Sorry, sorry! Life likes to kick my ass :/ So, I'm not so caring about reviews, I realized I've got plenty after I went through them, lol. I was like o.O Holy cheese-puffs!
And now…
KSKSKSKS (Shiro, by the by)
"Fuck!" breathing heavy, he bent over to catch his breath, hands propped against his knees as he cursed, his eyes watering with the strain; not, he told himself, because he was panicking or frantic because he'd lost sight of the black, nondescript Charger that he'd been tailing since his brother was trussed away by some heavy freaks and a fox. He didn't cry, that was Ichi's job.
Ichi…
With a low groan he pushed himself to standing again, rather than bent over and heaving like the bellows of hell. He hadn't run in - he didn't know how long, and the errant thought that maybe he should start passed through his pulsing skull. It wasn't as if Renji wouldn't like the company when he went running on the occasional morning. Actually, it might frighten the redhead a bit, as the albino wasn't the most sociable of people, and never particularly cared for his health, actively, at least.
"Goddamn it, otouto! You make life so friggin' hard!"
Turning on his heel, he started back towards the bar, with a mind to get Kaien to call the police on that snake-faced bastard and find his color counterpart before the night was out, he put the burning, numb sensation of his lungs behind him and booked it. Whatever the fuck his otouto had gotten involved in, he was gonna tear it the fuck up. He had a nagging foreboding that it had to do with this most recent incident, the one that his little brother had had nightmares about, stirring up the past and causing jerking, denied grief in his albino counterpart.
And rage.
Completely bypassing the doorman – who knew better than to try and stop Shiro, luckily – he streaked expertly through the crowd towards one of the few people he considered his friend, unknowingly expressing a tense upset that immediately caused concern in the friendly individual behind the bar.
"What's wrong Shiro?" the comforting voice of his intended target caused the white jackal to jerk, the nervous tension in his shoulder tightening with the movement before his odd eyes met those of dark concern on features so similar to his own and his younger twin that he felt a pang of worry in his chest. Kaien examined the primal twist of angst in his younger friend's expression, gaze flickering over the crowd with a shock of insight. "Where's Ichigo?"
"Kaien," heartbeat thundering in his ears and teeth grinding together so that his jaw ached, the secret chef settled against the bar, leaning in close to the taller man. "You need to make a call."
Dark eyes widened for a moment before narrowing, brows drawn together, lips compressed; he signaled to someone at the other end of the bar and started towards the door-slab before grabbing Shiro – who'd followed along on the opposing side of the bar – by the wrist, towing him to the back of the bar and into Urahara's office. The albino's gaze traveled around the room, quite unsurprised by the knick-knacks, stray toys, candies, glow sticks and computer bits that were scattered around the office, considering the man who owned the bar. What did surprise him, though, was that the desk towards the back of the office was rather prim and organized, nothing like what either Yoruichi or Urahara would have around, or what they would use; it clicked after a moment that this must be Kaien's responsibility.
He was the only one who he could fathom out of the few bartenders who worked there that would be able to keep any space inside as his own, and business-like, or that would be allowed into the crazy hat-bastard's space.
It was ironic, highly entertaining, and in any other circumstances, the jackal would have grinned and made all sorts of jokes about it, driving his pleasant, fun-loving companion up the wall, and his otouto into fits of laughter and awed bemusement. If his otouto hadn't been –
"Get me Starrk," the older man's voice was completely serious, a tone that was rarely heard from the bartender, and it brought the fidgety cook's attention back to the current situation, where he wasn't supposed to break off in a fit of uselessly violent rage and break everything in sight. "Well, then get me Tōshirō or Grimmjow."
"Hey, Tōshirō," as the taller, darker man leaned back against the desk, the elder Kurosaki brother moved to his side, positioning rather the same, except his arms were folded with hostility over his chest rather than with his hands in his pockets as the bartender's free hand was. "How're you feeling?"
"Should've known you'd have heard about that, Shiba-san," a youthful, attractive voice, a tad wry, but otherwise bored, intoned over the line, and the albino couldn't help a tiny part of his mind perking up with interest; hey, he was always looking for some entertainment. "I'm better than I could be, but not at my best. Is there something you needed?"
"Yeah, I'd like to report something," dark eyes flickered towards the younger man and a grimace of distaste crossed his handsome features. Shiro couldn't help but feel a bit bad about that.
