WARNING: THIS IS NOT FOR KIDS!
A/N: This chapter contains scenes and situations that for some readers may find objectionable and offensive. If you find my work a little odd for you, how the story goes please, don't take it seriously. I just want to write, okay :) My works are unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.
Fifteen years ago...
The dark room smelled like copper. Four
walls stained with blood. There was a young man in the middle of the room, arms
spread eagle-like, feet bound in chains, piercing his skin from his flesh. He
was stark naked, hair disheveled, panting, breathing perceptibly, as if the stinking
air around the room was the most precious thing on earth.
He knew he would end up this way, his fate
would reveal soon, perhaps in an epic fashion. The sons of bitches love to
do a show, anyway. This doesn't bother him. He doesn't care about it
anymore. Through the years he learned the facts of life: we all live and we all die, simple as that.
Fuck them all, he doesn't give a shit if
he's a suicidal... but he will never ever let go of his last breath for
nothing. And though he was in pain now, there's a mocking smile plastered on
his face. As if this whole macabre ordeal was a big joke - not unless the dozen
prying eyes watching him on the other side of the two-way mirror enjoying it,
he had to change his mind otherwise.
But if his hands were unbound, he'd
probably raised a fist and middle finger in the air.
"My patience is nearly drifting, my
boy...” A grappling voice sounded around the room, followed by a static
feedback from the speaker. “This is your last chance."
Heard that before... the young man bit his lower lip, for each
time he said nothing but gibberish response spewed from his lips, the wire
clipping upon his breast and around his neck jolted him over to give him an
agonizing pain. But then again, it gains even a more audacious repose, and they
hated that even more.
Bring it on, asshole!
“What? I can't hear you. Speak louder.”
He was tired. His mind was tired. The pain
alone was tired to be inflicted; there's nothing on his body could place the
pain itself. It's been three hours since he was dragged inside the room,
blindfolded and drugged, and someone came after that - only to beat him to a
pulp, clubbed him, whipped him after violating his body, as if like the
tormentor was deft or really doesn't give a damn because he was just a piece of
shit. The young man knew who his tormentor was, and the torture was just part
of the show. He could have fake the rape session while counteracts with
the script, but apparently, at this very day, the act alone, and the reason,
was undeniably different. The beating was not some kind of erotic foreplay
before the grandeur finale. It was a punishment. He had done something very
unthinkable he has to go through all of these as the price.
However, the price was nothing to him.
They could beat him up for a week for all he cares and still his mind would not
break. For how many a time the same question was asked of him, the answer was
always the same. Fuck you.
Then suddenly he snorted... And after a few
moments, he laughed. Loudly. He laughed as if there's no pain to cause him to
shut up. “I zeid bringithown... hasshole!”
On the other side of the chamber a man
stood, hands clasped to his back, face relaxed while watching the audacious
youth keenly with his soft brown eyes. He was called the Director, and as the
puppeteer, he should have applauded to himself for he knows he had done a good
job of bringing up a good show today. In between punishment and the macabre
exhibition, the cast, or, as for this show's feature, the youth's Punishers was
given the privilege to “do as you like” impromptu-style, to show the reason why
the patrons needed to increase their bidding. However, the audience behind him
felt the lacking. There's something missing in the picture. The Director knew
what it was, or who it was. The clock is ticking, that every now and then his
eyes landed on his watch. The goal to break the young man was nowhere near
successful. This will cause a formidable insult to his stature.
"Again," he said, ordering the
man sitting in front of him to press the red button one more time.
"He will die if we keep this up,
Sir."
"I don't care! Again!"
The sound of the microphone died, and the
thing happened next was the one thing they all expected.
The brown orb of the boy's eyes
disappeared, pushing itself under its lid. His mouth spewed white, whilst blood
coming out from his nostrils. His body became rigid, his muscles' stiff. The
voltage passing through the wire to his veins torments his entire being. And
the pain constantly changed. It should numb him by now, but no. The pain seeped
even into his soul.
"We can do this all day, and there's
a hundred buttons here to choose from,” said the man behind the speaker. “So
don't get so cocky.”
“Fuhckyou!”
“Where are they, and please answer it now
since I am bored pressing the same button for four hours."
