Does anyone even still use FFN?
Anyway.
A finger tapped -once, twice, thrice- against the dome of bare metal. The sound it produced was not quite hollow, dull, but dense and sturdy. There was weight to it. Something hummed to life and the contraption stiffened, metal clicking and gears thrumming quietly as limbs slowly collected.
A wide smile flashed across handsome features. "Time to wake up." The voice was smooth, not quite sing-song. He'd worked on this one for a long time. His other attempts hadn't been quite what he'd wanted, flawed, but there was something in each of them that he'd liked and aspects he'd called successful. This time, he'd combined all the parts of the first creations into this one, into something better, something more. This one would do what he needed it to do and be what he needed it to be.
The creator backed up and watched as his creation took its first, artificial breaths. Circuits ran through a series of initial tests as it learned itself and its functions. The fingers, long and slim, twitched, before slowly curling to make fists. The shoulders rolled back, straightening a bowed, metal spine. The lolling head tipped to one side, before equilibrium was found and ghosty features lifted. The face was uncanny; white like porcelain, smooth, yet to be painted to make it more life-like, but still distinctly human. It was doll-like, almost, the expression blank, peaceful.
"Come on," The creator encouraged quietly, "Open your eyes. We need to do a systems check before we start trial runs." But he was patient. It wasn't easy learning to be alive, after all. Sometimes the initial start up took time while the AI mapped itself to the shell. He glanced at his watch, keeping track of start up speeds. The core was running; he could hear it humming, so quiet that, had he not known to listen for it, he might have missed it.
The dangling legs twitched in minute spasms, before the fists unclenched and the lips parted in a deep inhale that swelled the chest. Gears whirred, quiet and ghostly.
"Ah. There we go. Found the rest of yourself, didn't you?"
Finally, in the dimly lit room, the eyes opened. Like the internals, the mechanical parts under the white shell, the artificial sclera were black, surrounding sharp, cold, golden irises. The pupils dilated, blown wide, before constricting as the android's vision calibrated to focus on the face before it.
"Welcome to the world." The creator smiled as he greeted what he'd brought to life. "Your name will be Shiro, and I'm Ichigo."
••••••
Rain pattered against the ground and the sides of the building. Rivulets of dirty water ran in little, twisting streams down the bricks. It soaked long, white hair and dripped against blueing, bloated features. Pale fingers spasmed around the throat they were clenched against. The figure writhed, choking and clawing at cold, synthetic skin to little effect. Something delicate creaked, then crunched below palms and blood vessels burst in the figure's wide, bulging eyes. The frantic scuff of kicking feet against blacktop slowed to feeble twitches as desperate gasps for air faltered and became wet gurgles.
And then, all at once, sharp agony ripped across inhuman sensors and the hands fled from around a crushed trachea with a howl of rage and artificial pain. One of those hands dropped to the jutting handle of a knife, where it buried deep in the android's side, between steel ribs. As it spun on its new attacker, another sharp stab of pain and the warning flair of sensors slipped against its spin; a second blade jamming against knots of metal and getting stuck in the tangle of coated wiring the spine protected. For half a second, the android shuddered, then froze, the gold eyes losing focus. But only for a moment, before backup systems rebooted and Shiro lunged at its newest assailant.
The knife in its side was ripped free and flung aside so swiftly and with so much force that it thunked against the brick wall of the adjacent building and stuck fast. Heavy, metal footfalls gained speed as the android lurched to grab for its new target.
Back at home, Ichigo checked his watch. Missions had been successful thus far. Shiro preformed far better than his other creations had, far better than he'd expected it to. There was more personality to it than he'd meant to give the AI, but he found himself enjoying the company, even if aspects of it were beginning to develop in oddly disturbing ways.
Looking up from his watch with a mild frown, he was just turning to his laptop when a neon red warning began flashing across a screen hovering to his left. There was no volume or tone to the warning, instead, it flared bright and obnoxious in the low lighting of his work space, bathing other screens and desktops and machinery in sickly red.
