
any text I sent after that?”
“You never told me….”  You’re reaching for your phone reflexively to prove it,
but hesitate, finding your pocket empty.  You check your other pocket, and then
your bag.
Rika’s eyes widen.  “Don’t tell me you lost it.”
“I didn’t,” you insist, panic-laced thoughts racing.  The realization dawns on
you and your eyes widen in horror.  “...But I think someone took it.”
“Who?!”
Rika’s phone buzzes, and both of your eyes fly to her pocket.  Slowly, she
takes it out and holds it so you can both read the message.
From Prophet (19:50)
“This is not your Prophet, but I’d like you to pass along a message for me to
your associates all the same.  As you can see, I have the phone of the Prophet,
and if they would like it back, they will meet me tomorrow at noon, alone, in
the alley behind my place of residence to discuss my terms.  Don’t worry about
the details--they’ll know.”
Rika’s hands are shaking.  Her face pales when she looks at you.  “It’s him,
isn’t it?” she whispers.  “What do we say?”
“Nothing.  He’ll know what you’re thinking if you say anything.”  You close
your eyes and put your head in your hands.  
“It’s over,” she says hopelessly, “We’re finished.”
“No we’re not,” you say, but your voice is shaking, “I’ll-I’ll figure something
out.”  This isn’t about the Prophet, though.  You just want--need--your phone
back.  “I’ll….”
Rika falls back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and you run out of things
to say.  
This is all your fault.
Rika told you, over and over again, to stay away from Izaya, but you got so
wrapped up in the excitement and the danger and a few other things that you
didn’t listen.  You let your attachment to him cloud your judgment.  He’s
probably known before today and just taken his time getting a list of your
contacts and clients so he can permanently shut you down.  You were so
comfortable with him, so sure you had him wrapped around your finger, but
everything--the passionate touches, his possessive stare, the way he held you
close after--it was all a lie.  He’s been playing you this whole time, and you
were so wrapped up in your feelings for him that you stopped paying attention.
 This happened when you were still enjoying the afterglow, ignorant of the fact
that your phone was somewhere on the floor with your clothes.  You shouldn't be
surprised that Izaya would check your phone, and you've been so out of it that
you haven't thought to regularly go through and delete your old messages.  The
time you fell asleep must've been like a test for him to see if you'd really
gotten so comfortable that you'd let your guard down all the way.  You walked
right into this.
You have to see him one more time.  You have to get your phone back and fix
this somehow.  You don’t want to lose to him, not like this, not when you
promised that this wouldn’t happen.  
More than anything, you want to look at his smirking face and have a reason to
hate him so your heart will stop hurting.
Chapter End Notes
     Uh oh
***** Revenge Game *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so much for all of your messages. This has been so fun to
     write! We're past the halfway point and approaching the end. I
     estimate maybe three more chapters, but we'll see. Thanks for hanging
     in there!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
When Rika first met you, you were a borderline social recluse who only left the
house to go to class and never talked to anyone.  You couldn’t be parted from
your phone and used it as your sole means of communication because discovering
that everyone lied made you unwilling to try talking to someone without it.
 You would never be able to tell what they were thinking, what truths they were
hiding, what they weren’t telling you, and it scared you.  Rika, for whatever
reason, kept trying to talk to you, eventually exchanging numbers.  She lied
just like anyone else, but one thing she didn’t lie about was her reason for
talking to you in the first place--she genuinely just wanted to be your friend.
 When you got that text back, you held onto it for weeks, because it was the
first time you got two texts where the second didn’t contradict the first,
confirming her sincerity.  
Talking to people was hard at first, but Rika helped you ease into it slowly,
gently prodding you in the side with her elbow or nudging you with her foot
under the table to get you to put your phone away and have a conversation face
to face.  You still weren’t really comfortable, but Rika never left your side.
 She was patient, always putting up with your reclusive habits and gently
helping you try new things.  Your first sleepover was with her.  Your first
time shopping with a friend was with her.  You blew your allowance on purikura
for the first time with her.  When she found out about your phone, she had
eagerly said you should start up a business, and while the money has always
been a nice bonus, it had just been one more thing that the two of you did
together, the next stage of your friendship.  Of course, things didn’t go the
way they were supposed to--the allure of power, power enough to intimidate
yakuza and shape the underground of Ikebukuro, was so great that you both
started changing into unrecognizable people.  With its abrupt end, you’ve
reverted back to the way you were before, but bearing new wounds, bitter with
disappointment.
You walk into the classroom and feel everyone's eyes on you, curious and
whispering, wondering about the Prophet, and you want to disappear, want the
ground to open up and swallow you whole, because you know they’re all thinking
things that they won’t say out loud, and you can’t face them knowing that.
 You’re too afraid.
Rika is sitting in her usual spot.  She isn’t playing with her phone, checking
for more texts from business associates, or making spreadsheets in her
notebook.  She’s just sitting there, staring straight ahead, eyes empty.  She
doesn’t look at you when you sit next to her.  You swallow, trying to keep
yourself calm, trying to stop sweating, trying to stop your hands from shaking,
wondering what’s running through her head.  
More than that, you’re trying to keep tears from coming out at the thought of
your friendship ending over this.
*
You ask to use the restroom a little bit before lunch and head for the school
gate.  It’s the first time you’ve ever cut class, but you don’t really care at
this point.  Just outside the front doors, Kazumi is standing with a few of her
classmates, fidgeting and shifting her weight back and forth.  “Sorry,” she
says, “But, um, I can’t do anything.  The Prophet isn’t taking requests right
now.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, I’m just telling you what I was told.”
Looks like Rika’s already covered her bases, though you wonder if she’s really
so optimistic about this that she claimed the Prophet was taking a temporary
break rather than a permanent one.  If anything, it’s probably Kazumi’s
optimism--she and the others have a lot of personal feelings invested in the
Prophet.  Before, when you went to meet with Izaya, Rika would make sure there
was some back up plan in place before she grudgingly let you go.  I’ve got your
back, she’d say with a grin.  You always covered each other’s weaknesses.
But right now, you’re walking into this all alone.
The train ride to Izaya’s is unbearably long, even though you’re leaving from
school instead of home, already halfway there.  You keep your head down when
you walk, not wanting to look at other people, not wanting to meet their eyes
only to see them look away and wonder what’s on their mind.  You turn onto the
side street closest to Izaya’s apartment and end up in an alley, stopping when
you see him standing against the back wall, your phone in his hand and a smirk
on his face.  You clench your hands into fists at your sides.
“Glad you could make it, Prophet,” he says, eyes narrowing.
“How long have you known?” you ask, almost hoarsely.  You can’t cry in front of
him; you won’t.
“Not as long as you might think.”  He tosses your phone in the air and catches
it with his other hand, but your stomach leaps anxiously all the same.  
“What do you want?”  
“Straight to business,” Izaya laughs, “You don’t have any questions for me
before that?  You don’t want to know how I found out?  You don’t want to know
if all of the time we spent together meant anything?”
You screwed up, you know that already.  And you don’t need to hear Izaya say
that he was using you, that much is obvious by now.  
Izaya throws the phone between his hands, and in a fit of desperation, you run
at him.  He ducks out of the way and slips behind you, and by the time you’re
turned around, he pushes you against the wall by the shoulder and leans in,
sick grin widening as he holds your phone over your head.
“You want this?” he taunts, dangling it within your line of sight.  You reach
with both hands, and he pulls it just out of your reach.  
“Give it back,” you demand, but it comes out as a whimper, and his free hand
comes forward to take both of your wrists and slam them back into the wall.  He
closes in and your legs press together.
“I don’t think I will,” he says lowly, “Not when you’re being so rude.”
“Please,” you amend, willing to get down on your knees and beg if that’s what
it takes.  You want so badly to know what’s behind his words, what thoughts are
running through his head, but you can’t tell.  All you know is that there’s so
much he isn’t saying, and it makes your fingers twitch and your knees shake and
every part of you just want to run and hide.
“Hard to believe that this little thing had all of Ikebukuro in a panic,” he
muses, more to himself than to you, bringing your phone down to eye level to
inspect. Your hands strain against his grip.  His gaze shifts suddenly to you,
eyes glinting, a sick smile stretching across his face.  “I’m willing to make a
deal with you.  You should feel special; I generally don’t take kindly to being
lied to for weeks on end.”
Neither do I, you think bitterly, but bite the words back.  “What do I have to
do?”
“Nothing complicated,” Izaya says, “Just show me how to work it.”
You hesitate.  “Work...what?”
“Your phone, dear, try to keep up,” he sighs, “Show me how to make it receive
two text messages instead of just one.”
You shake your head.  Is he messing with you?  “There’s nothing to show you,”
you insist, “It just does it.”
“It did,” he corrects, “For about an hour.”
Well, that’s strange.  You’ve never had any problems with it, ever.  “I’m
telling you, you don’t have to do anything special.  It just works on its own.”
 Izaya holds the phone up again, looking at it with obvious disappointment.
 “So,” you say hopefully, “If it’s not worth anything to you anymore….”
“I guess it isn’t,” he says with a dramatic sigh, “A shame, too.  Not that I
ever planned on giving it back to you, anyway.”
He drops it.
Your eyes widen.  You feel the crack of the screen with your whole body.  Izaya
raises his foot and you meet his eyes.  “Please,” you whisper, “Please, no,
don’t….”
And then he stomps on it.
“Stop!” you scream, and you try to push him away, but he holds you still easily
and continues destroying your phone, crushing it into fractured pieces and
grinding it into a pile of bent plastic and cracked circuit board.  “Please,
please stop,” you beg, falling to your knees and sobbing, arms still held over
your head in an iron grip.  He stills only when you can barely recognize the
pile of metallic shards that used to be your phone.  He lets you go, and you
cradle it in your hands, ignoring the pain from the sharp edges digging into
your skin, shoulders trembling.
Izaya smiles and kneels next to you, cooing, “There, there.  It’s just a
phone.”  You struggle to your feet; you have to get out of here, have to go
home, have to get away from him and everyone, all of those liars.  “Where are
you going?” he calls over your shoulder and you hear him following, “We still
have things to talk about.”
You break into a sprint, phone shards lodged in your palms and blowing away
into the wind.  You’re not even angry; you’re just afraid, afraid of all the
lies people will tell you that you’ll never be able to discern from the truth.
 You’ve been deceived by everyone--by Masaomi, by your own friends, and by
Izaya, and somehow the last of those was the most surprising.  You can’t go
anywhere anymore, you have to stay inside like you used to, stay away from
people altogether.  Your empire has finally crumbled, and all of your
confidence, all of your self-esteem, everything you've built yourself into has
gone with it.
*
You don’t bother to wait until school ends to go home.  Thankfully, your
parents aren’t home, and you’re able to crawl into bed and mope around with the
covers wrapped around you for a few hours.  Your mother opens the door,
hesitating in the doorway silently for a moment when she sees you lying with
your face pressed into a pillow, before she says, “Sweetie, Rika’s here.”
You don’t move.  Eventually, she leaves, and you slowly roll over onto your
back.  It takes a while, but you manage to talk yourself into going to the
front door, and sure enough, Rika is standing there texting, but she puts her
phone away as soon as she sees you.
“Hey,” she says a little awkwardly.
You stare at her.  
She sighs.  “Can I come in or not?”
“I dunno,” you say quietly, “Why’d you come?”
“Because we’re long overdue for a heart-to-heart, and now is the perfect time.”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Why?” Rika challenges, “Because you think I’m going to lie to you and you have
no way to check?”
You shrug.
Her shoulders fall in disappointment.  “You really aren’t gonna say a word, are
you?” she asks, “I haven’t seen you like this in a long time.”
Since you first met.
“You don’t have to let me in,” she says after a moment.  
You both stand there in awkward silence until you slowly back away from the
door, giving her enough space to get past you.  She smiles a little bit.
Your parents watch you both as you pass by them to go to your room, and they
don’t disturb you for the entire hour that you and Rika spend in there.  You
don’t spend all of it talking; the first ten minutes are filled with long
pauses and staring past each other, but eventually feelings work their way to
the surface and you both get tear-eyed.  
“I’m sorry,” Rika says, “I got so absorbed in this mess and the prestige and
the money, and it all went to my head.  I shouldn’t have freaked out like
that.”
“No,” you say, “You were right about Izaya the whole time.  If I’d just
listened to you, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Did you already go talk to him?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
You sigh.  “He smashed my phone.  There’s pretty much nothing left of it.”
She lets out a frustrated sound and puts her head in her hands.  “God, I’m such
an idiot.  I should’ve gone with you.  I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you say.
It’s not okay, but it’s at least better than before.  You might not have a
psychic phone anymore, but Rika is still your friend, and that’s way more
important.  
“Well,” Rika says, “Have you told your parents yet?”
You press a hand to your forehead.  “Oh no,” you mumble, “No, not yet.  How am
I supposed to explain this to them?  They’re gonna be so mad.”
Rika slings an arm over your shoulder and grins the way she always does.  “I
know our business is destroyed and we should probably be turning over a new
leaf,” she says, “But this might be something that you should just keep lying
about until they forget about it.”
You don’t argue with that.  You’re not sure if how your parents would handle
hearing that you had a brief stint as a cell phone psychic, charged your
classmates and local gangs outrageous fees, and got intimately involved with an
informant significantly older than you.  
Yeah.  They don’t need to know all that.
When you emerge from your room with Rika, looking at your feet guiltily, your
parents practically jump on you.  “Alright, what’s going on with you two?” your
father asks, “You haven’t been acting right lately.”
You glance at Rika and she glances at you.  “I lost my phone,” you say
sheepishly.  
They stare at you expectantly as if waiting for something more than that.  A
minute passes and your mother’s eyes soften.  “Oh, sweetie,” she says, “Don’t
worry about it.  We’ll go get a new one in just a little bit.”  She pulls your
father away and you see them talking in the kitchen, keeping their voices down
as they occasionally glance back at you.
“That went better than I thought,” you whisper.
Rika is trying to contain her laughter.  “Your parents are hilarious,” she
says, “I bet they think you got in a fight with your ‘boyfriend.’”
It makes sense.  You haven’t been yourself lately, and you were especially
upset today.  You don’t feel guilty about this lie, either, partly because it
doesn’t really feel like a lie.  Of course, Izaya was never your boyfriend, but
you did have a disagreement of sorts.
“I’m gonna miss your old piece of crap phone,” Rika says.
“Piece of crap?” you echo, “Are you serious?”
“I couldn’t call it that at the time,” she shrugs, “But come on.  The display
was all shades of green and it couldn’t even take pictures.  You’re long
overdue for an upgrade.”
