AN: I don't know if you can tell, but I can – the chapters with Ichigo are my favorite to write so far. Which brings me to this; I apologize for using an OC, but she's necessary. Don't worry, though: she won't be in the sequel. =DDD

The interesting thing about this fic is that it actually takes place over the course of about 2-3 days. The timeline is a little messy, sorry, but please keep it in mind that this is only a few days.

They sat side by side on the type of grungy hotel bed that everyone in Kaidan had become so used to, watching the drunken revelry around them. Try as their band mates might, they could never convince Chad and Orihime to join them – they almost always refused and never drank enough to end up so much as tipsy when they accepted. They knew how loose tongues could be when inebriated. Chad and Orihime did not want to speak ever again of what had happened, of what had been lost. They were tempted to give in, to party and look for answers at the bottom of the bottle – but they knew that no answers were to be found there. Where the answers were, they didn't know... But they knew where they weren't. Lost, but not alone, they stared hopelessly, cluelessly at each other, wondering how to begin putting one foot in front of the other again.

Kurosaki basked in the praise given him by Ryuko. She seemed as excited as he was that the Oyabun was pleased with him. "He feels it really made a statement, you know, the way you just left the bodies there to be mangled... and there's really very little evidence at all to trace you. I mean, not that the cops care enough about a bunch of thug Yakuza to really make an inquiry. In fact, they're pretty happy to be rid of them. You've got talent, kid, and I don't know where that killer instinct comes from, but you got it in spades. In fact," the woman said, pulling out a small cardboard box, "the Oyabun agrees. You killed 37 people last night and that is a very impressive count for a single night. He's suggested that maybe you start keeping count too, and to save you the trouble of breaking into the morgue, he sends these with the compliments of the local cops." Kurosaki took the box curiously, prying it open. Inside were a collection of teeth. Human teeth, splattered with blood, torn out, roots and all. Something deep inside him recoiled from the sight, but everything else felt rather pleased to see a reminder of the carnage. He raised his head from the gory mess, asked Ryuko what she thought he should do with these. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, and looked down at her own neck, weighted down with chains that held the piercings she had torn out of her own still shrieking victims. She'd been the sort of assassin Kurosaki was for a while, but found that serving the Oyabun directly was much more entertaining. She took the box from him momentarily, returning no more than ten minutes later with the teeth, cleaned up somewhat, strung on a fine chain she had not had opportunity to use before retiring as an enforcer. "You like?" she asked. Kurosaki wordlessly took it from her and hung it around his neck just below the collar the Oyabun had given him.

Chads fingers gently strummed the strings of his bass as he scribbled notes into a ratty notebook beside him. "I really liked that chord just now," Orihime murmured. "Keep that one." Chad nodded and jotted it down. "Do you-" Orihime started. "Do you ever stand up there and think, you know, that the crowd... is dead? That we're playing to zombies that want us to bare our souls for their pleasure? And that our band mates know and don't care? That you and I are commodities to be bought and sold?" Chad was silent. Orihime sighed. "Never mind. Maybe I'm overthinking things..."

Chad looked at her, opened his mouth, and said the longest string of words he'd said since Ishida had left, two days before Kurosaki fled. "No, you're right. They're down there watching us scream and they love it. We're crying on the inside and they're laughing. Buying CDs and jumping up and down like an Arrancar ripping out someone's heart is something to party about. It's sick."

Kurosaki wasn't a fan of the next assignment, but dogs are trained to follow orders. "He's worse than the last one, Ikari. He's brutal and has no honor whatsoever. He kills anything that displeases him, even innocent civilians – you know how our honored father looks down on killing sheep." Kurosaki nodded his head, accepting the piece of paper from Ryuko. He opened it, memorizing the location at which he could currently find the headquarters of the rival family, and then set the paper on fire. "Flare for the dramatic, eh?" Ryuko teased. Kurosaki watched her head towards the door of his cheap but livable house.

"Maybe."

"Scare him good, Ikari. You shouldn't kill anyone if it's not necessary – father wants this one to learn the meaning of mercy. But make him believe that next time, his teeth will be joining your collection."

Ishida woke up, tiredly throwing off the stained sheet that he'd slept beneath, trying to work the pains out of his limbs. He managed to ascertain that he was in his own apartment and that his hangover was more or less nonexistent now. And then he remembered his revelation earlier that he must be a Hollow now, and laughed at his own stupidity. But the suicide part... That part might be smarter than it sounded. He reasoned that the way he'd been carrying on could, by no means, be mistaken for living, so what would be the difference if he died? And he probably would be a Hollow. He liked the idea, as much as he hated to admit it. He wondered the easiest way to go. He wouldn't be missed. People dropped out of his group of "friends" all the time – arrested, shacked up, knocked up, rehab, dead... He could tell them he was planning to end it all and they would help him, even. A twinge of regret shot through him at that, realizing that no one cared enough to want to stop him. If he hadn't run away – he stopped that train of thought before it reached its destination. It was pointless to try now. He could go on existing like this or he could die. The problem was there were so many ways to die.

