Update: If you can survive reading this chapter which I stupidly decided to make long four years ago, I promise you won't regret it!
Where am I?
Ichigo sighed again and shook his head. He really needed to think about this.
Okay, I've been taken somewhere where I don't know where I am, and I have absolutely no clue what's going on. . . . Yeah, this is going to work out great. He rolled his eyes at his own sarcasm when he saw something pretty odd—okay more odd, at least to him, than before.
The door was open. Completely wide open. Was this a freakin' joke? Were they actually screwing with him into thinking that he could just leave at his own leisure? Go on his own free will? Light poured into the room like actual warm sunlight, giving him a sense of a false calm.
He wasn't buying it.
And to the left of his gateway to freedom was an image of himself. A perfectly clear, large glass mirror staring straight back at him was attached to the wall, complete with a wooden desk and chair. It appeared to be an old vanity table with an upgrade. A strange item in a room or place like this, he noted. On the dusky colored table sat a small spiral-bound notebook and another set of keys; the mirror was what kept his interest however.
There he stood, alive and looking fairly healthy for being knocked out for God knows how long. From a distance, it looked like he had grown an inch, which didn't make any sense, because he stopped growing around when he was twenty-two.
He walked up to his image and gave himself a once-over. His hair had definitely grown longer and the orange facial hair pissed him off. There was a pale mark on his right cheek, knowing right away it was a tiny scar. Although Ichigo's eyes were something he didn't enjoy looking at in this mirror. They looked aged with worry, stress, and a strange emotion filled him when he got nearer and pulled at the skin around his eyes. It was a moody, dark feeling that was touch-and-go. He released his skin and frowned from weariness. One thing he noticed was that his body was not as badly damaged as he first thought. There were no scars or bruises aside his wrists, and his arms were toned with muscle. His body appeared to actually be in great shape the more he stared at himself. From what he could see without removing his clothes, he looked to have lost weight (obviously), gained it back in muscle, and appeared to have the prowess of a fighter.
Getting another close look at himself, he tucked some loose hair behind his ear and rested his palm on the back of the chair, feeling a wonderful softness.
A smooth, black leather jacket rested on the back of the seat, waiting for its owner to return and pick it up. Ichigo pulled it away from the chair and slipped it on; the table had stained a burdensome chill in his spine. Coincidentally the jacket fit him perfectly like it was personally made for him. Lovely.
Ichigo picked up the thin notebook, flipping through the pages for anything of importance. It was filled with random notes, all having to do something with chemistry and a lot of gibberish that he couldn't understand for the life of him. If people thought figuring out Japanese was difficult, then this was another entire mess waiting to happen.
A hot red poker stuck into his brain; the book dropped to the floor. His expression went blank as he thought of faltering memories. They were black and white splotches from a dream. That night . . .What had happened? Those men . . . And where? His breath hitched as her face floated into his mind's eye. Where was she?
One way or another, he would leave this place. But he would never leave without . . . .
His eyes flashed with determination as he looked at the open door. No going back after he decided to leave this room, but there really was no life here to begin with anyway. He was going to find her as a final wish.
As he decided to leave, one more thing caught Ichigo's attention. The keys on the desk were sitting waytoo conspicuous to just be "accidentally" left there. It was like somebody wanted him to pick up the set of keys and take them along for the journey.
He eyed the keys carefully. The shape was of a rounded triangle with soft edges, a metallic gray outer color and black circle in the center. What looked like a bull or even a Taurus sign rampaged the circle in a striking yellow, distinguishable at a short distance. It also doubled as a button. A tiny sleek chain attached itself to the black key swinging limply as Ichigo held it in his palm. He couldn't place what the symbol stood for strangely. But he had definitely seen it at one point during his short lifetime. Was the car meant to be a surprise?
Maybe this was a trap too.
Whatever. He shoved them in the pocket of his way-too-tight jeans and set off in search of an escape, and for his friend.
Ichigo peeked out into the hallway with scouring brown eyes, seeing nothing but white-washed walls and equally charming sleek tiles on the floor. No decorations, paintings, or even bulletin boards adorned the panels. He did not see a security camera at all. There were no souls on the floor either. Ichigo stepped out into the walkway cautiously and went left, running.
His eyes swam back and forth while on the constant lookout for an enemy who got in his way and tried to stop him. But he would escape—he had to escape—except the place was a maze, and he was only a tiny mouse running through it. The corridors were constantly twisting and turning. Ichigo realized the building itself and its walls were completely white like a scrubbed-down hospital meant for mental patients. Was that was he was supposed to be?
The sound of an airtight door swooshing open made Ichigo think twice before slinking down this hallway, forcing him to stop abruptly and jump back quickly, throwing his body behind a corner to remain hidden. Voices emerged the moment his back hit the wall. His eyes shifted around the corner, giving him a decent view of the hall.
Two men both in all-white body suits, facemasks and large goggles like those a skier wore on the slopes walked out of the door, one pushing a cart, the other talking in an irritated tone, clearly complaining to his partner along their route.
"Dammit, I'm not getting paid enough for this! I swear, I'm gonna give it to that bitch so bad"—he gestured, throwing his gloved fist forward angrily as if into her stomach—"she'll want to die this time!"
The one with the cart, it filled with all types of medical supplies ranging from hypodermic needles, knives, sutures, scalpels, a large specula and dilator, a retractor, forceps, even an extra IV filled with ruby red blood laying on its side, remained calm. Ichigo eyed his tools harder. They were all the types of equipment used in a simple procedure or extensive surgery for an average MD. The suturing needles would join the lips of a wound together by stitching; the retractor could spread open the skin or ribs as used in an autopsy; a specula used for access into narrow passages, or allowed entry into a bodily cavity. It was mainly used by gynecologists on women and went into their—Ichigo shook his head rapidly from the sudden swarm of information pulsating in his head and he nearly fell. He had to place a hand on his face to try and relieve the oncoming headache or brain aneurism, closing his eyes from pain, hoping it would subside. However the hell he knew all that medical information by a subtle glance was beyond his interest at this second. When he had calmed, he continued to listen, peeking back around the corner.
