It's been some time, eh? I started writing this during HHGODS, but I didn't want to submit it until I was finished; however, it's been almost a year! So, I've got to submit something even if it is unfinished.

RECRUIT

You would think there's something more to life than just living, but a part of life is simplicity. It's just living. Sitting here, on the side of the curb, I can taste the cigarette in my mouth. I can feel the paper sticking to my lip. What I'm doing here or why doesn't matter. Where I've been? That doesn't matter. At this moment, why even think about what's to come. It doesn't matter.

The fact that you've been wearing the same clothes for a month doesn't matter. Or that you haven't had a haircut in two years; that you have no home or bank accounts; that you didn't finish high school, but you trained in Muay Thai, Kendo and Brazilian Ju-jitsu. No, none of it matters. You're natural talents? Forget about them.

And it's as I'm sitting here on this curb that he walks up to me. He walks up to me and he says, "Do you really want to live this way?" This guy, with his clean hair and fresh uniform, he says this to me. And I'm curious. In what way does it seem I'm living? I live and that's it. It's simple.

But he says, "This is a waste of your natural talents." So I throw my cigarette into the gutter and look up at him. Seeing him through these tinted, dark glasses, he doesn't look so regal anymore. He says, "You have a good bit of spirit in you. We can feel it from inside the Seireitei. You belong with us." His shadow is covering me, blocking out the sunrise. "Please come with me, Mr. Abarai."

Why even think about what's come? It doesn't matter. I get up from the curb and maybe I've known all along I wouldn't die here. Whatever was to come, it wasn't here.

Recruit the Truth

I find myself. I'm waiting with a dozen anxious, tyro youths. We are all waiting to meet our potential captains. The tyros talk. They talk about their unease, or their pride. One small girl sits next to me. She says even if a captain accepts you under his command, there is a probation period. She says it's just over three months, and then you are evaluated and assigned accordingly. "Most of us," she says, "are sent back to further our studies."

The captains, I've heard, have monstrous power and little humanity. They are monsters, and it must be their power that makes them so. Every captain should be feared and obeyed. Obedience, however, is not trust. The boy, who sits beside the girl, says to her, "The captains don't love or befriend their subordinates, they just tolerate them. And we, in turn, don't love our captains. We only respect them."

The door at the front of the room opens and we are beckoned, led and organized into a line on the grounds. The dozen of us are joined by a crowd of a hundred others. All of us are tyros and we all wait in silence. Standing before us are familiar faces. They are the ones who have taught us, scouted us or disciplined us. And they are the ones who introduce the thirteen captains and their assistant captains.

I will not detail the ceremonials, except to say that nearly two dozen from our crowd lost consciousness. I've been warned that the spirits of the captains have been known to do this.

We were then directed again into the examination rooms, where we were sorted, scrutinized and subjugated. It was one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life to be sized up by another man, and to hear him talk of me without ever meeting my eyes. The man beside him makes a note on a clipboard and asks my name. I say Renji Abarai. And he says, "From the districts?"

"Yes sir. The seventy-eighth," I say and the two men pass by me. This has been going on for almost three hours. In my head, I imagine the taste of a cigarette in my mouth. I picture the smoke, stringy and gray and tangling into the air.

I wouldn't have guessed it, so I must have looked surprised when I was told that I'd been invited to serve under the sixth division. The man tells me, "This is merely a request, but I don't recommend you refuse it." Behind him, I can see another man. He is wearing the captain's cloak and a hair clamp. He stands to the side and looks indifferent.

"Sir," says a woman to his left and in a quiet voice she whispers, "Have you read into this boy's history? Are you sure he's… suitable?"

The man answers, "his psychological and practical scores are sound. I don't see the problem."

She says, "Sir, forgive my rudeness, but this boy was fostered in a red-light district. I fail to see how he should-"

The captain, still looking off, speaks over them. He says, "He's adequate."

They say, "Yes of course, Captain Kuchiki."

And I'm still thinking about that cigarette.

