A/N: This story is a kind of experiment to me, so please don't take it very seriously, despite the serious topic. I'd like to play with styles, references and general literature history here, simply because I find it fun - that's why I called it experiment. I'm no real writer, but even if so, I'll try to make the story enjoyable.

Because romance is not the main topic, there are no real pairings here, although can be read as IchiBya pre-slash, but laso gen, if you'd like it to. Side pairings are yet to be decided, the most underlined would be RenRuki, though.

As for the rating, M stands for eventual violence, gore, language, ideologically sensible material later on.

(Also! Many thanks to bundamba for helping me with grammar!)

That said, I hope you'll enjoy!

Old Prometheus

Prometheus laughs quietly. Now it is the only way of expressing his disagreement with the world.
(Zbigniew Herbert "Old Prometheus")

Prologue

Kuchiki Fuura is pregnant.

That was why she told Byakuya clearly – "It's a last time I'm doing you a favour, cousin. Then I will become a typical mother at home. Noble yes, but still only a mother at home."

She yet doesn't know how she would bear with it while being hyperactive person that she is, but she will, somehow. There'd be so much work with the child anyway… Because she will not let a nameless nanny touch her daughter!

This is the last time, she thinks, wandering through dark corridors of solitary ruins of a prison in the living world. Soon the case will be solved; she is going to get the damned thing back and retire early. I'm close, we'll lead back home in a few hours, sweetie, Fuura caresses her still flat stomach, and then smiles.

And that is the last thing she does in her life, before the world starts spinning and everything drowns in the darkness.

*

Byakuya is furious.

He is pacing in his office like a livid tiger in a cage and his people know better than to come near him on the length not shorter than twenty meters, If not more.

Perhaps only trained through years body doesn't allow shaking of his hands and quiet, ominous growls.

They…! If only he could get them in his hands… They would know one doesn't challenge any of the Kuchiki clan in such a manner.

But – who? Who was stupid enough, insolent enough to first breaking into his residence, stealing a very valuable item, then – damn them! – murder his cousin? Sending him her corpse afterwards!

Every muscle in his body is tense at the mere thought of Fuura's dead body, sent to him like a trophy. What a gall, to mock him so! And Fuura… Fuura was pregnant. Hell, she told him herself, why in the world did he even send her instead of anyone else?

Because Gotei 13 couldn't know about the case, of course.

It is too valuable item for anyone, other than trusted family members, to know. Too valuable, too dangerous – and illegal. Well, if incomplete, it is anything but harmful – a creation of a mad scientist that you can meet at any place in the world, that's all.

But then, why? Why would someone desire a thing of such a calibre? And to go so far…

Fuura…! If only he knew…

Now, it is time to face her husband. Byakuya takes a deep breath. He forces his tense muscles to relax a bit; little of effort, little of face expression, little of everything. He will need this fake calmness later that day.

*

Kurosaki Ichigo takes out the keys of his pocket, unlocks the door and comes in to the small apartment at suburbs of Karakura Town, away from the city's noise. He kicks off his shoes, grimacing at the characteristic smell lingering in the house, indicating permanent presence of old people. He immediately opens all windows, sticking his head outside and taking in a fresh, polluted air.

Ichigo pulls out a pack of cigarettes, lights one and with the cigarette's end in his teeth, he goes back to the small, cluttered living room. He takes off his jacket, hanging it around the chair's back. He sits down. He extinguishes the cigarette. Closes his eyes and inhales deeply.

He buried his father today.

The funereal was a nightmare. Not because Ichigo was lamenting, screaming, crying, no, no, none of this. It was simply rather hard pretending to care while supposedly dead father was standing right beside him in his shinigami form, commenting loudly each member of the family or with childish interest listening to epitaphs.

Near the end, Ichigo actually felt like screaming, in frustration.

He rubs his tired eyes and then after a moment of concentration, his soul soon stands beside his body. Ichigo throws his arms in the air, stretching his muscles with a low sound coming out somewhere from his throat. He jumps in place twice, tilts his head to the right, to the left.

Good Lord, how good it feels to be in a fully dexterous body again. Testing the state of his spiritual form, Ichigo briefly glances at the old man sitting on the chair, slim silhouette stuck in a black suit, grey, once orange hair unruly falling on his closed eyelids, a fine mesh of ruptured vessels cutting through the hand resting on the armrest.

Ah well. He should be happy that those sixty seven years has had no effect on his spiritual form; at very least that much.

Ichigo runs his hand – strong, young, healthy – through his short hair, staring at the old man's face furrowed with wrinkles, finally shrugs.

And starts to undress, heading to the bathroom.

He was taught to economize. Even on a damn Viagra.

*

"I insist on increasing the security around the resident, Byakuya-sama. First the murder of Fuura, now the disappearance of that Shihouin boy, who knows what can come next. Maybe it is simply a coincidence, as the attempts on the life of a noble aren't uncommon, but we must stay alert."

Byakuya discreetly grits his teeth. Coincidence, indeed.