Disclaimer:
I do not own Bleach, no copyright infringement intended, etc...
There are a couple of OCs in this fanfic and most of them were inspired by the real people. Sara is based on my former boss, Jezebel – on a contestant from The Next Top Model franchise, etc.
Chapter I
It was not a typical awakening. She was expecting her custom alarm clock, a ring based on the musical theme from her favourite strategic game. Instead of the characteristic sound, as well as the vanilla-coloured ceiling and champagne walls, she was faced with a room without any windows, having cool and clinical feel. Since it was evident that something was wrong, her sight and other senses instantly sharpened, trying to grasp the unusual situation.
She had a more detailed look at the space, which was probably an infirmary. Grey tiles covering the floor and the smaller, mint ones on the walls, topped with dirty white paint on the ceiling produced mainly medical associations. However, the tough, metal door equipped with electronic access control did not fit the images of a hospital that her mind brought up.
I don't recall that our district hospital could afford such safeguards.
She continued her observations as the feeling that the situation was definitely not an ordinary one was intensifying. Apparently, she was awake after a nap on a cushioned seat, which was connected by cables with the wardrobe-like apparatus she could not make a head or tail of. Because she was not bound to the chair in any way, she decided to cautiously get off. No alarm or a signal of any kind was activated when her bare feet touched the cold floor and she moved closer to the machinery, which was resembling her the equipment of a dentist's practice.
However, after a closer glance, it was obvious that the use of this equipage must be entirely different. The readings on the screen have not told her anything, similarly as the rest of the features in this impersonal room. In the trash can, she found a torn paper piece of a label usually attached to tubes of hypodermic tablets. She immediately recognized the hormone Medroxyprogesteroni acetas as the main ingredient, which was an inevitable clue.
Is it possible that...?
It was certainly worrying. As the inspection of the equipment in the room didn't move her forward in assessing what actually happened to her, she decided to shift the focus onto herself.
Her clothes were gone, including the underwear. She was wearing greying, overstretched and overlong shirt. This attire made her mind whisper unpleasantly how uncovering various pieces of the puzzle clearly suggested that she had undergone some kind of surgery in a sordid, probably illegal hospital.
Organ traffickers!
She envisioned one more possible explanation, quickly searching for clues that could confirm or reject this hypothesis.
Or an overzealous plastic surgeon... Let's see if there's a mirror somewhere here.
Behind a pillar, she found a small sink, above which someone had hung a modest, rectangular-shaped piece of glass, reflecting her forehead and hair-do. Evidently, the arrangement was adapted to a person taller than her, so she had to stand on the balls of her feet to see how she looks like.
Feeling a great sense of relief, she affirmed that nothing has changed in this respect. An oval-shaped face, a bit pale, porcelain skin, light pink lips, a straight nose, and rather large, round green eyes with distinct whites. Without the make-up, her blonde eyelashes seemed almost invisible, contrasting with brown eyebrows, giving her delicate features a bit of unexpected impact. No wounds were seen, although her small scar and a horizontal wrinkle on the forehead were not removed, either.
She touched her hair to make sure it had not been transplanted or replaced by a wig, but nothing indicated such course of events. Her hair-do was identical as in the last moments that she could recall before ending in this atrocious infirmary. She ran her fingers through her blonde locks and swept them on one side, so they fell on her arm. Although already in her late twenties, her armpit-length, wavy hair and angelic face made her look younger and more innocent than she really was.
Continuing inspection, she rolled up her shirt and gave her belly a penetrating gaze. No signs of fresh wounds or stitches were reassuring, but she saw traces of the three recent injections, which she found disturbing. Then she glanced at her shoulders and under the left sleeve there was another hole as a remainder after puncturing. She frowned, thinking about the conclusions she could draw and because they were neither specific nor favourable, she went to investigate the room again.
