Chapter 20: Gotta Catch Em All
Szayel was calmly sitting at his desk one evening. Early January had brought about a pleasant, easy atmosphere to Las Noches, like the Pax Romana in the Roman Empire. People were getting along, nobody was trying to strangle others, and interactions were smooth and unhurried. In fact, nothing out of the ordinary had happened since Ulquiorra idiopathic illness some weeks ago. Rooms still had holes bashed into them by Grimmjow (since he never used doors), Ulquiorra was still a misanthrope, and Noitora had managed to make it thus far without acquiring any STDs—a true miracle. Yup, nothing out of the ordinary. Generally speaking, The Espada were all smiles, except for Ulquiorra, who apparently lacked the muscles he needed to smile or actually look pleased. But he was an exception. Even Szayel, who had spent most of last year PMSing at anyone that looked at him funny was quite content. The weather was colder than ever—scarves were wrapped snugly around the necks of most of Las Noches' inhabitants. Snow blanketed the sand and fell thickly from the cloudy skies—which meant that more injuries would be coming in, with all the skiing attempts. However, since Szayel's spirits were so high, he didn't mind stitching people up and bandaging ankles.
The past week had been quiet. Szayel had gotten a full night of sleep the night before, and he had conducted extensive research in the chemistry field. He had been fooling around with chemical equations, double bonds, and compounds for the whole day. It had tickled him positively pink. He finished typing up a report on the new element he had discovered and what it could be used for. He even had time to clean his office, and it was now spotless—papers and scans were filed away conveniently, and his bookshelf had been dusted. Szayel paused and took a dainty sip of the coffee he had nearby. With a contented sigh, he leaned back in his seat and stretched. Dinner was on his mind. But before he could even stand up from his chair, he heard loud, urgent footsteps nearby—and many voices, jumbled together. He ignored it—probably Ilforte setting some fraccion on fire.
And then, Grimmjow and Stark clattered into the office, holding Ulquiorra between them. Szayel looked at Grimmjow and Stark first, both of which looked terrified, and white faced. Ulquiorra was between them, head lolling, twitching vaguelyr.
"He went stiff and fell out of his chair," Stark said breathlessly. "And then he started twitching and grinding his teeth and getting all tense but flailing around! We poured water on him that Noitora tried to bless and shoved food into his mouth, to wake him up or whatever, but—"
"He bit me!" Grimmjow shrieked, holding up a bleeding left hand. "I'm going to get rabies!"
"A seizure…" Szayel said, awed.
"It was really bad in the kitchen. His back arched and he was…possessed. We brought him when he stopped flipping out, but, as you can see, he's still not completely conscious…" Stark explained. Szayel rushed over to do a quick physical examination. Ulquiorra was unconscious, catatonic, unresponsive. His temperature was normal. Szayel frowned—something wasn't right. A seizure of this caliber—from what Stark described, it had been a tonic-clonic seizure, the most severe. There would be many tests to do, from blood tests to CTs and many others to rule out illnesses and conditions. Such a seizure was a red flag, especially when someone had been in perfect health previously.
"He felt dizzy and tasted something nasty in his mouth before dinner," Grimmjow said tremulously. "He said that just minutes before food was served." Ulquiorra gave one final jerk before going limp.
"Right." Szayel frowned, and groped for a dose of valium in his pocket. He quickly administered it, and whisked the group off to an observation room. Ulquiorra was placed on the bed. Szayel noticed a thin stream of blood issuing from his mouth.
"It was fucking scary!" Grimmjow said with wide eyes, shaking his head. "He was possessed. Nobody knew what to do."
"Halibel told us to leave him alone, but we couldn't! He was going insane. As Grimmjow said, possessed." Stark said vehemently.
Szayel scowled at them over the rims of his glasses. They should've listened to Halibel. Because of their stupidity, Ulquiorra had bitten his tongue convulsively, leaving many lacerations. Szayel unconcernedly wiped the blood off Ulquiorra's chin.
"This is very serious." Szayel said gravely, pressing his stethoscope to Ulquiorra's chest, rising and falling quickly.
"What do you think it is?" Stark asked curiously, studying Ulquiorra. Ulquiorra was asleep now, but conscious. Szayel had pinched his arm, and Ulquiorra made a subconscious move to brush his hand away.
"It could be anything from a brain tumor to epilepsy." Szayel said. He shifted the stethoscope a bit and listened to Ulquiorra's firm, strong heartbeat. No arrhythmia, but he did have a very slight bradycardia—abnormally slow heart rhythm—due to the Valium. Valium is a relaxant, often used to reduce the severity of seizures and anxiety attacks.