"We dontyah blow me... yah good at
it, riiiight?"
“You're one stupid boy!”
“Henim glad tuh disappoint yah.”
Silence lingered for a moment, all eyes on
the Director. The ten patrons sitting behind raised a brow at him as he glanced
back at them. Humiliation, humiliation...
"Szayel." The brown-eyed man
called, voice fuming.
The white suited man stepped forward. "Yes?"
"We're wasting time. See to it that
our guests here see where their money's worth. Do what you have to do."
Though it was dark, the devilish grin
showed upon the face of the pink headed man. Szayel purred. "Love
to."
The lights turned on, brightened the room,
and the steel door started to open. The young man slowly lifted his head and
saw a vague image of the tall man with fucking pink hair, whom he
expected to see, standing right in front of him.
“Hellooow mothafukah... finally yah showed
up...”
"You know why I'm here, don't
you?"
"Yeah. Tell me, exactly haw many
times duh I have to tell yah guh fuck yurselves?" He shifted a little to
lessen the pain from his left rib, his breathing was harsh. "Lemme give
you insights though, since yah'r persistent: perhaps and probably halfway tuh
the authorities now tuh whip yur ass."
Szayel giggled, flipping his pink strand
away from his face with practiced ease. "Oh dear, is that all you've got?
No one can touch me, my sweet insignificant fool. Haven't you learned? Police,
you say? I owned them, if you must know. In fact one of their chiefs is here,
watching you. Try another one."
"Why don't yah just leave themmelone,
yah already had me! Leave them be!"
"I can't do that, you know. I
wouldn't aloud my pets wandering around without a leash; it's against the law
of sanitation."
The young man heard a soft giggles behind
the speaker. Pets. Pets. They considered them as pets!
He snarled. "Wur not animals, yah
freak!"
"Who says you have to be?"
"Em going tuh kelyah!"
"Oh please, you can't even lift a
finger." He stepped closer and lifted the boy's chin. "Now, I'll ask
you one more time - and trust me I'm getting bored here. And you know me, I'm
nicer when satisfied. Where is..." He jolted back, as he felt a sticky
reddish slime landed on his face. Golden eyes narrowed, lips thinned, Szayel
wiped the spit away with the back of his gloved hand. "Fuck!"
"Halreadydid," the young man
said, then he laughed wholeheartedly. But his cackles stop when Szayel yanked
his hair, forcing him to glance up. "Want more?"
"No, but he does - Medezeppi!"
From the corner of the young man's eye, he
saw a large man walking towards them. Szayel released him and stepped back. A
crack of a whip was sounded after - was it really the whip or the sound of skin
tearing from the flesh?
The young man screamed; the whip landed
countless times across his back, thighs and arms.
Szayel grinned; the whip has thorns.
"Enough!" An impatient voice
came from the speaker. "End this now, Szayel!"
"Glad to,” Szayel said levelly. He
turned to the boy. “Well it seems the show must come to an end. Too bad I have
no time to fuck you.” He turned away and faced the wall. “We admired your
courage, my boy. And I like that in a man. However..."
The sound of steel was next, echoed to the
wall and back, and the young man's eyes began to wide.
Zangetsu.
"I don't like you. I don't like your
guts. If you can't tell me where they are..." Szayel raised the blade
above his head. "Hate to say this, but you have to die."
"W-wait…”
“Oh what now?”
“Lemme say goodbye first..."
Szayel sneered. "Whatever."
Tanned pained eyes lifted towards the
ceiling and smiled.
Goodbye you two… remember me.
Blood splattered the floor, splattered the
white dress of the man who wield the sword. It doesn't bother him, though. He
likes to see red.
And, at the same time, he likes to see
heads rolling beneath his feet.
xxxxx
Up at the ventilating system, a voice was
mimed, shutting by the used of two hands. Tears rolled down his cheeks, mind
screaming for the name as he saw his friend's tragic death from the slit hole
of a cramp space. There were two of them who witnessed it, arguing silently if
they should surrender themselves few hours ago to save the other. But their
friend, who took the anguish and pain and death, would never forgive them if
they did. A tug from the torn sleeve woke his reverie, and Renji saw two
moistened dark eyes of Shuuhei, pleading him to move. It was hard for them to
leave but they must. By morning they'll be back to fetch the body of Ichigo
Kurosaki, dumped somewhere by the lake, or by near highways, or by anywhere.
