Author's Note: Yay, a new story! However, I'm only posting the first chapter for nows to give you a taste of what my next fic will be like. I'll update again once I've finished The Ryoka and the Taichou. Tell me how it is, and I'll consider updating sooner.
"How much did you make today?"
"Not much."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah."
In the center of an old, abandoned warehouse, a group of four people were gathered around a used card table that was missing one leg, and thus barely standing.
This warehouse was located in the most run-down region of Karakura, Tokyo, in other words, the bad side of town. To the mothers of Karakura, this was the place where they would constantly warn their children never to go near, but for the gangs that ruled the area and did as they pleased, this was home.
"Well, let's see it then, Kurosaki."
Reaching into his coat pocket, a tall, orange-haired teen produced a wad of bills and threw them carelessly onto the table.
Another figure, a thin male with glasses, snatched up the cash and thumbed through it, counting as the remaining two, a brawny, dark-skinned male and a girl with long, strawberry-blonde hair.
"Fifty-six. Not too bad for just half an hour."
"Nope, I actually had sixty-three. Grabbed 'em out of this rich old dude's man purse. Spent some on cigarettes."
The four of them had formed their gang years ago, and all of them had their specific jobs based on their abilities: The Thinker, The Swindler, The Runner, and The Fighter.
Ishida Uryu was The Thinker. He was the brains behind their operations, and he was the one who counted and kept track of the money: How much had been "earned" in one day, how much they owed to a drug dealer or two, how much was needed for purchasing dinner.
Inoue Orihime was The Swindler. She wasn't very smart in the way Ishida was, but she could work her charms quite effectively with words. Give her ten minutes with any stranger on the street, and she would instantly be able to coax at least thirty dollars from them.
Yasutora Sado, also called "Chad," was The Runner, as well as the least talkative of them. What he lacked in words, however, he made up in strength. With his powerful legs, he could run further than the average person, and faster, too, which came in handy for grab-and-go robberies.
Their leader was The Fighter. Named Kurosaki Ichigo, he was rude, impulsive, hot-headed, all while being extremely street-smart at the same time. He knew Karakura like the back of his hand and he was responsible for all their dirty work: standing in street corners and punching the lights out of the first passerby before making off with their wallet and jewelry. Rumor had it he had first became involved in gang activity after he had left home and killed a young man, just because he needed money to buy cigarettes. Yes, he had an unhealthy addiction to the glorious nicotine they provided him.
"Anyone want one?" Ichigo inquired, opening a fresh pack of cigarettes. No one answered, and with a shrug, he stuck one into his lips and lit it, taking a long and deliberate drag.
"So," he continued between puffs of smoke, "What's up?"
"It appears we have business with another group," Ishida answered, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"Another group?"
"He means another gang, Kurosaki-kun," Orihime piped up.
"I know that," the orange-haired smoker snarled, pulling the cigarette from his lips. "I'm not stupid, you know."
"S-Sorry…" she muttered, looking down.
"Anyway, what's the deal with 'em?"
"According to my files here," Ishida announced, producing a stack of papers with various tidbits of information scribbled across them, "They call themselves the "Shinigami." They're not a very big group, but they're dangerous."
"Shinigami? 'Death Gods,' huh?" Ichigo scoffed, "What makes 'em think they're great enough for a name like that? Who's their leader?"
"Abarai. A guy named Abarai Renji."
"Renji, huh?" he repeated, puffing lazily on the cigarette before dropping it to the floor and grinding it into dust with his heel. "Who else has he got with him?"
"I'm not sure," Ishida answered with a shrug, "But according to my notes," he added, tapping the stack of papers, "They've got a kid who's an ex-government assassin."
"Sounds like trouble," Chad spoke. This actually happened to be what was considered in his standards to be a rather complex and lengthy sentence.
"Trouble's fun," Ichigo retorted. "Whatever, though. I guess we'll meet up with them if they really want to. What do they want, anyway?"
"Not sure. I think they're looking for someone."
"Looking for someone?" Orihime piped up. "And they want us to help them, right?"
"Precisely."
"So, who're they looking for?"
"Apparently they've been trying to find someone who killed some rich kid a couple years back. I dunno why, but they've transmitted a copy of his photograph here." As he said this, Ishida rifled through the stack of papers before producing a small photograph and pushing it across the table for Ichigo to see.
Ichigo picked up the fading image, staring at it. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. He tossed the picture carelessly back onto the table with a shrug.
"Is there something wrong, Kurosaki?" Ishida inquired, squinting at his leader through his glasses.
"Nah. I've never seen a guy like that in my life."
"I see. Well, I'll tell them tonight that we'll try to help anyway, in exchange for a hefty sum of money. They want to meet us at midnight."