"What's that? Pepto-Bismol? And what's a too-murr?" Grimmjow asked with a striking similarity to Brian Fellows, contorting his face like a little kid.
"A tumor is an abnormal growth of cells. If the cells are normal, it's a benign tumor. If the cells are abnormal—genetically different with a whacked out mitotic cycle—it is a malignant tumor. Now, malignant tumors can metastasize—which means they can spread to other parts of the body…" Szayel trailed off and watched Ulquiorra critically, who was finally beginning to stir.
"Ulquiorra!" Grimmjow shouted. Ulquiorra's eyes flew open at the yell and he looked around, confused, and definitely annoyed by the unnecessary wake up call.
"Did you beat those demons?" Grimmjow demanded vigorously.
"Shut up." Ulquiorra said bitterly. He turned to Szayel groggily and asked, "What happened?" He grimaced at the taste of iron in his mouth—not to mention the pain on his tongue. The room was tipping from side to side, the temperature was fluctuating at a nauseating, unnerving speed. Ulquiorra had to close his eyes, but the dizziness continued.
"You had a seizure." Szayel said with a solemn nod.
"I don't remember it." Ulquiorra said guardedly, eyes narrowing minimally.
Grimmjow shot a pointed look at Stark, who replied with a grave nod. Perhaps an exorcism would need to take place.
"People don't usually remember seizures." Szayel said gently, patting him on the shoulder.
"What are sea-jures?" Grimmjow asked stridently. He added a complementary snigger.
"Seizures are a result of abnormal electrical activity in the brain, which can be centered in a particular lobe or involve the whole brain. Seizures can be as mild as a few twitches or out-of-control like Ulquiorra's." Szayel said. "During a seizure, loss of—"
"Okay. What's a lobe?"Grimmjow asked impatiently.
"It's a part of the brain. There are five lobes—the frontal lobe, right and left temporal lobes, parietal lobe, and occipital lobe." Szayel cut Grimmjow off before he fired another question. "Seizures can be different depending on which lobe the electrical activity is focused in. The frontal lobe is basically the forehead. Temporal, as the name suggests, is by your temples. The parietal lobe is in the upper back of the head, and the occipital lobe is on the lower back. A blow to the occipital lobe can be deadly, as that is where the cerebellum is. Pressure on the cerebellum leads to pressure and trauma to the brainstem, which controls involuntary activities, such as breathing and heartbeat. Needless to say, if it damaged, life support will be in order. Such damage is irreversible, by the way."
Ulquiorra had lost track of the explanation and Grimmjow looked more confused than before. Stark was staring at a wall. He lost Szayel even before he started.
"Right. So in which lobe did Ulquiorra have the seizure?" Stark asked slowly.
"Oh, it involved the whole brain." Szayel frowned deeply. "Since it was so severe, at least by your description. And that greatly concerns me." Szayel searched for something in the pocket of his lab coat, and from it he produced a silver penlight. He clicked it on and shone it into Ulquiorra's left eye. Ulquiorra winced and tried to shove Szayel's hand away. The light was burning his eyes, making them water. But, Szayel was satisfied in seeing Ulquiorra's pupil contract tautly to the light. The right pupil contracted just as flawlessly.
"Look up. Down. To the left. Right." Szayel commanded stiffly. Nothing abnormal. Ulquiorra was able to follow each command. "Open your mouth and stick your tongue out." Szayel chuckled at the horrified expression that came over Ulquiorra's face at the order.
Szayel smiled and said, "I'm not going to swab, relax."
Ulquiorra then complied. Soft palate and pharynx contracted in an orderly, accurate fashion. No damage to the cranial nerves was apparent so far.
"Sit on the edge, knees hanging over the side." Szayel ordered. He frowned and carefully observed as Ulquiorra maneuvered himself to the correct position. He didn't appear to have any difficulties—good. With the side of his hand, Szayel hit Ulquiorra just below the knee—right where the patellar tendon was, where it connected to the tibia. Ulquiorra's tibia gave a little jerk forward.
"Oh, good. Reflexes are intact…" Szayel marked something in a manila folder. "Stand up and walk to the doorway and back."
"What does this have to do with demons?" Grimmjow asked pointedly. "I mean, seriously."
"Demons?" Szayel prompted vaguely. "This is a neurological exam. I'm testing for basic functions."