“I guess.”  You’re going to miss it, too, though.  “What now?”
“I think we should take the last of what we made and blow it all in one day.”
You laugh.
“I’m serious,” Rika says, but she’s smiling.  
*
Your new phone is sleek, modern and kind of exciting.  You play around with the
apps while it sits to charge after you come home from the store with it, and
then start putting your old contacts back in.  It’s a little depressing that
the only numbers you had before were your parents, Rika, Mai and Kazumi, but at
least you know you aren’t forgetting anyone.  You don’t add Izaya’s number, but
you have it memorized, and you reflect on the look on his face as he knelt next
to you, smirking, saying, It’s only a phone, when he knew how much it meant to
you.  It’s going to take a while, but you think you’ll move past him
eventually.  
You decide you need to distract yourself and send Rika a text.
From Me, 20:23:
“Got my new phone all set up.”
She takes a little while to answer, and you go back to browsing games when you
get a familiar tingle down your spine and your phone lets out a chime to let
you know you have a new message.
From Rika, 20:27:
“Awesome, welcome to the modern age of smartphones.”
From Rika, 20:27:
“Are you really okay?  I know you said you were fine, but I’m still a little
worried.”
You bolt upright in bed and almost drop your phone in shock.  Two messages, one
right after the other.  You doubt she sent the second one knowingly, but you
have to make sure, so you ask if she sent one messages or two.
From Rika, 20:28:
“Just one.”
From Rika, 20:28:
“Come on, don’t mess around.  I wish we still had your old one, but I’m sure
we’ll find something else to do.”
You start smiling, and your smile turns into a grin, and then you’re giggling
uncontrollably.  Two messages.  Two!  Your fingers are shaking as you type out
a message, eager to give her the good news.  
From Me, 20:29:
“Change of plans; we’re not going back to our normal lives just yet.”
From Rika, 20:29:
“What what WHAT what do you mean?!”
From Rika, 20:29:
“Don’t do this to me my heart can’t take it ARE YOU SERIOUS”
From Me: 20:30:
“Deadly serious.”
From Rika, 20:30:
“Oh my god”
From Rika, 20:30:
“OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODDDDDD”
You clutch the phone to your chest, trying to stop your maniacal laughter but
you just feel so awesome.  You did it, you really did it; you outwitted Izaya.
 He’s probably smirking to himself, playing with his stupid chessboard, so sure
that he got you and that his problems are over forever.  He’s going to be so
pissed.  You’ll put off spreading the word just to see the look on his face.
From Me, 20:30:
“We’re back in business, but keep it on the down low for now.”
It’s not the phone.  It was never the phone.
It was you.
Izaya has no idea what he’s in for.
Chapter End Notes
     I was impressed! A lot of you guys already had this figured out.
     The adventure continues.
***** Declaration of War *****
Chapter Notes
     Hi guys! Sorry I didn't reply to any comments last week, but I had an
     essay to take care of and forgot to come back to check for messages.
     Sorry!
     Thanks again for all of your support/interest!
Your teacher nearly throws a piece of chalk at Rika the fifth time he catches
her not paying attention.  She’s been scribbling furiously in her notebook,
making precise plans on how to expand business as soon as you give the word,
and watching the clock, counting down the seconds until the school day ends.
 When you’re finally done for the day, she throws her bag over her shoulder and
locks arms with you, marching down to the front gate.
“So I haven’t told anyone yet,” Rika says, “Mai and Kazumi are still operating
under the assumption that business is just temporarily suspended, though Izaya
has already spread it around that the Prophet is no more.  Our old clients are
apparently divided, since we’ve gone on hiatuses before, and they haven’t gone
back to Izaya yet.”
“Good,” you say, “We can tell everyone after we tell Izaya.  I want to tell him
in person.”  Rika doesn’t even ask.  If anything, she probably wants to see the
look on his face, too.
You both head for downtown and your old favorite smoothie place, but you take
them to Ikebukuro Park and lounge by the fountain.  You text Izaya and tell him
you want to talk to him and tell him where to find you.
From Izaya, 17:27:
 “I suppose I can make room in my schedule.”
From Izaya, 17:27:
 “Already groveling, huh?  Wonder how far you’ll go to stay in my good graces.”
You can’t wait.
“Before I forget,” you say, and Rika turns to you, “I need you to do me a favor
and tell Kazumi and Mai--and have Mai pass it along to all of her contacts--
that they all need to send the Prophet text messages declaring their loyalty to
the Prophet.”
“Um.  Okay?”
“Even before this whole thing with Izaya, something happened,” you say,
“Remember the fiasco with the stolen phones?  I didn’t tell anyone to do that.”
“That’s right,” Rika says, “I remember when we all met and you mentioned that.”
“Somebody is pretending to be the Prophet,” you say, “I don’t know who it is
yet.  It might not even be one of our own.  It could even be Izaya, I guess,
but I just want to cover my bases.  A leak from the inside will be worse than
anything he can do to us.”
You hear someone approaching and turn, a little disappointed and confused by
who you find.  It’s not Izaya; it’s a stranger, actually, a woman dressed in a
black biker suit with a yellow, cat head-shaped helmet.  You can’t see her face
through the tinted face plate, but she’s looking down at you and Rika like she
wants something, so you assume she’s come looking for the Prophet.
“Um,” Rika says, “Can we help you?”
She doesn’t say a word.  Whipping out a PDA, she quickly types a message and
turns it to you to read.  
“I’m looking for the Prophet’s emissaries.”
You’re a little unnerved by her silence and unusual appearance.  You’ve seen a
lot of interesting people while running the Prophet service, but you’d
definitely remember someone like her.  Rika glances at you, waiting for
permission to say that the Prophet is back in business, and you nod.
“That’s us,” Rika says happily, and you both stand up.
“This will be my first time using the service.  How does this work?”
“The Prophet interprets text messages,” Rika says, “If you got a text and you
want to know what the person sending it was thinking, then I can forward it to
the Prophet.  When I hear back from him, I’ll forward the information to you.”
“And that’s ￥15000, right?”
Rika grins, happy that she’s isn’t being questioned about the price for once.
 “Correct.”
Without missing a beat, the biker woman hands Rika the money, pulls up the text
message and hands her device to Rika, and you know the message has gotten to
your phone when you shiver.
“Thank you for your business,” Rika says cheerfully, though the woman lingers a
moment, typing a new message.
“You girls seem nice.  Take care. There are parts of Ikebukuro that really
aren’t safe.”
Her concern strikes you as odd.  She’s a complete stranger; unless she has
reason to believe you’re in danger, she wouldn’t say anything.  “What do you
mean?” you ask.
She hesitates before typing the next message.  You try to get a look at her
face while she’s distracted but even if you squint, you can’t make out
anything.  
“The Prophet comes online to chat now and then.  Maybe you should get on, too,
and ask him.”
She leaves after that, and you and Rika look at each other.
“Chat?” she repeats, and you shrug.
“I have no idea what she’s talking about.”
“Is that right?”  You both look up at the familiar voice, and find Izaya
sauntering over with a smile.  “If that wasn’t you in the chatroom, I guess
I’ve got some loose ends to tie up.  Then again, now that you’re out of
business, things will probably peter out on their own.”
You glance up at him defiantly.  “I’m not going to grovel.”
He looks at you in confusion at first, and then suspicion.  “Excuse me?”
You can’t help but grin at the look on his face and take out your phone with
his messages displayed, a text straight from his cold, dead heart on the
screen.  His shock slowly gives way to cold calculation, and finally
realization.
“It’s not the phone,” he says, coming closer with what you think might be
murderous intent in his eyes, “It’s you.  You’re the one doing that.”
You back up but he takes two steps for each of your one.  You think he might
kill you, but you can’t be sure.  He gets close again, like the time he had you
pressed to the wall, and breathes onto your lips.
“What am I going to do about this?” he sighs, “In hindsight, I should have seen
this coming.  You have no idea how upset I am right now.  You should probably
start running, really.  Unless you can’t even read body language without your
phone?”
“Why bother?” you scoff, “If you’re going to kill me, running won’t save me.”  
Izaya throws his head back and laughs.  “Oh, I’m not thinking of killing you,”
he says, eyes smoldering, “But you’re going to wish I was.”
He must be even more furious than you imagined he would be, because just as he
looks halfway to strangling you, he turns on his heel and leaves instead,
probably not sure he can control himself.  Rika is shaking, not in fear but in
excitement.  “You know what we did?” she asks, “We just duped the Izaya
Orihara.  Again.”  You laugh, remembering those words from the beginning of
your involvement with him.  “He looked pissed, though.  I’d watch your back.”
“It was worth it,” you assure her, and she shakes her head laughing but agrees
that it was.
*
Business starts up again slowly over the next few days.  You let Rika know you
have an answer for the biker woman, but never hear back from her, which isn't
common for first-timers.  Though you have to wonder about the context of the
conversation, because what you had to work with was just some random small talk
and what you got was a one-word "yes."  You suppose it's not really your
business, anyway.  You've got bigger things to worry about.  Your client base
returns over the course of the next few days, but you get a lot of newcomers,
too, mostly converts from Izaya who are under the impression that the Prophet
has stepped up their game.  The Prophet has been a silent business rival for a
while now, but fooling Izaya into thinking they were finished was interpreted
as their first active move against him.
Meanwhile, your concerns about an impostor still haven’t been dissuaded.  
From Mai, 21:47:
“I’m completely devoted to the Prophet.”
From Mai, 21:47:
 “Are there problems?  Is something going on?  I can try to help.”
From Kazumi, 21:49:
 “I’m with the Prophet 100%.”
From Kazumi, 21:49:
 “What is this about?  I’ve never done anything that would cause the Prophet
problems.”
Mai and Kazumi are all clear, having proclaimed their loyalty without lying,
and you’ve heard back from about half of Mai’s network.  The problem is that
the imposter must be among them, and you don’t know any of them well enough to
make a judgment.  You don’t want to incite panic, and you really don’t want
everyone turning on one another, so you’re going to just keep it to yourself
for now until you figure things out.  With any luck, the Prophet making bolder
moves will dissuade imposters.  
Rika comes over and the two of you once again hole up in your room.  You both
sit on the bed, and she takes out a notebook, turning to a specific page.  “I
want to try something,” she says, setting her phone on the bed next to her,
“Remember when you talked to that Toyama guy and you sort of tested your powers
out?  I want to do more of that, except we’re gonna get some really useful
data.”
“What do you have in mind?”
She gives you her phone and holds her hand out expectantly, so you give her
yours.  “Text me something,” she says.  She gets a text a moment later--which
reads “something”--but the phone buzzes again a after that, and you know she
got two messages.  She texts a reply to her own phone, and you get it.  You
also get a second text afterwards asking, “does this work?”
“I got two,” you say excitedly.  
She writes something down.  “Okay.  Now trade me back.”  You exchange phones
again.  “I’ve been wondering about this since the other day,” she says, “You
told me Izaya got all mad because he couldn’t figure out how to work your
phone, but he said it worked for about an hour.”
You nod.
“So keep texting me like every ten minutes or so,” she says, “We’ll see how
long it takes for it to stop working.”
While you’re waiting between messages, you test a number of other things--she’s
always wanted to hear what it sounds like when someone calls you, and she also
tests out some of the things Toyama did, like sending really long messages or
short messages while thinking a lot.  When you text her and she only gets the
message you explicitly sent, she checks the time.  “Almost an hour exactly,”
she says, “It looks like when you touch a phone, it’ll keep working up to an
hour after you’re no longer in contact with it.”
It’s funny you’ve never noticed that before, but with so few friends and an
obsession with staying attached to your phone, you’ve never really had any
reason to take anyone else’s.  If you ever get the chance to get into Izaya’s
apartment again, you’ll have to just take his phone with you.  You can’t risk
him having your abilities, even if it for just an hour.
Your abilities.  You like the sound of that.
“So here’s what I think,” you say, “We’ve been really passive so far, but I
want to try being a little more active.  As in, active in our efforts to
destroy Izaya’s business.  I want to return the favor.”
“Hell yes,” Rika says.  Apparently, part of your new business policy is going
to be throwing caution to the wind.  You’re both too excited to take things
slow anymore, but you’re feeling a little invincible now that you know you
aren’t limited to an old phone.  “Mai’s network got cut in half, since a lot of
them were connected back to us, but not everyone.  I have an idea, but I’m not
sure it’ll work.”
“What?”
“Well, you know how phone calls are?” she asks, “When you get a forward, it
still has the original sender’s thoughts.  So maybe, if we record Izaya talking
to someone and play the recording into the phone when calling you, maybe you
can hear what he’s thinking.”
Unlimited access to Izaya’s thoughts as he’s talking would be perfect.  When he
texts, he gets careful and directs what he’s thinking so you get only what he
wants you to get, but there’s no way he’ll be so careful when he’s talking.
 You see the way his eyes glint when he talks, the gears turning in his head
when he’s planning something.  That kind of information could destroy him if it
got into the wrong hands.  
As in yours.
“Do it,” you tell Rika, and she nods, passing the order along to Mai.  
“If that works, I say we stick to it for a while and get as much as we can out
of it,” she says, “Once we’ve got enough to put him out of business for
certain, we make our move.  He won’t know what hit him. Of course, if it
doesn’t work, we’re going to have to figure something out.”  She pauses.
 “You’re okay with this, right?  I mean, I know you like him and all, but….”
“I’m not stupid, I just have a crush,” you say, though you know by now those
things can often go hand in hand, “I like him, sure, but I want to utterly
crush him, too.”
“When you get a real boyfriend,” Rika says, “I hope you don’t feel that way
about him, too.”
*
On Saturday morning, Izaya texts you and asks to meet you downtown.  The second
text doesn’t say anything important.  You let Rika know where you’re headed by
text and she tells you to be careful, and you assure her you’ll be fine.
 You’re pretty much a veteran when it comes to dealing with him, and he doesn’t
scare you anymore.  Izaya isn’t the type to stab someone to solve his problems,
even if he makes threats.  That just wouldn’t be interesting, after all.
You go to the smoothie stand and take a seat nearby, expecting Izaya to come
crawling back and beg you to become business partners or something.  You’re not
sure what you’ll say if he does; before you would’ve jumped at the chance, but
maybe you should make him sweat, tell him you need to think about it.  
Izaya does not come crawling back, though.  It’s more like he saunters over and
doesn’t really look like someone who’s finally met his match.  Maybe it’s
because he’s an informant, a head taller and a few years wise and he’s never
really going to respect you as an equal, or maybe it has less to do with equals
and more to do with confidence, which he has in excess at all times regardless
of the situation.  He should really let you borrow some.