Ichigo sighed, spinning his chair to face Shiro's monitor and control system. "Better not have gotten stuck somewhere again." For being the most advanced artificial intelligence around, they still occasionally ran into ridiculous bugs. He frowned at the numbers scrolling across the screen for a moment, before realizing it was a damage code. "Shit-!" He swiped the flashing, red warning sign from the touch screen, pulling up the diagnostics. The spread eagle, skeletal image had an angry red damage report flashing up and down the spine and Ichigo cursed again, grabbing the keys to his truck. Before he rushed to pick the android up, though, he absently slid the damage report to the bottom corner with one hand and used his other to tab through to a live feed.
Despite being unable to see Shiro itself, the damage was still obvious on the screen. The feed glitched, cutting in and out, distorted. But the android was still up and moving, still functioning well enough to be carrying out its mission, so Ichigo settled back in his chair again, fingering the vehicle key as he watched. He winced at the crack of bone from over the audio. Then the feed whirled as Shiro spun on its heel, head snapping around. Enhanced vision zoomed in on another figure at the far end of the alley.
The man stared back, then took a few steps closer and Ichigo could hear over the feed, in a confused tone, as the stranger frowned, "Everything ok, buddy? Where's– Hey, what the fuck–"
Ichigo leaned closer to the screen. Through the distortion caused by the damaged neural cabals along the android's spine, Ichigo was able to make out a well built man in plain clothes and a coat, likely a civilian. He tapped another button, flipping through different enhancements; x-ray, heat, night vision, but none were working right. Still, he was certain the man wasn't armed, else he would have surely pulled a weapon by now. But Shiro was in motion again, lurching towards the stranger at the end of the alley as the man backed up a cautious, confused step.
"Shiro," Ichigo said over the feed as he patched himself through. "Respond."
A distorted, hollow voice rang back to him. The response was simple. "Witness."
"What? Look, I didn't see shit…"
Ichigo ignored the civilian, whom clearly couldn't hear him and only Shiro. "Shiro. He's a civilian, an unarmed civilian. Disengage."
"Witness."
"No-! Shiro, disengage." Ichigo cursed under his breath, a litany of colorful words, as the android shot forward again. The civilian gave it a good hit, sliding a foot back and winding up. The punch was hard enough to rock Shiro's head back, forcing the momentum from its steps. But the head snapped back into place and the eyes refocused on the man. "Dammit, Shiro- Abort! Mission canceled."
On the screen, Ichigo saw metallic, colorless fingers reach out and clench in the man's coat, a big, scarred up hand winding around Shiro's metal wrist, the knuckles cut and bleeding from Shiro's solid features. The features above Shiro's fisted hand were filled with disbelieving confusion. The diagnostics hovering in the corner of the screen showed as cables twisted and tensed in the opposite shoulder, arm and back, as Shiro prepared to pay the stranger back in kind. But the android finally hesitated. "Disengage initiated." The distorted voice parroted, but the body was still tense, humming with energy, struggling between reacting to outside stimuli and listening to orders.
Ichigo breathed a sigh of relief. "Return for repairs." The feed fuzzed out almost entirely and Ichigo again fingered the key in his hands, worried he'd be hunting for his android. Before the link could be severed, he pulled up yet a third tab, this one showing a tracker and an approximate location on GPS. It was usually only half a dozen yards off, and in the city, there wasn't as many places for a man-sized body to fall and be lost. There were also a whole lot more people to potentially come across Shiro if it lost power, though, which was a problem.
When the feed cleared again, it was sideways, the blacktop filling half the field of vision. "What the hell? Shiro, respond." He enlarged the screen some, then flipped back to the damage report to see the chart's cranium flaring red.
The sound of Shiro's report through the feed was stuttering and uneven. "D-d-dow-nnn" An electronic hum, before the android's voice grated a manual request. "Reboot… Reboot… Reb-"
"Fuck. Granted." Ichigo pulled out the keyboard and typed a few keys, hitting enter. The feed went blank and the damage report went dark, before flaring back to life. When it remapped to the android's shell, the spine and skull still showed angry red damage. The visual feed fuzzed with static, but didn't clear. "Shiro? Report." He didn't get a response. He waited a half dozen tense moments, then turned his chair to push away from the desk, but before he could get far, the GPS beeped, showing movement. It hovered in the alley for a while, before tracking down to the far end and hooking a turn down the next side street. After a few minutes, it became obvious that Shiro was coming home. He tried to get through a few more times, but was met with silence each attempt.