The second man replied casually, "Relax. She just scratched you—"
"Yeah, because your damned anesthesia didn't work, idiot!"
The one with the cart sighed, shook his head. "That's because you had to start right away. If you had waited another two minutes exactly like I told you, she would have been fully unconscious and wouldn't have woken up." His voice was etched with drops of annoyance this time. "You should just be lucky the surgery went alright. Plus, she's completely sedated by now. The girl's harmless. She's not lethal . . . yet."
"You sure?" the bitter one asked unconvinced. "I don't want to die from that whore." He lifted up his sleeve and pulled off the large black glove that sealed his skin away from the world.
From what Ichigo could see this time, it was a large gash on his forearm consisting of four jagged claw marks lined in red rows. They looked deep and were laced with stitches. "Pff. Scratch, my ass! I'm surprised that bitch didn't hit the bone!"
"Don't worry, it was only your arm—"
"And a part of my face, idiot!" he seethed.
"Whatever." Ichigo could tell that the man with the cart rolled his eyes under the mask as he began to walk forward down the rest of the corridor. "If she was under the special drug, you definitely would have died." His tone ended in a chipper attitude meant to piss off his partner, succeeding of course.
"Thanks, asshole." He put his enormous glove back on, hissing as it slid over the cauterized flesh. He followed after his co-worker once the cart turned a corner opposite Ichigo's hallway. The man with the gash started up again: "At least we have twelve down. A couple more and the Boss should be happy for once. Then the righteous prick can finally have . . . ."
But Ichigo couldn't hear any more of the man's words. He strained his ears to hear the remaining fragments of the sentence, the faintest of syllables, but the two were officially gone. Knowing the coast was finally clear, but taking a quick sweep around his surroundings anyway, he went down the hall where the two doctors had just been, taking the opposing direction they hadn't gone down. Ichigo continued his search for a way out, all while looking for his friend. He didn't bother to check in the room the two goons had been in, it wasn't necessary. He would have heard her crying out. He would have felt her presence nearby. So he kept on running, thinking over what the doctors were talking about. Special drugs? Augh! What are they doing here? What have they done with you? What have they done with us?
He tried to keep his feet light has his heels hit rapidly on the speckled floor. Ichigo felt like he was running around in circles again when he kept hitting dead ends or useless passages that led to nowhere. Constantly stopping at these was tiring and dangerous if he was found. He did not need to be down the wrong hallway at the wrong time. But Ichigo had no idea where he was even running to! Everywhere he went, Ichigo was either stopped by a dead end, men in those horrid white suits coming towards him, forcing him to turn back, or just plainly getting lost and not knowing where the hell he exactly was. Ichigo figured they probably did this on purpose in case anyone else tried to escape. Confuse your captor into giving himself in, only to endure more suffering from this place. But he never would. He needed to escape—they needed to get away from here! But even when he did look in the occasional room that just happened to have the door slightly ajar, there was nothing of real importance in it. Truly, he had only peeked into about five or so rooms, but they were all the same. White-washed walls with metal tables. They all reminded him of the room where he had been shackled to the table, sending a river of cold shivers to trickle up and down his spine that his jacket could not warm.
And this freaking game was starting to get to Ichigo.
Where are you?
Running still, Ichigo only slowed his pace a bit when light caught his peripheral vision while crossing the entrance to an open hallway. Something inside him made Ichigo need a second opinion about looking closely at that corridor, so he made a hasty move. He stopped and backed up, the hair on the back of his neck beginning to rise. A dark lashed, brown eye peered around the corner discreetly. All was clear, no cameras, and there was a closed white door at the end of the hall. The light was coming from a connecting hallway on the right. All the while being cautious not to set off any hidden sensors, he walked slowly into this area, being drawn to the light like a moth to a flame.
He came to an opened area filled with ten large vertical windows stretching from the ceiling to the floor. He walked into this tube-like hallway, making sure to keep his image hidden from below. Each side consisted of an embellished, laudable laboratory filled to the brim with the latest technology, computers, and tools. He looked from his right to his left, fascinated by this place. The lab on his right was a colossal size, men looking like scientists floating around their computers and small experiments. They actually seemed to be hard working, decent people. What a joke. He went closer to the left side, looking down at . . . .
Ichigo's brown eyes widened as a breath of white death passed over his bones. Through the window, he saw his friend be beaten down with abysmal fury. She had been slammed so hard in the face that he swore he heard her neck crack and snap from the force of the punch. Then she sailed down to the floor like a nuke on target. The people who had mutilated his friend were not finished yet however, and they started after her once more.
Her name fell from his mouth as he watched her murder in horror. " . . . . Rukia . . . ."
He needed to find a way down to her now.
A hard, solid slap against previously battered cheekbones made a car wreck sound like angels singing in Heaven. A small woman—could've been a seventeen-year-old girl at a first glance—had been slapped abusively in the face, causing her to grit her teeth and yell at the pain all while losing her footing and nearly sailing unconscious to the floor. The girl's face smacked the frozen tiled beast with full-on contact, a searing headache beginning to erupt across her forehead as blood welcomed itself to her nose and met the floor. She could also feel a small cut somewhere on her face donating blood to the gritty beast as well. Black shoulder-length hair fluttered around her bruised neck and face, the strands and some of the tips tasting the unwanted flavor of copper in the blood.