Anyway, Izaya does not crawl back begging for your forgiveness, but saunters
over to where you’re sitting at the cafe outdoor seating, exuding confidence,
and casually slides into the seat across from you as if you’re not bitter
enemies.
“I have to admit that I may have underestimated you,” he says.  Oh, you really
should have recorded that, saved it on your computer, autotuned it and uploaded
the remix to Youtube because no one else on the face of the planet will ever
hear the sweet, sweet sound of Izaya admitting that he fucked up.  “I didn’t
have all of the pieces,” he continues, and you tune this part out, because you
could care less about his excuse.  He just can’t stand to give someone else the
victory.  “Now that I know exactly who I’m dealing with, I’d like to try a
different approach.”
You bring the straw in your smoothie to your lips and wait.
“Oh, mighty Ikebukuro Prophet,” he says mockingly, “I’m only going to say this
once, so please hear me out.”  He pauses, leaning across the table, and takes
your hand in his.  “Shut down your business.”
You raise a brow and tug your hand free, setting your smoothie down.  You know
he said he was only going to say it once, but you might have to ask him to
repeat that.  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right.”
Izaya’s smirk widens. “I'm sure you did.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t,” you say, “Because someone in your position, who
just let their opponent get the best of them and suffered a terrible blow to
their entire game, not to mention their ego, wouldn’t go around making demands
like that.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.  "Don't act so important," he says with a
smile much kinder than his words, "I'm not sure why this would be a terrible
blow to anything.  It isn't even a minor setback.  More importantly, though,
that was me asking nicely.  You won’t like what I do if you refuse.”
“Oh, lowly Ikebukuro informant,” you say, resting your head on the tops of your
hands, “My answer is no.  And that’s the last time I’m going to tell you.”
Izaya’s eyes glint dangerously but he looks pleased with himself.  “Maybe it’s
better this way,” he muses, “After all, if you backed down, I’d have nothing to
do for a few days.”
“A few days?” you echo, “You think you’re going to take me down in just a few
days?”
“At the very most.”
“Funny, I figure it’ll only be a couple days before I take you down.”
At that, he throws his head back and laughs.  “You weren’t anything like this
when we first met,” he says, standing from the table, “What changed, I wonder?
 Was it out of necessity?  The underworld would have eaten you up otherwise, I
suppose. Or maybe….”  He plants his hands flat on the table and leans in, close
enough to kiss.  “Maybe you changed because of me?  Maybe I corrupted your
innocence?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, but I think I’m onto something,” he murmurs, “I really do.  You didn’t
change for me; you changed because of me.  You don’t want to hold my interest
for anything other than your own entertainment.  You want to lead me along and
use me, because it’s fun.”  Oblivious or uncaring to the people around you, one
of his hands comes up to cup your face.  “But you’re inexperienced, and that’ll
get you in trouble,” he says with a smile, “If you’re not careful, you’ll end
up getting used yourself.”
“I think we both know it’s going to go both ways.”
He pauses, considering your words, and pulls away with a pleased grin.  “Just
when I thought Ikebukuro couldn’t possibly be more fun,” he says and stands
from the table, “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.  Of course,
it’s fine even if you don’t.  Let’s make the most out of these last few days.”
You’re smiling, too, watching him turn away with a casual wave, knowing you
will.  This, you recognize, is the moment that you’ve declared war and made a
formal enemy out of Izaya Orihara, and it’s probably one of the best moments of
your life.  If you reflect on this at all later, it’ll only be with fondness
and wondering why you didn’t do it sooner.  Well, okay, maybe that’s a bit
ambitious.  You couldn’t possibly have done it earlier.  Better late than
never.  It’s a shame that the game is coming to a close, but you knew it
couldn’t last forever.
Guess you’ll have to make sure to go out with a bang.
***** (Probably) Unrequited Feelings *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry about disappearing last week! I had two papers that snuck up on
     me. To make up for it, this chapter is longer than usual. Enjoy!
About that whole “going out with a bang” thing?  
Yeah, that’s pretty much what happens.
As it turns out, openly declaring war on Izaya Orihara was a bad idea.
And you saw that coming.  You knew it would be bad.  You were just so caught up
in your power trip that it sounded like fun at the time.  In the long line of
dumb things you’ve done, this is definitely the dumbest.
The first sign of your immediate doom comes just a couple afternoons later.
 You and Rika are in your usual spot in Ikebukuro Park waiting for clients,
except not a single one has shown up, probably because Izaya Orihara followed
you all the way there from school and is lounging a few feet away at the base
of the fountain.  “Seems like a pretty quiet day for the Prophet,” he says, “I
guess nobody’s interested anymore.”  He’s smiling like a cat because he knows
damn well that nobody is going to dare approach you when he’s sitting right
there, ready to take down their name and sell their secrets to whoever dislikes
them most in Ikebukuro.
Rika shifts her weight between her legs uneasily, glancing at him over her
shoulder now and then.  Afraid to even whisper for fear he’ll hear her, she
sends you a message.
From Rika: 17:41:
“It’s been an hour.  He still hasn’t left.”
From Rika: 17:41:
“Do you think he’ll go away if we just keep ignoring him?”
You don’t see any reason to state the obvious, so you just shake your head.
 Back when you still used the chessboard to organize the chaos that is
Ikebukuro’s underground--a failed endeavor best left to the professionals,
obviously--you chose the camel to represent Izaya for a reason.  The entire
game between him and the Prophet could probably be summed up as a trial of
patience, something you didn’t pick up on quickly enough.  Izaya didn’t do much
because he didn’t have to; he just had to wait for you to make a stupid
mistake, and wait he did, even as you taunted him and tried to convert his
clients to your side and generally shook things up.  It was all just a waiting
game, and he definitely won.
You’d like to say he won the battle and not the war or whatever, but you’ve
almost lost the ability to think optimistically.  As patient as Izaya has been,
he’s only human, and he’s going to hit his limit eventually and no longer be
satisfied with slowly pushing your business out of Ikebukuro.  Of course, the
name of the game is no longer patience, and the sooner he gets bored, the
sooner it’s all over for you.  Now that he knows who you are, he can do a lot
more direct damage.  It’s crossed your mind that he’s known for a while where
you live, as well as where you go to school, and you don’t really want to push
him into using that information against you.  It’s not so much a question of if
as it is when.  
You’ve thought it over, and you’ve come to the conclusion that the only safe
way out of this is by making a truce of some sort.  The problem with that, of
course, is that you’ve disrespected him at every turn and tried to give him as
hard of a time as possible, so you doubt he’s going to want to show any mercy.
 Then again, you don’t have any other ideas, so you’re just going to have to
find a way to convince him that it’s in his best interest to have you on his
side, a feat that will be easier said than done when the last few months have
been nothing but deception and white lie atop white lie.  Izaya knows better
than to trust you.
And as if things aren't bad enough on their own, you are also acutely aware--as
you glance back and find him smiling, and have to turn away because it makes
you blush--that you still have feelings for him, despite everything.
“Having a good day?” he asks, “I’m sure you are.  This is exactly the way you
wanted things, right?  Surely you don’t have any regrets.”
You don’t dignify that with a response.
Behind you, Izaya laughs.  You wish it didn't have to end like this.
*
You’re the first of your friends to give up.
Over the next few days, you start leaving earlier and earlier, and eventually
stop going to the park with Rika all together.  She never brings it up when you
talk, but it’s obvious from the tense and desperate way she speaks that she’s
almost reached the end of her rope, too.  You spend some time lingering around
town in places you used to go to hang out together before going home, sometimes
briefly window shopping, looking at designer handbags that you won’t be buying
after all, sometimes pausing briefly by the smoothie stand only to decide
you’re really not thirsty.  
You start to see Izaya everywhere.
At first you think you’re just imagining things.  You’re a little paranoid
because of how much he knows about you, so of course you’re going to be a
little nervous at the sight of someone who even slightly resembles him.  The
first few times, you’re on your way to the train station when you think you
catch a glimpse--the fur lining on someone’s jacket as they round the corner up
ahead, dark hair whipping around as someone turns the other way, eyes that seem
almost red with malice on the platform across from you.  You pass it off as
nothing more than anxiety for the first few days.
He apparently doesn’t want you to do that, because shortly after, he starts to
stick around a lot longer just so you can’t mistake him for anyone else.
You see him on your way to school, standing in one of the shops and waving from
the window.  You see him around Ikebukuro no matter what time of day or where
you go.  Sometimes, you’ll be doing homework when something will hit your
window, and you’ll peek through the blinds to find him standing outside with a
few pebbles in his hand.  He never says a word; he just looks at you smiling
that stupid fucking smile and you’re always the first one to look away.  You
can never predict when or where he’ll show up, either, and the schedule Mai had
figured out is completely useless now.  It’s as though he’s disrupted his
entire way of life just so he can stalk you along your regular routes with
enough irregularity to keep you on your toes.  Surely, he has better things to
do.
Then again, you wouldn’t put it past him.
It bothers you enough that you decide you need to get the gang together, maybe
for the last time, and on a Thursday, you organize Official Prophet Meeting
Number 3.  Once again assembled in Kazumi’s overheated and cluttered bedroom,
the others look similarly distressed.  Mai has her hands rested tersely in her
lap, Kazumi is twiddling her thumbs instead of messing with her computer, and
Rika is uncharacteristically quiet, requiring Kazumi to prod her in the side to
remind her she’s supposed to be in charge of this stuff.
“So, to recap the last few weeks,” Rika starts with a sigh, “We have a pretty
big problem.  Izaya has strangled the remaining life out of the Prophet
business.  We’ve had absolutely no customers at Ikebukuro Park.”
“We haven’t had much luck, either,” Mai says quietly, “But for slightly
different reasons.  The cult of the Prophet has gotten pretty vocal as of
late.”
You stare at her.  “The what now?”
“The cult,” Kazumi says, “Um.  You know.  The literal cult.”
You’ve been using the term jokingly to refer to your loyal customers and people
who spread stories.  To the best of your knowledge, that was all there was.
 “Actually, I don’t know.”
“They’ve been around for a little while,” Mai explains, “But they mostly stuck
to message boards and chatrooms and didn’t do a whole lot.  All of a sudden,
they’ve made themselves a lot more visible and they’ve been actively
recruiting, mostly from the color gangs as far as I can tell. They seem to
think the Prophet will ‘lead them to greatness.’”
“Hold on, can we start from the beginning?” you ask, “I’ve honestly never heard
anything about this until just now.”
“They haven’t been relevant until recently,” Mai says, “And if you weren’t
looking for information on the Prophet online much, then you wouldn’t have
heard of them.”  She looks at her feet.  “I only knew about them before because
that’s how I got interested in all this in the first place.”
How she got interested--?
Oh.
Oh, of course.  
Mai joined a cult.  You shouldn’t be surprised, really.
“It’s getting a little ridiculous now,” she continues, “Before, most of the
members just thought it was cool that someone was willing to expose lies.  I
don’t think most of the new members really know what the point of the Prophet
was in the first place.”
The point?  You’re not sure you even remember what the point was.  To make
money, probably.
No, that’s not right.  The point was to stick it to Izaya.  Actually, if you go
all the way back, you think the point was to save Mai.
What the hell happened?
“So you’re….”  You pause, choosing your words carefully.  “Are you still a
member of this...uh…”
“It’s a cult,” Mai says, “Just call it what it is.  And no, I’m not.  Which is
part of what I wanted to talk about.”  She doesn’t look down but she doesn’t
meet anyone’s eyes.  “I’m done.  I don’t want to be do this anymore.”  If
someone dropped a pin, it would probably make you jump out of your skin in
surprise.  Mai doesn’t back down.  “There’s some trouble with the network,” she
says, then shakes her head, “No, not the network.  Those are all people, girls
like us, except they’re stuck halfway between the Prophet and Izaya.  About
half of them have quit since Izaya figured out they were double-agents, and the
other half have been making claims of betrayal among themselves and pointing
fingers.  None of them are really reliable sources of information.  But more
importantly, I just can’t do it anymore.”  She glances in your general
direction but doesn’t really look at you.  “I’m your senior.  I’m supposed to
be setting a good example for you guys, and here I am, messing around with
gangs and criminals.  You guys are so dedicated to the Prophet, and I was, too,
but….”  She shakes her head.  “This is ridiculous.  We’re all sticking our
necks out for someone we’ve never even met, getting involved in things we
shouldn’t be going near.  I’m sure I can’t talk you guys into jumping ship now,
but promise me you’ll at least think about it.  This whole Prophet thing has
almost run its course, and Izaya is closing in.  It’s better for all of us if
we don’t stand in the way and just let the Prophet handle this.”
It’s the most sound, realistic advice you’ve gotten in a long time, brutally
honest and to the point.  This is the Mai you remember.  She says what she
thinks and she doesn’t shy away from the truth, even if it’s painful.  The
right thing to do, as her friend, is to support her decision.  Unlike the last
few times you’ve been at a moral crossroads, this time you really will do the
right thing.
“I understand,” you tell her.
Rika nods.  “Yeah, we’re not gonna hold it against you or anything.  Thanks for
sticking with us this long.”
“I don’t plan on sticking around too much longer, either,” Kazumi mutters.
It’s not the way you wanted it to end, but you know this is for the best.
 Nobody is pretending that you’re going to find a way out of this mess, because
it’s looking pretty bleak, and the smart thing to do now is to leave before the
crash and burn.  
On the other hand, this just means Izaya is going to close in on you that much
faster.  You’re not going to pretend you aren’t scared.
“But, uh, before you go,” you say, “Could you maybe tell us a little more about
the cult?”
Mai nods.  “Sure.  Like I said, they’re mostly recruiting from color gangs, and
up until recently, they’ve been entirely online.  I’ve noticed people talking
about it pretty openly in town, though.  They don’t talk up the Prophet quite
like a religious icon, but almost like some of kind of natural disaster, like
it’s this thing that’s coming and it’s going to affect Ikebukuro in some big
way.  Like they’re getting ready for something.”
You don’t like the sound of that.
“Now and then on message boards,” Mai says, “Someone will come in claiming to
be the Prophet.  They always have the same username and their typing style is
pretty consistent, but I’m not sure how many people take them seriously.”
An imposter.  This isn’t the first time this has come up.  Previously, someone
sent out an order to start stealing cell phones from would-be clients from the
number you usually use to act as the Prophet.  “How long has this been going
on?” you ask.
“A little while,” Mai shrugs.  “I’m not exactly sure.”
