Origami

by sakana3

There's a word for those who are driven by only a dark passion, who are completely engulfed by it, possessed by it and possessing it, burning through the intricacies of life by it.

There's a word for men like you, there's a word for those who work for their personal gain, who work so darkly, so passionately for a gain that may be achieved in any other manner or may not possible be achieved, there is a word for such men.

It was not anger that simmered inside, not even simmered, the emotion within him, so strong it surpassed anger, surpassed the simple term of rage. To call it passion would be profanity, so inexpressible, ineffable, to call it passion, but it burned like passion, no, not burned, to burn would to imply a source, but rather the whole of him was alight with this baleful passion that transcended both terms.

He was painfully aware, somewhere, perhaps not so far, a distant memory of a battlefield, littered with the stumbling step of those who were dead before they drew breath, not part of him, or was part of him, but then, for the moment, not part of him, inconsequential.

Speed, he didn't know at what speed he moved, only that he was moving, or was he? It was hard to tell, impossible. He sensed some movement behind, beside him, moving in pace with him, he leading them. Behind the rage, he heard a voice, his own, he supposed, his own, but different in tone, an emotionless tone, professional, dictating to him strategy, strategy and method. He didn't listen, but acted, acted on the voice's commands and perhaps he too transferred those commands to the ones behind and beside him, but he was not sure what they were.

"The Hogyoku, you understand, now, Sosuke-kun, is purely experimental, not yet complete, and you want to…"

"Test it on a few subjects, yes."

"Sosuke, you can't be serious now, can you? Even I don't know what it does, and you're suggesting…"

"I have a good theory of what it does, Urahara-taicho. I've studied your work in depth and I assure you, my candidate is very well prepared for this sort of endeavor. In fact, he stands outside just now, probably eavesdropping on every word we say. Gin, you can come in now."

"Now really, Sosuke, this is too much, you can't propose to…"

"Ah, don't worry 'bout it, Urahara-san. I can handle't. So, which one's th'Hogyoku?"

He vaguely heard the sound of gates, gates, a city's gates, of no concern, and he thought he might have given an order, again, of what, he was not sure, not sure, never sure now.

"Gin! Gin! Can you hear me?"

"Good. His pupils are reacting to light. What exactly were you doing, Sosuke-kun?"

"Training, Unohana-taicho. You know how different he is from the others. I thought a little one-on-one training might do him some good. I must have hit him too hard."

"Hmm. Try to be more careful in the future, Sosuke-kun. Prodigy or not, a head wound could as easily kill him as anyone else."

"Yes, Unohana-taicho."

"S'matter? Who was tha' jus' now?"

"That was Unohana-taicho."

"Though' we were in th' Twelfth…"

"You passed out. What did you see?"

"Hmm. My head feels funny."

"Mild amnesia might be expected. Urahara told me. It'll all come back to you later. Now what did you see?"

"This room's too bright."

"It's as low as it'll go without turning the light off completely. What did you see?"

"Mild amnesia might be expected. Urahara said."

"Very funny. What can you remember right now?"

"Light. And dark. Patches of light, no, dark. Light-dark."

"Did you hit your head?"

"Ah… Sosuke, I think I remember something now."

"What is it?"

"Hmm. Also a little stuff from before too."

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't volunteer for this little endeavor, did I?"

"Gin…"

"It's okay, they'll probably forgive you. Sounds like them."

"Gin! What did you see?"

"Notice anything different about me?"

"… Your accent is gone."

"No. I've always talked this way. The other two, of course, annoying little accents they have, haven't they?"

"What did you do?"

He was alone, he could decipher that much, alone, the ones behind and beside having gone off, but no, not quite alone, never alone, beyond a door. There was a door, where had it come from, a door, before him, a vague memory of having gone through the same door, with light feelings of dark amusement, a door, something painted across it that he say and understood, but could not see, could not decipher, he knew he understood, but knew not what he understood.