"Whatever," Ichigo snorted with a nonchalant wave of his hand, "Do whatever you want. Tell me when it's time to go. I'm gonna go up to the loft and do some thinking. Don't bother me."
"Anything for you, Your Highness," Ishida scoffed as he began to put the papers away, Ichigo retreating up a creaky flight of stairs up to the warehouse loft, throwing himself onto a torn-up, dusty old couch that had been salvaged from some run-down hotel of sorts.
The truth was, Ichigo did recognize the young man in the photograph. Why he did was a secret he had kept entirely to himself, though word had somehow slipped out and had become more of a rumor than a proven truth.
He had killed that man himself.
Just so he could by a pack of cigarettes.
The strawberry-haired teen closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, trying to remember what had happened that night, many years ago.
It had been raining for three days straight.
Ichigo had been long fed up with life. He had simply stolen a handgun from a store, took his father's money, visited his long-dead mother's grave, and had left without bothering to say goodbye to his two younger sisters.
He was standing in an alleyway, leaning against the wall, the rain pelting his body. He didn't care. He had somehow lost the money he had taken, and after kicking the life out of a stray cat in his frustration, he had resolved to get himself some more.
He wanted those cigarettes, and he wanted them now.
As he waited, Ichigo suddenly heard two voices. A pair of students were making their way down the street, and they didn't seem to be in any hurry to get indoors despite the stinging rain. When they approached, their full figures came into view: A tall, young man with dark hair and a smaller, thin boy with hair the color of snow.
"Hey! You two!" Ichigo demanded, stepping out from around the corner, his hand clutching the handgun tightly. "D'ya have twenty bucks I can have?"
The white-haired boy stared at him with wide, innocent eyes, before slowly tightening his grasp on the other male's hand, which he had been clutching on to.
"What's the matter, kid?" Ichigo scoffed, "Never seen a gun before?"
The boy didn't answer, merely continuing to stare wide-eyed at Ichigo.
"Stop staring at me, you brat! You want me to kill you?"
The other student glared at Ichigo. "Don't talk to him like that," he spoke slowly, seeming to be completely afraid, despite the fact that Ichigo was armed with a lethal weapon. "We don't have any money. If you'll excuse us now."
As the pair turned to leave, Ichigo found himself getting ticked off. How dare they?
"Where the hell do you think you're going!? Get your sorry asses back here!"
The white-haired boy turned to look at Ichigo again as they moved away, his wide, teal eyes seeming to bore holes through his body. Ichigo didn't like this one bit. He was annoyed, and even a little scared of his unnerving, silent stare.
He lost his temper.
He didn't even realize what he was doing.
He jerked the handgun upwards, pointing it at the white-haired boy's head, intent on blowing his brains out.
He pulled the trigger.
What happened next was a blur.
There was a loud, earsplitting crack as the bullet left the gun's barrel. Next was the sickening sound of it striking someone directly in the heart, and the sound of a body hitting the wet pavement with a thud.
Ichigo's eyes widened as the tall, raven-haired student fell to the ground, blood seeping from his chest and soaking through his garments. At the last moment, he had turned around and thrown himself in front of the other to save him from the bullet that was meant to kill him.
The white-haired boy's eyes grew to the size of the saucers as he dropped to his knees by his fallen partner, his hands trembling as he wrapped his arms around the dying youth's form. A single word made its way past his quivering lips, the name of the fallen.
"K-Kusaka…"
Feeling sick to his stomach, Ichigo dropped the gun to the floor. He had just killed someone, taken someone else's life. He hadn't even been thinking, he had just lifted and fired.
He wasn't sure if the boy was crying because the rain was making everything undistinguishable.
"H-Here's what you wanted…" the boy stammered, reaching into the pocket of his now dead partner and producing a wallet, holding it out to Ichigo, still staring with those wide, oddly intimidating eyes.
"You stupid brat!" Ichigo spluttered, snatching the wallet from his hand and shoving it into his own pocket. "Get lost! Stop staring! This ain't a circus!"
"You killed him," the boy whispered, staring up at Ichigo, ignoring his previous statement completely. "I…I'll never forgive you. He was…He was…"
"I don't give a rat's ass to who he was! Get out of here!"
"No."
Ichigo wasn't used to having 'no' as an answer. Angry and confused, he slapped the boy across the face, hard.
Horrified at what he had just done, the youth quickly withdrew his hand, backing away before staring off at a run, determined to get as far away as possible from those terrifying aquamarine eyes.
As he fled, the last words he heard from the white-haired boy were seared into his memory for what would be the following years, and the rest of his life.
"I won't ever forget your face, s you'd be smart to remember my name, because it's the name of the person who will kill you for doing this…"
Ichigo was running as fast as he could but that didn't prevent him from hearing the boy tell him his name.
"…Hitsugaya Toshiro."