After the evaluations and assignations, we're sent back to our rooms to gather our belongings. I came here owning nothing, and so I leave here empty-handed except for a pack of cigarettes. When I finally get that taste in my mouth, and breath it in, I hear her voice. She walks behind me.

"Renji," she says and puts her hand on my shoulder. "Congratulations." I haven't seen her in almost a year. She still looks the same, although this time she's dressed in rich clothing instead of tatty textiles.

"Like Cinderella," I say. I can't help but smile.

"Who me?" she smiles too.

"Yeah."

Her eyes follow my hand to my mouth. "Still smoking?"

I nod. "I was assigned to your step-brother's division."

"I know."

"Maybe I'll see you more often now."

"Renji," she says and her voice is shivering. When I look at her, water builds at the brims of her eyes. They look so clear and purple under the tears. She cries, "Tell me. You said you would." The last words escape on her breath, and I know exactly what she's talking about.

I wonder what it is about the truth that makes people chase it. Why is it that a part of us will always desire to know? We must think we'd be better off. I breathe out and my breath is just a puff of smoke. Looking at her purple eyes, I don't know what's better anymore, to tell the truth or to tell a lie? What is simpler? I tell her, "Whether or not she loved you, or whether she had regrets, I can't say. She never told me. She had a heart that was," I try to think of the right word, "groundless." Her tears are dripping over her cheeks. "Rukia," I say and she looks at me. "Her name was Hisana."

I watch Rukia's chin tremble, her lips frown and she shuts her eyes. "Did she," Rukia swallows, "ever tell you where she was going?"

"She never told me she was leaving."

Her voice becomes exasperated, "but did you know?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"It doesn't matter. She left." I toss the cigarette onto the ground. "Stop chasing her Rukia."

"I need to know!" She yells. "She was my sister!"

"She was." I nod again. "She was your sister." I can hear Rukia sniveling and I want to walk away, but I can't bring myself to. "She was a friend."

"She was your friend?" Rukia says, wiping her eye with her wrist. "You took care of me for years after she disappeared. Why? Tell me. I've waited so long to know, but you never gave me a reason." I don't say anything. "Did you love her, my sister? Is that why?"

"Me and Hisana? No."

"Then… How did you meet her?"

I smile and say, "She met me." Rukia's face crumpled. She rubs her forehead and sighs, so obviously frustrated and falling apart. So I ask her, "You remember the seventy eighth, don't you?" She nods. "You know what kind of place it is. What kind of work we do there. You remember?"

"I do," she says, her frown deepening. "You were a murderer," she blinks and tears fall, "a mercenary."

"Yeah." What a way to reminisce. I look at the sky, anywhere but her eyes. And I tell her slowly, "One night I got myself into a mess, the kind you don't walk out of. And as I'm sitting against this wall, half naked, this guy has got a gun to my head. And he says he's sorry, but he can't keep me alive. He's says he's really sorry. And I'm thinking this is it. I'm going to die." I take a long breath. "And Hisana, from the next room, she walks in with a bed sheet wrapped around her. And she says, 'Kotsu! If you fire that gun I'll tell you're mother.' And the guy starts arguing with her. As soon as he lowered that gun, I grabbed it so fast." I feel myself grinning. "You don't need to know the rest, but that's how I met Hisana. She saved my life. So I saved yours." Rukia stands with her arms crossed. "You were a good kid. In a lot of ways, Rukia, you kept me alive."

Rukia is quiet, stunned. She stands there, still, except for her shaking head. "Why," she mumbles. "Why come here? Why become a shinigami?"

I stick my tongue into my cheek and sigh. "For a long time, I avoided the Seireitei, hiding in Rukongai. One day I woke up and forgot why." I smile, but she does not smile back. I think she knows I'm avoiding the whole truth. The kind of person Hisana was, who she was, I don't want Rukia to know. As a child, Rukia saw her sister with adoration; and because of it she retained her childhood. Is a misunderstood truth a lie? I say to her, "stop chasing her, Rukia."

Where's Ichigo? Relax, he's coming. And yes, there is lemon. Chill people.