Rule No.1: A prostitute must never develop an attachment to their customer.

I roll over in the bed to face the man sleeping by my side. He isn't young but he isn't old either. He's sleeping with his mouth open, one hand cast next to his head on the pillow. He's pretty good-looking but I'm not exactly gay and all.

I wrinkle my nose.

The bed has a funky smell. Maybe it's because of all the sex we just had. Or maybe this bed just reeks of all the sex numerous people have had on it when they rent this room. Whatever. I don't really give a fuck. My only concern is to do my job and to do it good.

I glance at my wrist watch. It's 2 AM in the morning. This guy's time is up and he's bloody out cold. Good thing I ask for the cash first before I start my business. I spring off the bed and grab my clothes. As I slip on my jacket, I pull open my wallet to marvel at the amount this man has paid me. 500 bucks. It's not a lot, considering the amount I usually make in a night, but it's a reasonable sum. Maybe I'll head to the bar and get a quick drink. This guy seriously took me for a ride and I'm parched now.

I pull the door open but before I leave, I take one last glance at my 'customer'. He's still sleeping like an innocent babe; like the only thing he probably did was come back home from work and conk out on his bed. Like he hadn't waltzed onto district six of the shady side of Tokyo and asked me for a 'good time' before taking me to a rented room of a hotel familiar with such scenarios and rode me like a bucking bronco.

Nope.

He looks like any other man on the street who is clean of such acts. But then again, maybe most men on the street look like that to hide such secrets. Embarrassed as to what people would say if they admitted to indulging in sexual pleasures with people who offer such services like it is a publicly accepted profession.

But it isn't accepted, is it? Despite being the oldest known profession in the world, it is the most condemned as well. People oppose prostitution. They complain about it and even hassle the ones who practice it. And yet, it still exists. And the ones who keep it alive are the ones who have the power to stop it. I may not know the man in that bed personally but I do know that he is the Minister of Fishing in Japan. A respectable man with a lovely wife and a beautiful baby boy. His face usually decorates the newspaper. A person like me would never get to meet a man like him. And yet, I have. And worse, I have heard him moan and whimper and whisper dirty words in my ear as he did equally dirty things to my body.

The respectable man in bed mumbles something incomprehensible before he rolls over and starts snoring. I chuckle softly. He truly is quite an eye-catcher and adorable. But it is against my code. The code of my profession. A prostitute must never develop an attachment to their customer. It can lead to complications and consequences and both don't end pleasantly for us. I sigh as I silently shut the door, leaving the man in the dark. He will soon wake up to an empty bed and, without even a bit of remorse of what he has done, he'll return to his lifestyle. They always do. They never look back on what they have done but merely calculate the next time they will do it.

But I don't sigh because of that. It's the Code. The Code of prostitution. They rule our lives here in the districts of Tokyo. Nobody knows where they come from or who made them. But we follow them anyways. Not because we are strung up control freaks who like order. Order is necessary whether we like it or not. It ensures our safety and our way of living. It helps us make sense of things.

You might ask, what's to make sense of being a prostitute? You screw around with people and you get paid for it; it's just one fucked up way of living. Sure it's fucked up. I never said it wasn't. But to be a prostitute, you need to know why you are doing it. Either you just like getting laid or you're doing it to survive in this world. Or you're doing it keep your family off the streets.

Whatever the reason, it drives you to do what you have to do to please your customers and make good money out of it. Making money is everything. I always thought it cheesy when people joked 'Money makes the world go round'. But to be honest, it's true. Without money, we'd all be poor bastards wallowing in our own shit on the streets with no purpose in life. Money is what makes us different. It's what differentiates the rich people from the poor. It's what makes businesses, provides food and stuff, makes homes and what not. Bottom line is it's all money all the way.

Tokyo looks gorgeous at night with its neon lit signboards with their equally colorful slogans and pictures. High-tech cars speed by on the busy streets, traffic rules forgotten at the dead of night when no one is watching them break speed limits. All you can make out are vividly colored streaks of hue as the speed demons rush by. The buildings that seem to be crammed into the area stand like sullen monsters, looming over the streets and completely devoid of lights as its inhabitants have long drifted off to dreamland. But they are missing out Tokyo at its finest hour of beauty.