The black Maserati Ryuko drove idled in the garage downstairs as Kurosaki leaned easily over the corpulent man's desk. "You see, there's this guy, and, you know, he's not a fan of your work. So he figures, 'hey, I'll let my guard dog out in the yard. Maybe he's a little rabid and vicious, and he's gonna snap his teeth when this guy passes the fence, and maybe the guy will realize, you know that any minute, I could accidentally leave the gate open.' So this guy lets his dog out in the yard. Whatever do you think happens next?" Kurosaki fell back into the chair behind him, regarding the man over steepled fingers. He was sweating and trying not to show it. He twirled a pen.

"I think this guy just keeps walking," said the other man.. "He just walks right past the dog, knowing it's all bark and no bite and keeps doing what he does."

Kurosaki jumped onto the desk, squatting on it, lips curled back in a snarl. "Sure about that?" he asked, leaning forward enough for the gruesome necklace he wore to fall out of his shirt. "This dog's got a lot of... teeth," he snickered. The man gulped.

A sudden quiet noise came from the corner. A woman sat there, glasses perched on her face, pen in hand. Kurosaki assumed rightly that this was one of the idiot's accountants. "You wanna say something, bitch?" he snapped, pointing at her. She winced, lowering her head. Dark hair framed her face and she pushed up her glasses with one finger. Her mannerisms reminded him so much of someone he'd tried to forget that he froze. A slight sound came from him as he hopped off the desk, walking over to her.

"Please," she mumbled. "Don't hurt me." He grabbed her hair, yanking her head up to look at him. As he thought, she looked nothing like that person and he backhanded her violently. She fell to the floor. Kurosaki turned around to stare in the rival Oyabun's eyes.

"Remember me," he said. "I'll be in town if you don't clean up your act. You don't want me to clean it up for you."

He left quickly, riding the elevator down to the basement garage where Ryuko was waiting. "You need to get your own damn car, kid. This is pissing me off, chauffeuring you everywhere."

"You know you love me, nee-san," he said as the car screeched out of the garage into the dark, starless city night.

She regarded him with black, emotionless eyes. "You're right," she admitted, ruffling his hair with one hand.

The way she looked at him, her name, her blunt way of speaking kind of reminded him of a certain black-robed woman he once knew, and he sighed. This night was far too long. It was shaken up by the sudden, bone-jarring halt of the car nearly threw him into the windshield. Luckily, he and Ryuko wore seat belts for some weird reason. Force of habit, probably. "What the-" he yelled.

"Almost ran someone over. Might have," Ryuko stated matter-of-factly. She put the car in park, took the keys out, and unfolded her thin legs from the low car, levering herself out of it. "Looks like we've got a winner. Wonder if he's dead," she laughed. "I shouldn't be laughing. Poor guy might have been a good dude."

Kurosaki easily pulled himself out of the car after her and walked around to check the body in front of the car. Checking the pulse at the neck and finding a faint one, he flipped the body over distastefully and felt his entire nervous system go into shock. He turned away from the sight of the pale face covered in blood from crashing into the pavement, the dark, stringy hair that looked nothing like it used to, the scratched glasses that looked like they'd been through hell but still hung on stubbornly.

Ryuko, hanging over the hood of her car, watched Kurosaki's face. "Seen him around somewhere, Ikari?"

"You could say that. Let's go."

"Is he dead? You gonna leave him there? He looks pretty fucked up."

Kurosaki fixed her with a cold, heartless stare. "I cut ties to these people a long time ago. He means nothing anymore." He climbed back into the car. "Let's go."

Ryuko tapped a cigarette out of a pack she pulled from the back pocket of her miniskirt. Kurosaki sighed. She only smoked when she was about to do something stupid. "Help me with him," she said, lit cigarette dangling from her mouth as she started to drag the inert body towards the backseat.

"Wh-what?" spluttered Kurosaki. "You're kidding! What are you doing?"

"Taking him back to my apartment whether you like it or not, though I'd really be happy if you gave me a HAND here. Don't make me pull rank," she growled.

"This night really is too long," he groaned, getting out to help drag the last person he'd ever wanted to see again into the backseat of the car.

Chad and Orihime were completely nonplussed by the suggestion of their guitarist. "You guys have been acting real whack lately, so we figure maybe you should take a break for a few days. Go home, see your family," he shouted through the fuzzy influence of vodka. The drummer nodded his assent energetically, buzzed on wine. They shrugged, looking at each other.

"We wouldn't want you to fall apart. You won't drown the pain – you're, like, stronger than we are. You're gonna work through it, unlike us. We're gonna die like this. You guys are survivors. You been thinking real hard, we seen that. And you got some unfinished business at home. We remember that nasty shit that went down between you and those two assholes just before you guys decided it was time we go on tour. You ran away from them as much as we're running away from life now. You gotta go back there, face your past."

Orihime gently touched Chad's hand. He jumped at the sudden sensation. "I think, for once, they're right," she whispered hoarsely. "Strange how they're saying what we've been to afraid to admit." He nodded, standing up.

"Let's go. Urahara's?" Chad asked.

"Yeah," Orihime replied, wondering if she'd even be able to go through with it when the time came.

"Take the van," yelled the drummer. "We ain't goin' anywhere for a while."

AN 2: I'm so lazy! I get tired of writing things out so fast. I have the entire rest of the story plotted out, so this will get finished soon enough.

Part of it is also that I'm developing carpal tunnel and my wrists are hurting at the moment, so I guess that's actually a pretty good reason to stop, lol.