On the table, she found a tablet with an application running, not secured by any password. She picked it up and began to study it, settling back in her chair. Judging by the contents of the application, it had to be notes. Unfortunately, because they were written in Spanish with some occasional Latin terms, they didn't proof particularly helpful. She was scrolling down the text until something caught her eye. Someone wrote her name, accompanied by the description, which – despite lack of her understanding of the language – she could decipher flawlessly.
"Sara Morgenstern – strategist, researcher, analyst, IT auditor. Highly developed leadership skills. Spell breaker (?), influencing (?)"
She puzzled reading the last note with question marks and tried to find some hints in the Spanish paragraph underneath.
"Have you finally woken up?"
In the doorway stood a young man, who should be roughly the same age as she was. He was dressed in white from head to toe, wearing a uniform, which could pass him off as a doctor or a nurse. The fitted top had three vertical seams, accented with black fabric – one running from the collar down and two turning under both armpits. Dark lines also outlined the edges of an elongated collar and his knuckles, covered by white gloves. To match this eccentric shirt, the visitor wore hakama, whose length was cut to mid-calf, and were put under a lab coat with large pockets, or actually under its lower part. Flat, black-and-white shoes, and white socks with straps under the feet completed this strange attire.
He certainly didn't ask this question purely out of concern. His light brown, almost amber eyes stared at her coldly and contemptuously, and his mouth was twisted in a smile full of superiority.
She knew who it was. According to an accurate description included in his notes she was, inter alia, a researcher. And an analyst. Furthermore, a team manager, her main professions being the enterprise risk management, cyber security and forensics. Although currently she was on extended leave due to structural changes in the company, where she worked full-time, she wasted no time to make use of her plentiful talents. As a spiritually-aware being, she was a subcontractor of the Soul Society. One of her previous mandates was gathering information related to the topic of "hollowfication of souls." The issue was similar to vampirism, which she covered some time ago for a different group of stakeholders. Those two dangerous procedures encompassed halting natural death and performing revival of the dead as zombies, vampires or hollows, or "empty souls." All these creatures preyed on humans as their main source of nutrition.
This man was a high-class hollow, Vasto Lorde, or rather an arrancar - that is, the one whose mask was broken, and the original power sealed in a sword. As a consequence, they could adapt human form, but not without exceptions. A hollow hole still remained somewhere on their bodies, signifying their lack of heart. In addition, the mask, being a source of power, did not disappear completely, but a part of it was still fused with a new, seemingly human body. Remains of the hollow mask of the arrancar standing in front of her looked relatively harmless, like a pair of spectacles without lenses, with thick, rectangular frames made of bone. The woman seemed aware, however, that it is virtually indestructible reservoir of his power.
The third characteristic of the arrancar were the estigma, or markings, usually resembling colourful tattoos, in most cases located in the facial area. They would not necessarily manifest in human form, sometimes they appeared only after releasing their true power or would be visible merely as peculiar pigmentation. Sara's captor did not have any apparent signs of these, but his eyes were unnaturally bright, and neck-length, loose hair was in an intense shade of strawberry blonde, bordering on pink.
Although he looked more like a mad cosplayer than a doctor, his entrance into the infirmary paralyzed her by fear. Instinct immediately advised her to put the tablet – presumably his property – back on the table. She also hastily pulled the shirt on the thighs, as if suddenly it occurred to her that there is nothing underneath.
"You don't need to pretend an innocent maiden" he said nonchalantly, walking over to her.
He leaned on one of the wires hanging from the ceiling and looked her straight in the face.
She guessed he found it entertaining to stare at her frightened expression. She was aware that her fate has just intertwined with an intelligent, methodical opponent, and at the same time, a hollow, a dead creature, incapable of empathy, compassion or mercy. Posing as a terrified damsel in distress wouldn't change his approach, because he wouldn't be touched by her vulnerability. The only successful strategy she was able to think of on the spur of the moment, was to play his game. And play hardball, offering mockery for mockery, malice for malice. And a lie for a lie.
"Have you become a more versatile researcher than it is rumoured?" she asked, looking at him defiantly, sitting up on as much as the 'dental' chair allowed her.