Wherever will be, they are going to find him and they don't give a shit even if
it's in hell.
The whole night of running and walking
made their bodies numb, their eyes sore and dried, no more tears to cry. No one
spoke nor tempted to ask what each other felt; their feet do the talking. At
the young age of fifteen, they know death was mandatory, but taking lives of a
simple boy was unfair. Ichigo doesn't deserve his own end, nobody deserves each
ends especially if taken by force. Renji halted abruptly and huddled down,
recalling the brown eyes staring at him thirteen hours ago. Shuuhei pulled him
up without a word, saying silently they have to go on, move somewhere safe and
rest. Soon hunger will deplete them, least rest would regenerate them. An hour
later they found themselves sitting beside an empty road, browns and greens
dancing, rolling in front of them. A deserted area, they assured, but every
place has a name and from where they sat they have no idea where they are.
"Any time now..."
"What?" Shuuhei glanced at
Renji. It was first word they said to each other since their escape. "Any
time what?"
"Some vehicle should appear
anytime..." Renji chided his chin towards north, where roads dwarf away
from where they sat.
"And then what?"
Renji wished it was a rhetorical question.
"We must go somewhere, anywhere but here."
"But what about..." Shuuhei bit
his lower lip. But what about Ichigo?
Renji stared at the dirt in front of him,
as if there's an answer there or a note he could read. "I'll bring him
back. I promise I'll bring him back."
Shuuhei nodded. "We," he said,
and wrapped his arms around Renji's shoulder. "We're going to bring him
back. Both of us."
Renji looked at him and nodded in return.
They sat there head upon the shoulder of another, waited till the sun goes up
again.
***
"Is he alright?"
Renji ignored the voice and thought he was
just only dreaming. His body was so weak he can't even tell if he's sleeping or
- against his will - dead.
He tried to open his eyes but the bright
light blinded him and decided to shut his eyelids tighter.
There were shadows. Three shadows to be
exact, and one of them began to move to his side, brushed his crimson hair away
from his face and touched his cheek and forehead.
"Can't believe you'd survive this,
kid," these were the last few words he had heard when he felt his body was
lifted from the dry soil he'd been sleeping for the past two days.
They. They were they, two of them. That's right! Shuuhei!
Where's Shuuhei?
Recalling about his friend, he jolted up.
There were heads turning towards him but to his astonishment, none of them
owned the face he was looking for. Then his amber eyes started to roam,
searching and searching. It was dark now, his entire body was succumbed by the
dark interior of some kind, but he can still feel the warm afternoon from the
half open window, where he can see the contrast of the browns and gold of the
desert. He was in a limousine.
"You're safe, kid. It will be all
right."
Renji turned, followed the voice. There,
sitting not far away from him was a man, and sprawling next to the man was the
familiar form of Shuuhei, sleeping peacefully. The sight was so comical Renji forgot
what question he should ask first.
"He told me," the man said,
motioning his head towards Shuuhei, "to wake him up after you. Should
I?"
Renji shook his head.
"Are you brothers?"
Renji shook his head again, and though it
was obvious the man knows the answer speaks more volume than shaking heads.
"What is your name?"
"Why?" Renji knew it was rude to
ask something like that, especially to someone who rescued them from the brink
of death. But the man was a stranger, and so was the man who asks his name
before, the one who sheltered them, feed them, nurtured them, enslaved them,
fucked them and then throws them into the brothel to sell their youth and
innocence. The one who killed his friend was also a stranger like this man and
Renji doesn't know if he can trust a living, breathing person again. Asking
his name?"Fuck you, how's that?"
Renji felt a movement behind him, and
within the blink of an eye, the man with the silver hair grabbed his neck and
shoved him to the side.
"Stop it."
Renji tries to get away, but those hands
were strong.
"I said let him go. Now."
To Renji's surprised, the hand around his
neck loosened. He was coughing hard when the fare-headed man spoke.
"I told you to leave them
behind."
"It's not for you to decide, Gin. You
were once like them."