"Great, now we got this mess to clean up," a male voice said towering over the girl's fallen form.
Sluggishly positioning her hands to push herself up off of the ground, the pasty gore glued to her palms, the girl felt her clothing being yanked away from her body roughly. The men acted as if they wanted to violate her in the most horrific way known to women, but she was still dizzy from her head cracking against the floor to do anything to stop them. She wasn't thinking straight or clearly. Her brain had been too rattled by the feeling of hitting the ground like a brick.
But then hands turned her body around to face them. The girl was flickering in and out of consciousness when her head fell weakly back, her neck no longer providing support. With her eyes half lidded and rasping breath shallow, everything began to slowly lengthen. The people who picked her up wore what looked like a white toxic suit, and a twisted looking mask. It reminded her of when she first saw Batman Begins with Christian Bale while in college. A character named Scarecrow used a poison to sicken a person's mind when sprayed into the air. They might as well have drugged her in such a similar way so that when she looked at them it would cause automatic and perpetual fear. But she was actually not afraid of these devious men—no, simply angry at herself for not having the courage or strength to beat them away.
And she knew they were men, for their voices were rugged and their black gloved hands were rough and disgraced her soft cream skin with more bruises.
And when the girl attempted to form cursing words, it was then that she felt the cold, sharp needle pierce into her chest. She inhaled sharply, her midnight blue eyes enlarging from the shock of electrified pain stabbing into her flesh. She moaned softly as she felt the liquids flow and drain into her already weakened and battered body. What was left of the raven-haired girl's strength grew weak along with her heart. She could feel its beating grow more slowly as the seconds lasted for centuries. Her heartbeat forgot to pump blood for a moment and stalled, dazed.
"This should keep her quiet for a while," one of the men said to the other.
Struggling to keep her sanity and reality from escaping behind fleeting emotions, it was no use. One of her hands fell limply down by her hip, hanging useless in the air, and her entire body finally fell loose from the man's grip, allowing her to fall to the floor once more. Her head bounced off the tiles like rubber. She could barely moan or move in her sedated state, not even blink to remove the microscopic specks of dust dwindling in the air like iced fairies. When her head lolled to the side, her blurry vision "saw" what looked like a room filled with machines and mechanics for the first time; a laboratory of sorts.
As the years passed over her dulled eyes, she could feel somewhat with her numb body. They rolled her on to her stomach; her hands being tied behind her back. With a yank upward she could feel her toes scraping against the chipped tile floor as the two men began to drag her motionless form somewhere. They went up a few steps, at least that's what it felt like, and when they stopped moving, they released the girl's body, falling for the last time. She dropped to her knees. Her face splashed into water. It was neither warm nor cold, but soothing to her injuries. It was like a slice of heaven on a perfect beach day, she thought.
Heaven wasn't complying though.
Without the energy to raise her head from the pool of mercy, her lungs damned her to keep on with her natural breathing. The girl inhaled without control and choked on water, drinking it in until it filled her lungs like a proud fish. She coughed, but this only lead to more water being drained into the pipe that was her throat, the well her soaked lungs. This was then she realized everything about her—her flesh, her brain, her blood, her fetal soul—could feel it. She was drowning. But she was too weak to rise her head out of the water, too damn weak to do a damned thing! The only acceptable excuse in her mind was that it just felt so refreshing after being abused. What a pathetic lie.
Her lungs were scratched and itching, no—clawing at the inside of her chest to breathe, but every inhale was filled with water. She was surrounded by infernal darkness, keeping her closed and cornered. She was blind; her mind became foggy and hazy.
She was dying. And she didn't give a damn. But if I can slip into death this easily, I think I can accept it. It was so peaceful and warm. The buzzing fury of sleep was taking over. She was happy. For once in her life, she could smile. She gave into it like a sick child needing their rest.
Ichigo searched ravenously around—searching for anything that would bring him to a set of stairs to rescue Rukia. And right as he rounded the next corner, a dull gray door blocking a flight of stairs going up and down met him at the end of the hallway.
Someone was definitely looking out for him today. He charged it.
A small directory next to the door had a red arrow pointing upwards to the upper 3rd level, laboratories 6-7- and -8 along with the word OFFICES 8—15 in neat bold letters. A green arrow pointed down to the 1st level, Machine Room 1 &2, laboratories 3-4-5, and one titled Enhancement Chamber.
Ichigo had a dreadful feeling Rukia was splattered somewhere in that room. He pressed the door handle down with excruciating caution in case an alarm rang out. It did not, and Ichigo booked it down the two flights of stairs like a bat out of hell.
The first floor was just as white as the first, but much larger in proportions. The walls had expanded at least a hundred feet on both sides of the stairwell, and there were no people. Thank God.
He hunted for the indication of where the panels of glass looked over the large laboratory.
Ichigo ran down the hall swiftly but quietly, his body on high alert for enemies and trouble. He passed an open door on his left and didn't bother to look in it. But the smell of iron wafted into his nostrils like being hit with the first cool breeze of summer. His eyes burst open as he recalled his peripheral vision catching hold of something within the room. He turned and ran back, skidding to a halt at the doorframe. He looked in and straight in front of him was a person slung over a large open barrel filled to the brim with crystal-clear water. Dampened dark hair smothered her neck.
His girlfriend was the one whose face was swallowed by Death.
RUKIA!
The sound of her name made her tearing eyes shoot open. Only when she finally started to drift off into the ultimate slumber, a sliver of hope bloomed in her heart. Did she really hear her name? It was being screamed by someone, but the sound waves were being distorted by her watery grave. RUK-AH! It was somewhere behind her. The voice seemed distant and far-off from this world. Lonely and haunted by ghosts. The voice was normally so strong and brave. She loved that rattled whiskey voice, but it seemed to have softened. Was it from panic or something? All she felt was fear from him—and it was him. She wasn't hearing it from a memory or videotape. Ichigo was finally next to her . . . .
