999 Chapter Four: Special Delivery

In your average dose.

This was it.

After so long – too long – he could finally open his eyes.

The lids were heavy, stuck together and stung from the light. As one hand moved to shield his face, Ichigo was surprised to find himself seated. But he couldn't stay like this forever, and an all-too familiar question bit at him – what happened?

Straining to remember, the teenager hoped to remind himself somehow and decided to take a look around, however bad a choice it could turn out to be.

It was a gradual process, and the more he saw the more achromatic and soulless everything seemed. Even the overly polished floor with its reflective shine could add no value to the desolate, eerily silent atmosphere.

This...

His breath slowly withered as a name clicked into memory; this was Las Noches.

Despair wrapped its sickly arms around him, willing panic, but it was pointless. Ichigo felt like he had nothing to give, his eyes glued to the mirror image peering back up at him from the shining tiles.

White garb replaced the usual black, the deathly pale fabric drawing him in deeper than any void, bleeding his soul through its implication. Was he... had he been...? There was no answer. Nothing. Except one word. One sole word that droned mechanically through his distraught thoughts:

Espada.

The last person he had seen and the one with the most to explain was Grimmjow. When I find him... The thought trailed off in anger as he moved to stand up, an ache halting the movement. More like if I find him. At this rate he wasn't going anywhere – the pain came from his leg and raked its path upwards, finally ending at his temples before repeating all over again. He'd had worse injuries, but the sheer unknown cause behind this one made it more of a concern than it actually was. I'll deal with it later. Right now I need to focus. On what? Escape?

The idea died as the dull thud of feet presented reality before the substitute shinigami. He wasn't alone. No, he was very much trapped within the lion's den. A mouse.

Determined not to appear helpless in front of whatever else fate threw his way, Ichigo sprang to his feet, hand reaching for Zangetsu...

Thin air. Where was his zanpakuto?

Too late.

"I warned you, Kurosaki Ichigo."

It was the footsteps, not the words, which echoed menacingly throughout the inner walls of the palace, accusing green eyes fixed directly to his own brown.

Ulquiorra appeared completely disinterested in the task he had been ordered to perform, even as he stood and surveyed the prisoner. Ever since Aizen had revealed his knowledge of the eavesdropping menial task after menial task had become the arrancar's life. It was disgusting knowing what that trash Grimmjow felt like, if one could even call it 'felt'. There was no emotion about Ulquiorra, and those who mistook otherwise were fools.

The boy so relevant to Aizen's interests leaned heavily on one side, and the uneasy action spoke volumes to the observer. He was suffering and in an unstable condition – by no means a threat. So was this necessary or just a test of loyalty?

"What do you want?" Ichigo snarled similarly to a wounded animal, brows furrowed and muscles tensed. The Espada couldn't be here for a good reason, and there was no way he was going to make himself easy game.

Just as the male seemed prepared to give an answer he turned away, leaving before any protest could be voiced.

Slightly dumbfounded, the teenager assumed he was supposed to follow and started to limp awkwardly out of the room and up the corridor. There was no time to relax – he had to find out what the hell was going on and fast.

In Karakura town...

"Any news yet?"

Isshin already knew the answer.

"None."

What was Urahara good for?

The door Ulquiorra waited before was wide open but ultimately failed to be inviting. He stood to one side, allowing passage to the teenager who cautiously took the cue.

As he stepped inside an immense presence weighed down on either shoulder and choked the air, but left no suspense as to who was responsible. The culprit immediately made himself known and coaxed the substitute further with a light smirk.

Eyes drawn to the youth's dragging leg, Aizen's expression morphed to something that looked as if it intended to be pity. "How does it feel?"

An opportunity to be smart-ass was passed up as Ichigo chose to take a seat at the long table instead of providing an answer, his chest burning at the thought the traitor knew anything about his injury. It narrowed the speculation of how it came to exist considerably, however.

"That bad?"