It was rare to see the other man in a bad mood, and it was even rarer to be the cause.
Most of the time his ire was dealt from his mysterious family, the one that he casually spoke of, but never actually gave any names for. So far, the albino knew that he had a shy younger brother with a son – apparently the man was a little forgetful of things not concerning his son or work, not that Kaien blamed him, but it was irritating at times – a serious, intimidating father, and an eccentric mother whom the mention of caused him to shudder even as a fond smile would shift over his features.
It was irritating, the fact that he didn't know as much about one of his few friends as he'd like, honestly, the other knew just about everything about him, but that may have come with the territory, as he was in the information business.
"A young man was –" again, those eyes flickered to Shiro, and the alabaster skinned man nodded at the assumption the other man was inferring through his gaze, the one he'd yet to actually tell the other man. Sometimes he took advantage of his friend's insightfulness, and it seemed that this was one of those times. "– Taken, kidnapped from the bar. I didn't see it, but his brother did, and –" Ah, Kaien knows me well, the secret chef mused as the other continued. "– Chased after the guys but lost 'em," Car? Kaien mouthed, an inquiring brow raised. Black Dodge Charger, 2010, he mouthed back, indicating the color by pulling on his friends Tshirt and holding up fingers for the year, brows drawn with his internal upset. "Car's a Black Dodge Charger, 2010 model."
"… I see, and the name of the individual?" there was something off in the young voice, and again, the two shared a glance.
"Kurosaki Ichigo."
A softly caught breath on the other end of the line, then a momentary pause before the attractive voice continued. "This wouldn't have happened to have occurred about 45 minutes ago, would it?"
"Hai…" this was dragged out as Shiro tensed, wetting his lips and nearly baring his teeth.
Something was up.
This little fucker – no matter how intriguing his voice was, it meant nothing if he had a connection to the missing presence of his Ichi – knew something, and he wasn't gonna fess up to it.
"Alright, I'll see what I can do," hesitance and fatigue shadowed his next words, the albino's friend's brows pulled down, and he vaguely felt uncomfortable behind his frantically worried rage; he hated it when his precious people looked… wrong. Like Kaien did then, full of turmoil and apprehension. "I'm sorry, Shiba-san."
"Tōshirō?" he queried, worry filtering into the deep tones of the bartender; why was the young man apologizing? No matter how suspicious the police officer's unshared knowledge was, the elder Kurosaki wasn't surprised that his friend would be concerned about the other; Kaien was a worrier.
"I've got to go, but if you hear anything else, call me. Make sure it's a safe line. We're a bit… inhibited at the moment. Better yet, call Starrk, Grimmjow or myself on our private cells. You have the numbers, correct?"
"Hai."
"Good, just let us know if anything comes up. Oh, I forgot to ask. Is your family well?"
At the pained swallow and slow blink his friend couldn't hold back Shiro felt his heartbeat pick up and his hand tremble and clench. What was it? What had just happened? Was there something up with Kaien's family?
"Last I heard," the bartender managed to keep his voice steady, but a tremor ran over his entire frame before he steadied himself, grounding himself in the moment. If you hadn't seen the previous few seconds, you never would've known that he'd been upset by something. "And the precinct?"
"Besides myself, rather well."
"That's good, then."
"Listen, Shiba-san, I'm terribly sorry but I really must go. Don't forget to call if you need anything."
"… Ah, bye-bye," the odd cast to the man's eyes was telling as the young man on the other end of the line returned the sentiment and hung up told the white jackal that there was something extremely wrong that'd just been passed through that message. Was something up with the man's family?
Just what the fuck is going on around here?
Moments passed before the burning in Shiro's gut frayed his nerves to the last strand of his patience. He knew that he needed to calm down, knew that he needed to wait for his friend to get out of the funk that he was in on his own, but…
Ichigo was the emotionally stable one, all things considered. Shiro just didn't have it in him to hold back.
"Kaien, what's going on?" tone gruffer than he meant it to be, he felt a moment's guilt at the blinking flinch that crossed the older man's features before the other took a deep breath, and began to dial another number. "Who you callin' now?"
"… My father."
An hour or so after this fact, his heart was still rattling within the confines of his ribs with upset, and he was faced with a conundrum.
