AN Whoa, I am...really, really excited for this story! Gosh, I'm even a little breathless as I type this! This story is going to have a darker and more mature feel than Death is the Simplest Thing, so the rating might change. It's bouncing between teen and mature in my head, and we'll just have to see where it ends up XD
I hope you all enjoy Numbers.
He was sick of the white. Because everything was, everything lacked definition, color, life. The floors, the walls, the bed, the door, heck, even the freaking table and chairs were white.
What Grimmjow liked, what he felt best in was chaos. Noise, people yelling, constant motion, the city...That was what he loved, what he flourished in. So to be confined in a padded white box...well. That just about made him mad.
But he wasn't, not yet, or else he'd be in a straight jacket faster than he could curse out the doctors hiding behind tinted glass, observing him day after day after day.
Which was pretty dang fast.
Today though, there was something different. He could just feel it.
So when Grimmjow heard a clatter and shuffle that broke up the contrived serenity, he wasn't all that surprised. He waited, knowing that there was something else, whether it was a bomb or a voice.
"Aren't you going to eat?"
He sighed, glancing over his shoulder. A tray had been scooted into the room, via the tiny flap in the bottom of the heavily barred door. A styrofoam bowl sat on it, holding grapes, apple slices and pieces of cantaloupe. A plastic spork sat primly beside it, the preferred utensil of this forsaken place.
"I don't like melon."
Still, he shoved himself off the bed, picking up the tray and slamming it on the himself into the chair, Grimmjow rocked back, putting his feet up on the table. They were bare, as he'd taken the standard issue white slippers, pulled them apart and used them to bullwhip the next doctor who walked in. Suffice to say, he lost the slippers, and, as an unexpected bonus, most all human interaction. No scientists, no shrinks, no free time with other inmates, no nothing. Except for the intercom, which was almost worse, because he couldn't get rid of it.
"What's this for?" he asked, picking up the bowl and inspecting the fruit. He munched on an apple slice, waiting for an answer. None came, and decided that this was an open invitation to begin his favorite sport.
Provocation.
"Don't tell me this is just a gift. Is it my birthday or something?" He flicked a grape at the wall, just to irritate the person talking to him.
"Or is this your idea of a box of chocolates? Because honestly, I'm not interested in going out with the self-righteous government pricks who locked me in here. But...I guess if you're a chick, I might consider it. After all, who knows the last time I got laid. It might be-"
"Please, stop such vulgar chattering," came the sharp reply.
There we go, he thought, stifling a smirk. Finally, a reaction.
The voice had changed, the first one male, now this one was female. It made him smile, knowing he'd already started to piss one of them off and they'd hardly been talking for a minute. Good to know he hadn't lost his touch.
He waited, flicking another grape at the wall. There was a slight sigh, and the man said "We ah...would like to request something of you, Mister Jeagerjacques"
"Mister Jeagerjacques? Mr. Jeagerjacques? Who is this Mister git you're talking about? I thought I was the only one in here, and I'm just the psycho killer, ain't I?"
"Please, we know that you're upset by by your confinement-"
"Upset? Awh naw, I ain't upset. I'm bloody livid! You locked me in here, and I'm determined to make you pay for it. Just wait." He had leaped to his feet, chair falling back with a loud clatter, fists balled. Usually him yelling caused people to back down as fast as they could, or prepare to hit him, which only earned them an elbow to the face.
"Then we may be able to help each other, Mister Jeagerjacques." That was a new one.
Grimmjow Jeagerjacques was a criminal locked in Haven, the highest security prison in the country, possibly the whole world. It's location was secret, other than it being somewhere in western Europe, and all of the murderous lunatics, mass arsonists, terrorists and the like were confined there for both public safety and for academic benefit. The theory was that if the brains studied not just the crimes, but also the criminals and the motives at a higher degree, they'd be able to stop the crimes from happening.
What idiots.
They never even considered that the real bad guys did it because they were nuts and did not care about the rules.
Grimmjow had been researched for a while, too, before he'd pulled the slipper-bull whip trick. They'd kept asking him why he'd gotten into crime, why he'd murdered all those people, why he'd denied it all the way to Haven when there was irrefutable evidence all pointing towards him. Obviously they didn't get the message the first hundred times that he'd told them he didn't do it.
But now, they were telling him that they might...let him go? That didn't happen. If you were a convict assigned a cell in Haven, the only way you were leaving was in a body bag, and maybe even not then.
You did not leave Haven.