Walked in, pushed ahead, without command from himself.

"You're different today, Gin! Why so cold. Come on, did you buy me anything?"

"Have you been drinking, Rangiku?"

"Only a little, Gin, don't be that guy, come on. It's the holidays, and if you weren't so work bound, we could be drinking together, right?"

"Alone?"

"What?"

"Have you been drinking alone?"

"Of course not, silly! Who would? Where's the fun in that. Now come on, I'll introduce you to the guys!"

"Guys?"

"Yeah. Should've seen their faces when I beat them at their little drinking contests, eh?"

"They never told me about this new hobby."

"What was that, Gin?"

"Nothing. So, you like to drink. With other people. What an interesting development."

"What are you talking about. I've been doing this since, like, forever."

"Not in the Rukongai."

"Oh, come on now, what's with you today. You're acting funny."

"Tell me, do I ever… drink with you and your… friends?"

"Of course you do! What's the matter with you today? Hit your head on the way back?"

"Why don't you go ahead. I'll be there. I just need to catch up on some paperwork."

"But it's not so fun without you…"

"Go on."

"Oh, fine. Oh, and Gin…"

"Yes?"

"Are you okay? What happened to your accent?"

Something was wet on the floor, sticky, and the pungent scent of iron and vague saltiness filled the air, iron and salt, he knew that taste, had once cherished it, and perhaps still did. It stirred the passion, such an obscene term for the emotion that was his very essence that day, the scent, reminded something within him and the emotionless, calculating voice within him ceased to speak, recognizing acquiesce to this.

"Hello, Rangiku."

"Hello…"

"What's the matter? Not glad to see me? Did you like the present I sent you?"

"Go away."

"I would have thought you would like it."

"Go away."

"Did I say something? Do something?"

"Just go."

"Oh. Ha ha. Are we having one of those couples things? Just tell me what it is."

"A couple, Ichimaru-fukutaicho, comprises of two people, not three, and not four, and certainly not three men masquerading to be the same man."

"Ah…"

"Leave."

"You got it wrong."

"Yeah? Then what are you? Got a gigai and a separate personality for every day of the week?"

"It's going to be Ichimaru-taicho soon."

"Go away."

"And you have the wrong approach."

"Leave."

"Do you want to be a fukutaicho?"

"Get out!"

He stepped forward, and the world flooded into view, the trance broken, and he saw himself, seated on the small chair usually occupying the sotaicho, white robes stained red, grinning like a mischievous schoolboy caught in the middle of a humorous prank.

"Morning," he heard himself speak. "Beat'ya to it, did't I? Sosuke says whichever o'us gets th' old man first gets to skip out of th' next propaganda speech. Jealous?"

He stepped forward, steadily closing the distance between the two of him.

"Body's jus' right there. You can check yerself if you think I botched th' job."

He stood, right before himself, and smiled, one that was never reassuring, even compared to the other two, predatory, revealing sharp canine teeth and malicious intent. "She called you the nice one." He grabbed hold of the other's wrist and pulled, hard, fast, the hand came off, like pulling a playing card out of a deck of fifty-two. Shock and slight disbelief flecked across the blue eyes that regarded him.

"But I never… th' other one's…"

"It's all right," the tone tried for reassuring, and it achieved that with a malevolent undertone. "If it means anything, I'd always liked you better than the other one, for all that you followed Aizen Sosuke like a dog."

He'd never before snapped a human being's neck before, and he speculated that perhaps the other hims were not human beings, and perhaps he had not just committed murder. The job was messy, and as he glanced at the body behind the chair, he noted with satisfaction that the other had not been wrong at the quality of his work. Removing a cloth bag from his coat pocket, he carefully positioned the head into it, so as to minimize the amount of damage. It was uncanny how much he looked like himself.

"So what you are trying to tell me is that three people are Ichimaru Gin?"