Deciding the android must have sustained heavy damage, he set about gathering his tools and spare parts, hoping nothing was damaged beyond repair. He liked this one, he didn't want to have to scrap it and start again. But Shiro seemed to at least be functioning enough to listen to the failsafe that it was programmed with, the one that compelled it to return to base in case of minimal functionality.
Twenty-five minutes later, scraping, uneven steps sounded in the short corridor that led to a staircase and Ichigo spun his chair towards the shadowed stairwell, only to balk when Shiro stepped into view. "What the hell!? Shiro, is that– You brought the civilian here?!"
Thrown over one shoulder, the man from the alley hung unconscious, limbs dangling. He was visibly larger than the android, but Shiro's strength outmatched the average man and the android didn't seem to struggle under the weight. The dragging, uneven gait seemed to come from physical damage instead. A cursory glance showed jagged punctures in the shell and exposed wiring. Black, thick lubricant dripped from the severed spinal column.
Ichigo pushed out a hissing sigh, "Is he alive? Lay him out on the table, then- Gently!" He watched the android pause, turning enough to give him a narrow look over one shoulder, before returning to lowering the man, more careful of its movements this time. "I swear, Shiro, if you were alive, I might consider killing you for this."
Shiro grunted as it straightened.
Ichigo wheeled up to the table, "Return to your cradle." He instructed absently, as he frowned at the unconscious man. "More beat up than I thought you were…" He mumbled to himself, reaching out to the take the visible hand, running careful fingers against the cuts and bruises that lined the knuckles. "Shouldn't have tried hitting a robot with a metal head, dumbass." He pushed aside the collar of the heavy coat, finding a strong pulse.
Further into the room, in one corner, Shiro turned around to face the center, then backed up a step to lock itself into the cradle; a device Ichigo built to hardwire the android into his computer system. Gears whirred and connections sparked as the upright table linked it in, connectors in a row along the table lining up with similar ports in its spine. The computer it was hooked up to began running a more complete damage report and systems check, highlighting strips of code to indicate where repairs were needed.
Ichigo glanced over at the android as quiet ticks racked a tally on the computer, his expression somewhat regretful. "Sorry, Shiro. I didn't realize you'd taken so much internal damage…" The pale features shifted into an almost smirk, pale lips parting, but instead of words, a garbled sound not unlike a skipping record issued forth, before the android shut its mouth and the expression shifted into a scowl. Ichigo smiled, "Glad to see your AI isn't damaged, though. You just rest, now, I'll take a look at you after I make sure our guest is alright."
Turning back to the table, he started to feel along the man's head, threading his fingers through thick hair to search for wounds that might have rendered him unconscious, but stopped as he was bent over him. Frowning, he let his eyes track over the man. In the heavy, winter coat, it was difficult to really get a look at him, but something seemed off about the way he laid. His fingers pulled back and found the zipper of the coat, drawing it down and pushing the jacket open. The chest below rose and fell in even breathes; a good enough sign, but the weight and shape was wrong. Ichigo pushed the coat open wider, then froze. "Oh…" He whispered to himself. The left sleeve of the jacket was empty and the tank top the man wore below his coat was revealing enough. The wound of his missing arm was healed, but angry and raw still. It couldn't have been more than a few months old. Other scars, older by far, peeked out around the white cloth of the shirt; across his sternum and collar bone, over one shoulder. Ichigo's fingers hovered over the marks of a hard, violent life, hesitating, before pulling back. He re-zipped the coat.
Dropping his hands to the wheels of his chair, he turned himself around and crossed the room again, to where Shiro rested in its cradle. "Why did you bring him back?"
Shiro stared down at him. "Wit– wit-" Pale, artificial features twisted in frustration.
"Witness. Right. Did you forget I told you to disengage?" The android had blacked out, shut down, and rebooted. It was possible that it'd lost some time.
Shiro's head tilted, long, rain-wet hair swaying out to the side, and arched a brow in silent question. Not far away, the computer chimed as the last of the diagnostics was finished and gold eyes shifted in that direction.