“An imposter is, um, pretty problematic,” Kazumi jumps in, “Especially if
they’re getting this cult all worked up for something.  People will either
think they’re the real deal and dismiss us, or just lump us all together as
nutcases.  Either way, the imposter is winning.  It’s looking more and more
likely that we’re dealing with Izaya on two fronts.”
The thought has crossed your mind before, but you’re not completely certain.
 Of course, you sure as hell aren’t going to rule him out altogether.  “Okay,
so Izaya’s strangling our business, our double-agents are all paranoid of one
another, and we have a cult and an imposter to deal with,” you say, “Any more
bad news?”
Nobody says anything.  You breathe a sigh of relief.
“So now what?” Rika asks quietly.
Mai shrugs; her job here is done.
“I’ll, um, take care of things on my home territory,” Kazumi says, “The cult
and the imposter are mostly centered online.  I’ll come up with something.”
She's the only one who has any ideas, and the meeting draws to a close shortly
after.  Mai splits off from you and Rika once you’re on the street, giving you
a stern, “If anything else happens, you’ll call me, won’t you?” and you lie and
tell her you will.
Once she’s out of earshot, Rika mutters, “It’s nice to have her back.”
“Yeah,” you say, “It is.”
Mai used to be the “big sister,” the one who would look out for you both and
lecture Rika for doing something stupid.
She can’t save you from this, though.  You never meant to get her involved in
any of this--all you wanted was to help her--so this is your mess, and you have
to handle it on your own.
“Before I forget,” Rika says, “I have something I’ve been meaning to show you.
 I’d forgotten all about it, and it might not be of any use to us now, but I
figure it’s worth a shot.”
“I’ll take pretty much anything that might be even slightly useful,” you tell
her, and head for home.
*
Several weeks ago after the stolen phones incident, Rika had said that she had
an idea for working around Izaya’s initial attempt at putting a stop to the
Prophet business, though you’d never heard what became of it.  Sitting across
from you on your bed, she takes her phone and tells you what happened.  “The
problem was that nobody wanted to deal with us because they were afraid of
Izaya,” she says, “A lot of our old clients went back to try to kiss his ass
and get back on his good side.  Since this was back when the network was
reliable, I had a few people try and listen in on some of these conversations
and record it if they could.  Izaya was starting to get paranoid, I think, so I
didn’t get much.”
She sets her phone down and adjusts the volume a bit before hitting a button,
and you hear a little bit of rustling.  “...willing to do to make it up to me?”
you hear what can only be Izaya, followed by some indistinct murmuring.  “I
take the Prophet as seriously as I take any other threat.  You should, too.”
Rika pauses it.  “All in all, it wasn’t anything groundbreaking,” she says,
“But I still held onto it, because I thought maybe you’d get something more out
of it.”  She holds her phone out to you.  You hesitate.  
“I’m not sure it works that way,” you say.
“Just try,” Rika insists, “It works on forwards, right?  I thought maybe this
might be the same kind of thing.”
It’s worth a shot.  You take the phone from her and hold onto it for a minute--
you’re not really sure how long you need to have it--and then set it down
between the two of you again and hit ‘play.’  
“...willing to do to mA big mistake, you don’t even understand just howI take
the Prophet as seriously as ISomething about this just isn’t right.  Are they
working together?  Does the Prophet even know?"
You quickly pause it again, pressing a hand to your forehead.
“You get anything?” Rika asks eagerly.
You nod.  For some reason, it’s giving you a headache.  It’s not really any
louder than your phone calls with Rika, and if you focus, you can probably
process it clearly.  You’re not sure what the problem is, but you take a deep
breath and try to will the pain away before you rewind it and start again.  You
try to listen only for the soft crackle of white noise that accompanies Izaya’s
second voice, the exformation that he didn’t intend to be heard.
“You’ve made a big mistake, you don’t even understand how big of one.  The
Prophet isn’t the only problem here; there’s someone else, and I bet they’re
the one who got your information, not the Prophet.  Something about this just
isn’t right.  Are they working together?  Does the Prophet even know?  I didn’t
even realize there were two at first.  If they’d coordinated their efforts a
little better, I probably still wouldn’t know.  Which one of them is in the
chatroom?”
That’s the second time you’ve heard someone mention a chatroom and had no idea
what they were talking about.  You’ll have to send a note to Kazumi asking if
she can check that out.  More importantly, though, Izaya has apparently known
about the impostor for a while now, and what’s worse, it seems like they might
have even been intercepting business meant for you, or at least collected
information on your clients.  You glance up at Rika, who isn’t paying
attention, probably because she doesn’t hear anything but the recording.
“It’s not really news,” you say, “But he does mention the person pretending to
be the Prophet.  Guess they’ve been around for a little while, and they
definitely have an online presence.”
“Which means the impostor isn’t Izaya,” Rika says.
Well, damn.  There goes your prime suspect.  
“Also, we know you can do more than just texts and calls,” she adds, “Which is
kind of cool.”
You shrug, rubbing your temples again.  “Yeah, I guess.  My head hurts though,
so maybe I shouldn’t do it much.”
“No problem, that’s the only one I got anyway.”  A tense silence follows and
Rika shifts uncomfortably.  “What are you going to do now?” she asks, voice
barely above a whisper, “About.  You know.  Do you think he’ll come after you
or something?”
“I don’t know what he’ll do,” you admit, “But I don’t want to wait around and
find out.  I think I’m going to ask him about coming to a truce or something.”
“For real?”  You’d appreciate it if she could at least pretend to be
optimistic, but really, you should value how realistic she’s being.  “You think
he’s going to buy that?”
“It wouldn't be a lie.”
She sighs.  “This sucks.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, let me know if you need help.”
“Sure,” you say weakly, and you watch Rika get up to leave despite wanting to
reach out and stop her.  The two of you may be a team, but the danger everyone
is in is your fault.  After all of the terrible things you’ve done to get ahead
and to have fun, you think it’s about time you start trying to make amends.  If
you’re going to confront Izaya, you don’t want to drag anyone else into it.
 This is between the two of you.  
Most likely, your admission of defeat will be--although humiliating--enough to
pacify him.  You scroll through your contacts and think about how exactly you
want to phrase this; it’s going to be obvious even if you just tell him you
want to meet up that you know you’re losing.  The anxiety eats at you until you
have to put your phone down, and you put it off for later.  You’ll get around
to it, you just need to relax a little, eat some dinner, talk with your
parents, and wait until your hands stop shaking.
*
You never do send that message to Izaya, because he texts you first that
weekend.
You feel little electric pinpricks along your spine that jolt you awake and
know you have a message, and you foolishly think it might be Rika until you
look at it.
From Izaya: 8:40:
“Are you free today?”
From Izaya: 8:40:
“We need to talk about what’s going to happen now.”
You hesitate to respond.  It surprises you that he’d text you at all since he
knows you’ll get more information out of it than what he sends, though he has
demonstrated an ability to be very careful about what he thinks while he texts.
 The second message is pretty vague, but it almost sounds like he knows you’re
at your limit.  You spend a long time rolling around in bed trying to work up
the courage to text back, and eventually, you manage to take your phone and
type out an affirmative reply, slowly, fingers missing the right keys several
times.  You might as well; the less time he has to wait, the fewer reasons
he’ll have to be frustrated with you.  You’re not under the impression you’ll
be getting off easy, but comparatively speaking, you know whatever’s waiting
for you now is better than what would happen if you refuse.
From Izaya: 8:46:
 “Can you be here before noon?”
From Izaya: 8:46:
“We might as well get this over with.”
You try to ignore the second message the best you can but you’ve already given
it an ominous tone and panicked a little.  You tell him you can, and then jump
out of bed to shower and cleaned up and dressed for the day.  Your mother is
still asleep, but your father is watching the news, and you let him know you’re
headed to see Rika before slipping out the door.  You bite your nails the whole
way to Izaya’s, each step close to his apartment making a little more reluctant
than the last, but eventually you’re standing outside of his door, trying to
find the courage to knock.  Thankfully, you don’t have to.  It swings open, and
the familiar face of the informant comes into view.  
Predictably, he looks pleased with himself.  You’d probably be red-faced and
embarrassed if you weren’t so scared for your life.  “Glad you could make it,”
he says, and steps aside to let you in.  It takes a lot of willpower to step
foot in his apartment again.  You sit as far away from him as you possibly can
on the couch.  He doesn’t say anything for a minute and stares at you, probably
taking in your expression of terror, and your eyes wander in an effort to avoid
him.  His chessboard is still set up, you notice.  The elephant piece that
stood for the Prophet is gone, but the little man on horseback is still there.
 “You always seem so nervous whenever I see you now,” he says, “It’s a little
disappointing.  Where’d all that confidence from before go?”
You take a deep breath to steady yourself.  “It’s gone,” you say, “Completely.”
His smile widens just a bit.  “Oh?”
You nod.  Izaya slides one cushion closer and your eyes fly to his
questioningly.  “Why did you ask me to come over?”
“For your benefit, mostly,” he says, “I assumed you’d be too proud to admit
your loss, so I thought I’d give you the opportunity.”
Proud?  Before, sure.  Now you’re just terrified.  Admitting defeat probably
means servitude to Izaya for the foreseeable future, and that’s if he’s feeling
merciful.  You wonder if he’ll tell your parents the worst things you’ve done.
 You’re not sure you could look them in the eye if they knew.
“But,” Izaya continues, and when you look up, he’s gotten ever closer, now
within arm’s reach, “It was partly for my benefit, as well.”  Suddenly, you’re
occupying the same couch cushion, thighs touching.  When you don’t move away,
Izaya frames your face in his hands and leans in, stopping just short of your
lips when you manage to stammer in protest.
“What are you doing?” you ask, and it sounds like a stupid question when you
say it like that, so you continue, “It’s not like I’m going to fall for the
same thing twice.  And there’s nothing new on my phone for you to find.”
“It’s true, I used you and you used me,” he says, “But there’s nothing more I
can get out of this kind of trick.”  One of his hands leaves your face and
creeps along the edge of your shirt, finding its way to your bare skin, and you
shiver.  
“Then what’s the point?” you ask, letting out an embarrassing squeak when he
suddenly pushes you onto your back and crawls on top of you, taking up your
entire field of vision.  
“This,” Izaya murmurs, tracing invisible lines along your inner thigh, “Is just
because I want to.”  
He suddenly stops moving then and stares down at you for a solid minute in
silence.  You stare back, unnerved and wondering what the problem is, and you
realize he’s giving you a chance to back out.  Despite all the trouble you’ve
given him and the cruelty you know he’s capable of, Izaya is not going to force
himself on you.  Your heart is beating so loudly in your chest that you think
he should be able to hear it.  This isn’t like when you were trying to act
stupid or at least naive; you would be messing around with Izaya for no real
reason.
That’s a lie, of course.  The reason would be your ridiculous crush that has
never quite been extinguished during the course of this little game.  You like
Izaya a lot more than you should; that’s probably the only thing he doesn’t
know about you.  
You’re brought out of your thoughts by hands tugging at your clothing and find
Izaya looking a little impatient but otherwise content.  “You didn’t push me
away,” he says, “But you’re taking an awfully long time to say ‘yes.’”
“What makes you think I would agree to this?” you ask.
Izaya’s eyes narrow like he’s looking right through you, and his smile becomes
a smirk.  “I just have feeling.”
Well, it looks like you don’t have any secrets after all.
“I hate you,” you tell him with a frown, wrapping your arms around his neck as
he kisses your neck, “I hate you so much.”
“Now, now,” Izaya chuckles, “There’s no reason for you to lie to me anymore.”
“I’m not lying.”
“I think you like me a lot more than you hate me,” he says, helping you out of
your shirt.  Izaya’s expression is carefully neutral but his eagerness is
betrayed by his hands; the two of you are naked in the bedroom in record time,
a condom wrapper somewhere on the floor by his clothes.
“I’ve thought a lot about what to do with you.”  It takes a bit of effort to
listen when he starts to enter you, slowly and gently, paying careful attention
to your face for any sign of pain.  “To be honest, I’m still not sure,” he
says, sounding awfully composed for how hard his nails are digging into your
hips.  “I don’t necessarily want to chase you out of Ikebukuro altogether.”
“Then don’t.”  When his hips meet yours as he becomes fully sheathed inside,
you let out a breathy moan and wrap your legs around him.  “I’m done playing
Prophet.”  Izaya thrusts shallowly and you whimper, moving your hips to try to
coax him into picking up the pace.  
“I can’t be sure of that,” he murmurs, “You’re capable of causing some major
damage in Ikebukuro, and you know it.”
You want to ask him if he could help you, teach you to be constructive rather
than destructive, but suddenly he snaps his hips and starts up a rough,
unrelenting pace, and you forget what you wanted to say.  Izaya doesn’t say
much else after that, either, and the only words that leave your lips are each
other’s names, whimpered and moaned and screamed over the sound of your bodies
meeting.  Your hands are tangled in Izaya’s hair and you’re glad you stayed,
glad you decided to do this one more time, because you’re really going to miss
this.  You don’t know what this means to him--probably nothing at all--but to
you, it’s still important.  You know you’re young and naive and definitely
wrapped up in a bunch of complicated emotions that you feel for him all at the
same time, but you still find yourself calling his name when you reach the
edge, your vision going white for a second, your head spinning.
Izaya sinks his teeth into your shoulder when he comes, drawing a shriek from
your lips, and he rests his forehead against yours as he tries to catch his
breath.  Neither of you speak for a while.  Your body feels heavy and you’re
struggling to keep your eyes open when he finally rolls onto his back beside
you and pulls you into a one-armed embrace that you read way too much into.
 “I’m going to miss this,” you say in your delerium.
Izaya laughs and pats your head at the comment.
Before you fall asleep, you think he says, very softly, “me, too,” but you’re
pretty sure you imagined it.
*
When you wake up, Izaya is gone.
For a minute, you panic, but you hear the soft tapping of his keyboard and
breathe a sigh of relief.  Now that’s it’s over--really over--you feel really
out of place, like you don’t belong in his apartment anymore.  Hurriedly, you
collect your clothes, but you freeze when you pick up your jacket and find
something buried underneath.
Izaya’s cell phone.
It must have fallen out of his pocket in the flurry of clothing earlier.  You
stare at it, and then glance at the bathroom, where you need to go so you can
shower, change, and get out, but then you look back at the phone.  You know
better, god, you know better!  You told yourself you were going to be smart
from now on and fix things, and this is the farthest thing from fixing.
But you just can’t help yourself.  You have to see.  You just have to.  
You can still hear him typing.  Slowly, as if afraid he’ll somehow realize
what’s going, you bend down to sit on the floor and press a button.  There’s a
lock screen, and you feel stupid for not expecting it.  But you don’t put the
phone down right away, because the background of the lock screen is you.