Grimmjow sat back down, sure they were messing with him. He popped a grape into his mouth, scowling.
"You see, we've got a problem that...can't be solved by the usual means."
"What, you mean not even the famed Interpol can stop it? Impressive." He popped another grape in his mouth, showing his long standing contempt for the Interpol.
"No, Mr. Jeagerjacques. For this, we need an inside man."
"That's lovely." He picked up the spork, twirling it in his fingers.
"There is a threat, possibly to the entire world," explained the man, and Grimmjow wondered if he was getting his hopes up. "He is quite possibly the most successful, and the most dangerous,criminal of the century."
Grimmjow rolled his eyes, thrumming the tines against his thumb. He'd heard the 'most dangerous' spiel a thousand times over, and he'd come to the very accurate conclusion that they were just a bunch of idiots with some serious delusions of grandeur. The big dogs never proclaimed how great they were to their enemies.
Though, it might be a different matter, considering that this was coming from the government. It might actually have some credibility. The thought of this impressed him slightly, but did not interest him. Grimmjow was here, in the Haven, and the lunatic was out there. It didn't affect him.
The voice paused, as if deciding what to say next, then continued.
"This person is...45, or, officially, Ichigo Kurosaki."
Grimmjow's thumb froze over the spork.
"...45?"
"Yes," the man said, sounding a little too satisfied with himself for finally getting something out of Grimmjow. He bit his cheek, thinking that this was a small, small world.
"Okay. Okay. Why ask me to go after this nutter? Ain't there somebody else?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level. This obviously wasn't a development he'd expected, but he had to get as much information from these people as possible before they decided to shut up. The best way to do that was to play dumb.
"You are not to kill him," the woman's voice cut in, sounding sharp. He sighed, rolling his eyes as she continued. "You are only to capture and transport him to the safe house, then we take over."
"Yeah yeah, it was a figure of speech, lady. I'm not a murderer, despite what you think." There was another pause and a slight scuffle of static, making Grimmjow think one of them had put their hand over the mic. He took the moment to try and sort out what he knew.
45 was still on the loose. He had these guys spooked, spooked enough to even consider letting Grimmjow out of Haven, much less even propose the idea to him. After that...Grimmjow didn't really know all that much. He could only guess what atrocities 45 had committed while he'd been locked up, and what resources he'd started gathering without anyone to watch him.
"We...are dealing with a very delicate situation here, Mister Jeagerjacques. If we put too much pressure on one end of the scales, that is, give a certain variable without considering the consequences..."
"Basically you're afraid that if you give me the change to kill this guy, I'll go stark mad and start killing everyone in sight," Grimmjow said flatly, rocking forward on his chair so that the front legs landed with a sharp thunk. "Ignoring everything I've said since I was thrown into this pit, you still think I'm a homicidal lunatic. And if I go gung-ho over this job, then you're afraid that he'll start killing people, too, is that right?"
"Yes, Mister Jeagerjacques," the woman said flatly, and he laughed.
"Ah, finally, some straightforward answers! See, this is why I could never get into politics. Too much smarmy BSing for me to handle. But, the interesting thing about this is that you never said you wouldn't kill 'im. So, Johnny-boy's stuck with the gallows, either way."
"Of course. Considering the things he's done, it would be lunacy to allow him to live. There are some criminals in Haven that would normally be sentenced to death, but for the sake of research are allowed to live. He has utterly out stripped them, leaving no room for mercy.
"If you truly take this job, you will have to understand the situation. 45...he has an astounding list of crimes and therefore resources and experiences to draw from to evade you. Throughout his criminal career, he has murdered fifteen people, both civilians and important government officials from various countries, committed fifteen acts of arson, five of which were international and on buildings of importance, embezzled fifteen different large organizations as well as bombing-"
"Lemme guess, fifteen different places."
"-Seven," the man said shortly. Grimmjow resumed dragging his thumb over the tines of the fork, wondering what on earth the world had come to if one person was allowed to commit fifty-three different large crimes. He'd known that 45 was certainly good at what he did, but still, it was kind of ridiculous.
"It seems, he switches to a new crime once he reaches fifteen. Presumably once he's exhausted his list of crimes he'll start over, working up to thirty."
"And you're just going to let him go along his merry way until he dies?"
"No. You are going to catch him, Mister Jeagerjacques."
"If I say I want to help."
"You'd rather stay in this 'pit'?" Grimmjow scowled, not liking having his own words tossed back at him like that.
"You never said why you picked me."