"No I'm not, Sōsuke. I'm telling you
this one is a snake. Who knows what wit they had learned from an empty
space."
"That's enough, Gin. Don't start with
me."
This man, this called Sōsuke, Renji
mentally noted, there's something about him. Though his voice was soothing to
the ear, soft and calm, there's a certain iron will in it.
Because when Renji glanced back at the man
who choke him a moment ago, jaw tightened and eyes glaring, has now shied away.
"I apologize for my friend
here," Sōsuke said. "He was just... doing his job."
"Your friend?" Renji asked.
"And my assistant." Sōsuke
leaned forward, revealing his features. Soft brown eyes, pointed nose, thinned
lips. Renji awed by what he saw up close, especially when those lips beamed a
little.
He looks so... young.
"I will not ask your name
again," Sōsuke continued. "You can tell me when you are ready."
"And... who are you, guys?"
"We're just…” he waved a hand,
“Business man. I am Sōsuke Aizen, and this is Gin Ichimaru - don't worry he
doesn't bite. And that one is..." He laughed. "I forgot our
chauffeur's name, silly of me. He's new. Hungry?"
Renji just stared.
"Of course, you are. Gin?"
"What?"
"Give the boy something to eat."
"Why me?"
"Cause I'm telling you to."
Gin growled silently and lowered his upper
body. He took something from the cabinet Renji thinks it was the fridge.
"Here-" Gin shove a Bento box to Renji's chest. "It's all we
have left. Your friend here eats like a coyote."
Renji stared at the food, then to Sōsuke,
who nodded back. "Go ahead," he encouraged the young man. "After
that, rest, sleep. I'll wake you when we get home."
Renji blinked. "Home?"
Sōsuke nodded. "Yes. Home. We are
going home."
xxxxx
Fifteen years later...
The sun peaked between the blinds and the
bright pencil-light beams directly to the now contorted face of Shuuhei Hisagi.
He lazily lifted his arm and eyed his
watch. Fuck, he's late. Why did he ever think of drinking last night? He should
have declined the invitation of a client, who thought of him as a genius by
inking their whole body with an image of a mermaid. Never mind that; he had a
massive headache to think about first.
Wincing, he grabbed the phone and dialled
a number. Busy. Try again. Still busy. Goddammit. The busy tone
irritates him. Shuuhei groped his face and sighed deeply. Patience is a virtue,
patience is a virtue. It's only a freaking phone, for God sake! Use text
message, you moron!
Tossing the phone away, he saw the clock
above the bedside table. The red needle had stopped -the hell?- out of
battery! Groaning, he pushed his body from the bed and dragged his wobbly legs
to the bathroom. He turned the shower slowly like a safebreaker, then yelped as
the cold stream darted his body. The phone, the clock, the shower, none works
with him perfectly these days.
He strode downstairs and went straight to
the kitchen. Shuuhei's apartment was too big for him. A bachelor, yes, but the
whole floor was too much. He had casual roommates before but that was long
gone. Shuuhei is a private man and he cannot implore himself that much to
strangers. Trust was the last thing on his list.
Passing the hallway, he noticed the TV was
on. He winced; he had too much booze he forgot to turn it off last night.
Wait. Did I really...?
He shrugged and opened the fridge, grabbed
whatever food his rumbling stomach craves. Soup, he needs soup.
There's none. His schedules' piled up he
forgot the groceries. Okay, so let's go to basic then. His throat was
sore and his taste buds became useless from alcohol; he needed a kick.
Anchovies? No way. Ah! Bacon, that's good. He was roaming around the kitchen
routinely and ten minutes later, his buttered toast, bacon and eggs, are ready.
He finished his breakfast with two cups of coffee and Advil.
Shuuhei glanced at his watch again as he
smooth the last morsel from his plate. Ten minutes before ten. He nodded. Good
thing his shop was only a block away. While shoving the dishes inside the
dishwasher, his ears wad at the sound from the living room. He jolted - felt
like he was dumped by a pitcher-full of ice water - as the Flash Report bounced
from the corridor:
"... Breaking News: Well known
Surgeon and philanthropist, Dr. Szayel Aporro Granz, was found dead inside his
residence..."