At night, all the creatures of Tokyo come out: the urchins, the druggies, the party animals, the drinkers, the clubbers and of course, the prostitutes. We are like vampires. We cannot show our true colors during the day but at night, Tokyo is ours. For those few hours, we rule the city that hates us so deeply. It's funny how things work. I sometimes thought being one of the night-dwellers is like being a superhero. An ordinary person during the day and at night we become something completely different. Except prostitutes aren't superheroes. We don't save anybody. We are just items for people to vent out on.

That's another segregation that money creates. The 'them' and 'us'. We receive the money and they give it to us. They are publicly accepted people while we are the very slime that clings to the shoes of such people. We have money too but it isn't ours and it isn't earned honestly. Hence, an 'us' and 'them'.

I turn the corner before sliding into a bar so small and non-existent that if someone walked by right now, they would have thought I had passed through a wall or something. The bar is not any different on the inside. It's tiny, with a bar counter on one side and a couple of bar stools. It doesn't make much considering not many people know about it but that's why prostitutes like myself like it. It's our small haven and escape from work to come and enjoy our own piece of mind instead of fucking some random person.

I saunter up to the counter, pull up a stool and plant myself there. I don't want to admit that I'm tired after the way that guy handled me. I mean, I've had rougher encounters. But this guy seemed to have an agenda to create a new hole in me and that took the energy out of both of us. So yeah, I am fucking tired right now and nothing would help energize me more than my all time favourite Blue Lagoon with a twist. It's not normally served to others but the bartender makes it specially for me. I come here so often I've practically become a part of this bar.

'Yo, Stark!' I holler. A man with wavy hair surfaces from under the counter and gives me a beady eye. He sighs as he pushes himself up and yawns as he stretches himself.

'Damn it, Blue, I was trying to catch a little shut eye before it got busy over here,' he mumbles as he rests his chin on his palms as he places his elbows on the counter. He yawns again. I snicker.

'This place can actually look busy?' I gesture to the near empty bar. There is practically no one here except him, me and a couple in the corner giggling and planting sloppy kisses all over each other. I roll my eyes at them before turning to Stark with a raised eyebrow. He sighs.

'So what'll it be, Blue?' he mutters but he's already reaching for the vodka bottle. I smirk. Yeah, Stark knows me too well.

It's not like we've known each other for so long either. I had just walked in the bar one day, looking to calm myself down as it had been my first night working on the streets. Stark had helped me settle since he's used to prostitutes popping in and out of here. He had introduced me to a lot of people who have now become my friends. But I don't trust them as I trust Stark. With Stark, it's easy to tell him anything and everything. He not only listens but he understands and tries to help. He told me to start my business in district six. It's the best place for business apparently and damn he wasn't kidding! In that night alone, I had three guys and two women and made at least 10,000 dollars! Ka-ching, baby!

I owe a lot to Stark. He's practically like my brother. One day, I hope I can do something for him in return.

He slides a tall glass of an electric blue liquid towards me, a swirl of lemon floating inside and a Hawaiian umbrella perched on the side. The guy always likes to serve in style. I sometimes think he should work in a better bar, one that'll pay him more. But every time I suggest that, he waves his hand and says he likes it here and would prefer to remain here. I think he's just lazy. Or maybe he does have some attachment to this place. But I guess he has his reasons and I just have to accept them. I'm secretly glad he still wants to stay here. I can't imagine coming to this bar without him being here. It would destroy the value this little place holds for me.

'How's business?' Stark queries as he takes out a stack of dusty glasses and begins to clean them with a rag. I chuckle as I take a sip of my beverage. The iciness of the liquid quenches my parched throat and the vodka tingles my brain cells, sending them on fire. My eyes roll at the sensation. I smack my lips as I lower the glass, now already half empty. He never fails to make the drinks just right that they pack a punch with every sip!

'Dee-licious as ever, Stark,' I praise and raise the glass to him as if in a toast. My grin widens and I can feel my canines jut out my lower lip. 'Didja do something different this time?'

My friends say that other than my unusual hair color, the most striking thing about me is my smile. It's almost sadistic but according to Syazel it's a 'sexy smile'. But then again, that guy is creepy so I don't think I'll take his word for it.

'You have the same thing everyday, Blue,' Starks states coolly. 'So I don't think it can ever be any different than what it usually is.'

