Um, hi? And happy 4th of July! Where to begin . . . I apologize for never getting around to carrying out this story (I swear I'm not lying when I said I had one heck of a busy year at college, and it allowed me to do barely any writing, which sucked). I also realized a while ago that Bleach itself is rounding the bend for its final chapter. This also seems like an extra jumpstart to revive this story before Bleach loses its already faltering popularity, and try to bring back why the original people who read my story first enjoyed it. Felt like America's birthday was an appropriate date (and almost a year since I published as well). Please review and enjoy! More is coming, I swear . . . .

John Mayer ~ Continuum

A beat.

There was nothing in the void surrounding her body but the dripping thrum of heated liquid. One drop being added at a time.

Beat.

The never-ending, blackened-out surrounding that lived in this dead sea was a new kind of murder.

A pulse.

She breathed steadily, clear air—the purest oxygen she had ever tasted—filling her crumpled lungs. Ironically her senses were cold and numb, and she could feel her body struggling to find warmth in this blank escape from reality. She was naked to the world. She could not remember anything. Where was she? Who was she? She opened her eyes, but they seemed to remain shut. The infernal darkness kept her closed and cornered: there was no light. There was no hope for anything not able to handle these conditions—she was surprised she was able to hold on for so long, the way these ephemeral moments dyed and blended in with Hades' darkness.

Contact.

Her thoughts faded as her blind eyes drifted shut. Her mind became foggy and hazy. The buzzing fury of sleep took over, and she gave into it like a sick child needing their rest . . . .

Then there were sheets and fabrics draped all around her body. Cloths fit for rich kings and prejudiced princesses.

A room shifted into view. A dark, aged room pulsating with the vibe that daylight was breaking beyond the curtains. With not even a glance to where this sensation was coming from, the flutter of sheets surrounding her form nestled softly against her body as a harder one punished the mattress with his weight.

A touch . . . a warm kiss . . . then the deliciously tight feeling entering her body, shakes trying to resist the movement from her core. He was taking his time with her. This affair was flirting with her senses and winking sly innuendos to the newly budding flower when she inhaled sharply as everything was released. Energy flowed between them.

Then his delaying thrusts. Slow and long, bringing her to the brink and beyond in the blink of an eye. He was so tight against her skin, her body could do nothing but remain limp from the emotions surrounding his deliberate movements. She had to bite her lip to keep the excitement jumping around in her belly at bay.

He was a beast. He was like a tattoo she could not remove—she wouldn't remove him from inside her body.

She filled her lungs with his scent; a hot liqueur weaved into his skin. It was enough to drive any woman mad from desire over him. It wasn't the familiar touch she knew or was used to, but she was connected to him. There was a need to know who this man was.

She opened her midnight colored eyes, starry and blurred from the pleasure.

He was shrouded, and the room started spinning. All she saw was . . . red . . . .

"Alright, we need to find out what the hell we have in here," Ichigo started as he ripped out the burlap sack and a blanket that was tucked under the passenger's seat carelessly over the dirt.

Rukia snapped straight and dug her long blood-coated nails into the earth. Her body had been sitting on the cold ground partially near the Lamborghini, still wrapped in Ichigo's jacket, but her mind had been asleep to the world. Icy remnants of the water in her hair acted like a numbing sedative. The sun's drawl of seeping rays added an edge of unconsciousness.

The tilt of the earth had not stopped the flexing tips of the sun's warmth from touching all creatures who needed it, and the creeping edge of night finally submitted, accepting that it's reign had ended before returning to its cave.

However, her mind seized once Ichigo spoke. Out of her trance now, the blurring images faded away behind her blue eyes into particles of gray smoke. A low, rasping pant accumulated her throat. She had been lost, entrapped within chambers of her own mind. Maybe they were only old nightmares. Faded memories that merged into another and twirled around like a strand of loose DNA.

Yes, memories. Power-washed clean memories. Ones . . . of . . . of another man.

Rukia shook her head roughly. No way! It hadn't happened. It didn't happen. That body above hers wasn't real, it had only been a fantasy. A tasteful, delicate fantasy with runes carved into his body, telling stories of all his travels throughout life.

That memory was only her imagination running amok. But as much as she wanted to erase her mind—Had it been real? Rukia bit her thumbnail uneasily, getting a light taste of iron scrapings from her last victim.