Specifically, it’s you sleeping in his bed.  You should probably find it
creepy--and you do, at least a little--but more than anything, it makes you
want to cry.  You’re not sure how else you’re supposed to interpret this.  Even
if he doesn’t return your feelings, Izaya clearly has some sort of attachment
to you, and you think he might even be as reluctant as you are to change the
way things are.  Of course, he’ll never say as much, and if you ask, he won’t
give you a straight answer.  Izaya feels something for you, but it doesn’t
matter.  Nothing is going to come of it.
You skip the shower and just get dressed, leaving the phone on the floor.
 Izaya glances at you when you come out of the bedroom and you’re dreading the
conversation that’s coming--after you’ve received whatever punishment he feels
like giving out, you’re dismissed, and this relationship is over.
Instead, he says, “We’ll be in touch,” and goes back to his work.
You don’t leave right away, still in disbelief, but you’re almost certain now.
 He doesn’t want this to end anymore than you do.  It’s been challenging and
fun and kind of rewarding, and it’s taken over both of your lives for months.
 It seems hard to believe that you’ve reached the end.
Eventually, you get your feet to move, and you leave without saying goodbye or
even looking back.
As you leave the lobby of the apartment complex dragging your feet, you’re
pretty sure this is what the girls in your class feel like when they’re
rejected by their crush.  You’d never been in that position before--you’d liked
people, but you’d never dared approach them, and now you’re glad you didn’t.
 People always make such a big deal out of heartbreak and not being with the
person they like, and now you finally understand why.  It seems like a fitting
end to a terrible week.
You think you hear footsteps behind you, someone darting out of the shadows
quickly, and the next thing you know, someone has your wrists trapped behind
your back and a strange-smelling rag pressed to your face.  Your vision starts
to blur and you struggle to stay on your feet and break free, but they’re a
good head taller than you and don’t budge.
Your terrible week isn’t quite over yet.
In fact, you think dimly as the world goes dark, it’s going to get even worse.
*
Yogensha: Today marks the end of an era.
Yogensha: Someday, you’ll all look back and wonder what happened.
Yogensha: I can’t tell you exactly, but you should know that I don’t appreciate
being underestimated.
Yogensha: Let this be a lesson to you, Izaya Orihara.
***** The False Prophet *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
You wake up slowly, groaning at the too bright light directly overhead in stark
contrast to the rest of the darkness all around you.  You feel heavy, like it’s
Sunday morning after a long night of mulling over the Prophet and Izaya’s next
move, and you don’t really want to go anywhere, but you try to stretch your
arms over your head.
Except you can’t, because they’re bound behind your back.
It comes back slowly; you remember leaving Izaya’s and hearing someone approach
you, and then it all gets a little fuzzy.  You’re tied to a chair in the middle
of somewhere, you don’t know where, but the floor is stone, the harsh light
above you is from a flickering light bulb, and there’s someone standing a few
feet in front of you in the shadows.  He’s tall and a little on the lanky side,
and as your eyes slowly focus on him, he steps forward into the light.  It’s a
face you haven’t seen in a long time, but seeing it now makes your blood freeze
cold in your veins and a creeping feeling of dread overtakes you.  
Professor Hironori Okuno, also known as Toyama, is looking down at you with a
frown, bands of light hiding his eyes behind his glasses.  The last time you
saw him was on a photograph on the front page of a newspaper after he’d been
forced to step down in the wake of a scandal and accusations of relations with
an underaged girl.  You haven’t seen or heard from him since, and honestly, you
kind of forgot about him.  That was obviously a big mistake.
“Hello, Miss K,” he says, using the internet alias you’d given him in a biting
tone, “It’s been a while.”
“Mr. Okuno, I’m sorry,” you get the words out as quickly as you can, “I didn’t
want things to go the way they did.  I was scared, and I did a lot of stupid
things, and I--!”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he cuts you off harshly, coming closer and
kneeling so you’re at eye level.  The intensity in his eyes is terrifying and
you wish you could run away.  “You can’t possibly understand what you did to
me.  I lost everything.  It doesn’t matter that the investigation didn’t turn
up anything, my reputation is already irreversibly damaged.  I was having a
difficult time as it was securing funding and finding colleagues who would take
me seriously before your little stunt.”  His expression softens.  “I want to be
angry with you.  I want to hate you for what you did.  By no means am I
inclined to forgive you, but you, and people like you, are at the heart of my
research.  It’s difficult to hate what fascinates you.”
He stands up and backs away from you, and you hear more footsteps approaching.
 “I could have helped you, you know,” he says, softly, as though wounded, “You
came to me with your ability to perceive exformation in its larval state.  I
could have guided you.”
You fight back tears.  He sounds so genuinely hurt.  There have been many
people in the past, innocent bystanders, who happened to get between you and
Izaya and suffered for it.  You had never personally witnessed the aftermath,
never realized just how much harm you did.  Hironori was the one person in the
world who knew a little bit about what you could do, and you still ruined his
life.  You don’t deserve his help, even if you wan itt.  “I’m sorry,” you
choke.
“Don’t be sorry.”  The ghost of a smile appears on his face.  “Even if nobody
is going to read it, I will still gather data and compile a report.  And you
will help me.”  He glances at you out of the corner of his eye.  “That’s what
I’ve been promised.”
The other set of footsteps slow as the second person comes forward, dwarfed
standing next to Hironori, wide eyes framed by dark curls.  Your first instinct
is to be relieved.  “Kazumi!  Thank god,” you say, and only as the words leave
your mouth does it occur to you that she and Hironori are smiling at one
another conspiratorially.  You realize you really shouldn’t be so happy to see
her.  
“How are you feeling, Prophet?” she asks.  It’s been a while since her wide-
eyed stare has unnerved you, but you’re suddenly reminded of your first
impression of her months ago.  After getting to know her, and from her short
stature and perpetual stammering, you started to associate her expression with
a “deer-in-headlights” sort of look, but you think you might’ve been mistaken.
 She’s leering at you like an owl would look at a mouse, the predator rather
than the prey, and her voice is quiet, steady, and confident.  “You weren’t out
all that long, so nobody’s going to come looking for you yet.  We’ve got plenty
of time to talk.”
“Kazumi, what are you doing?” you ask, your voice coming out in a terrified
whimper.
“What I’ve wanted to do for years,” she says, “Climb to the top of Ikebukuro.”
“How...how long did you know it was me?”
She shrugs.  “A while.  Izaya sent you bait leading you to Okuno’s blog a while
back, and then had me periodically hack his inbox to see if you took it, which
you did.  I traced the throwaway account you used back to you the same day and
knew right away who you were since we go to the same school.”
“You told Rika you didn’t know who it was,” you say weakly.
“Yeah.  I told Izaya the same thing.”  She crosses her arms over her chest.
 “It’s been a pain in the ass.  I’ve maintained that stupid ‘socially awkward
techie’ persona since Izaya caught me a while back, but it seems to have paid
off in the end.  Neither of you realized I was a threat until it was too late.”
“But...but I texted you!” you insist, “And you texted me back.  You said you’ve
never done anything that would cause the Prophet problems.”
“I’m not stupid,” she says, rolling her eyes, “I know how your powers or
whatever work.  Okuno told me all about it.  It’s not that hard to focus and
send false exformation; it’s pretty much just thinking a lie.”
You can’t believe you didn’t think of that before.  Izaya had proved capable
early on of concentrating his thoughts and send you very carefully thought-out
exformation.  “Then, the imposter...was that you, too?”
She nods.  “Just so you know, I acted in your best interest,” say says, “There
were plenty of times where you were making the wrong move, or just not moving
fast enough to keep up with the game.  I gave orders in your place, established
a presence online, and I even vouched for you to the Dollars, and they’re a
tough crowd to get in with.  I’ve been playing that game for a while, too.
 You’re supposed to be a mind reader, but you have all these limitations.
 Without a phone, you’re pretty much useless.”
You feel like she just slapped you.  “I’m...I’m not-!”
“Oh, really?” she challenges, “You don’t know how many of your sloppy missteps
I had to cover just to keep this mess going a little longer.  You made stupid
decision after stupid decision, fell for just about everything Izaya threw at
you, and just blindly kept going because you figured everything would work
itself out.  You only got as far as you did because of other people.  You’re
only here because I covered your tracks.  You never should have gotten involved
with Ikebukuro’s politics, because you’re not smart enough to play the game.”
You don’t say anything.  Of course you’re angry, but you know she has a point.
 Aside from your phone, what about you is so special that it benefited the
Prophet business?  Rika had her sly business practices, Mai was so devoted she
managed to cozy up to Izaya and memorize his schedule as well as organize his
subordinates into a reliable information network for a time, and Kazumi’s
knowledge of technology makes you look computer illiterate.  You were so
excited when you found out that it wasn’t the phone that interpreted
exformation but you, and yet she’s right--without a phone, you can’t do
anything.
Your eyes burn with tears.  You look at the ground in embarrassment.  
“It’s nothing to cry over,” Kazumi says mildly, “You played and you lost to a
superior opponent.  I’m not going to go and tell your parents or anything.
 This can stay between us.”  Her expression twists into something like a smile,
but it looks wrong on her face.  “After all, as long as you have a phone,
you’re still useful.  I didn’t start a cult in your honor for nothing.”
It’s a bitter pill to swallow.  Almost everything has been Kazumi’s doing--the
mysterious mentions of the chatroom, the Prophet messages that you never sent,
and even the support from the Dollars.  You thought Izaya was pretty clever and
that Masaomi had you pretty well fooled, but the one who had you going the
longest by far was Kazumi.  You had your suspicions initially, but she seemed
to have proven herself over time, and you even considered her a friend.  Her
history worried you at first but you brushed it off; you didn’t think that
maybe she wasn’t hacking the emails of politicians because she was actually
some kind of criminal mastermind because she acted like she was just so
socially awkward that it was just what she did for fun.  
The next thing you know, Kazumi is in front of you, and you glance up at her
fearfully as you realize that you really don’t know the person you’re looking
at.  “So here’s the deal,” she says, “You do what I tell you to do, and
everything will be fine.”
“Wh-what do you want me to do?” you stammer.
“Mostly what you did before,” she says, “I want a monopoly on the power in
Ikebukuro.  I’ve already got my hands in the Dollars, in Izaya’s business, and
in a number of smaller gangs.  The Prophet is the best way into the big
leagues.”  Her eyes glint.  “You see where I’m going with this?”
“You...you want me to help you,” you gulp, “Do something illegal?”
“You don’t have to sound so pathetic,” she scoffs, “You’ve done some pretty
morally ambiguous things these past few months, so I wouldn’t feign innocence.”
A few steps behind her, Hironori clears his throat.
She glances back.  “Oh, yeah.  And Okuno has some experiments he wants to do,
so you’ll do that, too.”  She’s looking at you like she’s expecting a response.
“Okay,” you say, willing to say whatever will make them happy, “Can you let me
go now?”
“I don’t think so,” she says thoughtfully, “You might tell someone.  I have to
be sure you won’t pass this along to anybody.”
“I swear,” you say in a panic, “I won’t tell anyone.”
Kazumi’s face twists into something other than apathy or wide-eyed watchfulness
for the first time you’ve known her, eyes narrowing and filling with rage.  You
yelp at the burning sensation at the back of your neck when she grabs a
fistfull of your hair to turn your face up to look at her.  “Do I look like I
was born yesterday?” she hisses, “There isn’t a single person in Ikebukuro who
you can trust to be honest.  You, of all people, should know that by now.”  She
lets you go just as suddenly and steps away, hands shaking at her sides like
she’s trying to keep herself under control.  “I’ll let you go,” she says
quietly, “After I’m convinced of your loyalty.”  She looks at Hironori.  “Let
the others in,” she tells him, “We’ll keep her in the Locker for now.”
He looks back at her with concern.  “I’m not sure this is the best course of
action,” he says uneasily, “Receivers have a much more difficult time
processing exformation under psychological distress, not to mention that
somebody is going to come looking for her.”
“Her parents think she’s at her friends’,” Kazumi says dismissively, “They’ll
search her house first.  When that turns up empty, it’ll eventually come to
light that she was last at Izaya’s, and he’ll be under investigation.”
“The Locker?” you interrupt anxiously, “What’s the Locker?”
Before you get an answer, you wince at a searing headache simultaneous with the
buzzing of your phone in your pocket.  At the odd angle you’re sitting at and
with your hands unavailable, you can’t catch it and it falls on the floor.
 Kazumi frowns at it and picks it up, reading over the message.  “Looks like
you’re back in Izaya’s good graces,” she says snidely, turning to show you the
message.
From Izaya: 19:04:
“Let’s talk again sometime next week.”
From Izaya: 19:04:
 “If you’re really done playing Prophet, maybe we can work something out.”
You grow even more restless and distressed at the message, fear and anxiety
compounding your heartache.  He really has become attached to you.  Your
racing, frantic thoughts go back to the emptiness you felt when you woke up
alone, and then finding your face on his screen, how fast your heart started
beating when you realized he feels something.  You found out what his
background was because you checked his phone.
You touched his phone.
The realization doesn’t calm you--you’re even more frightened now because this
is your only chance--but you manage to get out a few shaky words.  “I-I have to
text him back,” you say, “I always text him back.  It’ll be suspicious if I
don’t.”  You don't know how long you've been out, and it might be too late, but
you have to try.
Kazumi’s eyes narrow in suspicion and she glances at Hironori as if for
confirmation.  He shrugs.  “She can only receive exformation, not send it,” he
says, “Best not to leave any loose ends.  We don’t need Izaya Orihara
investigating; he’d find her twice as fast as the police.”
She nods, seemingly satisfied.  You try not to look visibly relieved.  Kazumi
disappears behind you but you hear her right next to your ear a moment later.
 “Don’t try to run,” she mutters, “You’re only useful if you don’t give me too
much trouble.  You’re sending one text only, and I’m checking it over before it
gets sent.  Got it?”
You nod.  The ropes around your wrists loosen and fall away, and she presses
your phone into your palm.  Not knowing how much time is left, you hurriedly
bring up the message and hit the “reply” button, trying to focus your thoughts
but finding it nearly impossible.  You’re scared, you don’t even know where you
are, and you can’t stop from getting sidetracked, wondering if it’s too late,
wondering what will happen if this doesn’t work.  