"No, no, Yamamoto-sotaicho. He is three people."

"Explain."

"Well, a hundred years before, Aizen came to me, wanting to help on the Hogyoku. Look, I know what you're going to say, but at the time, I thought it would strengthen shinigami by breaking down insurmountable barriers and I thought that was what he thought. I didn't think as far as the whole hollowfication process. I thought he wanted to strengthen his squad, though I did think it strange that Shinji wasn't there and that he would start with someone like Ichimaru, but I wasn't arguing."

"And then what? It happened to be a cloning device?"

"No… See, shinigami have fundamentally three parts to them, shinigami, hollow, and zanpakuto. What I think happened was that he was split into three people, based roughly on those guidelines, but not exactly, you understand. Each one of him is predominantly one with traces of the others."

"And he's been impersonating himself all these years."

"Yes."

"Doesn't look like a hollow to me."

"Hollow for some is more of a state of mind, a metaphor, if you will. To put it crudely, it's just symbolic of good side, bad side, middle ground."

"Ah. And you are certain that the one that's come to us with all this information is the good one."

"No, that's the tricky part. He's the bad one. Perhaps Rangiku can elaborate better on this."

"See, Yamamoto-sotaicho, like Urahara-san said, it's just a mindset. So since Gin is basically bad, his bad side is good."

"And you are certain he has a change of heart?"

"Yes!"

"You do know that he would normally be executed without argument, good side, bad side, whatever?"

"Yes."

"That I don't care if Ichimaru Gin were a hundred people and he was a pure angel."

"Yes."

"But as matters stand, we are short on men and at present strength, Aizen would crush us."

"Yes."

"Very well, but understand, he is your responsibility and at the slightest sign of betrayal, he dies, no appeals."

"Thank you, Yamamoto-sotaicho."

A speck of anger crept into his calm demeanor as he left the Sereitei gates, anger, anger, it was all the useless one's fault, the useless one. He had liked the one whose head he held in the bag that was now swinging carelessly by his side, dripping a deep crimson much better and it was his fault that it had come to this. He hadn't foreseen the betrayal, no, perhaps he had, he wasn't sure anymore. Or perhaps he thought he would kill him first, or the other would kill him, or maybe even Aizen Sosuke himself. Hadn't foreseen it, hadn't thought he would sit in silence, a year ago, listening to the fate of the other, the fate that he should have control over, be decided by others, listen and allow it to go past.

He walked faster, heading to the first district. The useless one wasn't allowed into Sereitei except under heavy guard and last he heard, they were living in the first district.

"Hello, Sosuke. Glad to see me?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Preparing."

"For what?"

"Aren't we going to war tomorrow, Sosuke?"

"Yes, so shouldn't you be off doing whatever it is you do before wars? I don't know, rent the top hundred goriest movies ever produced and try to reenact them tomorrow?"

"You're a riot, Sosuke. I am preparing, believe it or not."

"Why do you need all that? What's with the bag? And are those flowers?"

"What does it look like?"

"That you're going to propose to someone in the middle of a burglary."

"Close, close."

"Say, have you seen the other one of you recently?"

"No."

He went up to the first house he saw and threw open the door. Empty. The next, a family cowering in the corner. The next, empty. The next, a man looting the house. And the next, and the next.

"Did you know you're supposed to be married with a kid on the way?"

"No, where did you hear that?"

"Just recently. News to you? I told the other one. He didn't say anything?"

"No. To who, Sosuke?"

"Who else? Matsumoto Rangiku."

"Ah, and this would be our little traitor?"

"Yes."

Married with a kid on the way.

The last one, it opened with ease and he saw himself, holding a bundle that rose and fell steadily, standing across from a woman he did not recognize, but assumed was the child's nurse. The other him handed the bundle to the woman and adjusted his gaze to him.

"Hello."

"Hello, I thought you might come for me."

"Is that your child?"

"Yes."

"Ah."