This was the only time in his adult life that he'd ever felt threatened before, but as he looked up at the 9th precinct taicho, he felt his bones quiver beneath his alabaster coated muscles. Only a little while ago, he'd been wondering about Kaien's family, and now, he was seeing it. Really, he should have felt some triumphant, pleasant satisfaction at the fact of finally being let further into his friend's life, but…
Knots of fury and tension wormed their way deeper into this chest, kept his feet kicking with irritated impatience as he sat on Kaien's desk, facing the intimidating force of the fabled Muguruma Kensei. Sure it was a surprise to find out that the bartender's father was a police taicho but…
He hadn't expected him to hot of all things.
"Well, what exactly's goin' on, Kaien?" the voice was deep and gruff, slightly irritable and impatient. "Why'd you call me all the way out to this stupid little bar?"
Stupid? Little? Shiro was unaware of his snarling, protective glare on the other man's behalf – Kaien loved the bar – even as his eyes roamed over the barman's father's figure. White ash colored hair that was cut close, but slightly longer and mildly spiky on top, looked soft and careless, like he ran his fingers through it often, or someone else did. Startlingly brown eyes were locked on the softer velvet of his son's, and his muscles rippled nicely beneath his tanned skin, shifting like rocks in a mountain pass; subtle, gradual, but with the deadly force to crush you in an instant.
Too bad he's married, a small part of him thought when he caught sight of a plain gold band on one of his large, intriguing hands, even as he pictured all of the awful things that could be happening to his otouto. Everything happened to the younger twin. It was always him who had it bad, who ran into trouble; bullied, singled out, molested. Kidnapped. It was he who was trapped under their mother when–
"Shiro."
Blinking, he realized that he had one hand halfway to holding his face, the expression on it tired and mildly panicked; crazed. Disgusting. He sat up and took a breath; he could be calm about this, he could find it in him to be reasonable. This was to get his otouto back, he could be… sociable.
Maybe. Probably.
Hopefully.
"What did the man who took him look like?" his friend queried, leaning back against the desk next to him, a look that caused the secret chef to think that maybe the other had his own suspicions in this department settling on his handsome features.
"Pale. Skinny in a gross way. Tall. Smirk a mile wide. Squinty eyes, didn't get the color," he cocked his head on seeing the grimace of distaste on Kensei's features, and hearing the slight, sharp inhalation to his right. "Kinda like me, actually. Although I prefer the term slim, to gross."
"Well, shit," Kensei growled, running a hand over his features, deep eyes narrowed, features twisted with some indefinable angsty emotion. "This is fucked."
"Tou-san?"
Brown eyes studied the two young men before him, seeing a thread that he hadn't connected before in the albino's features, causing his brows to furrow and eyes widen just the slightest bit.
"It can't be…" the taicho muttered to himself.
"… Tou-san?" Kaien asked again, sharing a look with the agitated Shiro at his father's continued silence, and the look of grimness dawning on his stoic features.
06060606
The trembling had stopped some time ago, the passage of time of little importance as he comforted the boy and his taicho took care of the crime scene, partner working on finding the two men who'd been abducted this evening. Is it still even what could be called 'evening'? he thought mildly through the haze of control he'd kept for the emerald eyed youth in his hold. It wouldn't do to freak the kid out any more than he already was. That would just be cruel, and Grimmjow had no patience for such things anymore, the military had worn that down in him.
The child in his arms had gone limp with exhaustion and shock at some point; his whole little world had been turned upside-down, so the detective couldn't blame him. Startlingly soft head tucked under the frighteningly calm fukutaicho's chin, the boy – Ulquiorra, he reminded himself again – was still holding onto him weakly, and would tense horribly whenever he tried to resituate the other into a more comfortable position. Sitting in the car with a chilly, shocked bundle of grief was like being piled on with lead weights; everything seemed so much harder and more urgent. Entrapped.
Because it was.
Stroking an idle hand over the thin back facing away from him, he let his head fall back against the headrest, thoughts swirling and tipping dangerously.
Kurosaki Ichigo and Hisagi Shuuhei.
What did those two have in common, and what did they have that Aizen wanted? What potentially useful deals could these two men cinch up for the former 5th precinct taicho? What could they provide that bastard with that was worth pissing off a number of people? Especially, when one of those people was the 9th division taicho; man could be scary as fuck, almost as bad as Unohana.
"Don't suppose ya know, huh?" he murmured softly, breathe stirring the soft black locks against his chin in a way that made his chest ache for his own brat.