Please come find me, you think desperately, I don’t even know where I am, but
you’re the only person who can help me now.  How ridiculous is that?  God, if
you didn’t have something to hold over my head before, you do now.  Why did
this have to happen?  I just want to go home, I want to go to bed and for all
of this to go away by tomorrow.  I don’t want to be the Prophet anymore.  I
just want to go to school and hang out with Rika and Mai and get smoothies
after class.  I want us to see each other more, too, because I really like you.
 
Wait, no, I didn’t mean that!  I mean, yes, I did, but this isn’t the time.  Oh
my god, my life is in danger and I can’t stop thinking about how much I like
Izaya, what the hell is wrong with me?
“What are you waiting for?” Kazumi demands, “If you’re not going to send
anything, give it back.  I’ll make something up for you.”
You panic, quickly typing a simple affirmative response, thoughts an incoherent
mess, and hit send before she can take it from you.  When you realize what
you’ve done, you have a terrible, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.
 You have no idea what you just sent him, or if it was even useful.  You don’t
even know if the time that’s passed is short enough for his phone to still
receive exformation.  
Kazumi snags your phone from your hands and then she yanks you up by the
forearm, dragging you into the dark.  Your eyes adjust slowly, and you see tall
double doors ahead.  She pulls a key from her pocket and unlocks it, opening
one, and you squint to see inside.  There isn’t anything; no windows, no
furniture, no lights.  Nothing.  She throws you forward and you tumble inside,
knees scraping on the floor as you catch yourself from face-planting on the
ground.
You turn around and find Kazumi’s silhouette, face obscured in shadows.  “Get
comfortable,” she says, “You’re not coming out for a little while.”
Slowly, the light from beyond the doorway begins to shrink away.  As the last
remaining sliver turns to darkness and the sound of a lock sliding into place
echoes in the emptiness of the small room, you feel tears welling up in your
eyes again.  You can’t believe you told yourself you had to be noble and
responsible and handle things alone.  You wish you had never met Kazumi. You
wish you had never become the Prophet.  You wish things could have worked
between you and Izaya.
More than anything, you wish your friends were here with you now.
Chapter End Notes
     You guys are all wonderful and deserve a wonderful ending and but I
     keep doing this and it's just
     I don't know
     I don't know why I do these things.
     See you next week.
***** Checkmate *****
Chapter Notes
     SURPRISE.
     I'm going to be at a con this weekend and I will not be bringing my
     laptop along, so I thought I'd go ahead and update while I had the
     chance. I'd thought about splitting this up into two chapters but I'm
     sure you guys are tired of waiting for the ending, so here it is.
     Also apologies for the strange suddenly-not-Reader-chan perspective,
     but I really wanted to squeeze those scenes in there, and I did the
     best I could.
     Thanks for hanging in there.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
You’re not sure how long you’re in “the Locker.” 
If it comes up later on in your life, you’d like to tell people you had a brief
moment of insecurity and that you were quick to recover and start looking for a
way out.  Regardless of how long or brief your hopelessness lasts, it’s
probably a bit longer than a moment.  You cry a little, bang your fists
ineffectually against the door, yell apologies to Hironori.  And then, when
you’re finally exhausted, throat raw and tears run dry, you manage to compose
yourself and focus. 
You need to get out of here.
Your eyes have adjusted to the dark by now, but you still can’t make out much
more than the outline of the heavy door.  You get to your feet and walk in slow
circles, finding that the room really is empty, and then you run your hands
over the walls, trying to find something, anything.
You stop immediately when your fingers brush across a cold, metal grate towards
the back of the right side of the room.  There are slits in it, and you realize
it’s a vent cover.  You’ve seen people crawl through air vents in movies
before, but you aren’t sure if it’ll actually work.  You don’t really have any
other ideas, though, so you tug at the vent.  The hinges on its right side
groan in protest as it swings open.  Blindly groping in the dark reveals a
passage that you think would be a tight fit for a fully-grown adult, but you’re
pretty sure you could make it.  The problem is that it ascends at a steep
angle, and except for a few bumps, it’s smooth and there’s nothing to hold
onto.  You don’t know how far it goes, either, or even where.
Of course, you’ve got nothing but time on your hands, so you decide you might
as well find out.
*
Far away in a residential district, your best friend Rika is just coming home,
opening the door and turning on the lights to find that her parents are out. 
She sighs and checks her phone to see if you’ve sent her anything--which, of
course, you haven’t--and sets her purse down by the kitchen table as she starts
going through the cupboards looking for something to make for dinner.
“If you’re looking for instant ramen, you’re out,” she hears, and whirls around
in shock, sure she’s alone.
Standing at the threshold between the kitchen and the living room stands Izaya
Orihara.  There’s something off about his smile, but she doesn’t really notice
it through her fear.  Rika grabs a knife out of the cutlery holder on the
counter and brandishes it in her shaking hands.  “Wh-what do you want?” she
demands.
Izaya looks at the weapon with disinterest.  “You can put the knife down.  I’m
not going to do anything to you.”
“How did you get in here?  Where are my parents?”
“I came through the front door like a normal person,” he says, ignoring Rika
mumbling about how normal people don’t usually break into other people’s homes,
“And your parents are having a romantic dinner in town.  It was a nice
coincidence that they’d pick tonight.” 
“Look, we’re done,” she says, “We’ll leave you alone, alright?  You never have
to worry about us messing with you ever again.  Hell, I’ll leave Ikebukuro as
soon as I’m able.  The underground is your territory, and honestly, I don’t
want anything to do with it anymore.”
“Hm,” Izaya says in a way that implies he couldn't really care less, “That’s
fine, but I’m not here about that in particular.  I was wondering if you’ve
heard from your little friend today.”
She regards with him suspicion that slowly turns to anxiety.  “Why?” she asks.
“Just curious.”
“Bullshit,” she hisses, and with a surge of bravery, takes a step closer. 
Izaya takes a step back, not looking fearful, but likely not interested in
getting stabbed.  “Did you do something to her?  Izaya, I swear to god, if you
hurt her….”
“I’m asking because I haven’t heard from her, either,” he interrupts
impatiently, “She visited me earlier, and that’s the last I saw her.”
“Maybe she’s tired of you using her,” Rika snaps, staring in confusion when
Izaya’s expression falters ever so slightly. 
“I won’t disagree with you,” he says, “But I think there might be something
else going on.  I sent someone by her place to see if she’d come home yet, and
she isn’t there.  Is there anyone else she might have been involved with as the
Prophet?  Someone who might wish her harm?”
“Do I look like an informant to you?”  No longer sensing danger--at least not
to her--Rika sets the knife down on the counter and crosses her arms over her
chest.  “If anything’s going on, shouldn’t you be the first person to know?”
His eyes harden.  “That’s the way I prefer things, yes.”  He takes his phone
out of his pocket and scrolls through it before turning the screen to her.
Rika glimpses the words on the screen and the color drains from her face. 
From Little Miss Prophet: 19:05:
“Sounds good.”
From Little Miss Prophet: 19:06:
“p͏̹͎͖͉̰̤̲͚̕͝l̴̨͇̠͜e̡ͅạ̴̲̬̞͟͢s͔͓̤̫͉̜ę͓̣͙͙͙̭̮̀
̸̶̳̥͍̜̮̪̭͝ͅh̹̻̺̫̕e̵̲̪̭̲l҉̵̲̰͎̦̗̭̫̼͝ṕ̫̖̻͇͡ ̺̯͚͔͍̕m̹͔͈͓͜͠e͔͈͡
͎͙̦̘͔͖̘ṕ̹̮͉̩̱̕l҉͍̯̜͇͝ḛa̟͓͕͎̰̜̖s̞̙̪͕̺̰͝e̱̭͍͉͎̟̝͢͢
̶̯͕̘̻̪̼͔̥̣h҉̜̗̼̭͇̜̼e͙̩͚̻͉͎̭͡l̨̰̱̹̘p̳̬͖ ̴̸̢̫̹̜͔̰̦̜m̵̸̫͙̫͓̦̜̻̪̪e͓̼̪͢
͈̥p̲͙̼̟͉͙̀́l͖͠e͓̳͜a̜͓̠̕͢͡s͖̲̖̲͉̲̙̕͡e̵̴̱̻̙̟̭̻
̞͍̮̹̖̝́ͅͅh̀͏̵̜̪͎̜̼e̶͠͏̥̦̜͓l̩͔̥͉̮ͅͅp̴̩̤͎͉̞
̗͙̣͉͓̻͜͠p̲̣̼̙̟̯̖̺l͍͙͓͖̱̺͔͈͝ͅe̸͚̮͕͙̟a̛̼̝̺̮̩ͅs̹̕ę̖̯̣̖͚̘̤͟
̗͙͚̮̫̙͕̳̯́͝ẖ̢͔̤̫͙̯͟͟e̡̢̥̮͍̖̮̱͚̼̖l̼͙̦͍̠̺͖̱̬ṕ̨̖̝̰̥̪̦
̴̡͈͉̟̬͓͔p̷̗͍͔̣͉̞l̸̴̥̩͚̗̙̗͉̘e̢̘̟̗̰̪A̶̛̩̭̯̹͕͓̻S͇͞Ḛ̷͇͓̠̘̣̥
̷̛̲͎̖̦̩H͎E͟҉̲̪̥̲̫͇̞͖̟̕L̥͇̰͖̗̙͜P̭̦
̬̭̼̩͍̩̠̦P̖̙̣̰̫L̢̨̨͎̙E̢͎̝̻͎͝À̷̰̤̭S̶̖͙̖̘̩͇͝͝E̵̗̫̖
̘̰͡ͅḨ̘̥̺̣̤E̦̖͉̭̣̻̬L͝҉̺͎̭̭̦̯͙͕P̡̙͚̦̬͈͟͞ ͖̫̙̰͈̱̤H̴̥͓̺̀E̴̥̞̮ͅL̰̭͎̀͟P̣̮
̨͇̞̠͖̩̫̬̘H̵̡̱͚̝͔͚̞͉̩͟E̵̫̟͎̣̱̹̗Ḷ̟͓̱̲̘P̩̣̯͚̝̳̰͖͠ ̛̟͕̺̻
͢͏͎͍̗̤̝H̱̙͖̯̤͡Ȩ̞̜͙̩̳̭͖L̷̞̰̠̠̠̳P͏̶͙̭͠
̥̟̺͍̯̦̙̺͎̕͠H̘͓͚̻̗͇̩͟E̵҉̘̻̪̰͚̣L̴̳͖̙̩̗̹̮̻P̨̬̠͈̝̗͈̖͡ ̶̸̩̝̜̫̠͖̟̕ͅM̸͈̤̩ͅȨ̠̟̯
͍͉̦̤͓̝̤̻̪͟P͏͓̩̖̻̦̠L͖͈̫̺̩̕͢E̢̧̙̰A̹Ś̳̮̮̘͕͉̖͜ͅÈ̸͓̰͘
̧̟͔̫̝͢ͅH̨̪̗̗̜E̠͎̳̠͢Ḽ̡̟̹̝P̡̙̗̀ ̜̀̕͠H̼̼͓̬E͈͎̞̬͍̲͞L̵̨̘̯̻̺͍̻͙͕̀P̰̣̘͇͜
̢҉̱͇̻̲̲̙̦̲M̶̡̗͔E̩̥̬̘̝͈͞͝ ̘͠H̤̹͕̜̙́E̷̡͉͘L͙̳̺̖̦P̜̥͇͇̦̝̥”
 “What….”  She looks at Izaya’s face, searching for any hint of insincerity,
wanting him to be lying to her.  Rika’s hands are shaking when she hands it
back.  She isn’t sure how you did it, but she doesn’t linger on that thought
for long.  The distorted text reads to her like panic and fear; she knows
you're in danger.  Rika sits down at the table and holds her head in her
hands.  “Oh my god,” she mumbles, “This wasn’t supposed to happen.  Nothing
like this was ever supposed to happen.”  Izaya doesn’t sit down, but he does
come closer.  “We’re just kids,” she says, voice wavering, “We didn’t know what
we were getting into.  I thought it was cool that she could do that stuff.  I
didn’t think anything bad would happen.”
“Do you have any idea who might be behind this?” he asks.
She shakes her head.  “I don’t know.”
“None?  Not one of your Prophet buddies?  Maybe one of the double-agents you
pulled from my network?”
“I don't know!” she yells, glaring up at him.  “I have no idea, okay?  I don’t
know.  And you grilling me on it isn’t going to make me think faster.”
Izaya takes a deep breath, leaning against the table. 
“Why do you care?” she asks suddenly.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“This is my best friend we’re talking about,” Rika says seriously, “It’s
relevant.”
Izaya is silent for a long time before he pulls out the chair across from her
and sits down, steepling his fingers.  “This isn’t a discussion we should be
having right now,” he says, “We need to go over the possible suspects and
figure out where she might--!”
“Do you like her?” 
Izaya closes his eyes and sighs, mental fatigue obvious on his face.  “You
caught me,” he says dramatically, “I’m hopelessly and madly in love with your
friend, and I want to be her prince charming who rescues her from danger.” 
Rika stares at him.  “That was sarcasm,” he tells her, “You know, when someone
means the opposite of what they say.”
“I know what sarcasm is, you dick.”
“I’m just making sure.  You looked like you believed me.”
“Excuse me for hoping against hope that you might actually be a decent person,”
she growls, “Whatever, I don’t care.  Who do you think did this?”
“There are several suspects I have in mind,” Izaya says, “But I don’t have
enough information to be certain.  It seems likely that the false Prophet is
behind this, though.”
“False Prophet?” Rika repeats.  “You mean like an imposter?  I mean, yeah, that
makes sense, I guess, but I don’t know who it is.  The only other two people
who were really in on this pretty much proved they were loyal.  She read their
thoughts.  Um.  Texts.  However that works.”
“How do you know they weren’t lying?”
“How do you lie in your thoughts?” 
Izaya raises a brow.  “The same way you lie out of your thoughts.”
Rika looks like she wants to argue, but a moment passes and she looks down at
the table.  “Damn,” she mutters, “I guess I hadn’t thought of that.” 
Izaya’s phone vibrates, and he answers.  “Hello?”  Rika watches his expression
shift into surprise.  “Just now?  How much?”  Suddenly, he’s standing from the
table and heading for the door.  Rika hurriedly follows, ducking to grab her
purse and locking the door behind her.  “Call your people and get them down
there.  Yes, all of them.  As many as possible.”  He hangs up without a proper
goodbye, and Rika jogs a bit to reach him and match his pace.  She doesn’t
think she’s ever seen him walk this fast. 
“Who was that?” she asks, “What’s going on?”
Izaya keeps his eyes straight ahead.  “The false Prophet has been recruiting
heavily from color gangs, so there’s been a bit of friction between them. 