Ichigo managed to yank out other numerous items from the backseat, and actually grinned at one in particular.

"First aid kit. That's definitely good to have." The split skin on Ichigo's cheek had finally healed, but it still hurt to the touch. He had made sure to wipe the blood away before Rukia actually gave him a good once-over using the sleeve of his jacket. Something in here would hopefully hide the drama of action from those burly men. He gave a sideways glance Rukia and scowled bitterly when he saw her just sitting there. She was oblivious to everything going on around her at the moment.

"Hey! You're the one who wanted to move, so get off your ass and help me with this stuff!"

Hot coals in her eyes damned Ichigo for interrupting her thoughts; his own staring back only stoked the fire when a sudden rage filled her. He tapped the first aid kit to his hip while trying to read Rukia's nasty look. He blew out hot air and opened his mouth. "I'm only saying it's what we both want, sweetie. I don't want to stay in this desolate area any more than you do. Now stop beating me up with your eyes and please help me?" He dragged "please" out into three syllables, tightly gritting his teeth into an awkward smile.

The small girl blinked slowly and gathered herself together enough to stand up. Ichigo nodded an approval before going back to digging through the Lamborghini's insides.

Rukia breathed for what felt like the first time in minutes, rising slowing from the dirt. Spots of altered sound entered her ears, not like the ones encasing them. The chirping of the birds stopped. Murmurs and whispers were heightened. The gigantic pine trees closed their branches around her and held their tongues. Her mind felt tainted from something dark, and curdling sickness was felt in her stomach. She fell to her knees defenseless, Ichigo not close enough to help or notice her. With a hand clutching sharply into her flesh, all darkness swallowed her up in one prayer. A shadow clouded her mind and senses when she felt a presence stand behind her, claiming Rukia as its own. It felt thirsty for her blood, warmth drinking the heat from her shoulder when it touched her there.

Contact.

Rukia was only frozen from pain, but dared a look to her right. Sight ignored her eyes as they clouded gray. Rukia could only hear his words with aggressive taste. He chortled. Heh, don't worry. He'll never be anything like me.

With a shove, it was gone.

He was gone. Her body felt sore and turned on at the same exact time. She grabbed the chain around her neck, feeling the chill from the silver staining her skin.

All was well after that. Normal time allowed the birds to speak to one another again, the wind to breathe on its own. The pines swayed on its breath, and Rukia woke from the shattered glass world in time to break away from the Monster's charm. Her stomach halted its assault, and she made a pact to move quickly incase this were to happen again.

She clambered close to Ichigo's side, belief bringing out her survival instincts that she would be safer from the trees—and herself—with another person around. Rukia's shaking breath stretched out farther than their shadows on the ground.

Bending down, hands on her knees, she stared intently at the items Ichigo had recovered. "So how many guns do we have?" he laying out the very last on the blanket.

"Thirteen, including the one in my back pocket."

"You better have the safety on—"

"—I do—"

"—otherwise you'll shoot your ass," Rukia ended, and without really meaning to, a minor chuckle broke free. Most likely the reversed wires in her brain linked inaccurately to the deep scream embedded in the fleshy matter of her mental prison, coming out as something jovial. Ichigo gave her an unimpressed look at her comical error.

"All I really found otherwise was the First Aid kit . . ." And once saying that, Ichigo scratched at the scab forming on his cheek by accident, hissing when he picked it open again.

"Idiot. You need some antibacterial cream. There should be some Neosporin in here somewhere . . ."

"I'll be fine, Rukia. It already healed. See?" he said pointing at his cheek.

"Here." She found a small flesh colored dot, ignoring him. "Let me put a bandage on it anyway."

"I said—"

"I don't give a damn what you said, just come here!"

He rolled his eyes, not willing to argue over this anymore, and sat down stiffly on a hard rock. He looked away when the bandage was pressed to his cheek. With a subtle push of adhesive against his skin, Ichigo winced a bit from the pain.

When Rukia was done he crossed over to the Lamborghini and looked into the side view mirror, scowling at the tender puffing skin. "Pff. I look like I just lost a fist fight! Think anyone will buy it?" he added quickly.