Ulquiorra slipped off the bed and began to walk to the doorway. But Szayel noticed he was tipping to the right a little bit. He had an arm out to steady him. A gait abnormality. Ulquiorra returned to the bed, but Szayel said nothing of the odd walk. Making note of it, he moved on to the next tests. Szayel ambulated to the cabinets and pulled them open. Stark could see a vial, and a needle in Szayel's hand. Blood test. Ulquiorra would not like this. But, the blood test was going to be a very helpful aid in making a diagnosis—the blood revealed any problems occurring deep in the body, based on protein, sodium, electrolyte levels, blood cell counts, and platelets in the blood. This routine, fairly innocuous test (for most, anyway) was often a lifesaver, especially when the signs of illness were too nondescript to diagnose based on them alone. That, and seizures have many causes.
Szayel rounded on them, wearing gloves and holding the equipment in hand. Ulquiorra looked at Szayel, and then to the phlebotomy kit—he understood. Glowering at Szayel, Ulquiorra warily leaned away. Szayel expected this reaction. He knew Ulquiorra would be difficult.
"No." Ulquiorra said firmly.
"Yes." Szayel said with a little smile. "Now, give me your left arm so I can find a vein."
"I refuse." Ulquiorra said primly.
"Don't make me use force." Szayel said. Ulquiorra had had blood tests before. He shouldn't have been putting Szayel through this. Szayel's smile became colder, and he crept closer to Ulquiorra. Ulquiorra regarded him warily. He didn't like needles…he hated them. He also hated blood, especially his own blood. It made him feel faint. But that was only in a hospital setting, with the blood neatly sealed in a tube. In gory battles, no problem. The spatters of blood symboled victory.
"I'll pay you five bucks, Ulquiorra." Grimmjow said, waggling his eyebrows. Stark chuckled—the comment seemed to cause Ulquiorra to look a little less defensive, but he looked gloomier than ever. He frowned and held out his left arm to Szayel.
Szayel rolled up Ulquiorra's sleeves, and for a moment, Ulquiorra almost took his arm back. Szayel prodded the crook of Ulquiorra's elbow—the antecubital fossa—searching for a good vein. He did find two, but none of them were favorable enough. He moved onto Ulquiorra's right arm, and found a perfect vein—Szayel could feel the blood pulsating when he prodded it, like a taut garden hose. He wouldn't even need a tourniquet.
With a deft move, Szayel swabbed the site of penetration. Ulquiorra's face had become ashen—he looked faint, and was a bit tremulous.
"Will this hurt?" Ulquiorra asked quietly.
"No. There aren't many nerves in this area." Szayel said with a small smile, accommodating the needle in his fingers. "You've had blood tests before. Relax."
"Five bucks, Ulquiorra, five bucks." Grimmjow reminded him.
"Look away from the needle." Stark suggested. "It'll be over in five seconds."
Ulquiorra looked at the ceiling, breathing hard. His vision was getting a bit fuzzy. He felt a vague pinch, eliciting a sharp gasp from him, and the room started to swim around him.
"Szayel, he's looking pretty bad." Stark warned. The tube was already half full with dark blood. Szayel, however, appeared to be unconcerned. He pulled the needle out, pressed a cotton ball to the small hole, and smacked a band aid over it. Ulquiorra immediately pulled his arm close to him and leaned back into the pillows, looking wan.
"See? You lived." Szayel said, depositing the vial into Lumina's outstretched hand. She skittered out of the room.
"Barely." Ulquiorra said weakly. He shuddered uncontrollably. Grimmjow took note of this and shot Stark a look—the devil was going to enter him again! Grimmjow appeased him by throwing a ratty five dollar bill in Ulquiorra's face.
"Szayel, can doctors cure possessions?"Grimmjow asked in a mysterious, vague tone of voice.
"Hmm? Pardon? I don't think I heard that right." Szayel said darkly, plucking gloves off his fingers. He threw them over his shoulder and landed them perfectly in the trashcan. Szayel then grabbed the blood pressure cuff from wall and wrapped it around Ulquiorra's upper arm. Ulquiorra squirmed as it inflated.
"Oh, you know, the crazy shit that happens in horror movie when people get possessed and need exorcisms." Grimmjow said emphatically. "Can you, as a doctor, cure that?"
"Depends." Szayel said airily. He looked at the monitor—one nineteen over seventy one. Good. "Did he start prophesying Satan's return?"
Grimmjow took a breath to reply, but then stopped. He looked at Stark.
