Summary: An alternate ending from When Plot Bunnies Attack in which Ulquiorra successfully escapes into Soul Society while under the influence of Szayel's drug. Let your fertile little imaginations fill in the rest.
Rating: T for language.
Content: Pure crack with some character abuse mixed in.
Disclaimer:
What is Bleach? A masterpiece artfully written and illustrated by Kubo Tite with so many loose ends that I want to break into his home and steal his notebook. I know what else it is, though. Not mine. -cries-

This is dedicated to the one who planted the idea. For the full effect, see the short, three-part fanfiction entitled When Plot Bunnies Attack, written by yours truly.


"Szayel-Aporro-sama..."

Said arrancar paced back and forth in the control room. Dozens of worries flitted through his mind, going round and round until he was surprised he didn't see a little pink tornado forming above his head.

"Szayel-Aporro-sama...?"

Why the hell did this have to happen to him? Always the one blamed. For it's Szayel this, and Szayel that, and "Szayel, don't blow up Las Noches!" It's not as though all the fault rest on him. In fact, not even a minuscule fragment of the blame on him was accounted for. Ulquiorra could have identified the tasteless, odorless drug in his tea, it's not Szayel's fault, not his fault he's so incompetent—

"Szayel-Apor—"

"What?" he snapped, rounding upon the poor unfortunate.

His mouth opened and closed like an injured goldfish, apparently lost for words. With a sputtering start he regained them. "There—there's an unauthorized Garganta opening past the southeastern quarter of Las Noches, sir, in Hueco Mundo. Point 11.45D. Our readers have identified its destination as leading to the southern outskirts of Rukongai."

Szayel scowled. "So Grimmjow's decided to go pull another rambo."

"N-no, sir. Though Ulquiorra-sama has been sighted in the Garganta's general vicinity..."

He stopped dead. Both their eyes went wide, and, as one, said, "Oh, shit."


Elsewhere a mixture of ghostly white and inky black death was hurtling through the chaotic portal, Satan's own drug coursing through its veins. Pure death, all nice and neat and wrapped up in a giggling sack of flesh, ready to be dumped on your doorstep.

There—a light. A light at the end of a tunnel where time and space meant nothing, and a single slip could send you plummeting down an infinite number of inches, miles, it's all the same—

How utterly cliché.


"Rangiku-san?"

A concerned Renji hovered over the woman trying to make her way to her captain's office. Nice-looking vases were lined up on shelves running down the hall.

Stagger. Oh, there it went.

Trip. Crash. Ouch, that one looked expensive.

"Rangiku-san!" Renji put a hand on either shoulder in an effort to steady her. It looked difficult enough even in ordinary circumstances, seeing how phenomenally top-heavy she was.

"'M going to go see taichō," she slurred. "I need... I need..."

He straightened her up and looked her in the eye. Her head lolled, eyes staring back vacantly. "Rangiku-san," he said sternly, "You're drunk, aren't you? Or haven't drunk enough. I forget how it is with you. Anyway," he said hurriedly, "you haven't drunk exactly the right amount. Where's your emergency saké stash?"

"Gone!" she said mournfully. "'Bet it was taichō, y'know what he's bin doing, I know, I—"

But she staggered off again, leaving a very bewildered Renji in her wake.


Hitsugaya Tōshirō absently took another swig of liqueur. He'd taken to holing himself up in his office and enjoying the full spoils of what he confiscated from his vice-captain—she always selected the best stuff.

He sighed contentedly, dully oblivious of the mile-high stack of paperwork straining the desk. A sudden thud sat him bolt upright.

What was that? He strained his ears for any scrap of sound: a series of thuds, scrapes and groans emanated from the hallway just outside his office. A feeling of dread grew in the pit of his stomach.

Throwing a drawer open, he rummaged frantically through its contents, dashing neatly ordered files into disarray. What was it? Signs... no, Signals...