The beginnings were supposed to be difficult. He didn't seem to be impressed at the slightest.
"To achieve the desired effect of my research, I had to exclude pregnancy and other random factors", he replied in a tone as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "You may have noticed that you got a special injection to prevent such problems... But I see that although we haven't met before, you don't expect me to introduce myself. Do you know me?"
Sara made a deduction that the tablet full of notes in Spanish must have belonged to him. The arrancar spoke perfect English, without a hint of a foreign accent. He did not try to communicate with her in his native language, as if he knew she has never learned Spanish. Although this fact had suggested that her presence in the laboratory is not accidental and probably something nasty awaited her, it simplified the communication. Sara's English was fluent, so she felt confident by being fully understood by the other party.
"Of course I know who you are" she said haughtily, as if displeased that anyone might have thought otherwise. "Your name is Szayelaporro Granz. You specialise, among others, in research and development of weapons based on the spiritual energy. As an arrancar in Sōsuke Aizen's army, you're Espada number eight, a title which is corresponding to an officer commanding a brigade of fraccion."
He grinned.
"Well, well, it looks like this time I got smarter kind of people to experiment on. This gives your race a slight hope, Sara Morgenstern. Do you know where we are?"
She thought for a moment.
"It must be the Las Noches base in Hueco Mundo, dimension inhabited by the hollows" she recited smoothly from the material she had collected during her research for the shinigami. "It's probably the laboratory."
He tilted his head to the right.
"Not bad. And what do you think shall happen to you?"
There was deceit concealed by his friendly tone.
"You will kill me."
She tried her best to answer in a neutral tone, but instead of her own voice, she heard one so devoid of any emotion that seemed inhumane. In response Szayelaporro laughed, and this sound alone made her shiver. This outburst had nothing to do with glee, but instead she realised she fell into the hands of a ruthless killer.
"I haven't made the final decision on this matter yet" he continued. "There are a lot of factors to be considered... such as, among others, your attitude and willingness to cooperate."
She raised her eyebrows.
"What kind of cooperation we are talking about?"
"We would not decide on that during a conversation, but based on what I can get from you. I started with genetic material, because it's the simplest exercise. I extracted quite a few samples that will help me to study your DNA and separate the gene sequences encoding the features that I'm going to duplicate in new weapons or defense mechanisms, or other creations."
"But you do realise it doesn't make much sense" she dared to protest. "I read the diagnosis and that passage about what you want to study. These are not innate traits, but skills. I wasn't born being a charismatic leader and a strategist, nor was I a child familiar with the technology. You won't see the evidence of any of those in my DNA. To say that someone has mastered a certain skill, you need to observe an individual when they are using it. And not when the other party lies unconscious in an infirmary."
"Are you suggesting, then, that only empirical methods lead to positive results?" he asked, smiling devilishly "At the same time, you try to persuade me to release you and give you a carte blanche. Clever. I must, however, disappoint you, as at this stage of the study I expect from you only the passive form of cooperation. That's why I blocked all your latent spiritual powers..."
That's news to me. I didn't know I have any, she thought, but did not make any comment aloud.
"...also for the sake of your safety" the arrancar went on. "Some of the spiritual activities overly activate endocrine glands, and excess hormones are extracted into blood, which – as you probably know – may cause various undesirable side effects. Besides, unhealthy excitement may have an adverse effect on the patient, who is to undergo anesthesia. There are cases when the patent was awake during an operation performed under general anesthesia. They are fully conscious and fully able to feel the dreadful pain of the operation they are undergoing. At the same time, due to the administration of the muscle paralyzing drugs, person can't move, can't speak, and can't breathe. They are not able to interrupt the process in any way, either by moving away or verbally communicating the issue. I understand that you wouldn't want to experience it, would you?"
"You understand correctly" she admitted coldly.