"You...have been selected because you are connected to more people than we are," the man said with another sigh, as if he were indulging Grimmjow. "You also have a history with him. You can antici-"
"No one can anticipate him," Grimmjow grunted through grit teeth. His hand was clenched around the spork as he tried not to start throwing things. That would not get him out of there. "This guy, 45, he is insane! You can't just predict him! He may work for years on blowing up the country, then just decide to just...walk away, take it all down! You can't set a trap for him, no matter who you are!"
"Alright, alright, no one can expect what he'll do next. But...you might be able to come close. You also might be able to stop him before he kidnaps another person."
"And why would I put my neck on the line for you guys? What if he catches and then kills me, huh? Then he'll be even more on the watch, and you'll be just about screwed. Think of that yet?"
"We have, Mister Jeagerjacques, actually thought of all the situations you have just suggested. But there is another reason why you were selected."
"And what's the reason?" he demanded, irritated. "There are thousands of people with the same amount of connections with me, if not more. And they didn't even get caught."
"You are the only one who has the grudge providing a furious vendetta against him."
Grimmjow froze, completely shocked. He hadn't told anyone, hardly even had the chance, and yet, these people knew. But no...they couldn't have. They couldn't have! If they had, then that meant...
He narrowed his eyes, rage flaring to life.
If they knew, then that meant they knew they had wrongly convicted him.
"Big mistake," he snarled, staring at the table, trying not to jump up and break it in half. "Look buddy, if you want someone to do your dirty work, you don't tell them that they were knowingly framed and then sent to jail!"
"We weren't a part of that, Mister Jeagerjacques," he said, and Grimmjow could just see the mad scramble for words that was going on the other side of the microphone. "And you can't do anything by blaming us now. It'd be far better if you focused on your impending freedom!"
Freedom. That wasn't something he'd even thought about for a long time. Not seriously, anyways. Of course he'd entertained a few silly thoughts of escape, but he was in Haven, with no prospect of ever getting an ally. He'd also shouted that he'd escape whenever he thought someone was listening, mostly to keep the doctors on their toes. He knew that some convicts would rather kill themselves than stick around, being interrogated by the doctors and then shuffled off to intensive manual labor. He personally wasn't affected by the labor, as work was just work, and he didn't talk to the doctors anymore, so the only thing he had to battle was the boredom. Grimmjow had even considered going mad once or twice, just for something to do. But now that he had another carrot dangling above his face...insanity was considerably less appealing.
He considered his options, wondering if spiting them was really worth stay in there for the rest of his sentence. Which was the rest of his life.
It surprised him just how long he thought.
"Fine," he sighed, "I'll do it. Just tell me what I'm doing."
"Very good," the man said, and the female voice came on through the speakers.
"Alright. We have information that Kurosak-"
"Don't say his name," Grimmjow hissed, clinching his teeth.
"...45, then. We have learned that he is going to be in London, England for at least three months. You have to figure out why, if he's with someone, if so who, what he's planning and, if necessary, stop it."
"Sounds like I'm a bloody detective," he grumbled, bending the head of the spork back.
"Only you're being paid in freedom."
"Question. If I do manage to bag 'im, what then?"
"You will be officially pardoned by the British government, and the charge that sentenced you here will be cleared. Cancelled out, if you will. If you do get convicted again, your public service will lean in your favor." Grimmjow stifled a smirk, noticing how he wasn't to be cleared of all charges. Still, it was certainly something.
"Right. So let me get this straight - if I catch him, then I get released, plus a bit of leverage in my pocket. If I don't, I'm probably dead or back here. I don't know what he's planning, I have no allies, I have no resources, and I'm supposed to catch the most dangerous individual in the world."
"Yes and no. You will have resources. We will provide the money to get you started, and you will still have the...allies you had before you were admitted into Haven. But I would not advise you to run away."
"I ain't going anywhere!" he spat, insulted they'd even consider he'd run away from such a challenge. The voice cut over him, though, not caring what he felt.
"There will be a tracker placed in your arm, one that you cannot remove. Not without losing the use of your right arm, at the very least. We will be monitoring it, and if you leave the country without informing us of the reason pertaining to catching 45, you will be detained."
"...Okay. Okay. When do I start?"
"We're glad you asked," the woman said, and Grimmjow heard a soft sound from the other end of the room. He looked up just in time to see the door that had been closed for so long slide open, and a group of burly men peg him in the leg with a dart.
AN Well, the stage is set, now you have to tell me what you think ;)