Divine rage roared upon the very nothingness of the New Mexico desert. Shockwaves rolled out throughout the sands, like ripples through water. Flames, angry orange and red, whipped furiously into the sleeping sky. Noxious smoke blossomed from its mothering blaze and blocked the stars from sight. Alarms screamed their panic into the formerly still night.
A lone woman watched the flickering inferno from the distance of a mile. At first glance, she was very unassuming.
Just a youth, really.
Dark hair only about an inch long, if that, concealed by the grey hood of the sweatshirt she bore. The oversized fabric only served to further emphasize her small frame. Those who had known her mere months ago would surely notice how tiny she'd truly become. Worn, charcoal cargo pants graced her lower body, and a pair of old, sturdy sneakers protected her feet. A single, graceful hand held the loop upon the top of the back-pack leaning against her right hip.
Silently, she crouched upon a bit of earth, elevated by 10 feet above the surrounding sand.
Upon closer examination, however, inhuman eyes as dark as the choked sky above tracked the survivors' silhouettes outlined against the fire as they scurried this way and that in their allotted disaster assignments. The neon of green pupils flashed briefly as she read the energy patterns of the surrounding area.
No one knew she was there. All attention was upon her carefully thought out and executed handiwork.
A satisfied grin lit upon her face as she stood from her perch and slung the bag she carefully packed in secret over an eternally aching shoulder. Breifly, her fangs glinted in the angry flickering light so far away.
Swiftly cooling arid air caressed her cheeks and ruffled her loose clothing. It felt wonderful.
It felt like freedom.
They thought they'd broken her when they took her wings. They thought they'd tamed her with the harsh experiments and brutal trainings. That was fine with her.
In fact, she'd encouraged the deceit by maintaining utter silence from the surgery itself on. The closest she'd come to speaking was during Kisuke's brief visit. Meg rarely met the eyes of her tormentors, and when she did, she was careful to keep her gaze dull, her expression blank. Just like a good little weapon – no emotion – no intellect – no humanity.
The captive had endured the misery and let them think what they wanted to. While they languished in their false success, she'd squirreled away bits and pieces of what she needed for her escape.
A little explosive from this shipment – the living blade already made sure of how much overhead was already expected and was careful to keep well under that figure – a little cleaner from that one. She mapped the facility and memorized its layout as well as the shift changes, as well as the personnel.
It really wasn't as hard to do as the girl had thought at first, once she'd figured out how to manipulate the warped energy of the place to camouflage her movements. There were times she thought she was going to be caught, but the guards' attentions had always simply slipped over her as she slid past them. They had no reason to suspect the little experiment of anything beyond that which was ordered, after all.
This was not the stupid blade her superiors thought they had. Over the years of her life within bases much like this one, she learned the finer, more subtle art of undetected observation. She learned the peoples' strengths and weaknesses, both individually and as a group, and silently figured out just how to make them work to her eventual advantage. Survival was essential.
She knew it was time to proceed when she had overheard a few of the soldiers complaining about how the computer system had suddenly crashed, and it seemed as if no one knew what exactly was wrong. Data could not be accessed; entire sections of the complex had been blacked out. Irritating, indecipherable messages where apparently the only things which showed up upon the computer screens. They had been hacked, and the canny young woman had a feeling she knew just who was behind it.
From there, she leapt into action.
There were a key few who had to die, but she was careful not to block emergency routes, and to place the detonations themselves in locations furthest from heavily populated areas.
Oddly enough, those locations just happened to be the very same as where she had slit the throat of the scientist responsible for the cruelest of experiments – where she had pierced the brain stem of the general responsible for her training – where she had crushed the spine of the visiting woman at the head of the entire operation.
Surprisingly enough, the whole thing went off without a hitch, and comforting relief filled her chest at the sight of just how many survivors where outlined against the fire as they dashed to and fro.
Through it all, recollection of sapphire eyes drove her. His remembered scent – clean and cool – comforted her. The softness of his ebon hair lingered within her fingers' memory. The startling heat of his mouth upon hers added fire to her already blazing intent. There were times she could almost feel the bond with the young archer. It was only a weak pull, most often upon first waking, but it was still enough to continue to spur her on.
She hoped he was ok. Guilt still tugged at her over how she'd left the Quincy. The last thing she'd wanted was to hurt him, but she'd seen no other way out without one or more of her new friends being claimed by those who had created her body.
Sirens wailed, attended by the blue and red flash of lights piercing the formerly peaceful desert roads. Dust rose in protest to the emergency vehicles rushing to the sudden inferno.
Distant scent, sound and light carried upon the wind snapped her free of her reverie.
Confident that her tracks were covered well enough, she turned and strode to the edge of the small plateau she'd stationed herself on. Carefully, she slid to the bottom of the rise – pebbles and dirt shifting under her feet as she went.
She secured the other strap of her pack over her free shoulder and blinked when something pink caught her eye. There, peeking out from behind a dried out bush, was a leg of a bright pink stuffed bunny. After a brief pause, she stepped closer, then knelt and extended a hand to pick the plush up.
It was exactly like the cutesy rabbits Rukia was so fond of. Upon its grinning head sat a miniature version of Kisuke's favored bucket hat. Blinking, she began to straighten, and then fell flat on her butt with a startled yelp when the doll burst into a shower of sparkling confetti in her hand.
Meg stared as the glittering bits of ethereal energy settled on the ground in a ridiculous depiction of Kisuke's grinning face sporting a feathered Mardi Gras mask. Outlining the absurd caricature was the state of Louisiana. After several moments, the sign glimmered back into nothingness.
Slowly, she pulled herself to her feet and brushed sand from the seat of her pants. Evidently, she was to rendezvous with his group in New Orleans. Quietly, she chuckled and turned east.
Kisuke had remembered her woefully underdeveloped reading skills, but took that knowledge a couple dozen steps further than anyone else would have.
The young escapee really missed that demented shopkeeper.
Determination settled ever more firmly within her heart as she started on her way.
She would see him again - him, Ukitake, Ichigo, Renji, and most importantly…Uryu.
I am gonna have so much fun with Kisuke's messages. XD Next chapter, we'll see who she's meeting up with. Feedback is always appreciated!