Grimmjow leaned against the railing of the ring, knuckles turning white and transparent as he gripped the metal. Ichigo's first fight had left him on edge. Movements that should have flowed like rivers through rough terrain had become slow, hesitant, and jerky. There had been a delay in almost every dodge, sweeping kick, and thrown punch too. Grimmjow had ignored Shank's little jab of how 'Fifteen' wasn't performing as well as they would have expected but he couldn't help but find himself agreeing that something was off.

He had a bet that it was the contacts but he didn't want to focus on it. He had other things he had to focus on and Ichigo would have glared death upon him if he forgot to do his job because of his own worries. Not to mention, there would be paperwork and evaluations a plenty without his fucking this operation up. He didn't need Internal Affairs on his back for anything more than the fact that he'd let his own Slave act as his in for the operation.

The crowd was oblivious to the slight decline in "Fifteen's" abilities though and Grimmjow knew that it was a good thing they were. If anyone suspected...he didn't want to think about what could happen if someone looked too closely at Ichigo's eyes let alone his abilities. He'd been shocked that no one - the crowd, the Guards, the Masters, or even Shank - had mentioned something about how Fifteen seemed to move in a similar fashion to a previous slave. No one was more shocked than Renji and Rukia on that one though, their constant looks of wonder and questioning him on the side not withstanding. In the end however, they were distracting and poignant questions. The entire operation hinged on their targets thinking Fifteen was a slave with a bored cartel head for an owner and that, despite being handicapped, was a damn good fighter.

Ichigo proved the rumored skill. Grimmjow was set in his typical "Pantera" role which had been sold to far sharper tools in the overarching shed of criminals. The 'kids' had killed themselves over hiding Ichigo's defining hair, getting the contacts to allow for an impediment, and style of clothing that could sell Ichigo as the slave of the head of a cartel. Rangiku had also killed herself over making Fifteen's history check out every where anyone would, could, and should look.

Yet, there was still the feeling that someone was going to notice something off about the whole set up. Especially now after Ichigo had lost a contact during his last fight. Here they were, in the pinnacle of enemy territory, and they'd had to change the contacts they were using which was now hampering their star player. Was there no true justice left in the world? Why, in all the circles of heaven and hell, did this stupid farce come down to a pair of contacts that shouldn't have been employed in the first fucking place.

So far, Grimmjow held onto the hope that out of all the nights they could hold a raid, this one would be one of the ones that Zangetsu and his partners would stay out of the crowds. While he hadn't seen them, he kept a wary eye out for them, fearing Shiro would show up again and something would happen.

Shank leaned heavily on the rail on Grimmjow's right, chattering off like he was the king of the world, his throne crafted from the flesh and bone of all those sacrificed to the rings he watched over. The man oozed a sick confidence that made Grimmjow wonder if Shank thought himself a god. The snake in the grass certainly acted like he thought he was above everything. He'd escaped the law, looked down on the customers as well as the slaves in his domain, and found profits in everything he touched. The man made Grimmjow's stomach curl and bunch at the mere sight of him, the slightest hint of his voice.

Renji pressed against Grimmjow's left, a knowing smile on his face. They were clear. All Grimmjow had to do was get incriminating words on tape for them. An illicit sale of an illegally obtained slave. All he had to do was act his fucking part.

"Seems like this should become a bi-annual thing," Grimmjow shouted to Shank to be heard over the cheering. He ignored the well signaled 'thumbs up' from Rukia who was perched on the steps behind Shank. He was being picked up clearly then.

"I may just have to do that," Shank snickered. "Maybe space it out more though. Need to restock and such."

Grimmjow couldn't believe the arrogance of the man as he gave an agreeing snort, shaking his head.

"Tell me about it," he complained. "I can't tell you how often I've had to tell my guys to get new Slaves because they didn't train the new ones properly."

Shank scowled. "Nothing worse than a badly trained Slave," the man agreed as the crowd booed at a call. Grimmjow found himself wondering what they considered a 'clean hit' if a solid punch to someone's temple wasn't fucking good enough until he noticed the downed player wasn't moving.

"Looks like that one needs culling," Grimmjow grumbled. "Fast fights are dull things."

Shank scowled down at the Slave as he was dragged back to his cage.

"Feh! I shouldn't have dragged that one in," Shank growled. "Used to be a fighter of some sort...Military. Until he was left for dead when my people found him. Given him too many chances I have."

Rukia was smiling from her perch. They'd gotten every word.

"Where'd you find him?"

"Some desert country not fit for shit," Shank waved. "No...the best come from China and Japan. Ah...That mother would have been a sweet thing to sell...Too bad her brat was so damned cocky. Had to put that orange haired shit down after all the trouble he caused me; helping others escape! Pah!"

"Too bad you're a loudmouth," Grimmjow sneered, his gun pressing into Shank's ribs. He'd heard enough. His co-workers had as well, considering the explosion of shouting that shrouded them.

"Now...Where's my Slave?" Grimmjow snarled.

"What's that noise?" Kaien asked as a loud bang made the cages shutter and quake.

"Don't move," Ichigo hissed as he settled down to wait, fingers plucking the contacts from his eyes. "Wait. My Owner's coming to get us."