The woman backed away instinctively as he stepped forward.

"Why aren't you in the midst of carnage? I thought you enjoyed that kind of thing."

"Why aren't you?"

"Not allowed." He held up both wrists, displaying reaitsu restrainers. "The strongest the have and I can still move around easily and perform small kido. You must be proud."

"Of course." He stepped forward again, placing a hand on the other's heart, his voice dropping to a cold whisper. "Why would she love you? You're the bad one. I'm the shinigami, I am. It was me, all those years ago. It was me. She owes her life to me. To me!" With the last words, he shoved the other, across the room, advancing quickly and ignoring the woman's shrieks of surprise and the child's awakening cries. He kicked himself, and knelt down, again positioning his hand on the other's heart. Blue eyes met his and a shocked understanding flowed through. His fingers pushed, squeezed, and pulled, holding the prize of its efforts, the crimson thing still pulsating and in spasms. Ignoring the woman's screams, he gently pried the child from her arms and held the unidentifiable shrieking bundle in the other arm.

A final glance at the house and he left, back into the Sereitei gates.

She was in her office, sitting, taking her shift on communications with the troops and knowing her, wishing the time to tick by faster, so she could be out with the troops, fighting the war. His entrance was announced by the bundle's shrieks and she looked up, shock, then realization flicking through her eyes, and finally fear. He gave her the baby, which she held protectively to her chest, then set the head and heart of the others on the desk.

"The nice one and the nicer one," he drawled, purposefully slowing down the revealing of each.

The crimson stained the light cedar desk, spreading slowly, the colorless complexion of the "nice" one in sharp contrast and the now stilled, but still warm heart an unrecognizable lump of flesh.

"W-What did you do?"

"They're dead now, you know?"

"W-What…"

He stepped forward, slightly, almost unconsciously, and she moved back, instinctively, unconsciously, disbelieving eyes fixed on him, wide.

"What are you…?"

"If it means anything to you," he said, slowly, as if thinking each word over, "I was the good guy. It was me. I saved you, certainly not the 'nice' one and certainly not the other one. It was me."

She backed away, against the wall, holding the now quieted bundle against herself.

"Come on, Rangiku," he walked forward, standing before the desk. His eyes lost its malicious glint, replaced by an earnest shine, one completely won over to the conviction of his cause, his tone taking on a bright spirit. "Let's run away together, eh? They'll think you're dead and Sosuke, well, we can hide from Sosuke, he'll never find us. Let's run away. The other two, you wouldn't have to worry over them anymore. Come on. You can even keep the baby."

He held out a hand, invitingly, the optimism of his voice, of his words, of his very being in argument with the blood that drenched the scene. She met his gaze, for once not fearing the cold blue she had always associated with the lack of an accent, her child pressed against her, she broke the gaze and shook her head, slightly, but definitely. "No… no…"

His gaze faltered, the tone faltered, the energy, the ambience, faltered. "Are you… sure?"

"Y-yes… yes."

He seemed to see the blood for the first time then, seemed to see it all, the blood, the blood and the utter rejection in her voice and his gaze, his words hardened. The nameless emotion that had flooded him lighted with an angry, resentful element. "Very well. Then die here."

There's a word for men like you, men who strive to something, so darkly and passionately, blinded to all things save what they covet so dearly. Men who are alight with the dark passion when they know, the know but disbelieve that they will never achieve their end. There's a word for men like you.

He heard himself give orders, orders to set the city alight, so that it may burn forever and ever, heard the fanatical cheer of the soldiers, who had once been those behind and beside, now behind, alighting the city. For once, he felt alone, so desperately alone, and he thought he caught a glimpse of a memory, a memory of a crimson office, now surely burning away, and he may have heard the screams, or they may have been his imagining. He caught himself turning, to survey the damage, the conquest, and saw the city alight, the Seireitei alight and the sight of it warmed him like the dark passion once had.