"He didn't do that, but—"
"In that case, no." Szayel said with a cold smile.
"It would be appreciated on my part if you refrained from making foolish insinuations that I am channeling spirits." Ulquiorra said coldly. Suddenly, Ulquiorra made a pained, stricken face. Defeated by something only he could detect, Ulquiorra slid under the covers and stared blankly at the ceiling.
Szayel caught this little retreat.
"What it is?" he inquired.
"I'm dizzy." Ulquiorra murmured.
Something was wrong. Dizziness, seizures…what else? Szayel would stop at nothing to make a diagnosis. The signs Ulquiorra had exhibited matched up to dangerous illnesses and conditions. And because Ulquiorra detested medical personnel, these symptoms might have been present for a long time.
"Dizzy." Szayel echoed. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach—Ulquiorra was not going to tell him anything. "Have you been nauseous recently?"
"Occasionally." Ulquiorra answered evasively, eyes straying away from Szayel's intense gaze. "Not always with the dizziness."
"How about headaches?"
"…Yes." Ulquiorra muttered, defeated. "Persistent, annoying headaches."
Dizziness, persistent headaches, nausea, seizures. Szayel was certain this was not epilepsy.
"And how long has this been happening?" Szayel pressed. Ulquiorra had the maddening habit of withholding important information. Szayel could almost see the cogs turning in Ulquiorra's head, trying to generate a lie or a shaving a few months off the actual time.
"A few days." Ulquiorra said evasively, looking down at his hands.
"That," Szayel said with a condescending look, "Is a lie."
At that answer, the room seemed to ice over. Grimmjow and Stark were able to feel the tension, the animosity that grew in the room. Szayel was lowering at Ulquiorra so furiously that Stark felt a twinge of fear within him.
"No, it's not." Ulquiorra said calmly. Szayel huffed and grabbed Ulquiorra's wrist, finding found that Ulquiorra's pulse said otherwise—it was much too fast for Ulquiorra to be telling the truth. His pupils were a bit dilated.
"Your pulse, Ulquiorra, seems to betray your lies. How long have you had these headaches?"
"Liar liar, pants on fire!" Grimmjow said, pointing at Ulquiorra accusingly.
"A little more than a year." Ulquiorra said quietly, fidgeting. But he wouldn't say anything about the severity. When he had that fever weeks ago, the headaches were so intense, so sickeningly strong that he couldn't even move.
Szayel paused and blinked a few times, disbelieving. His eyes went wide, but then another expression came over his face. It was one of concern, reluctance, and most of all, fury.
"So…you mean to tell me that you've been living with these symptoms for more than a year." Szayel said in a dangerously quiet voice, eyes flashing.
"That is correct." Ulquiorra murmured.
Szayel gave a cold laugh and shook his head incredulously. He had a bad feeling he knew what the problem was. And it would only take one more test to deliver the diagnosis—and verdict.
"I'd like you all to follow me." Szayel said thinly. He tucked the manila folder under his arm and led the group deeper in the medical suites. The temperature dropped, the rooms became sparse. But finally, he led them into a large, cold room, with a strange structure in the middle.
"Hey…that looks like that thing…" Stark muttered, pointing vaguely at the MRI machine. "The CT thing!" The MRI machine looked like the CT scanner, but it was shaped like a tight O with a tiny opening in the middle—a claustrophobe's nightmare.
"Oh, well, yes." Szayel said distractedly, pushing Ulquiorra onto the raised table. "But this one works differently—the CT scanner uses x-rays and emitters, this one uses magnetic resonance. As a result, no magnets or metal is allowed in the room once it's turned on. The magnets inside are extremely powerful. You don't have anything metal on your person, do you, Ulquiorra?"
Ulquiorra withdrew an impressive cell phone from his pocket and deposited it in Szayel's hand. Ulquiorra shifted uncomfortably on the table as Szayel pinned his arms down by his side and straightened out his legs brusquely. Szayel jammed a pillow under his head and looked down at Ulquiorra with contempt.
"You better not be claustrophobic." Szayel said airily.
"I'm not."
"Damn right you're not. You'll be out in forty minutes—don't move." Szayel gave a perfunctory smile and snapped some thick headphones on Ulquiorra's head. Ulquiorra, more confused than ever, simply complied—he had a feeling Szayel wouldn't quite appreciate any rebellious moves. Szayel jabbed some buttons on the MRI machine, and the little bed Ulquiorra was on began to move into the little hole. He couldn't hear anything because of the headphones. Inside, Ulquiorra felt cramped. It was a bit dark in the machine. But other than that, everything was fine…
When Szayel walked into the little office adjacent to the MRI room, he was displeased to find Grimmjow spinning around in the spinny chair that was next to the computer. Szayel rolled his eyes and let Grimmjow have his fun, simply because he'd ruin someone's life today.