"Therefore," he continued with a slight amusement in his voice "listen to me carefully. I'm in the course of research on your genetic material. Now I know that I'll need additional samples, but with a higher degree of purity. Over the past years, your body has been absorbing lots of toxic substances, mainly as a side effect of digesting highly processed foods that you people eat on a regular basis. I cannot believe anyone could deliberately consume this garbage, which gradually defiles body, slows down metabolism and cause natural capabilities for regeneration and reproduction to disappear."
"I doubt I'd survive on absorbing hollows instead" she said.
"So maybe the detox will convince you to change your diet?" he joked. "My guess is that it will not be a pleasant experience for you, but let's not jump to conclusions right now. When the phase of collecting the material and its preliminary analysis is completed, we'll go for further tests... of course, if you will live to this stage. People are not known for strong design physical and mental. I hope you were not, because I already have enough humans as semi-regular garbage in my lab. One thing is certain: if you succeed, it means that you are worthy of my attention."
She snorted softly. In response, the Espada wagged his finger at her.
"Soon you will begin to appreciate the fact that I spend so much of my precious time with you. Make no mistake, it's not that I can't throw you in the rubbish..."
All of a sudden, before she could even blink, he grabbed a syringe from his pocket and made a quick injection of a sedative-hypnotic drug. His words and laughter were still echoing in her head, when with every passing moment her consciousness was tearing apart.
The following days either melted into oblivion or were longing mercilessly. Most of the time Sara was asleep and barely registered if the next day already passed. When she realised how many hours and days she spent unconscious, she was overwhelmed by panic because she could not recall the current date. Depressive thoughts were attacking her savagely, stimulating nerves and not allowing to fall asleep.
During those moments, the pain was the most intense. Traces of injections itched like mosquito bites. Drip immobilized her left arm in an awkward position, keeping the muscles tense and increasing pressure on the joints. She also clearly felt the effects of the multiple use of extractors, most probably the aftermath of inputting and removing of small pipes discharging saliva, urine and feces.
She could not remember if she got anything to eat and drink, but did not feel hunger or dehydration. She was weak and her head ached, although most likely it was a deliberate effect of malnutrition, so that she would not protest too vigorously against treatment she received. She tried to swallow characteristic, foul, chemical taste that seemed to be all over her mouth and throat. Attempting to overcome even such small nuances proved futile.
Stale air in this small cell was soaked with smell of antiseptics mixed with the stench of what she recognized as her own excrement and vomit. She had no doubt that each time before the Espada went there to perform his research, he had someone to clean and ventilate the room, while the rest was like the cardboard and the tinsel, and the painted cloth. All were parts of a clever act played to make her feel abandoned and neglected. To make her think of herself like a piece of junk that no one cares about. All to make her lost faith in herself. And finally to break her completely.
Therefore, even though deep down she was terrified to the core about what is going to happen next, every time the mad scientist woke her up, she greeted him with the cynic remarks and a bunch of lies and the worst kind of show-off. When one day he laughed at her questionable joke, she felt petrified and almost got her bold camouflage torn into pieces.
I have to be strong, she told herself. I have to stay conscious and my free will has to emerge, because these are the key factors to survive here. If I just go with the flow, most probably I'll get lost in madness and I'll never see the daylight...
Szayelaporro checked the readings and made notes using a tablet, while surreptitiously watching her tensed mimic, an act on instinct to hide the fear she felt under the skin. His young, handsome face was not showing any emotion. Sara tried not to pay him much attention, instead repeating a mantra to herself, in order to pluck up the courage and stop being so scared.
I have to be stronger than I've ever been before... and I cannot be afraid.
She closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift away. She recalled the sounds of music that usually helped her to calm down in stressful situations. When the imagination brought up melodies filled with her pleasant memories, she tried to relax, and instead of focusing on how hopeless was her position, started thinking what she should do to improve it a little bit.
