Hello everybody! This will be my first story under my new username. Don't expect this story to be updated very fast for school keeps me busy and away from my beloved stories. Flashbacks will be italizized and underlined.

Warning: Excessive language, gore, hinted yaoi, and overall very dark themed

I do not own Bleach. I simply own this plot.

Bodies covered the field. Bombs exploded in the distance. A piece of rock hit him in the face, waking him up. He blearily opened his teal colored eyes and stared at the sky, which was a bleak grey. Smoke filled his nostrils every time he took in a shallow breath, his chest screaming in protest at the act. He refused to die; to simply lie down in defeat. He would fight until his last breath.

Finding some strength within himself, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, grinding his teeth as his whole body seemed to curl in upon itself in pain. He took in his surroundings, noting that he was the only one that still seemed to be breathing in the area.

Big oaks trees, some as thick as five men, were bent and broken at odd angles, all bending away from the blast sight. Pieces of arms laid beside him, all of which he pushed aside trying to get up. He had been the leading war general For the Hollows (a merchant group hired by Soul Society) in over twenty two battles on the ongoing war with the Visards, a radical rebel group determined to build a 'New World' consisting of equality and socialism. After so many encounters will the Visards, he had grow use to seeing dead comrades strew across a fields. So for him, it wasn't a big deal seeing the little remains of a once human-like face lying next to him. They had tested his mental state on a psychological test back after his fifteenth battle, which he failed, but they dismissed it as a 'Minor stress from War'. But in reality, they just couldn't afford to lose his ability to have no mercy on the enemy and quick thinking skills.

His eyes scanned the ground, trying to find a weapon that hadn't been turned into a piece scrape metal. Finding a Barrett(1) half hidden beneath some rock and dirt, he dusted it off before staggering to his feet, wiping away the blood that was dripping into his eyes.

The man held a switch in his hand, standing in the middle of the field, smiling like an idiot.

Shaking his head, he winced as flashes of memories flew by his eyes. His men hadn't listened to his orders to hold their ground. Instead, they charged at the man in the middle of the field, blinded by their rage and anger at the war, especially at the other sides purpose.

He regained control of his flashbacks, marching back in the direction of home base. It didn't matter weather he couldn't feel his left leg or not. He just had to get back and report his status on his battalion. A crackling noise echoed in the distance, almost to faint to hear. But he heard it, whipping his head towards the East, looking for some kind of sign that he wasn't alone. He slowly cocked the gun, raising it up to his shoulder, armed and ready to take down any enemy straggler within his line of sight.

The crackling echoed again and a dare-he-say-frightened voice filled the field.

"General? Private? Sargent? Is anybody there?" Something akin to relief washed over him as he hobbled over to the beaten up radio, noting that his hands were pale and shaking.

"This is General Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, leading an mission called 'Jay Bird'. Who am I speaking to?"

"Thank god you're alive General. This is Private Ryan(2). What's your status?"

"Suicide bomber took out my battalion. I'm the only one alive." Ryan didn't answer back at that.

"I'm sorry Sir. We're sending a rescue team over there right now. Just hold on."

"Roger." A prickly feeling shot down Grimmjow's spine. He dropped the radio suddenly and scanned around. His gut feeling was telling him he wasn't alone on the field. Never one to ignore his 'feelings', he raised the gun, armed and ready. He jerked as his ears started ringing (a symptom of the blast). Black started coming through the edges of his vision. Seemed like he lost to much blood.

"Is anybody out here." a tenor voice called out. Thinking it was the enemy, he shot in the general direction of the voice, his reaction time considerably slower seeing as how he hit the tree three feet next to the man. Said man dived of the ground, raising what looked like a gun.

'Awww, shit!'

He heard the 'pist' of the gun, feeling something thunk against his shoulder. Glimpsing down, he frowned as he reached for the brightly colored tranquilizer dart.

"Wha?"

The world spun and he fell to the ground, the Barrett bouncing out of his hand and out of his reach. Blood pooled around his head as he opened the scab on his neck from where a piece metal had ran over the skin.

He watched as the man ran to him, noting that his hair was a shocking shade of orange. Orange head crouched near him, keeping enough distance in case he decided to attack.

"Who are you?" he asked, assessing his wounds (from a distance of course).

"None of your fucking business." Grimmjow muttered. He stared orange top down, thoroughly surprised when he stared right back at him, his honey colored eyes never leaving his. The man sighed before edging closer to him.

"Don't attack me, okay. I'm going to lift you up." Grimmjow watched the guy carefully, wincing as the guy grabbed his sore side; the side he landed on. Hissing, he gritted his teeth as he slowly rose to his feet. As soon as he was standing, he jerked the gun out of orange tops hands pointing the gun and what he thought was his head; it was hard to tell when it seemed like orange top had three heads.

"Put the gun down." orange top commanded/asked nicely.

"Stand your god damn ground." Grimmjow grunted out, feeling the tranquilizer work its way through his whole system. He kept a tight grip on the gun though, years of war engineering his mind to believe that having no weapon meant death, which in most cases it did.

Orange head sighed before walking up and yanking the gun out of his hands, leaving him defenseless as he fell forward, having no control of his body functions.

"Just hang on. I'm taking you to my house."

Grimmjow felt the world tilt, his eyes filled with the color of the sky. Orange top started walking with Grimmjow half slung onto his back, his feet dragging across the charred ground.

His eyes kept slipping shut, wanting to just take a long nap.

"Go to sleep." his captor said. Against his will, his body started doing just that, following the commands of the soothing voice.

'Just my luck that I would get captured.' was Grimmjow's last thought, falling into a cold, hard slumber filled with dreams of flying body parts and dead comrades faces.

This is my new writing style I plan on using. Please tell me what you think of it. Should I keep using it or try something different? I hope you stick with this story and check out my profile page. :)

(1) A Barrett is a semi-automatic military gun

(2) I got the name from the movie, Saving Private Ryan.

Thank you for reading and as always...Please Review!