"Oh my God, Rukia! Can you hear me?"
Her face was carefully lifted out of the water for fear of a neck injury, and her unconscious body slumped into Ichigo's arms. He picked the girl up and brought Rukia's lifeless body to a place on the floor where there was more room. Of course, he feared of being found out, but he needed to make sure Rukia was alive. He placed her on the floor gently enough that a person would think that she was a priceless artifact worth millions. With Rukia's hands untied by now, she could almost feel them resting next to her body through her meditative state.
Ichigo called out to her, but it was terrifying. Rukia's face was paler than it had always been, and with the cut and smears of blood half-visibly clinging to her wet skin, it was a grisly sight. Her lips weren't blue or anything of the sort, but she was cold. Freezing. Her eyes remained shut. He could feel her resisting his calls to arise. He feared for her life.
"Rukia? Rukia! Oh God, please no, come on! Wake up!" He shook her by the shoulder. "Rukia!" Ichigo was panicking as he shook her shoulders again and also removed her soaked bangs away from her face. Her skin had grown colder within ten seconds, and the damaged breath leaving her diaphragm had finally stopped. "Oh, no."
Look. Something in the back of his mind made him glance left. A group of black monsters swarmed around Ichigo and tackled him like gigantic football players. Before he knew what had occurred, he had been subdued by five men all dressed in dark suits and sunglasses—The freakin' Men In Black—and dragged him away from Rukia. He shouted in rage and attempted to fight them off.
"RAH! LET ME GO! GET OFF OF ME, YOU BASTARDS!"
Someone smashed him across the face with their fist. Ichigo grunted loudly from the blow. His cheek split and drops of red leaked out on his tanned skin. He was lucky a tooth didn't break. "Shut him up with this," one of the men said as he pulled out a large syringe with an even longer needle filled with lime green liquid and handed it to his buddy.
Ichigo coughed and nearly slumped over as his sight flickered in and out. He was going to fall unconscious at any moment—he selfishly wished Rukia would awake, but they could both do nothing and could say nothing. There was nothing worse at this moment then knowing how this would end. He failed, and Rukia would die in the arms of these beasts. He gritted his teeth and roared from rage, bombarding the men with fierce pushes and snapping teeth.
Click.
Contorted eyes a vacant shade of lilac pierced the world as they snapped open, awakening from the dead like a vampire ready to hunt. Blood was her first choice on the menu. Rasped breath left Rukia's mouth as her undead eyes rose upwards to the left, unable to see clearly from her position on the floor, but hearing Ichigo's struggling attempts to free himself clearly. They shifted; her eyes zeroed in on a tool she swore she had played with at some point here and smiled evilly.
The suit with the syringe squeezed out some liquid and kicked Ichigo in the solar plexus so he would stop struggling; Ichigo doubled over from the shock of his lungs suddenly unable to inhale or breathe. The four other men kept their hold on his body, even though it was completely unnecessary. Ichigo was incapacitated and struggled to move his lungs as his forehead rested on the floor.
"How the hell did he even get out?" one asked.
"Who cares?" another responded, "I just can't wait to see when he fights—"
All the men surrounding Ichigo froze like deer snapped awake by headlights when they saw a shadow come from Hell behind the man with the syringe. A lightening-eyed devil leaped up from behind, a crimson colored scythe slashing outward from behind her back as she focused all her rage into the man in front of her.
The man turned and raised an eyebrow just as Rukia screamed as if possessed and struck him across the right side of his neck, knocking him away with such force his neck snapped with a distorted crick. He fell away from her attack, but Death had already consumed his soul before the syringe could even erupt when the liquid and glass exploded on the floor. Her scythe seemed to disappear after that, being thrown into the dark after his captured spirit.
The men had been so awed by this disturbing feat that they weren't ready for Rukia's onslaught of rage.
As a few of the men in black suits began to get up, pulling out their guns, Rukia had already jumped on one of them, pushing him far back enough to crack his skull against a cement pillar and causing him to lose consciousness.
There was another jump from the demon girl and in a flash of white one of the men got an entire foot planted into his face. She may not have weighed much, but it was enough to knock the man's head back and snap it. Rukia used this to her advantage and sprung to another man almost directly behind this lifeless one, and attacked him with a roundhouse kick to the side of his neck when gravity dragged her back down to the right level.
This man who had dark brown hair had no chance and grunted when her furious blow landed, kicking him sideways with enough force to knock down a wall.
Even with the wind kicked out of him Ichigo noticed the hands on his body had dwindled, raised his head just enough to see what all the commotion was in front of him. His eyes widened and while on his knees he lifted his body fully. Only one man held on to him now, barely paying attention to Ichigo. Both just sat there dumbfounded and struck with shell shock while they watched Rukia take down every single opponent that stood in her way.
As these four men were crushed, two more arrived in their place from a back entrance where the two doctors had left to get coffee and doughnuts. They had come only to make sure those idiots hadn't killed the girl, but now she was the one killing everyone else!
"What?" one of the suits shouted as one of their men flew past him as if he were only a rag doll . . . or a baseball depending on the speed at which he was thrown.
He whipped a cell phone out of his pocket and was just about to press the numbers when a shot rang out and the Blackberry exploded in his hand. He screamed in pain when the bullet ended up blasting the phone into pieces and left a ragged and mauled hole directly through his hand. He grasped his singed flesh and cringed at the flame licking around his palm and the misery scorching his bones.