"I'm not sure. I doubt it." Ichigo touched his bandage and a tingle of pain shot through his face. Rukia pulled him away from the mirror and pressed a kiss over the area where he hurt. "Feel better?"

She had a numbing effect on his senses, but it never clouded his mind away from the immediate thoughts following after cutesy things like this. "I'd feel better if you came a little closer, if you know what I mean," he said with a wiggling eyebrow. She turned him down instantly with a smack on his forehead.

"I save my expeditions for the boudoir, Ichigo, not the woods."

"It could be a turn on—"

"No."

He grumbled a sigh when she walked away from him. "What about the trunk?" she asked dryly.

"I haven't checked it yet. I've been too focused on looking through the car itself."

There was silence between them for a few moments before a light breeze strolled by, her hiked-up and damaged skirt swaying slightly, their hair being tangled in loose waves. Ichigo sat back down on the hard rock. Then he spoke. "I think we had a miracle."

Her arms folded over her chest. "Miracle?" Rukia looked at him. "I can't really say that, but I think it's only because we were stronger than them. And had adrenaline. And luck. And better aim."

Ichigo smirked. "Hell of a lot better aim. They were throwing rocks compared to us." He frowned suddenly. "It's strange though."

"What's strange?"

"The men, they were worried about you for some reason. As soon as that knife was drawn, they freaked."

Rukia narrowed her eyes. "Of course they would be, anyone would freak if they saw a ten-inch blade. Even I thought you were going to kill me for a second! Jerk!" she added with a light smack to the back of his head. "Where the hell did you even get that thing, anyway?"

"It was in my coat," he stated bluntly, she rolling her eyes and looking towards the trunk once more. "And I'm serious, Rukia, they really overreacted for guys willing to gun us down one minute and hold our hands the next. It's all too weird."

"I don't know how you're not scared over any of this."

He huffed. "Heh, I don't get scared."

"Bullshit. That can't be true!"

"Well, maybe I just hide it better than you." He couldn't sit any longer. He turned away from her blaring blue gaze, glancing around their little campsite with his heart and mind on two opposite things. The first: "Hell, I'm scared. I'm completely shaking on the inside. But I can't obviously show it. I can't let my fear swallow me up. That's not how I am." He spun around back towards her, meeting her eyes full on. The second part: "I need to be strong for the both of us. It's the only way we'll survive."

Ichigo's eyes were strained and exhausted; the sunlight sprinkling through the trees not helping much either.

Rukia felt troubled by what he had said and frowned. Her feelings might have also been mixed from her sexual psychological daydream. "But you don't really believe that, do you?" She closed the distance between them, but enough for him to still breathe. "Aren't I your friend, Ichigo? Aren't we nakama? You can't really think I'm just going to let you run around with that burden like a child with a kite. You shouldn't have to shoulder anything by yourself without telling me." She smiled brightly, but the bruise was casting away its warmth.

His chocolate eyes changed slightly, weariness sinking deeper the more he kept his eyes open.

"And the same goes for you, right? You'll tell me everything . . . always?"

Her smile was like a flower blooming open from the heat of the sun. "Of course."

Our love is the only thing feeding us and making each other stronger. But he would never really tell her that, or at least he had never exactly found a way to express this to Rukia. Love was something only a select few people could unravel—completely discover what it truly meant. To be alive and in love, and as much as he knew her, enjoyed her, loved her company, Ichigo was afraid for what was to become of them now. Could this whole crazy situation backfire? He had wanted a vacation, not a life transplant. He wasn't really into camping either.

He almost wanted something amazing to happen, like for a phoenix to fly over the tree tops, singing its eerie but beautiful love song and wake up. He actually wouldn't have minded if his father went on one of his crazy "WAKE UP!" tirades in the morning like when he used to. But Ichigo could settle for now.

There was an exchange of silence before he spoke again. "We'd better get going soon. There's no telling how quickly we'll get caught if left out here for too long."

"Alright, but just one more thing," Rukia said stepping away from him again.

"What is it?"

"I can't . . . argh, open the trunk!" She said struggling with the rear end of the Lamborghini, her small fingers prying at the underside but not succeeding. "Use your keys to open it."

"Forget about the damn trunk right now, Ru. There're no dead bodies stuffed into it, that's for sure."

Rukia shivered when she thought of mangled and bloodied corpses splattered across the truck. Ichigo didn't notice.