'Touché, Stark,' I muse as I take a smaller sip this time, savoring the taste on my tongue. The little electric shocks continue to travel up my nerves and send messages of happiness to my brain. 'Business is kinda slow today. Just two people: one guy and one woman. The old hag was an eyesore but she paid good. Almost as good as the guy actually. He gave me 500.'

'500 for one night. Nice.' Stark whistles and then frowns as he examines one glass. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he places it on the pyramid he is building from the clean glasses.

'Yeah,' I sigh as I finish my glass and am now dragging a finger around the rim. 'He was the Minister of Fishing.'

Stark raises an eyebrow and stops midway in wiping a glass before continuing once more.

'Wasn't he interviewed just last week about the shady businesses at night in Tokyo?' Stark says nonchalantly as he delicately places the glass on the slowly growing pyramid. He's got a knack for these kind of things. He can keep going without breaking a single glass.

'Yeah.' I snort. 'He said, 'Prostitution is an abdominal act that should be wiped off the face of Tokyo in order to save the city from corruption.''

'Bastards born and bred I always say,' Stark says matter-of-factly.

'Wouldn't the devil be proud,' I mutter and glance into my empty glass. Stark notices the tone of my voice and looks up at me.

'Hey.'

I look up slowly. Stark is giving me his encouraging smile. I want to laugh in his face and say that there is nothing wrong with me. But it's never easy for me to lie to Stark. Not that I can't. It's just that he's too damn good at guessing when I am. I gotta tell you, it's damn annoying.

'It's gonna be alright, Blue,' he says reassuringly as he reaches out a hand and pats mine.

'Easy for you to say,' I utter before I can stop myself. But I'm so used to telling Stark everything, it comes almost naturally now. 'It's not like I'm any different from him, huh, considering my job? It's never been alright for me, Stark. It's been one hell of a roller coaster ride since my okaachan got sick.'

'I know.' Starks shrugs his shoulders again. 'Blue, I know you gotta work harder than the others 'cuz you gotta support your family. Your brother is still studying and you're struggling to pay his school fees plus yours. You're also paying for your okaachan's hospital bills as well as your father's debts which he had unfairly left on you before he ran off on you all. Face it, you've got a screwed up life.'

'Chee, Stark, thanks for the pep talk.' I roll my eyes.

Stark sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He's kinda used to my attitude by now but it still never fails to piss him off at how pessimistic I am. But seriously, with my life, I think he'd be surprised if I wasn't.

'All I'm saying is, Blue,' he says quietly as he picks up his rag and begins to wipe the counter now. 'Is that you have to stop counting your problems and start counting your blessings.'

'Uh-huh. Suuure. That's, like, a million problems and maybe one blessing?'

'Okay. What's the blessing?'

'Meeting you.'

'Alright.'

''Cuz without you, I don't think my other blessings would be here with me right now,' I murmur, hoping Stark doesn't catch that but damn him, he does because he's smiling now. It's not a wide and mirthful one but small and kinda knowing, like he's proud of me or something. But it's really thanks to him that I even made any money to begin with to help my family to keep on living comfortably. Whatever. Stupid optimistic bastard.

'You never know, Blue,' he says thoughtfully as he crosses his arms across his chest. 'One day, something amazing is gonna happen to you that'll change your life and you'll be happy that it did. Mark my words.'

'Can I have that in writing?' I say jokingly and before he can reply, a small boy with blonde hair comes sprinting in and slams against the counter.

Stark cries out in alarm as he hops over the counter with one hand and bends over the boy, who is slightly dazed.

'Wonderweiss!' he hisses as he examines the boy for injuries. 'What have I told you about running in like that without looking where you are going? One day you're going to split your head open and I won't be there to help you then, you got that?'

'Uh,uh,' Wonderweiss says groggily as he clumsily gets to his feet. He sways slightly before he grips Stark's hand and draws him towards the door to outside.

'Wonderweiss! I can't leave! I have work!'

The boy continues to tug him fervently and pointing to the door as if begging him to come.

'Stark, why don't you just go and see what's wrong. It won't hurt,' I urge him on.

Wonderweiss is a special kid who Stark took in and is looking after now. He is an orphan with a speech defect but he looks up to Stark a lot and has kinda developed a habit of wandering on the streets outside the bar to play with himself. I sometimes feel sorry for that kid since he can never express himself or understand what others say to him.