A sinister smile was on the small girl's lips as he saw the gun smoking and her mangled eye color defying all the natural laws of nature.
"Bitch . . ." he dropped to the ground from the intense pain leaking through his hand.
She cocked the gun and pulled back the trigger when another man the size of a bus screamed as he came out of nowhere and was about to throw a devastating punch to the back of Rukia's head. The only way to stop this girl was to knock her dead where the cerebellum sat. That way, all her coordination would seize.
"Rukia! Look out!" Ichigo screamed coming out of his stupor while still being held down.
He didn't see her eyes shift to the left to peak at the hulk charging her, but she swooped down just as the massive fist was about to crush her skull, delivering a mighty god-like kick between his legs.
With no pity for the man grabbing his crotch and sinking to the ground, Rukia gave him a taste of her own punch; an uppercut knocked him flat on his back.
Her unused bullet clipped him in the throat. Blood gurgled out as he attempted to say something, but he died with blood dribbling down his lip.
Rukia tossed the empty gun away and swung her head in Ichigo's direction. The man holding him down seemed frightened and she saw his shaking. A fang seemed to creep out of Rukia's lip at the sight of a startled rabbit, the predator-like prowess marvelous at the moment.
She walked over to where Ichigo was being held, the demonic fuel running her system about to hit its peak. The final man was noticeably sweating and did not wear sunglasses. "Don't come over here!" he shouted, causing Ichigo to wince slightly; the man had screamed next to his ear, the unpleasant vibration practically rupturing his eardrum. She did not listen, and she was about to jump him when he screamed, "Stop!"
Rukia paused as the younger man released Ichigo and ran up to her, whipping out a syringe with haste as he appeared unconfident with his choice of action.
Rukia evaded this idiot's attempt to stick her with the needle easily, using a phasing block, grabbing the syringe and jabbing it into his own neck until the tip of plastic hit his skin. She pressed the liquid into his own veins. The tall man made a wearied noise as a hand fluttered up to his neck, and collapsed with Rukia's assisting push.
With all the men fallen, Rukia closed her eyes and brought a hand to her face. Ichigo watched her stagger and fall herself before comprehending that he could move freely. He rushed to her side and put an arm around her shoulder; she was on her knees and appeared to have fallen asleep. He tenderly shook her, unsure of what to expect from Rukia next.
He spoke her name with a whispery tone, about to pick her up and run when Rukia moaned. It sounded like the whine of a baby when fingers slowly curled around the dyed fabric of his shirt and blinked her eyes tight before lifting them open gracefully like the wings of a monarch. Eyes the color of an ocean drifting in and out of a dream looked around feebly before noticing the man holding her in his arms.
She had to blink again. "Ichigo?" Her voice sounded like broken glass being crushed by a bulldozer.
But a sweet smile rarely seen lit up her world. Her heart felt like it had been locked within a freezer for so long, but now that he was here the burn melted off. His swirled caramel eyes and dark lashes mirrored the emotion that she felt drifting off of his smile, his body. His lips—when did he start growing facial hair?—pulled back into an even wider smile. "Hey."
"What?" Rukia groaned and pressed her hand back to her forehead, hiding her eyes away from him. She had a sudden pang mixed between a headache and the sensation that she may vomit whatever drugs were in her body.
Ichigo released his hold on her. "You alright?" He was concerned, and she smiled back at him.
But fate wouldn't let her talk.
A screeching alarm rang out making their hearts almost leap out of their chests from fear as the glow of blinding, bloody red lights streaked across their bodies while plastic-encased lights spun.
They jumped to their feet, adrenaline pumping.
Ichigo led the way out the door. "Are you all right?" he shouted as they began to run—where to was anyone's guess, but they needed to get out of that place now! "Can you run okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Rukia said bitterly through a raging voice.
"This is terrible, you're covered in bruises," he muttered with pain in his voice; his care for her at the moment made her want to blush.
"I'm fine," she lied, her ankle aching with each step and her face extremely sore, even after her "beauty treatment" in the vat of water. "Looks like you got beat too, dummy."
"How the hell did you do that?!" Ichigo yelled over the scream of the alarm, never ceasing to run forward.
"What are you talking about?" Rukia actually sounded confused.
"Huh?" Ichigo looked over at her. "You mean you actually don't remember?"
"What don't I remember?!" she responded in a freaked tone.
As they were about to run down a hallway, the door at the end burst open and filled with men in black suits. Guns had been drawn. "Looks like this'll have to wait." Their feet skidded to a halt and bolted back in the opposite direction they had just come from, barely missing being hit by their chivalrous weaponry. Rukia yelled from shock as a bullet lodged itself into the wall where her head had been only seconds before. They took a sharp right turn, Rukia's feet slipping on the floor. Their vivacious speed slowed down the clock once more, and could not tell where their momentum had come from. Everything scorched past their faces. Their strength to keep moving had an authoritative presence, and the men behind could not keep up. But if their aim was freedom, they were going to need a miracle.
Ichigo swerved into a hard left, snapping his hand out to grab Rukia's wrist before she went the wrong direction, and pulled her towards him. He did not need her to run the wrong way. She was thrown into his chest from the momentum, but it gave them a second to breathe and think. Ichigo put a hand on top of her head, inhaling deeply what should have been left of her perfume.
He smelled nothing clinging to her wet hair. It made enough sense: it died the same day they were brought here.
Rukia panted into his chest. "Where . . . do we . . . go now?" she said in between breaths.
"I don't know," Ichigo replied anxiously, his ears picking up the sounds of sprinting feet and searching voices from farther away. "I don't know what we can do, but we out ran them at the moment."
"This is it, isn't it? We're dead," she said hopelessly, shaking her head with defeat. "We are so dead."