Stark was looking around the small office, and then prodded Szayel for some conversation.
"So…nice weather, eh?"
"I suppose." Szayel answered petulantly. He paused as Lumina entered the room. He cut her off before she could even draw breath to speak. "Oh, hey. There's an autopsy waiting for me—start the Y incision, open up the ribs, get a few samples...and I'll be there in about an hour."
"Actually, sir, Mrs. Halibel-Stark is here." Lumina stepped aside to let Halibel in, who appeared to be flustered. She was holding a thick stack of papers that she shoved into Szayel's arms.
"It's epilepsy," she said breathlessly. "I have proof." She pointed to the papers.
"Epilepsy?" Szayel raised an eyebrow and flipped through the pages. He scoffed and handed the papers back to her. "It's not epilepsy, I'm ninety seven percent sure."
"Is that so?" Halibel said airily. "Read through my papers. It's epilepsy."
"It's not epilepsy!" Szayel growled.
"Prove it!"
"I'll have proof in about thirty minutes!"
"And I have proof right here, in these papers." Halibel said emphatically.
"Proof? You call that proof? Without scans, without proper samples, it is worthless!"
Grimmjow looked from Halibel to Szayel as they fired responses at each other. Eventually, he got bored, and decided to look at the computer screen, where strange images were forming. They were black and white, with some intermittent gray zones. Grimmjow felt a chill down his spine—was this Ulquiorra's soul on the screen? He pointed at the image on screen, and said in a distinctly awed tone, "It's his soul, Stark."
Stark leaned forward to examine it. He frowned, and looked over at Szayel and Halibel, who were still in heated argument. Szayel had already busted out a medical book and was holding thick MRI scans of someone's head. Stark, was, in fact, going to ask Szayel about this peculiar image, but decided to just agree with Grimmjow instead.
"Ugh. How many minutes have passed?" Stark asked.
"Dunno, like, twenty?" Grimmjow surreptitiously began to sift through a bunch of papers on the desk, all marked with Szayel's unruly, zigzag handwriting. Some looked important, others looked like stray ideas. But Grimmjow couldn't read anything he had written—Szayel handwriting was grossly indecipherable. But, Grimmjow was able to make out an abbreviation of some sort…AVM, it said. Grimmjow tossed the papers aside and found a random piece of paper to doodle on.
"Are you blind, woman? Can you not see that I have won this argument?"
"No, because you're wrong, Szayel…"
"Man," Grimmjow sighed. "I hate it when smart people start arguing over smart people things."
"Me too." Stark admitted. He stole a quick glance at the two. Szayel was going through all of her papers, red pen in hand. He shook his head and circled many things, shouting "WRONG!" each time he found erroneous information. Stark sighed. The picture on screen had become clearer, more defined. It distinctly resembled a head now, each groove of the brain a medium gray color. There was a white section as well, just to the right of the brain's midline. But Stark didn't know what it meant. The yelling stopped as Szayel left the room to get Ulquiorra out of the scanner. And then, Stark was pushed out of the way by Szayel, who stared at the MRI scan for a long time, brow furrowed, eyes pensive and brooding.
"It's an arteriovenous malformation." Szayel said, tapping the white section. His guess had been wrong…he thought it was malignant brain tumor. But an AVM was better than that, though not by much. "AVM for short."
"What is—" Grimmjow started, looking perturbed.
"I'm getting to that!" Szayel said scathingly. "As the name suggests, an AVM is a tangled mass of arteries and veins—it resembles a tumbleweed, in my opinion." Szayel reluctantly handed one of the scans to Grimmjow. Grimmjow could make out the blood vessels, woven like coils of smoke around each other when he held the scan up to the light.
"Eh. I think it looks like a Pokemon." Grimmjow said with a shrug.
Szayel rolled his eyes and snatched the scan back. "As I was saying, there is no concrete blood flow in AVMs. When it bleeds, it makes for a dangerous surgery and can damage the brain significantly. So, to remove it," Szayel smiled and did a little jig of excitement. "I get to do brain surgery on you, Ulquiorra!"