Stark finally gives in and allows the boy to drag him. I hop off my stool and, stuffing my hands in my pockets, follow them. Hey, I don't work at the bar so it wouldn't hurt to go see what all the fuss is about! Besides, I'm kinda curious as to why Wonderweiss is acting like this.

Stark disappears around the corner before I reach him and that's when I hear him hiss in alarm. Surprised, I break into a jog and upon rounding the corner, what I see shocks me.

A lithe girl is sprawled on the sidewalk, her cobalt colored hair fanned out over her face on the cemented pavement. Her clothing is slightly disheveled, like she's been in a tussle. But what takes the cake is a tall but broad man with a long ponytail hovering over the unconscious form of the girl. The guy is wearing an angry expression, his hands balled into fists. He's dressed in a brown suit and he could have passed off as a buff business man. But something tells me that this joker can't even tell what 2+2 equals to and that he had been the one to hit the girl who I recognize as a fellow prostitute, Apache.

'What? You got nothing to say now, girlie?' the broad man jeers. The girl doesn't even stir. I can feel anger swelling up inside me. Starks groans next to me.

'Baka, that Apache,' he mutters as he runs a hand through his hair. 'She probably insulted her customer as always except she probably didn't expect him to hit her.'

'I feel like we should intervene,' I mutter back, cracking my knuckles. I don't like Apache. Sometimes she can be a major pain in the ass with all her smartass back talk and taunts. But she's my kind and no matter how much we dislike each other, we stand up for one another. It's the Code.

'Don't be such an idiot,' Stark whispers furiously and spreads a hand in front of me to prevent me from advancing. 'If we step in we might as well get our asses kicked. Besides, he'll leave once he realizes that she's knocked out and no fun.'

'You mean other than when she's awake,' I scoff but obey Stark. He tends to have his points. And besides, the man looks like he's leaving anyways. Maybe I don't have to jump in. but if he lays one more finger on her…

The man nudges her with his foot. Apache groans and curls up to get away from him. The man grunts.

'Looks like you ain't gonna be tonight's entertainment,' he grunts as makes to leave.

'Well, I wouldn't want to entertain anyone with the likes of a bastard like you,' Apache jeers weakly as she attempts to support herself on her shaky arms.

At the insult, the man stiffens. I can almost see the vein throbbing in his thick neck. I hear a faint popping sound as the guy curls his hands into fists. Oh shit. This ain't going to go down well. Screw what Stark said. No way am I going to let this guy pummel Apache to a pulp. If anyone, it should be me who has that privilege and first dibs.

Suddenly, the man rounds on her, yelling out a war cry. At the same time, I didn't even know it, I had been preparing myself to launch at him and at that moment, I became airborne as I sail towards him. The man's war cry turned into a strangled cry of alarm as a blur-haired dude lands on his head and starts beating it from all sides.

'What the fuck-!' the man roars as he stumbles from side to side, trying to shake me off. I hold fast, knowing that once I hit the pavement, I'm a dead man.

Wrapping my legs around his neck, I land punches on every inch of his thick-skulled head while pulling his hair, making sure I tear off chunks in the process. The man roars like an angry beast and he bangs into a wall.

Bad for me.

The impact shakes me off balance and my grip around his neck loosens. Sensing a weakness in the force holding onto him, the thug grabs my legs and flings me to the ground. Hard.

I yelp in pain but before I have time to recover, the man drives his elbow into my stomach. I let out a scream of agony and spit out blood in the process. The pain spreads across my body as I clutch my stomach and will the pain to go away but it was futile.

The man picks me up easily by my arm and then sends me flying into a wall, issuing another cry of pain to slip from my lips. I don't want to whimper and cry like a baby. Sure I've never been in a fight as rough as this before but I don't want to show that this man has broken me. I'm not some fucking crybaby.

The man approaches me and I can't help but flinch. Instead of hitting me again, he laces his hands through my hair and tugs lightly. It doesn't hurt but I know that he doesn't intend to play with my hair.

'Who the fuck do you think you are?' he hisses and tugs harder. I can feel a few strands break. 'Coming here and beating me up? Nobody beats Yammy up. Nobody! And I ain't gonna let some pretty boy do that ta me today! So how 'bout this? I break every bone in your body and rid you of this freakish blue hair? Whaddaya say to that, huh, pretty boy?'

'I say,' I wheeze as I grab his wrist that is yanking at my hair. 'Get your fucking hands off of me!'

The guy smirks.