He didn't want to think about it, but through the fog of his mind many scenarios drifted around, none of them in the Berry's favor. Knowing what the bastards had done to his young partner, Grimmjow couldn't help but feel that something terrible was going to happen. The thought of anyone touching the art student sent him into a mildly angst-ridden rage; he didn't want to admit it, but even if the touching weren't unwilling, the situation different, he knew he'd feel a milder version of this, as well as that twinge in his chest of a missed chance.
While he didn't know the designer personally, and could just barely remember some background noise of his mention, he didn't want the obviously precious Otou-san of this emotional child in his arms to come to any more harm than he already had that night. It would break the emerald eyed child beyond repair, and those big eyes and trembling hands would never be gentle in the way he just knew they should be.
Sighing, he leaned back again, mouth tightening with distaste at the facts that surrounded him. He'd looked at the orangette's file, but not the designer's; hadn't had the time. Ichi's Ma was dead, killed in an accident a while back, he had a twin – which was quite an intriguing thought in and of itself, but he pushed it aside, not wanting to get sidetracked – and two little twin sisters. An odd occurrence, but probably a family thing. His dad was still alive, but there had been something…
Something that hadn't seemed important at the time…
The vibration of his phone ringing made him tense slightly, his grip on the child in his arms tightening for a moment before he situated himself to reach for the irritating buzzing so that he could take his annoyance out on whoever it was on the other end of the line, derailing his train of thought irritatingly.
"Nani?" he barked out softly, rubbing gently on Ulquiorra's spine with the thumb of the arm that encircled the small body still.
"Grimmjow, we've found them," his young partner's voice was tired and terse, speaking of evil that he didn't - or couldn't - put words to. "Get back here and drop off Ulquiorra-kun. We're sending you back out."
"Wakatta, be there shortly," hanging up the phone on this both relieving and troubling information, as well as the tired darkness of his young partner's tone, he shifted the child, hating the strangling pang he got when the boy gave a soft, pitiful moue. "Don't worry kid. I'm goin ta get yer dad after I drop ya off where ya'll be safe."
A gasp and jerk were his answer for long minutes after an initial disbelieving and numb moment, before the boy looked up at him and he saw wide, tear-filled, ancient emerald eyes regarding him with anxious, fragile hope.
This child was much too old.
That horribly heart-wrenching, shattered expression begged him to do something, anything to put his world back together, and stop the nightmare that'd taken the place of whatever bliss the boy'd found with the designer. Who was he to deny him? Especially since there was an echo of Pantera in that pleading expression, one that he'd been unable to deny, and hoped never to see again.
"Don't worry kid. I'll take care of him."
Both of 'em.
KIKIKIKI
His patient sat almost serenely before him.
The designer was still and calm, eyes closed before Ichigo's less than steady hand, allowing the art student to study smooth, marked features anew, noting with a frown the bruising that lightly colored the man's jaw, the subtle swelling of his lips, as well as cracks, as if his lips had been chapped before someone smacked him one to the mouth. There were abrasions on his wrists; they were a scraped, swollen mess, stating that he'd been bound rather crudely, definitely not in a comfortable or even tolerable fashion.
What had they done to the designer before he'd awoken? Something told him that he didn't want to know, even if he felt he should, as if he were responsible in some way.
"Neh, Shuuhei," he found himself saying.
"Hai, Kuro – ah, gomen – Ichigo?"
"What happened before I woke up?"
Silence reigned for a moment before the older man took a steady, deep breath, opening his eyes to regard the orangette, as if studying what his reaction would be depending on the information he gave. How much he could handle of what information could be given to the younger man, what the designer…
Chose to give.
He's going to sensor it, frowning, the golden skinned youth met the man's gaze steadily, disapproving of the sheltered words he knew were going to come. He was familiar with the kind of look that was directed at him, although it was normally on Chad's or his father's faces; when Chad had gotten into a fight on his behalf, or when his dad was serious… the few times that Isshin was serious, at least. He's going to try and baby me!
"They beat me, injected you with drugs, and then hurt me more," from the position standing over the other, the art student had the opportunity to witness the flecks of violet in coal gray orbs - the back of his artist's mind appreciative of the unique dazzle, the relief of the contrast - as well as a frightening determination that was hidden behind the tired, self-conscious exterior.
He wasn't going to get any more than this.
Wait, what?
"They injected me with drugs?" his tone was outraged, incredulous, and a tidbit nervous; what the fuck? "What kind of drugs?"