The taunt bristled under his skin and willed his gaze to glower challengingly at the smug male. This was when he realized differences – long waves of hair and piercing, hollow-like eyes.. something had happened. Something had changed.

The empty feeling in the stare almost seemed to agree with him, their exchange ending as Ichigo looked away uncomfortably. He hated not knowing anything and feeling like he had just been born yesterday. More useless than a newborn, but with no excuse as he wasn't nearly as fragile. Though perhaps he was underestimating his opponent who had just dismissed the statuesque subordinate.

With a dip of the head, Ulquiorra left the two and disappeared from view. Ichigo couldn't help but sigh, though he kept his brave face on.

"Your answer."

There was nothing he could say that his posture hadn't given away already. Pain was the last thing on the substitute's mind, and whilst it might be important somehow, the facts were missing. Why ask?

Suddenly the distance closed and Ichigo jerked away from the male who persisted on encroaching upon everyone's personal space. What was his issue?

"Haven't you noticed?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. He presumed the question was supposed to make him feel inferior and wonder what it could possibly mean.

"I brand all my pets," Where was this going? As an idea began to dawn on him, the substitute's eyes fell to his leg. The white material had small tears lining its surface, and showing through the gaps was... was... ink. It didn't take much thought to figure out what that meant. "-They don't like collars."

The insulting revelation was taken too far as the whisper blew against his ear, and unable to withstand any more, Ichigo lashed out. His fist was caught by the traitor who considered it for a moment before letting go, amusement flickering across those arrogant features.

This was wrong, and not only that. It was too random. Unpredictable! What if Soul Society found out? What would they think? What about his friends? His family? What if they saw their hero reduced to this?

It's time to wake up now. It had to be a dream.

As confusion hazed over the youth's eyes, Aizen took a step back to observe with his usual indifference. The words had the intended result, of course, and that was to bring the male to his subconscious without lifting a finger. Speech-craft. It was an art, and an art that one would do well to learn by heart.

"Heya Creepy~"

The greeting completely disregarded the faux God's existence and instead chose to acknowledge the barely-mentally-present prisoner.

Deciding to take the wake up call, Ichigo blinked and stared at the newcomer who was holding a tray. It was Ichimaru, who looked especially morbid that day, his teeth flashing in a carnivorous smile as his gaze drifted to the other man.

What was the event? Again Ichigo felt like he was missing something.

"Way to kick a dog when it's down, Aizen. He's hurtin'."

There was something else aside from conceit visible on the male's face as he was addressed, but the substitute was too concerned with his own situation to pay it any heed. Maybe I can take this chance to escape. Though there was the problem of where he would go. This was their domain and they would find him far quicker than he could get away.

"Tea."

Gin answered the order by flinging the empty tray at his supposed comrade, tweeting in glee as it smacked off the male's face.

The ex-shinigami's expression as the object clattered to the floor was nothing other than murderous. The tension in the air rose to staggering levels, and Ichigo forced himself to dive wildly at the still-open door in hopes of slipping outside...

Smack!

Seeing stars, Ichigo realised his attempt had failed when he blearily looked up to find he was crammed against Yammy's barrel of a chest. The grin that showed the Espada's delight was somehow wider than his girth and definitely more hideous.

"Oh? Where're you headed?"

Before he could recover, a huge fist grasped the substitute's collar and hoisted him into the air like a trophy – or an axe swooping in for the final blow. Either way he knew he was screwed. The collision itself didn't compare to the meaty fingers now compressed around his gasping throat, and his own hands were useless in their attempts to dislodge the grip which was wearing the bonds to life thin.

The Espada's grin curled upwards at the ends in twisted amusement due to the tickling sensation the prisoner's weak struggles caused. The laughable effort only held his attention for so long, and allowing the male to drop to the ground, Yammy turned to investigate the sudden eruption of noise.

Chairs, paperwork, equipment and other such technology lay in ruins around the meeting room, the mess spiced up by an occasional stain. "Party's already started," He sneered at the idea, eyes glancing back to the weakling sprawled on the floor. "-Where's your invite?"