A familiar scrap of paper was unearthed. "Aha!" Tōshirō exclaimed as he held a small pamphlet high in the air. One might expect it to read Seireitei Today, or perhaps A Captain's Guide to Everyday Tasks.

But no. It was entitled Indications of Zombie Invasion.

"Lessee..." He hurriedly flipped through the packet."Appropriate Firearms... no... How to Barricade Yourself in Your Home in the Event of an Emergency... not that, either... What about the freaking title? Ah, there!" he said as he stopped on a particular page. "Signs of Zombie Infestation," he read aloud. " 'Use this handy checklist to determine if it's dead, undead or alive! Is it walking in a typical zombie shuffle?' " He scratched his head. "Ehm..." Glancing at the door, he noted a particularly loud thud and an ensuing stream of curses.

Curses? Did zombies curse? He frisked the abused pamphlet once again. It didn't say anything about cursing—

That was when the door burst open and a thoroughly uninebriated Rangiku followed the crushed mess. She stood for a moment, swaying, before toppling into her captain's arms.

"Matsumoto!"

She cracked an eye. "Taichō..."

He shook her. "What is it, Matsumoto? Hollows? Arrancar? Yachiru?"

"s..."

"Save you?" He scowled. "I can't save you until you speak to me, Matsumoto. What's—"

She shook her head and spoke in a whisper that barely carried through parched lips. "s... ss..."

He considered this. "Spears? Has Britney Spears finally cracked?"

She shook her head, and with a final, shuddering gasp of willpower before passing out in his arms, forced out, "saké..."


Ulquiorra observed the strange scene with idle interest, safe on the rooftops of Seireitei. Several men were carting a well-endowed woman across the landscape towards a structure marked solidly with the number four. A tall IV was set up by the unconscious woman's bedside, dripping a clear fluid through the needle in her arm; it had the same scent, he noted, as the strange liquid he had swiped from the tenth building.

A short boy with snow-white hair hurried by the stretcher's side, his long white haori streaming behind him. A captain, he remembered.

He was certainly attracting some strange looks. "Don't die, Matsumoto!" he bawled. "I don't know where else to get my sakeee!"

"She's in critical condition, taichō!" one of the attendants yelled back. "We may need to perform emergency surgery to inject alcohol directly into her brain!"

The white-haired captain stumbled and fell behind the group, piercing green eyes—much like his own, Ulquiorra thought—registering nothing but horror and shock. Falling to his knees dramatically, he slumped and spread his arms, raising his face to the heavens. One could almost envision the rain and cracking thunder; he was certainly pouring enough tears to supply it. He took a deep breath and—

"GODDAMMIT MATSUMOTO," he bellowed, a salty pool slowly gathering around him, "IF YOU DIE NOW I'LL GIVE YOU WORSE A THOUSAND TIMES OVER! THE PAPERWORK WON'T END! THAT'S WHAT IT IS, ISN'T IT? PAPERWORK? 'S NOT HAPPENING!

He drew his blade over his shoulder and brandished it menacingly. "I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT MY ZANPAKUTŌ CAN REACH THE HEAVENS! I'LL SEND HYŌRINMARU! PAPERWORK! AND AND NO SAKÉ! 'S RIGHT! I'LL I'LL—"

But he slumped over, inebriation and asphyxiation apparently having caught up with him. Alarmed shinigami swarmed around him and carefully carried him over to the same destination as the woman.

Ulquiorra looked with interest at the half-dozen or so bottles of crystalline liquid he was toting. So this was the root of the problem. Maybe if—


That's it for now. I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. When the Rangiku thing came to me, I laughed aloud... go dramatics...

Ooh, foreshadowing. Isn't Ulquiorra drunk such a scary thought? And high? And a cookie to whoever identifies the Futurama reference! Also a bit of unobtrusive Kipling.

Next: Ulquiorra + 12th Division

Review! I'm not closed to suggestions!