I need to find allies who'll help me to move the things forward in my favour. So eventually I'll find a way to return home. Yes, but... easier said than done. Who could stand by my side in the world full of hollows? Would any arrancar be so stupid? Well, I'll call them stupid until they see more benefit in simply eating me. Or maybe I'll disguise myself. I'll paint a black hole with my waterproof mascara and glue a cracked tea set to my head as the remains of the mask. Then put some eye shadow as the estigma. Surely I'll get everyone fooled.
She laughed to herself. A subtle irony helped her to quit with the gloomy outlook of the things and she let her imagination go and do its best.
Courage should be my first ally. I don't have too much to lose, because even if I side with Las Espadas, the chances that I'll get out of here alive, are close to zero. It's worth trying what I can get by demonstrating that I'm not afraid and continue this bluff... Only if I could function like a normal human being, without this medical equipment around me...
"I'm going to finish this phase soon" Szayelaporro's voice broke the silence so unexpectedly that it seemed to be loud like a cannon shot. His words could suggest he was reading her thoughts. "Based on the last sample, I concluded there is no need to spend more time on further preparations. Just the last stroke of a brush and this step is completed. I guess this is a reason to be pleased, isn't it?"
"Most certainly" she said in a tone making clear that she was thinking exactly the opposite.
He smiled in a strangely sympathetic fashion.
"I'm very pleased that the specimen seized not without any difficulties is suitable for more advanced testing. The results of previous studies are very promising and simply cannot wait to get to know you even better."
"And I can't wait for the results of this pompously announced processed foods rehab campaign or whatever you called it" she murmured in response. "It wasn't fun at all, so I hope that at least the effect is worth it."
"It remains to be seen. You are now on the final lap and everything depends solely on you – or, to be more specific – on how much you will be interested in primarily demonstrating your animosity, and not cooperating. You seem to be a bright person, so I'm counting on you to draw the correct conclusions from what I've just said."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was the first test of courage. A test of prowess she wanted to awaken in herself.
"I know exactly what kind of fate awaits me. What do you think I should do now? Start hysterising? Curse my fate and you? Batter the research equipment? I don't feel like wasting my time and energy, because after all, my opinion doesn't matter at all. And if I can't modify your plans, does it also mean that I can't even laugh them off?"
He snorted softly.
"You are here to entertain me and not vice versa, but I'm not going to argue with you about this trifle. I have important information for you: as from today I'll stop those giving you sedatives. Try to use these short breaks to rest before the next series of tests. I suppose it would be a good advice for you at this stage. Think about it. Adiós."
When he left, she allowed herself a quiet sigh. She knew about the constant monitoring of the laboratory by the omnipresent cameras, integrated with the construction installation, so she had to be cautious about certain reflexes. In other words, self-control and almost absent body language were necessary to hide as much personal details as she could. The less the Espada knows about her, the harder it will be to find the means to break her.
She figured out that without any pharmacological assistance it would be difficult to fall asleep on the spot, but just having the rest was also an advantage.
By the way, how ironic is to call the treatment 'a detox', when one of its integral elements is to stuff me with drugs...
She was pondering about what was currently happening in the human world and how her family and friends reacted to her sudden disappearance. On the other hand, as it seemed more or less fruitless, she turned her attention into looking for possible solutions. The circumstances were, unfortunately, not very favourable as at that moment she could not possibly implemented any of the considered alternatives.
She did not have any tools at her disposal to inform anyone about her location or alert the shinigami. She thought about taking advantage of Szayelaporro's absence and trying to use his portable devices for communication. The downside was that although they looked like the electronics being in use in the human world, she expected difficulties in adjusting to the alien technology. Before she would be able to understand their mechanics, the Espada most probably might quickly realize what is on her mind.
And then he would make sure that she would not even consider a similar idea again, even if the circumstances were asking for it. And Sara would find herself once again at the starting point.
She yawned.
If I temporarily play his game... maybe I would be able to trick him into feeling a false sense of security and then try to gain more freedom? New opportunities... Various alternatives... I'll deal with all of them... when the time is right...
After a while she effortlessly fell asleep.