"Don't say that!" he snapped in a sharp whisper, never wanting to hear those words. "We're not done for yet! We still have time!"
"Time? Our hour glass is about to run out! Ichigo, this is no time for heroic idiocy! We need a plan—a miracle! We need to get out of here." She turned her head, hearing the beating footsteps getting closer.
An escape? How? They could only run on foot for so long before having the final drops of their energy drained. How could they get out . . . ?
Ichigo's eyes lit up with an idea. Those keys he had found . . . "Follow me!" He shoved open a door next to where they had been breathing, Rukia stammering slightly, and following as fast as she could while spiraling downwards into the dark. An echo boomed behind them as the door closed. A sign next to the door read: A level. Garage.
It was a dark garage, the smell of dried oil and fresh gasoline mixed as one unit of drunken headaches only a dull fragrance in the background. There was no door leading into the garage, but that was fine with him. Ichigo had pulled out the keys while sprinting down the stairs.
He pressed the button; a loud double chirp came from fifty or so feet away from them. Their heads swung towards the noise, and they both ran, hearts racing—pounding—their only intention for the safety of the vehicle. As they ran, Rukia had to look twice to really give their target a clear, straight look. It was a dark purple sports vehicle, a near midnight blue with glistening silver rims encasing the tires, the rampaging bull at the center of the rims, and twin, long black stripes centered in the middle stretching all the way from the rear to the front of the car. It was made with a sleek design, aerodynamic and ready for top speed. Tinted black windows hid what lay inside. And that symbol on the front, so realistic but still seeming to be unreal at this time and place. It was a fantasy ride for the wealthy, a car collector's ultimate dream.
"A Lamborghini?" she yelled as they slowed to a halt next to the hot rod.
"Yeah," Ichigo said breathless as his eyes sparkled from the sight of it. The look on his face was brighter than a child's on Christmas morning. He laughed with suppressed joy. "Damn. I knew the keys were to something nice, but I never imagined a Lamborghini. I can't believe I would ever forget that symbol." He spoke the words enthusiastically, and by looking at him, Rukia couldn't help the solemn look and small smile on her lips. A hidden bruise on the corner of her mouth tainted her happiness with a wince however.
"THERE THEY ARE!"
That one joyful moment was torn from their faces as the black suits and sleek silver handguns flew down the stairs after them, cocking their guns, ready to fire.
Ichigo hit the button again by mistake, but the doors to the Lamborghini swung upwards so they could enter, and they jumped inside. The downward swoosh of the wings closing them in hummed with a futuristic thrum.
No time for safety or seatbelts, Ichigo forced the key into the ignition, turning it roughly. The sensual purring was a turn on, and with a triumphant grin etched into his face, he reared it into drive, speeding past their enemies and gawking stares. Apparently they had never seen a Lamborghini in action either.
If this had been a convertible, they would have had to grab their hats from the unexpected speed that naturally flowed from the car. Pressing the petal to the floor, the car leapt forward with a enormous roar. Ichigo had nearly missed hitting a Jaguar en route to the exit, a fierce swerve left knocking Rukia into passenger's side door. The power of the car was amazing, the speed was delicious, the all-leather interior and steering wheel were like sex on fire. He loved this vehicle to death, and it had only been in his hands for less than twenty seconds. But the power was what mainly drove him to grin with pleasure. The eccentric sports car twisted and turned around the levels, thundering over the cement. His eyes shifted around every turn, making sure these freaks wouldn't try to ram into the Lambo from a hidden crack and kill them both. Rukia might've had the same idea and strapped herself in after she slammed into the door.
With a sign indicating the exit, Ichigo revved the engine in full throttle and charged forward like the bull on the hood ornament. He felt the speed from the all-wheel drive thrusting them onward, and all was finally looking up until they saw who blocked the end of the straightway. Ichigo slammed on the breaks, jerking the car to a halt.
A thousand feet away, thirty plus men stood in front of the exit. Ichigo glared at them. He could have run right through them, but they were armored to the teeth. And he wasn't too sure if this car had been specially equipped with armor plating. Plus, who would want blood stains on a Lamborghini? Not the best way to ruin one of the most expensive cars in the world.
"Oh, great. What do we do now?" he snarled, cursing at the men blocking their exit.
Rukia sighed, drawing her eyes away from the overbearing force meant to foreshadow their quickly-coming future. She looked down, her eyes nearly glassing over from stressful tears being born. All hope was lost. They didn't even stick their foot out the door. Their fingers could barely curl around the lid of the coffin before it closed and locked down on them. She looked past Ichigo's tensing body to the seat behind them. What the hell were they going to—
A shimmer.
There was a glint on the backseat, her eyes enlarging to an abnormal measurement. With a better focus, there were more glints and gleams emerging from the backseat of the Lamborghini. How was this possible?
"Ichigo . . . look. . . ."
He turned to her, an eyebrow raised. Confused, he followed her line of sight to the backseat where she was mesmerized by something. His darkened amber eyes snapped open from the presence of God and opportunity hiding behind their backs. They grew with the amazement of absolute sheer luck that bestowed itself upon the two.
Even in the low light surrounding the vehicle, anyone could distinguish the shapes carved to murderous perfection.
Guns. There were at least twenty-or-so guns within reach behind them and laying on the floor in a burlap sack. Long. Short. Numerous handguns, a shotgun, two Colt Magnums, a Smith & Wesson, even something that looked similar to an Uzi just sat there, innocently waiting to be used. Literally handing themselves over to Ichigo and Rukia so they would be able to escape.
And kill all that stood in their way.