Ulquiorra's eyes widened as he turned a pale, smoky gray. Stark looked like someone had punched his gut, Grimmjow was looking at Ulquiorra's head, wondering how Szayel was planning to get in there—and at the same time, he was dreading it. Halibel looked unfazed, but did look concerned. The silence in the room was so tense that nobody dared to speak.
"Is there no other way to get rid of this…AVM?" Ulquiorra asked somberly.
"Well, yes, but yours is of formidable size." Szayel said with a frown, glancing at the scan. "It's deep in the temporal lobe. Surgery is the surefire way to remove it."
"No." Ulquiorra said icily. "I'd rather die."
"Hmm." Szayel gave him an equally frigid smile. "That's too bad. You don't have a choice in this matter."
"I believe I do." Ulquiorra returned.
"Right. So when it ruptures and reduces your brain to a pulp who are you going to come to?"
Ulquiorra frowned, confused.
"Me. I'll be doing the postmortem exam, of course." A nasty, bloodthirsty grin spread over Szayel's face. "Oh, yes. I can picture it already. Ulquiorra, laid out on the cold table…" Szayel dramatically pressed the tip of his index finger on Ulquiorra's left shoulder, and whispered, "The Y incision starting here," Szayel drew his finger down to Ulquiorra's sternum, sharply pivoting and moving down Ulquiorra's body. He made the same swooping line from Ulquiorra's right shoulder to the sternum. "Ribs open, heart cut away, trunk organs removed in a single tug, head sliced open," The grin on Szayel's face was diabolical. "And of course, the dark venous blood spilling from your pulverized brain."
Ulquiorra seemed unfazed, but he was a bit fidgety.
"And what are the odds of this AVM rupturing?" Ulquiorra asked stonily. He, quite frankly, didn't give a damn at this point. Szayel was going to force him into the surgery, but Ulquiorra was four ranks above him. Therefore, Ulquiorra not only had seniority but more physical strength.
"Well, since your human age is under twenty—" Szayel began.
"Barely." Ulquiorra put in sharply, eyes cold. "You can't calculate my death."
"The chances of it rupturing are, oh…" Szayel sucked in his cheek and glanced at the ceiling. "I'm putting you at about sixty one point four point seven percent chance of bleeding in the next year, judging by its size and your age as an Arrancar."
"Right." Ulquiorra said with a skeptical glance at Szayel. "Which means it's probably not going to happen. I don't want the surgery—that is final."
Szayel smirked and at glanced at the door for a moment. But then, he frowned suddenly and held the MRI up to the light, squinting. Then he blinked a few times.
"Correction—it has already bled a bit." He said in an oddly distant voice. But then he had an epiphany. "It all makes sense now. The fever…" Szayel studied the MRI once again. "Of course…the fever must have been a response to the bleeding! And the low hemoglobin! And the nausea, the lack of appetite…it all fits. The bleed and the AVM itself must have put pressure on the hypothalamus, which regulates hunger." Szayel said eagerly, eyes blazing.
"Oh, you're getting the surgery. For sure." Szayel said coolly, "This Wednesday the fourteenth, bright and early at six. It'll take about four hours or so...oh, by the way, you three—" Szayel pointed at Halibel, Stark, and Grimmjow. "Will be assisting me. This is going to be a very tricky surgery."
So. Today was Sunday, the eleventh of the first month of the two thousand and tenth year after Christ's birth. Ulquiorra had three days to live. What could he accomplish in those meager hours? What could he do to leave a mark of his fleeting existence? No—that was wrong. His existence was lie.
Halibel looked fairly eager and Stark looked reluctant. Grimmjow for once looked beside himself with excitement. He had seen brain surgery on cartoons before, meaning it would be the exact same in real life, duh. Szayel looked like he was going to explode with joy. He was staring at the site of surgery on the side of Ulquiorra's head with starry eyes.
"Oh, that reminds me, Ulquiorra. Let's run a few more tests on you today. I want an angiogram and CBC." Szayel grabbed Ulquiorra by the coat and dragged him out of the room. The more images Szayel had of the AVM, the easier it'd be able to pinpoint and excise. An angiography was an X-ray mapping technique of the inside of blood vessels. Clots were easy to find this way. And the blood test was going to be fairly easy as well.
Ulquiorra sighed inwardly. The seconds were ticking by.
I've been asked about the titles of my chapters. They initially make no sense, but they make a reference to something that occurs in the chapter. In a twisted way, they are related, though one might require a degree of lunacy to understand it.
Yes, there will be neurosurgery next chapter. That I can promise you.
Review to help me get an A on my history final/worst subject.