She ignored his comment and attempted to try again.

"It won't work. It's in the front."

"How do you know?" she challenged.

"'Cause I'm a genius now," he teased. Then seriously, "But really, it's because it's in the front. The engine's in the back. I'll be sure to look at the engine when we're far enough away from this place."

Rukia gave up. "Just tell me when you're ready," she muttered defeated while walking to her side of the Lambo, ready to pass out when given the go.

As he started to clear up the guns, they left nothing but the finest outlook to an unsure future. Ichigo couldn't get over it. "Cripe, I feel like I'm Johnny Depp in Public Enemies."

"Not quite. Plus, his guns weren't as powerful as those," Rukia mentioned from the other side and settled back down.

"They would seem pretty badass in the 40s, at least."

She popped out from the sports vehicle, a more serious presence holding her. "Hey Ichigo, I found a briefcase."

"A briefcase?" That was a weird thing to have in the Lamborghini. He walked over to where she was now standing—a very large case between her hands.

It was a dirty gray-bordering-on-black color with a metal combination lock keeping the contents safe from greedy hands. He gave it a once over and set it on the ground, contemplating how to open it.

Rukia tapped her lip. "Maybe there's a crowbar in there or some—AAH!"

Ichigo had pulled out his gun and shot at the lock pointblank, the sound erupting almost like a cannon, and had startled enough birds from their roosts in the dinosaur-like pine trees to give the sky a shadowed cloud. The bullet had jumped away, the combination lock smoking from the atoms exploding on its surface. He pulled it off like a badass.

"DAMMIT ICHIGO, YOU COULD HAVE GIVEN US AWAY!" Rukia roared at him, her eyes bloodshot from fear of everything at this time. He only smirked, lousy prick.

"It worked." He put the gun back into his pocket and tore open the case, minding were his fingers pried, otherwise they would be burned by the still-smoldering metal. "What can be in here that they don't want us to see?" The case clicked and with the smirk still on his face he forced it open.

A blood spattered human heart would have probably been a better find than this.

When the lush hues meshed together with the black velvet inner casing and met their chaste eyes, expressions deadpanned. The ways of the world were never expected—not when the rush of adrenaline pounded through their hearts again, yet for a different reason, and paddled through the sea of swarming mischief swiftly overcoming their reasoning. All from this startling discovery.

The case had been filled with thousands of green American dollars, one-hundred dollar bills printed with Ben Franklin's face staring back at them with his wise eyes. All nestled inside patiently waiting to be found. He was finally waking up to find out that their cards and pieces were scrambled and shredded. This wasn't a game anymore. Ichigo didn't even understand. He couldn't bear the threads that grasped after the meaning of fear anymore. Rukia's tongue barely formed words to express her bewilderment when Ichigo swore. "Shit. We're going to have to get a new suitcase."

"What?" she asked confused, the whirring hum of her mind speeding by causing her to lose focus. "Why? What-what's wrong with this one?"

He looked at her. "Haven't you ever seen the movie "No Country For Old Men"?" She shook her head. He looked at her in shock; how could you not have seen that movie? He sighed. "Well, basically from what I can remember, the main character finds a suitcase in the desert filled with, like, two million in it, but he's got Javier Bardem, who's a hit man, chasing after him, because the case has a tracker in it. And after seeing that movie," he chuckled nervously, "I would definitely want to switch the case." She wasn't sure of it, but she thought she saw him tremble, like a bird shaking off water droplets after a rainstorm. "I don't exactly want to end up like Josh Brolin."

"Well, it seems like that movie had a cheerful ending," Rukia muttered sarcastically under her breath, knowing that this money was more of a curse than a blessing.

His lightly tanned hands pulled three hundreds out of the yellow bands and held them up to the sunlight. "They're legit. I can see Franklin's watermark in each one."

"This really can't be happening though. I mean, it's too ridiculous! Where could they have gotten that money? Whoever put that money in there must have stolen it!"

"Ya think?" he snipped sarcastically. "They're a multi-million dollar corp. A few hundred thousand won't be taken into account. They probably have one of those money making machines in there too."

Rukia abruptly stalled. "That makes us in even more danger—our heads will be put onto a silver platter—just for them!" Her voice had raised an octave higher than what her partner could bear.