Shuuhei dropped the dishes, it was smashed
to the floor. What...and ran towards the living room, hitting the volume
like a deft man of war. The doctor was murdered inside his mansion. His body
was found inside his room, partially skinned and swimming in his own blood,
blah, blah, blah, Shuuhei didn't give a shit about the details, all he wants to
know was is it all true.
And it is true. The timid lady, the
anchor, who's showing her serene face while reporting, as if the news bores
her, says so. How about the conclusion? And who is the killer? Enough
talking shit, spit it out for god's sake! He's getting pissed about how the
story was told, as if the death itself has no basis, as if the doctor was just
another victim of some sort of robbery. He was skinned and that was a robbery?
What, is that how the tripping goes these days? Bullshit.
He pulled his lazy chair and grabbed the
phone. He was halfway to dial a number when the face of Dr. Granz emerged from
the screen, along with his awards and recognition, his ridiculous pink hair,
his golden eyes under the silver-framed glasses, glimpsing at the camera like a
saint. Fucking psycho... Shuuhei was between throwing the remote or the phone
towards the TV. Grave anger started to seep his veins. That man, that sickening
man!
Finally he turned the TV off. His chest
tightens. He should have killed the man long time ago, and now someone out
there had done the job for him. He felt envious, guilty, ashamed. Granz doesn't
deserve to die at the hands of a neophyte crook, whose only goal is to steal
whatever glows around that fucking mansion, to supply their addicting needs.
Granz was in a wrong place at the wrong time, and that was stupid.
Fifteen years. For fifteen years,
Shuuhei suffered the memory. That fucking bastard deserves better than this. If
he had a chance to gloat the man, Shuuhei would surely nail the freak to the
cross, or rip his freaking head off, hacked his body into million pieces, then
feed them to the dogs!
But it was too late. No one can bring back
the dead to be killed again.
Shuuhei dropped his head forward, palming
his forehead. What a waste.
Then... wait. He snapped his eyes open. Did
she say they found him inside his room naked?
Abruptly, Shuuhei run towards the drawer,
where the small calendar was displayed.
January twenty-first.
I see...
He fished his cell phone from his pocket.
He had to cancel today's tattoo schedule. Then after ridiculous reasoning,
promises and jest to the person holding the other line, he hanged up, grabbed
something from the drawer and run towards the door.
Took you long enough, you sly son of a
bitch...
The Fox has returned, and Shuuhei Hisagi
knew why.
****
Drawing closer to the mausoleum, flowers
in his hand, he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. He's here. He ran to
the Paveway and pushed the door wide. He ignored the loud bang as the door hit
the wall behind it. His eyes squinted to the dark chilling place of the
mausoleum. He frowned. No one was there except for the marble base where the
sealed casket was rested.
Fool. You're imagining things...
Puffing a breath, he walked towards the
tomb to lay the flowers. "Sorry about that," he said and smiled at
the encrypted name on the side of the tomb. "The keeper must have left the
door open after cleaning the place." He sat on the marbled floor and drew
his legs towards his chest, something he always do when he was alone. Patting
the edge of the tomb, he said, whispering, "How are you, Ichigo? Been busy
these days" – he looked around. No vandals. Good. "Hey guess what, I
have news for yah. Dunno if you want to hear it, I have my hard time learning
it too but—"
Shuuhei jerked around and drew his gun -
Glock .19 - and aimed to the dark ends of the mausoleum. There was a shadow
there, he can sense it. "Who's there?" He inched forward, eyes
narrowed. "Show yourself."
Shuuhei heard a soft snort, and a few
seconds later the sound of footsteps came. He lowered his weapon as the image
of a tall man with long crimson hair and tattooed skin appeared in front of
him.
Renji.
"Hello, Shuu. Nice reflex, by the
way."
No words came from Shuuhei. Although this
is the one he expected, still it gives him a great deal of surprise.
He looked away. So thus Renji. They became
silent for a while. And when Renji stood beside his friend, Shuuhei fisted his
hand and gave him a square in the jaw. The redhead felt his neck snapped as his
head flung sideways.
Keeping his balance while massaging his
jaw, he looked straight into Shuuhei's eyes. "What the fuck is that
for?"
Panting, Shuuhei said, "That's for
leaving me behind, you bastard!"
TBC