A smile that could have been mistaken for a spark of insanity glowed on Ichigo's face. He laughed when another idea hit him. "Well, what d'ya know?" he glanced at Rukia happily, a dark glare in his rich eyes, she looking back at him worry stricken, stress coating the nerves in her face. Her lips were a thin line, quivering slightly.
She felt an eerie sensation tingle throughout her entire body when their eyes didn't disconnect from one another. Something was going to happen.
Every man that stood before the garage exit held a gun and had it pointed at the Lamborghini. The consistent sound of guns cocking and ready to be fired when need be reflected the unsteady shuffling of their feet. Ready to strike at a moment's notice, they were all raised and poised perfectly. They could not fail.
They had surrounded them—there was no chance in hell of them escaping, and there was no doubt.
Although, the last person who had attempted an escape nearly killed every man trying to stop him. He was deadly. However the Boss halted his pursuit with a bullet to the crown of his forehead. The men still questioned in their own minds whether they would give themselves up. They might as well—thirty men with at least twenty bullets a piece raining down on them would equal a Bonnie and Clyde scenario. There would be blood and gore everywhere. It would suck to clean up, too.
But it was not what their Boss had ordered over the intercom.
"What's taking them so damn long?" one muttered. Everyone was in an irritated, foul mood.
Did these defectors have a plan? How could they, there was nothing of use in the car except for maybe the seat belt, but only if it was cut. Maybe the girl could throw the car manual at someone's head for entertainment.
With the Lambo still purring, the headlights gazed at the exit knowing what it wanted, a glazed and milky color glowing on the men's dark suits. The car looked like it was about to konk out out of boredom.
With a acknowledged tsk, one man with a platinum blond coif was bold enough to step forward, never moving his gun away from the place in front of him. He screamed the obvious, "Come out! You can't escape from us!" He paused for effect. "There's only one exit outta here, and if you decide to try something funny, you'll be dead before you even see the face of the man who killed you! If you stay in the car, we'll shoot and kill you anyway!"
There were some short, quick breaths and shifty eyes as silence took over the garage once more. The Lamborghini continued to rattle with life and seemed to rev even louder than before. It could have been growling at him like a hungry beast or starving coyote salivating at all the fresh meat available, but he would never fear a car, no matter how exotic it was.
A jumpy looking man in his late twenties with wavy brown hair was about to say something when the purr of the engine stalled and turned off. All the men behind the platinum blond's muttered in a thunderstruck symphony. As if the exhorted threat actually phased through and seeped into their brains, the driver's side door swung up.
A black heel and boot stepped out of the hot rod, covered in black jeans. The other leg followed in pursuit, the man just sitting there taking his time. Hair the color of a sunburst and a scornful glowering appeared around the opening, staring down the bastards in his way. His lip curled, and he seemed to have hissed at the men.
Mr. Blond Coif smirked and even lowered his gun a tad.
"Come on, step out of the car. Slowly."
Ichigo rolled his dark eyes and forced himself out of the Lamborghini. And it wasn't slowly either. He stood facing forward just out of reach of the door's downward swing, showing the boys in charge he wouldn't jump back into it any time soon. He stared at Mr. Blond's curled coif with an irked attitude, his hands in his jacket pockets.
"Come on, sweetie, show us your hands." He jerked his gun at the test subject as a gesture to do what he said. Ichigo scowled harder and slowly raised both of his open palms by his face, showing nothing to the black suits.
"Good. Get the girl," the man muttered to another with blond hair.
Before they could even try to move there was a large, burning fiery explosion on the opposite side of the garage from where the men were standing. An oblivious freestanding gas canister had blown and turned into the pits of Hell as flames sparked up and trailed the river of gasoline spilling across the floor. A tink had been heard before the eruption occurred by the leader of the pack—a stray bullet had been the cause of the disaster!
"Who fired that?" the blond coiffed man shouted over the roar of twisting flames. Some of the men jumped back in fear and covered their faces when another explosion generated enough heat to melt their skin off. This canister was adjacent to where they were standing, another tink heard before it ruptured. The entangled flames caused some men to scatter in search of water buckets or a fire hose to tame the beast. The leader stared at the oncoming monster—it was going to burn the whole building down if the men didn't do something fast! And with all the other cars and gasoline lying around, this would soon become a nuclear war zone. "Stop the fire, now!"
Ichigo had been ignored this entire time, his strong black silhouette the only design visible in front of the noxious blaze burning lustrously behind him.
The explosion swept Ichigo's lengthened hair around his face. It seemed as if he had barely noticed, melting heat and all. A dangerous glint slid into his eye and he grinned like a feral cat while staring down his opponents as they dispersed in order to fight the torrid wrath of fire. Ichigo whipped out the two Colt Magnum handguns from behind his back and automatically started shooting at the thirty or so men standing in his way.
Three men grunted as they dropped dead to the ground without so much as an official final thought to make their lives memorable. The single bullets put into each man had been rammed into their hearts.
Another few men were killed before the suits remembered who the hell they were dealing with, and as fire extinguishers fought the overbearing fury of scorching flames with a vengeance, they officially began their own assault back at Ichigo.
Bullets flew in all directions. They shot at each other, the men taking cover behind parked cars. How they could be so stupid as to completely forget one of the most important people in the room was bewildering. The test subject had a sharp eye and perfect aim; he was nearly as good as their sharp-shooter, a man who had been with the company since the start. And the Doctors had been right, he was a callous fighter with no weakness at the sight of blood.
Ichigo tilted his head to the side as a bullet streaked a flash of wind by his naked flesh. He confronted this attack without yield and shot this man in the shoulder, disarming him fiercely. Ichigo was down to his last bullets, but he smiled, knowing something the bastards didn't.