"Our bodies will erode like ice in the summer rain, right? I can see it happening," Ichigo said, the statement sending off hints that his mind had traveled elsewhere. He scowled, stuffing the cash into his back pocket. Rukia gave him an incredulous look, he mimicking her.

"Well, dammit, I'm not going to waste what's left of my life standing around here kowtowing about some bastards that did God knows what to us. I'm leaving!" Ichigo stalked forward to the Lamborghini before fiercely turning to look at her. His words came from somewhere deep inside, a spotlight on an inner man she didn't recognize. "I suggest you come with me, Rukia. The world isn't so cold that you can't move forward."

There was a wire pulling her soul away, but strangely being drawn to the darkness she yet to realize was slowly gulping down her friend like a vampire with blood. "Are you sure about that?"

He stopped. Seconds passed. Her voice had barely been a rasping wisp of air, but it itched when Ichigo thought it over. Determination blindsided him. "I'll take my chances out there. We've already lost control over our lives as far as I can tell. I just wonder if we can keep up with the speed of the world now."

Contact. . . .

It was 7:25 according to the digital clock inside their stolen Lamborghini Gallardo, and they were now driving off somewhere down a deserted road, a backdrop of the sun and sky still sleepily rising from the east. They would need to search for an actual road or major highway and fly down it in whichever direction they chose.

Rukia had snuggled down into her seat like a kitten curling into a warm blanket, exhausted from only a few hours before. As bright as it was, the tinted black windows helped a bit. Ichigo kept his weary and somewhat strained eyes on the road, not passing any familiar road signs or clues to where they were driving to, or away, from.

The briefcase was under the passenger's seat, and as hard as it was, Ichigo had to keep his mind off of it. It wasn't the easiest mental image to remove from his mind's eye either, but the glare from the sun distracted him enough to let the thoughts pass under the radar.

Time passed, and Ichigo managed to find a desolate highway filled to the horizon with sand dunes and scratchy scrub brush tickling the gray and broken tar. Ichigo was becoming agitated by the solar glare and by not having a pair of sunglasses when her voice piped up.

"Maybe we should find somewhere to eat?"

The tightness in his stomach agreed without growling as she sat up. "Sounds pretty decent. But where are two lowly fugitives going to find some breakfast? We need a hideout."

"Well, that's pretty convenient." Rukia pointed towards a shack in the blistering distance, their sign large enough to decipher from miles around.

"The Hideout" as it actually happened to be called seemed like a local restaurant meant for truckers and other sorts of hicks and misfits and hungry families that didn't know where the hell they were going either. Numerous trailer trucks rested on the side of the house-shaped building while only a few cars littered the front. Ichigo wasn't sure where to park the Lamborghini without making it obvious they were here, but how hard could it be to hotwire any of these other cheaper vehicles?

The air felt like it shifted as soon as Ichigo's heel hit the gravel. He had a feeling whoever was inside had noticed their conspicuous entrance on the restaurant's territory, and he growled like a predator when he slammed the door down. "Keep on your toes, Rukia. I don't think we're out of hot water yet."

He hissed like steamed water coming off of a wood stove, remembering their situation. "We look like shit. Someone will obviously think there's something wrong with us—like we're crack dealers or something."

Rukia changed the subject for his sake. "Should I leave the briefcase here?"

Ichigo's eyes were only focused on the people giving noticeable glances towards them in the windows. "I don't care." Rukia huffed exasperatedly and shut her door. It locked with a firm kick.

Their entrance couldn't have been more dramatic. As soon as the bell above the door welcoming customers chimed, all eyes were upon them. The restaurant snapped silent minus the fidgeting of some restless infants impatiently wanting their food and the sizzling of grease in skillets. Fireworks could have probably gone off outside the front window and the people still would have been scrutinizing Rukia and Ichigo. With the bandages on his face, their dirty wardrobe, his jacket around Rukia's shoulders—not to mention several random splotches of blood streaked across her white skirt that went unnoticed by the fugitives before, but were on perfect display for all to see now—it was a hot mess by definition.

Ichigo only waited a moment before pushing through the sea of eyes and buried himself in them, teeth grinding the entire way until he found an empty booth at the corner of the bustling community. No tickets please, your eyes will sore before you've had your fill. The blond cook with short cropped hair even peaked out over his station to see what was going on, waitresses with hot trays not scurrying away fast enough from Ichigo's flaming glare as he passed them by.