Tonight, he’s apparently gathered his converts at a warehouse on the edge of
town to celebrate something.  A few Yellow Scarves came to try and crash the
party.”
“That’s not good,” she says, “Things are just going to escalate into violence.”
“They won’t,” Izaya says, sounding confident, “We won’t let it get that far.” 
He hits a few buttons and has his phone at his ear again.  “Call all of your
Prophet buddies and tell them what’s happening,” he says.
“I don’t really know who can be trusted anymore.”
“If they aren’t at the warehouse already, you can probably trust them.”
*
You know those movies you thought about earlier where people sneak around in
air vents?
Yeah.  It doesn’t really work like that.
You must spend half an hour just trying to climb up the steep, metallic
incline, repeatedly sliding back out, but your perseverance eventually pays off
and you scramble up like a lizard into the passageway, lying on your stomach in
what you think is at least a couple feet over where you were before.  There
isn’t a lot of room, so you have to crawl forward on your elbows, and twice you
end up getting cobwebs in your mouth.  The entire structure creaks and groans
around you, but you don’t really worry until you feel it shake a little.
And then the entire thing drops, your shriek drowned out by the awful noise the
vent makes as it bends.  The back stays firmly in place and you find yourself
sliding out of the end in front of you, landing on your face on the floor.  You
hurriedly pick yourself up but don’t hear or see anyone and relax.  The broken
air vent hangs from the ceiling, one end lying uselessly a few feet off the
ground.  You’re lucky the whole thing didn’t fall.
You’re outside of “the Locker.”  The chair you were tied to before is still in
the middle of the room below a flickering bulb, but it’s otherwise empty.  You
hear what you think are footsteps and murmurs from outside but no one comes
in.  There’s a large pair of doors in front of and behind you, and you approach
the ones up ahead, staying low to the ground as you realize there are windows
on either side.  It’s dark outside, but you can make out shapes passing by. 
You glance back at the far door and see people moving there, too. 
So you’re surrounded.
You take deep breaths.  You can do this. 
You take another look around.  There’s a regular-sized door on the far right
wall.  Cautiously, you make your way over and turn the handle, only to find it
doesn’t go outside.  There’s another room, more industrial, full of pipes and
broken boards, and windows with fractured panes are high up above letting in a
little moonlight.  What was probably once a staircase to the upper level is an
unsafe-looking rickety structure with metal hanging off the sides.  There isn’t
anyone in here, so you shut and lock the door behind you and start walking down
the aisles between the shelves, hoping there might be another door at the far
end. 
There isn’t, of course.  You want to sit down and sulk but the floor is filthy,
so you lean against a wall.  You lean away from it when you feel something
grimy stick to the back of your shirt.  You’re not stuck in a tiny, dark room
anymore, but you still don’t really know where you are and you’re not sure how
you’re going to get out. 
When the steady chatter from the outside suddenly stops, you glance up at the
windows.  It’s gone completely silent.  You look around nervously, wondering
what’s going on, when suddenly the voices of the people outside return louder
than before, anxious shouting and a stampede of footsteps.  You hear the heavy
doors in the next room slam open and know it’s only a matter of time before
someone comes in, so you look for somewhere to hide, but there’s hardly
anything in the room.
You glance at the rickety, old staircase and almost pass by it completely until
you hear somebody try to turn the door handle. 
*
Rika never thought in a million years that she’d be working alongside Izaya
Orihara, and under normal circumstances, she never would.  But she’s your best
friend, and when things look bad, she’ll do anything to help you out.
You’re really going to owe her once this is all over, though.
They arrive at the warehouse with a patchwork of allies, Dollars and Yellow
Scarves angry about the decline in membership, former network members looking
out for their own, yakuza who want an end to the Prophet, high school kids and
middle-aged men and even the woman in black who never takes off her helmet and
talks through her PDA.  Izaya keeps checking his phone as if waiting for—hoping
for—another message from you, and Rika surveys the crowd with her eyes, hoping
they brought enough people.
Standing between them and the warehouse is a slightly smaller crowd of
similarly varied demographics, holding their ground and murmuring to one
another. 
“Rika,” Mai calls, making her way to her at the front of the rescue team,
“Rika, what’s going on?”
Rika doesn’t look at her. 
“Rika.”  Mai’s voice raises in anger.  “What happened?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Rika says, voice low and tinged with guilt, “But
I’m going to fix it.”
Izaya steps in front of Rika.  “Excuse me, Cult of the Prophet,” he says to the
opposition, “You need to step aside and let us in.  I have reason to believe
there’s something that doesn’t belong to you in that warehouse.”
“You can’t come in,” one of the women in front tells him, “The Prophet is doing
something important.”
Rika glances at Izaya worriedly.  “What do you mean?” she asks, “Is the Prophet
here now?”
“Yes.  And he can’t be bothered.”
Someone taps on Rika’s shoulder, and she turns to find the biker woman, holding
her PDA up. 
“They’re stalling,”it reads, “Something isn’t right.”
Izaya turns to see what she’s looking at and she moves the PDA so he can read
it.  “We need to be careful,” he says, “We don’t know what’s going on inside.”
“Did you get ahold of Kazumi?” Mai asks, and Rika shakes her head. 
“Well, yeah, she said she’d be here, but I haven’t seen her.”  Just as the
words are out of her mouth, she realizes what they mean.  “Oh.  Oh my god.”
“What?”
She takes out her phone and dials.  “This is all my fault.”
“What are you talking about?”
Rika takes a deep breath. 
“Um, hello?” she hears.  She can’t tell if anyone in the crowd is on their
phone.
“Kazumi, I know you’re in the cult,” Rika says, “You did something, didn’t
you?  You were the only person besides me who knew a lot about what was going
on.”
“I’m not in the cult,” Kazumi says, and without a shred of guilt a moment later
corrects, “I started it.”
“I don’t care.  I know you had something to do with this.  Give her back.”
“Are you here right now?” Kazumi asks, “I can’t see you through all the
people.  I guess you must be.”
“Kazumi, if you don’t cooperate, I’m going to call the cops,” Rika says.
There’s a long pause.  “No, you won’t.”  Kazumi’s voice changes to something
much lower and quieter.  “If you call the police, you’re not getting her back.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Rika yells.  Both the crowd behind her and
the cult in front of her fall silent.  She sees the door to the warehouse open
and shut.  “This isn’t a game, Kazumi.  People are going to get hurt because of
you.”
“Listen to you!” Kazumi laughs, “Telling me it’s not a game!  You two idiots
treated Ikebukuro like a game for months.  Nobody is going to get hurt if you
do what I tell you to.  Now turn around and go home.”
“I'm not leaving without her.”  She looks at Izaya.  “Let’s go.”
“Don’t you dare,” Kazumi says, and Rika hears her stomping around and metal
slamming over the line, “You’re not in charge here, Rika, I am.  If you walk
through that door, your friend….”
There’s silence.  She hears muttering, something like, “Where the fuck…?”
Rika’s eyes widen.  “What?”
The line goes dead.
“Let’s go,” she tells Izaya again, and without waiting for him, charges
forward.  The cult rushes to meet her and she braces herself for a fight, but
she hears footsteps behind her, the combined forces of Ikebukuro’s strongest
rushing up beside her and pushing against the crowd.  There are too many bodies
and nowhere to go.  “Goddamit, let me through!” she yells, trying to shove her
way to the door.  Someone pulls her back by the hair and she yelps.
She sees Izaya slipping through the crowd, almost completely unnoticed as he
ducks below blows meant for him and sidesteps people falling in his path, and
against her better judgment, she puts her faith in him.
*
The door to the room you’re in slams open and you press closer against the
wall.  “You actually tried using the air vent,” you hear Kazumi growl below
you, “What a dumbass.”
You’re wedged between the wall and what used to be an old metal shelf on the
second floor, tucking into the shadows in the corner.  You’re well hidden from
her perspective, but if she comes up to the second floor, she’ll doubtlessly
find you, and there’s nowhere else to go. 
“You couldn’t just stay put and make this easy.  You had to screw something up,
like always.”  You hear Kazumi circling around below, searching.  “You might as
well give up.  Nobody’s coming for you.” 
You know she’s lying.  The sounds of a fight are drifting through the window,
and you can distinctly make out Rika’s voice among them.  Your chest is
squeezed by fear but also anticipation.  You’re not alone.
Your hands fly over your mouth to cover up the gasp that slips out when the
metal of the old staircase gives out a loud creak as someone puts their weight
on it, but it’s too late.  You see Kazumi make her way up slowly and carefully,
eyes fixed on where you’re hiding.  You can’t go anywhere with her blocking the
only way down, but you still wriggle out from behind the shelf, not wanting to
be stuck with her so close.  Kazumi approaches you slowly, eyes wide and
angry.  “I told you to do what I told you,” she says, “Making the most powerful
person in Ikebukuro angry isn’t a good idea.”
Maybe it’s because you’ve been fearful for the past hour and the feeling just
isn’t as strong anymore, or maybe your frustration at being fooled by her is
greater than your fear.  Regardless of the reason, you straighten up and you
tell her what you think.  “But that’s not you.”
You think you see her eye twitch.  “I’m sorry, I must not have heard you
right."
“You did,” you insist, “You’re not the most powerful person in Ikebukuro.  I’m
not sure that even the Prophet could have held that title, but even then, you
weren’t the Prophet.  I was.”
“You were a cell phone psychic who wouldn’t have lasted a week without me,”
Kazumi says angrily.
“And where would you have been without me?” you ask, “Still working for Izaya,
right?  Maybe I wasn’t very good at being the Prophet, but that’s what I was. 
I gave you the chance to get away from him, and you took it.”
She reaches for you and you duck to the right out of the way, back hitting the
wall.  One of her arms slams into the space beside your head and she leans in,
glaring.  “I could have done it without you,” she hisses, “You were just a
convenient excuse.  And if you don’t shut your mouth, I won’t feel like keeping
you around.”
“Then what will you do?” you dare to ask, “You can’t get exformation without
me.”
She’s quiet for a minute, but you’re not naïve enough to think you’ve beaten
her.  Her eyes narrow into slits.  “Don’t get cocky just because you’re
useful,” she murmurs, one of her hands trailing up and finding your throat. 
She squeezes, not hard enough to choke you, but enough to cut off your air for
a second, reminding you who’s in charge.  “You have a place in my plans for
Ikebukuro, but if you’re difficult, you won’t enjoy it.”
You run out of bravery with the threat of being strangled.  Even if she can’t
kill you outright, you don’t doubt she’ll make this as unpleasant as she
possibly can.  Working for Izaya seems like heaven right about now. 
You hear the door open down below and both of your eyes fly in that direction. 
“How is it going outside?” she calls, “I’ll be out in a minute, I’m just taking
care of our guest.”  She doesn’t get an answer, save the squealing of the old
staircase, and without letting go of you, she turns to look over her shoulder. 
“Things are looking good.  Not for you, though.”  It’s not one of her lackeys. 
Kazumi’s eyes widen in a way that you think Rika’s do when she spots your
fiercest business competitor on the street.  For the first time, seeing Izaya
Orihara coming your way fills you with nothing but relief.  He’s wearing the
same stupid jacket and the same stupid grin he always does, hands in his
pockets and stride confident, all of the charisma and handsomeness you fell for
from the very beginning.  You’re not afraid to admit it to yourself anymore,
either; you like Izaya, and you’ve made peace with that.
Except this is definitely not the time to be thinking about it.
Kazumi doesn’t waste a second.  She turns back to you, features overtaken by a
dark expression unlike any you’ve seen on her before, and suddenly she’s yanked
you forward so she’s holding you in front of her, and you hear a click before
cold metal is pressed to your throat.  
Apparently, Izaya is not the only person in Ikebukuro to carry a knife.
“You stay right the fuck where you are,” Kazumi seethes, “Don’t come any
closer, don’t move, don’t even fucking breathe.  I’ve come too far for you to
mess this up for me.”  Your head is throbbing.  Kazumi didn’t hit you or
anything; it’s the hot, pulsing kind of headache that you associate with
overuse of your powers, like when you tried to listen to those recordings Rika
got.  You're not sure why it's flaring up now.  You wince and try to ignore it,
but it’s not as short-lived as they usually are.
“You have gone too far,” Izaya agrees, tone a touch more serious than what
you’re used to, “What do you see coming out of this, Kazumi?  If you cut her
throat, you aren’t getting out of here.”  You notice her breathing heavier, and
her hands are shaking.  She knows she’s on the losing side, and she’s starting
to panic, her nerves overriding her meticulous planning.  If Izaya isn’t
careful, she might just kill you.
“I’ll be long gone before law enforcement gets here,” she says quickly.
Izaya’s smile is seemingly frozen on his face despite how his voice has been
lowering.  It looks almost ominous in the dark.  “You don’t need to worry about
the police,” he tells her, and with a flick of his wrist, his own blade
seemingly materializes, probably from up in his sleeve.  You’ll have to ask him
how he does that if you get out of this safely.  “You have a much more
immediate problem than that.”
They’re at a stalemate, neither willing to compromise nor back down.  Kazumi
doesn’t budge, and you feel the serrated edge of her weapon digging into your
flesh.  The pain of the headache sears across your forehead and you whimper.
Someone is outside, about to throw a rock at the window.  You don’t know how
you know that.  It just comes into your head like you thought it yourself. 
Get down.
You hear the glass shatter behind you, and the second Kazumi loosens her grip,
knife moving away from you, you drop to the ground and roll to safety, not
particularly caring about the shards you’re getting stuck in your arms.  Izaya
is between you in an instant, and you anticipate a showdown of epic
proportions, but Kazumi makes a run for it right past him, and he lets her go. 
You look down and see her at the door to the room, wide-eyed glare fixed on you
for just a moment before she slips through and it slams shut behind her.
Izaya kneels beside you, carefully picking glass out of your skin and brushing
off the dirt.  “Well, it’s a good thing that’s behind us,” he says mild-
manneredly, as if your life wasn’t just in danger, “I really dislike getting my
hands dirty.  It’s inconvenient.”
You knew better than to expect your prince charming to be considerate of your
distress, but you were hoping for a little better than the usual, considering
the progress you’ve made.
Well, the progress you thoughtyou’d made.  You’re pretty sure you didn’t
imagine it.  You’re pretty sure your picture on his phone means something.  All
the same, this mess you’ve gotten yourself into has taught you that you aren’t
always the best at reading people.  You’re tired, confused, have a massive
headache and you’re generally tired of everyone’s shit, so you don’t bother
trying to put on a brave face for him.  “Is it really so hard?” you ask, voice
cracking as tears warm your eyes and start flowing down your cheeks, “Is it
really so damn hard to ask me if I’m okay?”  You wipe viciously at your face,
tears and snot covering your hands.  Izaya doesn’t respond right away, and
you’re wondering if he’s going to get up and leave you there, when you hear the
fluttering of fabric and feel something warm.