Well, that explains my elbow, sort of. He was horrified. He felt…
Gross.
Had they done anything else to him? What was it that was now filtering through his very blood, becoming deeper ingrained in him with every beat of his heart? Was the needle dirty? Was he poisoned? Was he infected with something? What?
What?
Unaware of the mixture of upset that now coated his features, the animosity that was radiating off his athletic, tensed frame, he was taken aback as the coal eyed man drew away from him, eyes worried and wary at they regarded him. The fact that this man – Hisagi friggin' Shuuhei – was feeling threatened by him snapped him out of his momentary panic, and he found himself with the realization that, no matter what it was they'd done to him, it certainly couldn't be or have been as painful and distressing as watching powerlessly as another person was hurt while helpless.
Not that he liked to think of himself as helpless…
"Gomenesai, Shuuhei," for a moment he felt as if the voice coming out of his mouth weren't his own, but rather his mother's. The tone was identical, familiar.
Comforting.
Slim, tired, bruised eyes blinked in surprised shock for a moment before worry filtered back into full force, drowning out the mild apprehension that's shadowed them in the moments previous.
"Daijoubu, Ichigo?" he queried in return, leaning forward as if to give comfort, brows furrowed and figure welcoming; like you would for a troubled child.
"I didn't mean to frighten you," the orangette continued, strangely comforted by the idea that he had at least something that seemed similar to his Oka-san. It was a warming, encouraging thought. "I didn't think. It must have been hard for you, to not be able to do anything as they hurt me. It wasn't fair of me to react the way I did, and I hurt the trust you'd started to have for me. For that," he bowed his head, kneeling down so that he was the lower of the two, gaze sliding over the bewildered, worried embarrassment of the designer as he did so, before focusing on the tile floor. "I'm truly regretful."
Wow, he was mildly confounded himself, at his real grief over the fact that he might have offended this already beaten man any more than he'd already been hurt and threatened. I don't think I've ever apologized like this before. So… wholeheartedly.
The hand that came down onto his head was gentle and comforting as the long fingers sifted softly through spiky orange locks, and the other that braced onto his shoulder was firm and surprisingly strong as it gripped him, grabbing his attention and causing him to look up and see the tender, bemused affection of a parent with for their child.
"Īe," tired eyes were soft and warm as they regarded him, telling him that he was still very young, which in turn made him flush with youthful indignation and embarrassment; he was mildly put out by the fact that this proved the designer's unspoken point. "While you perhaps could have reacted differently – which isn't necessarily better, understand – you have no control over my own inclinations. It's understandable that you would be upset by this information – anyone would be – considering the situation you have found yourself in, but you needn't be sorry for something you can't control," Ichigo found himself opening his mouth to retort that the elder man didn't need to feel bad about the fact that the art student had been hurt either, when the man raised a brow, effectively silencing him.
The magical I'm talking right now, don't interrupt that all parents possessed. Mostly strong willed mothers, but still, it was a parental trait.
That's the third time I've thought of him in those terms, slowly standing, features thoughtful as the tattooed man's fingers trailed over his cheek as he did so whilst the man retracted said hand, the other doing the same in regards to the orangette's arm before being pulled away rather quickly, as if burned with the realization that he'd touched more than was necessary. I wonder if it has any fact to it. I don't remember anything in the media about him having children, but…
"Ichigo," his eyes were drawn to the other's features once again, as he set about cleaning the wound, the other's features never flinching from the discomfort, wholly focused on the art student before him. "While I do regret being unable to prevent what happened to you, and your involvement, I know that there is nothing that I could have done differently so as to change the outcome, or prevent the situation from occurring in the first place. There's nothing I can do."
He became oddly serious for a moment, and Ichigo paused as he unrolled some gauze to place over the wound before he would begin wrapping it.
"Even still, if there were some way for me to change what has happened, and the choices I've made, there's nothing I would change," their eyes met again, and Shuuhei's gaze searched for something within his own, gaze intense and direct, as if trying to breath the meaning into him like life to a dying man. "Do you understand that?"
I do, he found himself thinking with shocking clarity, surprising himself with the notion that he truly understood. There were some things that he wouldn't change, knew that he couldn't, no matter the outcome they caused. I understand, but that doesn't change the fact that I feel crappy about freaking you out.
He didn't say this, though, what he did say was:
"Do you have kids, Shuuhei?"