Random assortments of muttering floated to their ears as they walked by, normal conversation resuming somewhat.

"Geez, they look like shit . . ."

"Mommy, I'm full!"

"Did you hear about the . . . ?"

"Did you read this article about the murders in Alaska? Pretty brutal . . ."

They slid into their booth comfortably across from each other, Ichigo taking the seat on the back wall away from the others, enough to get a glaring death-watch out on everyone else.

"Well, that could have gone worse," Rukia chimed, drawing a scowl from her partner.

"Let's just hopefully get something to eat and keep our energy up so we can leave."

Entering from behind a wall that lead into the kitchen area, a plate shattered with a considerable amount of muffled curses being smothered out by a hand following the clatter. Then unsteady silence. A girl with double-blonde high pigtails came over to their booth, a neutral space for an off kilter expression on her mouth with twin patterns of freckled triangles on her cheeks, making her look very cute, but as she approached Ichigo had the vibe that she had the personality of a rabid black bear and the ability to claw a man's face off if he ever told her that. The cute factor wouldn't dismiss her easily however, the pink French maid-like uniform caused snickers over her shoulder, and she smacked several men with her receipt pad vehemently before they silenced.

Her voice was tight stretching across bitterness and irritation, but she introduced herself boldly enough with a strong "Hello. My name is Hiyori and I will be serving you today." I'm being paid to say and wear this so don't screw with me, got it? "Can I start you off with some drinks?"

"Water," they both spoke simultaneously, dryly enough that Hiyori raised an eyebrow slightly. She scribbled the word on her notepad.

"Alright. Did you want to take a look at the menu . . . ?"

"We'll just take whatever you think would be a large and decent meal. Price doesn't matter," said Ichigo.

She flipped her pad shut with a quick snap to stifle an unwelcome quip she had. "I'll let them know and bring your food out shortly." There was no smile and she gave Ichigo a once over before making a clean decision that he was probably in the drug cartel and a deal had gone awry. The girl with him was obviously his ho'.

When Hiyori left and disappeared around the wall, loud shouting erupted from her at a certain person, who in turn retaliated with an equal amount of shouting. An object was thrown once more before an actual yell came from the back. "Ow! Hiyori! I am not making your food!"

"It's for the customers, jackass! You have to! And I'm not taking crap from a lousy—crash—Shinji!"

"Ohhhh? So you can put it out but you can't take it, hunh?"

Ichigo covered his face with his palm out of irritation over the ridiculous situation they had somehow drove themselves into. The restaurant environment apparently was used to this obnoxious kind of entertainment strangely enough and the regular chatter continued freely without obstruction.
"Hey morons! We're not getting paid to fight!" a new, more aggressive male voice added in the background.

"Well this is one hell of a cheerful place," Ichigo muttered rolling his eyes. "I would think a place called "The Hideout" would be a little quieter . . ."

"Is "hostile" her middle name?" Rukia joked when a small scuffle was noticed in the white noise of the kitchen between several people now.

Water and straws had appeared on their table moments later by a pretty young girl with a black braid and pink glasses before she went behind the wall herself to hopefully keep their waitress from killing the frycook.

Ichigo removed his hand and saw Rukia grinning weirdly enough. He scowled. "Are you actually enjoying this nonsense?"

She sipped her drink casually for being extremely parched. "I'm a girl with simple needs. A little reminder that we're actually in the real world again makes me believe that things could turn out for the better." It was a falsified fib, her mind couldn't stop going over her daydream or the mysterious man fogged out from her memory. But Ichigo had been aggravated since he stepped out of the Lamborghini. She wanted him to at least have a decent attitude while surrounded with these other people.

"But can you actually believe that we'll be able to get through this unscathed?" His voice was breaking down from the small amount of fear rubbing inside his stomach until it came back up and thrown out at his lover. Their eyes locked, ice on fire, for a good thirty seconds.

"You said you wondered if we could keep up with the speed of the world now. What if we just told somebody—?"