'Fucking priss,' he mutters and I feel his hand tighten around my locks. I wince and clench my teeth, preparing for the pain to come.

'Yammy!'

A cold but distinctly authoritative voice rings out in the night. Yammy's hand relaxes on my hair but he doesn't let go. He turns to the shadows of an alley and I follow his gaze.

Out of the shadows steps out a tall and sickly pale man. His skin is milk white and his hair is as black as ebony. I woulda joked and compared him to Snow White if it weren't for my current situation. But his eyes mesmerize me. They are a deep, deep jade in color. The pupils seem to have melded into them and become one. They look like never ending pools of green and black, sucking me in slowly but surely.

'Leave him be,' the man speaks again. He too is dressed in a business suit but his is charcoal black with thin stripes that are a darker shade of gray. 'He is not anyone important that we must deal with.'

'But!' Yammy protests. 'Ulquiorra-!'

'I do not want to argue, Yammy,' the man continues in his flat and emotionless voice. 'Our boss asked us to bring him someone worthy but seeing she isn't even close, we will leave her and tell our boss that it was a fruitless venture.'

'Fine.'

Grumbling, Yammy wrenches his hand free from my head and I fall heavily. My body feels like it weighs a million tones as I try to lift myself up. I manage to raise myself a few centimeters to gaze up at the mysterious man called Ulquiorra. Though I can't see it, I can feel my own warm blood oozing from a wound on my temple.

'W-Who are you?' I ask weakly while trying to sound demanding. The man barely even turns his head to look at me or even acknowledge that I asked him something. As Yammy walks into the shadows behind him, the man makes to follow him.

'Hey!' I call out again and this time a little louder. The man actually pauses now. 'I asked you, who are you?'

'That is something,' Ulquiorra whispers in a deadly voice. 'You will wish you never knew.'

And with that, he too is swallowed up by the shadows. I let out a frustrated cry and bang my fist on the pavement before yelping in pain. I feel a rustle of clothing close by and feel a cloth drape my body.

'Come on, Blue,' Stark whispers in my ear as he helps me get to my feet. 'You need to get back home to rest.'

'What the hell, Stark?' I mutter but I let him guide me to wherever. As I lift my gaze, I see Wonderweiss helping Apache to her feet. 'Who were those guys?'

'I don't know,' Stark says honestly. 'But I don't think we should worry about them. Maybe they only came here once to check it out and seeing that they don't like anything, they probably won't come back.'

'Bullshit,' I snort. We're now level with Apache and Wonderweiss. Apache is groaning and clutching her head like she's had a major hangover. I wonder, what if she knows something?

'Hey, Apache,' I says briskly. 'Who were those bastards anyways?'

'How the fuck am I supposed to know that?' Apache snaps and then groans as she almost loses her balance. Wonderweiss supports her. 'They just popped out of nowhere and asked for me to come with them. Normally I'm not the kind to make a fuss (both me and Stark snort. Even Wonderweiss giggles) but I told them I don't do groups so the Yammy guy gets frustrated and threatens me. I argue back 'cuz this guy is being a serious stick in my ass and the next thing I know he's landed a whopper on my head.'

'Strange,' Stark comments.

'No shit Sherlock,' I say sarcastically. I wince. Every movement seems like an effort and sends my joints on fire. That hulking mass really beat me up badly. I just hope I can still go to school tomorrow.

'Well, whoever they are, I don't think that's the last we'll see of them,' Starks says slowly.

'Are you fucking crazy, Stark?' Apache shrieks. 'They can't come back here! I'm complaining to the Mistress about this and she'll make sure that they don't lay one finger on me!'

'Whatever, Apache,' Stark says coolly. 'Just telling you this, they don't seem like ordinary clients out for a good time with one of us. They want something and they work for someone really powerful that no one, not even your Mistress, has the power to stop.'

'Fucking crazy,' Apache repeats before she allows Wonderweiss to guide her to the bar.

Stark tugs my jacket.

'You coming, Blue?' he inquires. I'm still staring into the shadows, as if expecting to see that man again.

'Hey?' He taps me on the shoulder now. After a moment, I nod and turn around to shuffle behind him. But I feel like I've left my mind behind to ponder over what the man called Ulquiorra had said to me. Stark is right about one thing. These are no ordinary men. They belong to something dark and dangerous and whatever it is, it's giving me a bad feeling and I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.