Well, the art student thought, watching the blinking confusion from the jump of topics cross his Idol's attractive features, before bemusement twisted his lips and brow. My mouth's just running away on me lately, isn't it?
10101010
"You knew this was coming," deep purple eyes, hollow and unrepentant, burrowing under his skin with his terror, and his sleeping brow, cold with sweat, wrinkled in distress. "Don't make such a fuss when we both know that you want this."
Gasping himself awake from the nightmare of his past, before groaning lowly at the pain that flashed throughout his body, he didn't argue when someone forced pills into his hand and a bottle of water into the other; he just hoped that they were the pain meds, and not sleeping pills. There were a number of people in the precinct who would slip him those, so that he would rest more, even at the risk of getting on his bad side, and half the time he didn't mind, especially when he was as banged up as he was right then, but he had a case to work on.
Taking slow, deep breaths he calmed his boiling nerve endings and slowly swallowed the medicine before drinking a couple gulps of the water to clear out the mild film of sleep paste on his teeth and tongue. When he felt the bottle taken from his mostly lax hand, he opened tired, swollen eyes to regard his head of science/research.
The man's features were tense and eyes dark as he regarded the pale prodigy before him. It was obvious that whatever reason he'd had to wake the fukutaicho was bad enough, and dark enough to cause even the mild mannered scientist's ire. How long had it been? A glance at the clock had his brows furrowing. Too long. Much too long.
"What have you found, Akon-san?" he didn't like how tired his voice sounded, but he couldn't do anything about it, so he let it be; he only had so much energy, after all.
A glance to his side from the elder man reminded the young detective of the proximity of the two sleeping children, and when the quiet, passive officer offered his hand, the younger man took it, as he wasn't confident of his ability to stand on his own so close to waking from a stressful, tenuous nap, as well as in such poor condition.
As the other man closed the door softly behind them so as not to wake the sleeping nest of children, Hitsuguya took as deep of a breath as he could - sans great pain - to brace himself for whatever evils that were ahead, waiting to pull him under the mat even farther. Whatever it was that the other had found was bad enough to affect his normally indifferent attitude in such a severe way, and he dreaded the fact that he would soon know whatever it was, but…
This was his job.
"So?" he queried when Akon had turned to him again. "What have you found?"
He was silent a moment.
"You need to see this," the tone was dark, foreboding, and weary before the research specialist and technician turned and lead the way towards the tech room, where they found Ren quietly crying, away from the computers, a box of tissues in front of him on the table, his young eyes haunted. A fine tremor ran along his entire body, barely noticeable.
Passing the timid, hurting officer with a slow glance and a deep frown, Hitsuguya felt that sense of foreboding growing with the pain he saw in those wide, puffy, reddened eyes.
When the older officer took a seat in his 'throne', the crystal eyed fukutaicho's gaze fell on the screens and he paled. His body stiffened and he felt his stomach twitch into his throat with a vicious sense of nausea.
Flashes of his nightmare came back to haunt him, those eyes taunting him with purpose and desire. With pain.
Every screen was playing out different parts of a single sexual assault, the timing on each different, but obviously the same scene.
The assault of Hisagi Shuuhei, with Kurosaki Ichigo's unconscious body feet away, lying on a bed with an unrecognizable child with red hair and hidden features sitting next to him, looking to be holding the inert student's hand outside the camera's view, small frame tense as he kept his gaze from being directed at the violence behind him. The child's frame was thin, painfully so. They couldn't be more than 12 years old. It may not have been a boy at all, but the dirty light green Tshirt and ragged jean shorts spoke of a male child.
It was easier to focus on the child than on the center piece of the video, certainly, but his gorge still rose.
The man that was… it was Kariya Jin in some, and Tōsen Kaname in others. More than one person was… had…
"Akon-san…" he managed, throat tight, voice mildly strangled; he was much too tired for this, his exhaustion taking its toll on his ability to block and filter his emotions enough to be objective. "What is this?"
"Found this tidbit on a private server with a restricted key-code," the man's tone was grim, his eyes focused on the tensed resignation on the battered visage of the designer as he was used. "The kind that you have to get a specific driver to access. You need an invite from someone who's already connected, and then are given specific passwords for individual vids. Usually."
At the moment, the sound was muted, and for that he was thankful as he managed to push his horrified disgust away to think about what Akon was implying.