You peek through your fingers and through your tear-blurred vision, you find
Izaya’s face intimately close, smile still in place.  He isn’t wearing his
jacket anymore; he’s draping it over your shoulders instead.  “I know you’re
not okay,” he says quietly, “You shouldn’t be, after everything that’s
happened.  I don’t need to be a mind reader to pick up on that.”
You lunge forward and tackle him to the ground in what is intended to be a hug
and maybe physical assault as well.  You're too tired to really know anymore.
 You wrap your arms tightly around him, because he had his chance to leave you
and he didn’t take it.  You’re not letting go now.  Izaya chuckles, one of his
arms curling around your waist, his other rising to comb his fingers through
your hair.  “Izaya,” you sniffle, “You are the most difficult, unpleasant
douchebag I have ever had the misfortune of running into.”
“That’s why you stuck around and slept with me, right?”
You bury your blushing face in his chest.  “Shut up.”
Izaya slips his fingers beneath your chin and tilts your face up to meet his
for a kiss.  It’s not slow and seductive like when he tried to get you worked
up so you’d do or say something stupid, but it’s not quite like the frantic
ones he’d give you when he was just looking to blow off some steam.  It’s
chaste and gentle, just his lips pressing against yours while he holds you, and
when you part, you look at his face and find something there that you’re too
inexperienced to have quite the right word for yet.  You’ll figure it out as
you go.
It’s nice, being able to just enjoy each other’s company as you please, not
hurrying into intimacy like you’re racing against an invisible clock or trying
to outwit each other.  You could definitely get used to this.
“You know, I hate to ruin the moment,” Izaya says, and you glare at him half-
heartedly because ruining moments is probably one of his hobbies, “But we are
lying on the floor of an abandoned warehouse, and someone has probably called
the police by now.”
That gets you up pretty quickly. 
A moment later, you’re walking out onto the street, finding a dispersing crowd
shooting dirty glares at one another.  You don't know how much Kazumi told
them, or if she even told the truth, but the cult seems to understand that
things didn't go the way they were supposed to.  Rika and Mai spot you and push
their way over.  “Oh my god,” Mai says, pulling you into her chest for a
protective hug, “You’re okay.”  You can’t see her expression, but you think
she’s probably glaring at Izaya.
“I’m okay,” you confirm, slowly wiggling free.  “Thanks, guys.  For being
here.”
“Thanks?” Rika repeats with a sharp laugh, “Oh no.  Uh-uh.  You are not getting
away with a ‘thanks,’ I don’t care what happened in there.  You owe me big
time.”
“Rika,” Mai says in warning, but you wave it off.
“No, she’s right,” you say, “I owe you both, and not just for this.  You put up
with a lot these last few weeks.”  You sigh.  “Smoothies are on me for the next
six months.”
“I think you mean the next year,” Rika corrects. 
You roll your eyes.  “Fine, the next year, starting Monday.  Now I don't know
about you guys, but I'm exhausted.  I’m going home and getting some sleep.”
Mai nods.  “You call me if you need anything, alright?”
You nod.  “Promise.”  This time, you mean it.
Mai is reluctant to leave, but with one last warning glance in Izaya’s general
direction, she walks off.  When you hear police sirens in the distance, you,
Rika, and Izaya start walking.
“Now,” he says, “About this Prophet business.”
“It’s over,” Rika says tiredly, “If you’re willing to let it go, we’re more
than happy to do the same.”
“Well, yes, I’d like for that to be over.”  He pauses.  “Although, I could
really use a consultant, somebody who could keep tabs on things in ways only
the Prophet can.”
You exchange glances with Rika, who turns her grin to Izaya.  “Naturally,” she
says, “You’re going to need a handler for a consultant like that.  Someone to
make sure they aren’t overexerting themselves.”
“Naturally,” Izaya agrees.
When you get to the train station, Rika splits off to take a different line
home.  She pauses, though, to look back at Izaya.  “Just so you know,” she
says, “We’re not cheap.  You may have blackmailed all of the rest of your
little helpers into working for free, but that’s not gonna fly with us.  And
don’t even think about forcing minimum wage--!”  He doesn’t quite glare at her,
but he gives her a look that shows slightly more annoyance than he usually
does, and her mouth snaps shut.  “We’ll work out the details later,” she says
hurriedly, still grinning, and waves at you before disappearing into the crowd.
“What are you going to do?” Izaya asks.
You shrug.  “Go home.  Sleep.  Buy a new phone tomorrow.”  You glance up at
him.  “I’m not complaining, but I couldn’t help but notice that you let Kazumi
go.  Don’t you think she’s going to come back?”
“I wouldn’t worry,” he says with a passive wave, “You just leave that to me.”
You decide you won’t inquire further.  You know Izaya fairly well by now.  He
isn’t the type to kill people, but that doesn’t mean you want to know what he
ends up doing to her, especially since this wasn’t her first time getting on
his bad side.
“Izaya,” you say quietly, “Thank you.”
He gives a mock frown.  “I came all the way out here to swoop in and save you
like the gallant prince I am, and that’s all I get?”
‘Gallant prince,’ he says.  You try not to laugh.  “What do you want?”
His smile returns with obvious mischief, and he leans in slightly.  You lean
away, glancing around self-consciously.  “We’re in public,” you whisper.  Your
head throbs slightly, reminding you you'll need a painkiller when you get home.
“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he laughs, “You can throw yourself at me behind
closed doors, but you won’t give me a kiss at the train station?”  He must find
the embarrassed blush on your face cute, because he laughs again and wraps his
arms around you.
You bury your face in his chest and he rests his head on top of yours. 
“Sometimes, I just hate you,” you mutter.  You can hear his heartbeat ever so
faintly through his shirt, a steady, reassuring rhythm, a reminder that he’s
human underneath it all. 
“You don’t mean that.”
“You don’t know.”
Izaya is quiet.  You enjoy the tranquil silence for the brief moment it lasts. 
“What?”
You look up at him.  “I said you don’t know.  You don’t know what I mean.”
He’s staring intently at your face.  “I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did.  You said I didn’t….”  You pause.  “Are you messing with me?”
He doesn’t react.
“Izaya, I heard you clearly.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he says again, words tinged with excitement.  His
smile widens rapidly.  “But you heard me anyway.”  You stare back at him, a
nervous smile of your own forming on your face. 
“I don’t know if I can deal with this,” you tell him, “I barely had the phone
thing figured out.”
“We’ll figure it out together.”
We.  Together.
You like the sound of that.
“Yeah,” you say, “I guess we will.”
You’re so happy that you forget all about being embarrassed, stand on your
tiptoes, and press a kiss to his smiling lips, and when you pull away, you
smile back.
Chapter End Notes
     BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE.
     There's an epilogue that I'm going to treat as a proper chapter
     coming up, so actually there is one chapter left.
     Sorry not sorry.
     See you next weeeeeeeeek.
***** Clearing the Board *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
At any given moment, there are 1,000,000 people squeezing past each other
through Ikebukuro, waiting for trains, meeting with friends, talking on their
phones, and all of them, every single one, is lying.
This, you’re certain, is fact.
But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.  Sometimes, people lie with good
intentions, hoping to help rather than hurt, concealing painful truths and
maintaining a tentative, false happiness.  You deceive people every day,
sometimes just by omitting the whole truth—like when Mai wants to know where
you’re spending your weeknights and you say “Ikebukuro,” and she just kind of
shakes her head—and sometimes by changing it completely—like when Rika covers
for you when you don’t come home from Izaya’s by saying she was at your
place—and that’s okay.  Other people will lie to you, too, and it’s not because
they’re horrible; it’s because they’re people, and lying is just one of many
things people do from time to time.
From where you’re sitting at Izaya’s desk, swivel chair turned to face the
window and eyes closed as you massage your temples with your fingers, you can
hear a knock at the door, and then footsteps as Izaya rises from the couch to
open it.  “Right on time, Mr. Kitajima,” he says, and you hear him lead the
client to the couch. 
“One of your…followers is here,” the man remarks, probably spotting your
reflection in the window.
“She’s supposed to be,” Izaya says simply.
It’s not like he’s trying to hide you.  Normally, you would be turned towards
the conversation or even sitting a little closer, but with your heightened
awareness has come regular headaches that ebb and flow when there's exformation
to process.  Izaya accommodates you the best he can, but he doesn’t plan on
giving you any time off until he thinks he has a good handle on your limits.
“Now, how can I help you?” Izaya prompts.
You open one eye to look at their reflections in the glass, finding a man
dressed like yakuza but not someone you recognize from Izaya’s regulars.  “I’m
actually here on behalf of the Matsuya organization,” he says, “The boss is a
little curious about the Prophet.”
At the mention of the word, waves of something like fondness seem to roll off
of Izaya and you can’t help but smile. 
“We don’t talk about the Prophet much anymore in Ikebukuro,” Izaya says, “He’s
not something you need to worry about, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s more the nature of his disappearance that I’m curious about,” the man
says, “People have been talking, and while I’m not one to buy into hearsay,
rumors about you taking him in have become commonplace.”
“I’m surprised you bothered asking him face-to-face,” you chime in, “Since
you’ve been spending the last couple days trying to get into his email.”
The conversation abruptly stops.  Izaya’s face is turned away from you, but
you’re sure he’s smiling.  “Is that true, Mr. Kitajima?”
“I can’t be held responsible for what others in my organization may have been
doing,” he says carefully.
“But you acknowledge that it happened?”
“I’m not claiming responsibility.”
“I wouldn’t go through with it,” you say, “Trying to kidnap the Prophet, I
mean.  The last person who tried that is in pretty big trouble with the NPA
right now.”
Izaya is quiet for a moment.  “Mr. Kitajima,” he says quietly, “I understand
you’re a new client, but I’m really under the impression that you’re not
interested in working together.”
The man tries to protest, and you cut in immediately with the words about to
leave his mouth.  “He isn’t from around here, Izaya.  The Matsuya organization
hardly touches Ikebukuro because the Awakusu have such a presence in town.”
Izaya’s client stands from the couch, eyes wide and visibly sweating.  “What
the hell…?”
“So you’re one of the Awakusu’s rival organizations?” Izaya asks, rising to his
feet as well, “Normally, I’d be very interested in hearing what you have to
say, but I’m afraid these are turbulent times, and I can’t really risk it. 
You’ll have to come back some other time.”  Mr. Kitajima has a good head on
Izaya, but the informant’s reputation truly precedes him, because he’s herded
easily enough to the door.  When Izaya shuts and locks it behind him, he gives
out a heavy sigh and sinks down onto the couch.
“Everyone wants to know about the Prophet,” he says tiredly, “At least most of
Ikebukuro has enough sense not to ask, but people from out of town don’t seem
to care.”
“They just don’t know all of your complicated, unspoken rules of social
conduct,” you say, “Are you really going to have his bank account frozen?”
“Of course,” he says, “He thought about taking what’s mine.  For such a major
transgression, he’s getting off easy.”  He pauses, glancing towards you.  “Are
you alright?”
“I’ve been better.”
A moment later, he’s made his way over to you, hovering over the chair with his
hands on either armrest.  He leans in and presses his forehead to yours.  “Hm. 
You feel a little warm.”
“You’re supposed to check with your hand.”
He chuckles and kisses your forehead.  He pulls his lips away slowly, and he
opens his mouth to whisper something, but before he even gets a word out, your
face flushes and you turn away.  “No,” you say flatly.
“Now, that’s not fair,” he says, “I didn’t even say anything.”
“I already heard it.  And I said no, my head hurts.”
He smirks.  “Getting your endorphins going would help,” he murmurs, stroking
his thumb over the top of your hand.
You abruptly jerk away from him to cover your face with your hands.  “Izaya,”
you mutter, “Stop that.”
He smiles innocently.  “Stop what?”
“Was it always like this?  Did you always think…stuff…like this…before?”
“It’s nothing you haven’t heard before,” he says with a shrug, “You’ve texted
me while I was thinking about you.”
“But that’s a text,” you insist, “This is like you’re…whispering to me or
something, I don’t know.”
Izaya stares down at you and doesn’t say a word, but you turn red to the tips
of your ears and move forward to hide your face in his shirt, wrapping your
arms around his torso.  “Stoooooop,” you whine.
He laughs and pulls on your arm to get you to stand up.  “I can’t help it,” he
says, framing your face with his hands, “You’re just so cute.”
“Don’t you have paperwork to do or someone’s life to ruin?” you ask, “I don’t
want your productivity to go down, because your accountant will have my head.”
“She wouldn’t.”
“Trust me,” you insist, “She would.”
Your phone vibrates on the desk, spinning in a half circle before you grab it
and find, speak of the devil, a text from that very accountant.
From Rika: 9:55:
“This is a five minute warning for your first mandatory break.  Don’t argue
with me, I bet your head is killing you.”
From Rika: 9:55:
“And don’t lie, Izaya’s totally feeling you up by now.”
Izaya’s arms circle around your middle and he rests his head on your shoulder. 
“What does it say?”
You close out of the message with a long-suffering sigh.  “Nothing,” you say,
smiling a little and leaning into Izaya’s touch.  “I guess a break would do us
some good.”  You detangle just long enough to make it into the bedroom, and not
a moment longer.
The story of the Prophet dies out over time.  Conversely, tales of Ikebukuro’s
most feared informant grow fantastic in nature; Izaya can be everywhere at the
same time, Izaya can set things on fire by touching them, Izaya can read
minds.  People love a good story, especially when it seems like, just maybe, it
could be true.  Some say that Izaya Orihara killed the Ikebukuro Prophet.
Of course, he didn’t, but you think the truth—that the Prophet rests her head
on Izaya’s chest in the afterglow, listens to his heartbeat, and trades words
of affection that aren’t ever repeated where anyone else can hear—just might be
too much for Ikebukuro to handle. 
In this case, it’s almost definitely better to lie.
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you, thank you, thank you so much for taking the time to read
     this monster!
     I set out thinking, "yeah this'll probably be like ten chapters" and
     it's the length of a novel now.
     I hope you all had fun reading it, because it was definitely fun to
     write!
     Currently, I don't have anything in the works for more Durarara!!
     reader inserts/glorified 2nd perspective OC stories, but I'm leaving
     the series open as unfinished because I'm tossing some ideas around.
     I'll be back with something eventually!
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