Ichigo barely lifted his head; it was better to play this game safe.

Yammy snorted before moving forwards. "What's wrong, huh?" Again the brat was seized and lifted up, but this time to be scrutinized. "-Like being tossed around?" The way the kid's weight centred in a particular leg gave him enough reason to take a closer look, and was it revealing. There was a word scrawled into the skin: 'tea'. Non-caring whether this was only part of a phrase, the Espada gave another snort. "Guess you got lucky." It happened to be the password decided by their almighty leader and it was clearly no consequence the kid happened to have it tattooed on his leg. After all, everything seemed to be about Kurosaki lately.

"Get outta my way."

Their (one-sided) conversation was interrupted as another Espada rudely shoved past the two and managed to dislodge Ichigo in the process – at which he was grateful. Spying a quick glance, he noticed curly boots and stick-thin legs walk past and into the chaotic scenery.

"The hell? The bigwigs been going at it?" Nnoitra commented, not bothering to hide his excitement as he started to pace around, presumably looking for the fight which had caused this amount of destruction.

Yammy only stifled a yawn and kicked Ichigo from his path as he lumbered off into Las Noches' depths. There was something temporary about the Espada's exit and so Ichigo took the opportunity in full, apprehensively rising to his feet and wondering if he could leave. It might be my only chance. There were more coming this way – the evidence loud voices, stamping feet and... laughter.

It was him.

Grimmjow burst appropriately into view at that exact moment, determined not to miss the action and decidedly miffed at the sight of Nnoitra already standing there, not to mention...

"Grimmjow!"

Kurosaki just couldn't keep it to himself could he? Swallowing the intense urge to cuss the bastard out, the arrancar settled for mediocrity and instead held out his middle finger as he walked past the punk. Not today. Not now. Orders were f-ing orders after all.

But the dipshit wouldn't let it pass.

"Grimmjow!"

He could hear Nnoitra sniggering in the background. Just you wait.

"Refreshments." Everyone was surprised to hear something new and they all stared as Zommari entered pushing a trolley covered with cups of...

"Tea anyone?"

What the hell was it with that stuff? Everyone under the moon had gone batshit about it, but Grimmjow refused. No the last circulation the rumours concerning the vile stuff had changed dramatically, and for the worst. No longer did Tousen, Gin or Wonderweiss have any say in them – no, it was all about Grimmjow and his mysterious 'alone time' with Aizen. To put it very mildly, he would love to have a nice little chat with the one responsible.

Ichigo ignored the distraction and staggered straight towards his target, only managing to get halfway before something ripped through the tendons in his calf. Blood spread across the pristine white of his clothes and soiled the colour a muddy rouge, the liquid forming a pool at his feet which rippled from the vibrations of an approacher.

"Wonderful."

Somehow not as pathetic a sight as Ichigo, the newly-arrived but noticeably ruffled Aizen bent beside the kneeling youth and offered him a bloody hand. "Come. Let us clean up."

It was suddenly as if this was a different man, an imposter lurking behind eyes that suggested monstrosity but only delivered kindness. No... poison. That was all it was.

"Aizen-sama!"

There was a rush of breeze as Zommari abandoned his task in favour of joining his God's side, both Nnoitra and Grimmjow scowling at the action that could be likened to a dog licking at its master's heels.

"Zommari."

The tone used to deliver the name was devoid of everything but simplicity. Patronizing, even. It did its job and Zommari obediently returned to his work.

Ichigo, warily eyeing Aizen's simpering smile and outstretched palm, mentally kicked himself for letting his overwhelming desire to discover the truth override his chance to leave the room. Look where he had ended up; nowhere with a ticket booked straight to hell.

Disclaimer: Kubo Tite has my utmost respect for creating the wonderful fandom of Bleach, and with this disclaimer I would like to acknowledge the fact I own not one thing about it (except this fic).