A white smoking explosion burst into the air behind the Lamborghini, causing another distraction. As men turned to see what this was, they scrambled as Ichigo walked forward fearlessly firing his remaining rounds. Rukia had burst out of the smoke speeding across the floor on a creeper, a skateboard-type tool used to assist mechanics under a vehicle. With her sudden appearance the men never expected it. They never thought she would have the guts to even attempt to fight them in her condition. But there she was, shooting rounds out of her nine millimeter handgun like her partner and hitting her targets perfectly.
Rukia smirked. She dove off the creeper before it smashed into the bleeding flames, rolling until she landed on her knees. She had managed to take down ten men. Several more had been wounded, and they spread around cautiously, using other cars and support beams for cover, all while dodging Ichigo's impressive aim. Rukia stood and shot angrily at the men blocking their way.
When Ichigo heard the clicking of the gun, he cursed and threw himself behind a cement support beam, picking bullets out of his jacket pockets while the shots continued. Rukia did a similar motion as he, hiding behind a pillar to catch her breath. But when Ichigo closed up the gun he gave a sharp nod to Rukia, and they both curved their bodies around the beams, firing at the men they loathed so much.
They stepped out in front of their enemies as a declaration they would never retreat or hinder to anyone. Some of the men were stunned while others were unfazed by their shallow confidence. They fired nonetheless, making sure to take better cover as Ichigo Kurosaki and Rukia Kuchiki came closer.
While others effortlessly tried to contain the devious fire, they shot back at Rukia and Ichigo, aiming at their legs or shoulders, any part of the body that would be able to subdue them without killing them. But every impelling shot missed their targets. The two test subjects had an aura surrounding them that refused any entry to their skin. They continued to walk forward and stormed the floor with their minimal artillery and nearly perfect aim. Only a few of their bullets hadn't hit a man, but shots that missed were either flukes or just damn good luck for the men that they hid behind something in time.
But then there was a sudden excitement that had the men go into an even deeper panic. Ichigo pulled out a ten inch blade from somewhere inside his jacket and held it under Rukia's jugular, her eyes flying wide. Her shot missed the man she was aiming for, hitting empty air. Ichigo's arm snaked around her body, clutching her to his own vehemently. He held the Colt Magnum in front of Rukia, smiling satanically at the men frozen to shock. He was significantly taller than she, so overpowering her was easy, even with the gun in her hand. His eyes did not look right, weren't they supposed to be dirt brown or something? Rukia dropped her own gun as her hands went to the knife around her throat. She said something to Ichigo, but he chose to not listen, and his devil-smile deepened. He pressed the blade to her neck, she crying out.
"Crap!" one of the men snarled as he stood, putting the idea that Ichigo's gun was pointing directly at him out of his mind. The jumpy kid with wavy brown hair had managed to avoid getting shot and was next to this hot-blooded man from the South. He was talking to himself, but it put the kid on edge more than he already was. "He's not supposed to kill her. If he kills her, we're all screwed! She's not supposed to die!" More men stood revealing themselves.
Ichigo stepped forward with Rukia as a shield, knowing he was making the suits fear for her safety. But why? he thought. His scowl returned, cocking the gun and turned it until the muzzle aimed towards her stomach.
A string of curses and casualties of the word "No" waved across the floor. Rukia whimpered pathetically at hearing these worried sounds. A hand slipped down from the hilt of the knife to the hard bone of his hip. Her palm pushed at his encased skin, wanting to engulf it in her warmth, trying to revive his mind. Her hand drifted lower until it hid behind her leg. "Ichigo, please . . . "
A hard shove sent the girl flying, but the men stopped themselves from overreacting, for the gun had not gone off nor a stream of blood flew from her neck.
"Rukia, now!"
She pulled something out from behind her back and screamed when she threw it to the ground. White dust erupted like a blizzard, clouding over Ichigo and Rukia like fog. Smoke enveloped their bodies into ash, perfectly concealing them from view. Several remaining suits raged forward as pawns and managed to surround the puff of smoke. They shot into it, not caring whether they lived or died or how badly reprimanded they would be by their boss, and waited for their bodies to fall.
But an electric shock of bright lightening sparked throughout the rivets in the enormous cloud, dazzling the company men into shock. A flash-bang coated the room with a ridiculous amount of light and energy, bringing the word disorienting to an entire new level. Many ended up falling over from the intensity of the white light, and then darkness consumed them as they finally went blind. They dropped their guns with an attempt to rub sight back into their disillusioned orbs, sinking to the ground when a smell hit their nostrils and became unconscious soon after.
"Shit!" Mr. Blond coif luckily hadn't been standing directly in front of the defectors flash bang, but spots blurred his vision while hiding behind an old Chevy Impala. He had been wounded by one of Rukia's bullet's cutting through the sleeve of his black jacket. The cut wasn't deep enough to be lethal, but it would need stitches, and was bleeding profusely. He couldn't fire his own gun without making a mess.
He gritted his teeth. All his men were practically dead, the ones not putting out the fire at least. The test subjects had disappeared into the smoke, and now he was blind. And they still needed backup. As he released his hand from his bloodied bicep, he dug into his jacket for his cell phone, but stopped when hearing a roar unlike any other.
The screeching of tires speeding from 0 to 60 miles per hour in three seconds made him drop his phone. A blur whipped by the Impala, making the man feel as if he had just gotten a glimpse of The Flash.
The car exploded out of the exit, the revving heard from all around as it sped off into the middle of the woods on the privately paved road. It evaporated into the shadows of giant coniferous trees and was gone. The man gave a unavoidable whistle. He never got a glance at the Lamborghini in action until today, and it was incredible.
It was just after 5:00 in the morning. This was going to be a long miserable day.
Comments appreciated please!