"You mean that there's some kind of… club or cult or whatever," he swallowed around his thick feeling tongue, gaze locked stubbornly on the blank features of the designer as he was violated. He felt that he shouldn't abandon him, even if this was filmed some time ago; the man deserved the respect, and much more. "That watches this. Is watching this. Aizen started an online private porn ring. Of rape and violation."
"Yes," the tech closed his eyes briefly before stopping several of the videos and shifting to an update page on one screen, and starting over the video from the beginning. "Listen to this, what Aizen says. You'll know how bad this is then."
"Hold on," he managed, wiping a sore hand over his bruised, numb features. It was going to get worse. Great. "Get taicho on the line. Whatever this is, he needs to hear it too."
"Wakatta. Ren," the name of his assistant fell from his lips in a rather gentle way for the seasoned veteran, his eyes soft as he regarded the softly sobbing young man with the girlish features. "Can you get Starrk on the line please? Then you can go sit with the children."
"H-hai," his lower lip trembled slightly and his eyes held a faint sheen, but he stood, hands shaking as he wiped them over his ruddy cheeks, and went about the task of getting the lazy eyed man on audio.
"And Ren?" Hitsuguya marveled at the even softer tone directed at the other, highly emotional officer.
"Hai, Akon-san?" as the machine that earlier that day had been hooked up to Grimmjow's cell was hooked up to another and moved towards the scientist's desk, he didn't look up even once.
"You've done very well today," big watery eyes shot up to lock onto his supervisor's, flicking momentarily to the pale prodigy in the process as the crying young man's splotchy upset features paled and then flushed. "Thank you."
Ah, the trembling in his legs and entire body doubled into exhaustion as the realization hit him, causing him to grope for a chair and slowly descend into it. So he's the one who found the site.
"I – I –" was the soft, watery plea that choked off as the young man snapped his mouth shut, gaze shooting to the floor, eyes shadowed by overlong bangs that usually were held back by either a tie, or clips, and connected the remaining wires before rushing towards the door.
"Ren-san," the crystal eyed young man managed, connecting his gaze with the trembling form at the door, hand on the handle. "You've saved their lives. Know that, be proud of that. Nothing else matters but that fact," he was aware of the ringing sound of the brunette's phone in the background, as well as Akon's gaze out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you."
"Un," was the thick acknowledgement before the officer rushed out of the office.
"Moshi-moshi?" the deep, soothing tones of his taicho helped the prodigy to relax slightly, his eyes sliding shut for a moment.
"Taicho, it's Hitsuguya," he managed, features hardening with grim determination.
"Ah, Tōshirō-kun," there was a pause after the initial automatic reaction to the fukutaicho calling him. "What have you got?"
"Starrk," the technician interrupted, taking over for the exhausted youth, who sat back with a relieved sigh; he just couldn't take it right then. "We've found them. Aizen's got them on an online porn site. Kurosaki Ichigo isn't on the site as of yet, as a victim, but Hisagi-kun has already made an appearance," Hitsuguya's crystalline eyes shot open to stare at the older officer whilst the other continued informing his taicho and sometimes drinking buddy; Akon and Hisagi Shuuhei knew each other. They fucking knew each other. "There has been no anal violation as of yet, but there has been oral rape from two different individuals. Kariya Jin and Tōsen Kaname have each individually initiated the assault. I'm assuming that the reason they have held off on a full assault is because certain 'viewers' are not able to see the videos at this time. Kurosaki Ichigo is on the scene and unconscious, as well as a young boy who has yet to be identifiable," there was foreboding silence on the other end of the line, deathly quiet that caused Hitsuguya's chest to ache as he listened to Akon speak and thought about the man's ability to do so even though he had some sort of relation with the designer. "It's on a private server. A kind of 'members only' kind of thing. We've contacted you so that you can listen to the beginning of the video to get a grasp on what's really going on. The scope of this is huge. The rest of the video is nothing pertinent at this time. I've already screened it."
The lazy eyed man on the other end of the line was quiet for a good, long minute before he spoke.
"Play it," was the ever-so soft order, tone gentle and kind.
As the man with an actual knowledge of the victim as a person leaned forward to do that, the pale prodigy felt himself swallow bile down distantly.
I'm a coward, he found himself thinking with stark clarity.
MEMEMEME
Well, I hope ya'll enjoy this frighteningly long chapter that I wrote in a pretty large rush of breaks while working and when I could find some time, lol.