"No. We can't risk that right now," Ichigo's voice had snuck into such a low harsh whisper Rukia had to listen carefully to make sure she got his words right. "If we tell any one of these people that we're fugitives, obviously the cops would show up, but what if people from the Company were to listen in and come along? Eh? I'm not risking it, especially since we don't even know where the hell we are. I don't remember ever really seeing any deserts in Japan before either . . ."

Rukia remained silent, sucking up whatever remaining water droplets were left in her glass. She hoped the black haired girl with glasses would come back soon.

Face in his palm, Ichigo smothered his grumbling, the scratchy hair on his face pissing him off more. The screeching had finally ceased slightly enough that it might have just been the radio blaring a heavy metal song in the background. It was a meticulous song at this point for all Ichigo cared. He scratched the back of his neck irritated, and his eyes jumped open. He suddenly remembered the dog tag around his neck and pulled it out. Rukia, stunned that she had also forgotten about her own, followed his action, flipping the engraved writing towards her. "What does yours say?" she asked quietly.

""Kurosaki, Ichigo. Test subject #15." You?"

""Kuchiki, Rukia. Test subject #14."

" . . ."

"Are they seriously screwing with us by having our birthdates as the numbers?" The girl across from him seemed more irritated by this rather than—

"Rukia, don't you get what this means?" She perked an eyebrow up annoyed at this ridiculous B.S. and gave him a bitter frown. He sighed. "Test subject fourteen? Fifteen? It means we're not alone! There were thirteen other people before us!"

"Maybe. And your voice is getting louder, hush up."

Ichigo fumed at her total blasé attitude. He was ready to punch out the window next to him.

"Why don't you—!"

"Shush!"

Hiyori had finally come back looking not much better than the first time she had stopped by their table to "greet" them, only this time around she held two large plates in both hands. They had been covered with looked like a meal meant for a trip to the hospital immediately after digestion. This heart attack was filled with many pancakes, sunny side eggs, slices of rye toast, sausage, bacon, among other food that neither of the defectors had witnessed with their own eyes before. As Rukia continued to stare at her plate trying to figure out what the round lumpy roll on her left was, Ichigo noticed a small bright pink bandage on her cheek and another of a dot the color of lime green on her chin. Whoever had given her the band aids in the kitchen had probably wanted her to be slightly shamed, not that she would ever let it cross her visage. "Please enjoy," she said tight-lipped, trying to hold back any more bitching that could pop unexpectedly meant for her dumbass frycook. She took out two rolled napkins from her white apron and placed them on the table. And—it was a sign of the apocalypse—she smiled before walking away with an eerily composed stride. It struck as a hard blow in test subject 15's chest that something was definitely wrong.

Something hit Ichigo in the face and his hand nearly reached around for the gun on his back when Rukia's look stopped him. She held a knife and fork in each hand almost comically, her large blue eyes staring him down, revving up Ichigo's inner irritation up fifty-six percent. The girl jabbed her knife at his plate and said, "I think you're just hungry. Why don't you fill your gut first and yap later. Eat while your food's hot. At least that's what I'm doing." A scrape of knife against bone china, and a piece of pancake went into her mouth. "Mmm!" Ichigo gave her a serious look about how food could wait until later. "We-can-take-it-for-the-ride."

But she wasn't having any of it. "She's planning something for her friend in the back," using her knife again to point at the wall on her right. Then she paused, a searching look on her face. "Besides, the quality of the air hasn't changed in here more than it could have if something were to happen. We're fine . . . For now." Another slice and more syrup-drunk pancake went into her mouth. She swallowed and her belly was happy. Rukia didn't look up as she continued to cut apart her meal in smaller pieces. "Please eat a small amount of something at least."

It was settled once Ichigo snatched apart his silverware angrily and cut more into his food than he should have. "This better taste good," he ground out through his teeth, eyeing the fork curiously before stabbing savagely into a form of meat.

Rukia blanked and a part of the cage came back. It felt like she took a cold smoky-clogged breath, naked in the ice water of her dream. She had made contact with another, some sort of human form. It pulsated with a vibrant hue, red, beating against her ribcage. This heart wasn't a form of God or something similar. It had been odd, yet made especially for her. This turned into all the right moves to be easily taken down at a close range. Why had they chosen to sit so openly next to a large window?

Rukia prayed she didn't just make the biggest mistake of her life by staying in her seat.

A heartbeat.

*faints* SO glad to have this posted. Please read and review! :)