Ichigo watched gold irises go over the lines of Shiro's own code, knowing the android knew what the letters and numbers meant, then sighed. "I'll take that as a yes." Still, it hadn't outright killed the man, like had been Shiro's original intentions. Thinking that over for a moment, Ichigo scowled up at it again, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you– You're lying to me, aren't you? When did you learn that, you little shit?"
The android's cold eyes shifted back to him and pale features started to split into a smirk, but then those eyes snapped up and passed Ichigo and the beginnings of a smirk dropped into a threatening sneer.
His own eyes widening, Ichigo twisted his upper body to look over his shoulder, meeting cool, blue eyes from the other side of the room. "Uh. Hello… So. This is awkward." He glanced back up at Shiro, then, turning his chair to face the stranger, wheeled himself backward towards the computer throwing up damage reports. "I'm going to start repairs, but you should know, we don't want to hurt you. I'm not sure why you're here and it can't seem to tell me right now, but it's functioning enough to stop you if you try to leave or try to come at me." As if to prove what he was saying, Shiro stepped out of the cradle, the wires in the back of it detaching from its spine with small snaps. "I'd like to use that table. If you don't mind, you can sit over there, please." He motioned with a sweep of his arm, towards a desk and chair on the other side of the cradle, the opposite side of the room from the staircase.
Blue eyes flickered around the room, taking in the space, before landing and lingering on the only visible doorway briefly. The stranger's attention ultimately returned to Ichigo and the android, though. He raised his hand to press the heel against his temple in a wince, and scooted to the edge of the table. It was low, and he did a subtle double take as he realized the man in front of him was in a wheel chair. "What the hell is that thing?" He asked, straightening, eyeing the standing, pale creature that had attacked him warily as he passed it, giving it as wide a berth as the room would allow for.
"Its name is Shiro." Ichigo said, shutting the laptop the cradle was synced up to and pulling it into his lap. He motioned the android closer and Shiro came up behind him to grab the chair and guide Ichigo to the table.
Once across the room and without prompt, Shiro lowered itself to the table like it'd done it a million times.
"It can speak."
Ichigo looked over, then nodded. "Yeah, well. It's not doing so great right now, but yeah, it's learning to speak."
"Learning? It's… But it's a robot, isn't it?"
Ichigo shrugged, setting the laptop down on the table beside where Shiro sat and opening it up again. He frowned at the screen, tapping a finger against the table in thought as he split his attention between his work and the stranger in his work space. "An android, technically. It's a very advanced AI. Dammit. These reports aren't great, Shiro. Severed the left side of the spinal column and damaged the neural network. We'll have to pull you apart to fix it. And what even happened to your head…?" He squinted at the screen a moment longer, then motioned for Shiro to lay down. Whatever happened to the android's skull had been the cause of the loss of power, he was certain.
Before complying, the android held up its hand, pinky, ring, and middle finger curled while the thumb and forefinger were straight.
"Ah. Gunshot. Lovely. It's going to be a mess in there. Lucky it didn't go all the way through and shatter your face plate."
The android grunted.
"You built it?"
Ichigo turned again, but nodded, "Yeah, I built it and wrote the programming." He lifted the hem of his shirt some, then pushed a button on the arm of his chair. Metal bands embedded in leg rests of the wheelchair tightened around his legs; one at ankle, calf, below and above the knee, mid thigh. Another band closed and tightened around his hips, one at waist, and another higher up at midriff. He lowered his shirt back over the strap, then bent forward to use his hands to pull first one leg, then the other, out of the rests of the chair. It took a moment to find his footing, but he stood from the chair, a hand against the table for support. The brace hummed quietly as it took his weight and adjusted. "That's what I do," He said, shifting his balance, then carefully walking around to the head of the table. "I build things."
The brown eyes that turned his way were sharp, intelligent. For all the man's politeness and the underlying awkwardness that came with not interacting with people much, he was cunning, clever.
"And what about you? Who are you?" Ichigo grabbed a wrench and got to work as he spoke. "My android brought you here for a reason, it's not programmed to do things without logic."
His mind raced, eyes flickering towards the door again, but he knew he wouldn't make it if he tried to make a run for it. That android had flattened him in seconds, even after being shot from behind. He couldn't remember what had happened after that, but clearly the android had gotten away and had had enough time to snatch him on the way. It seemed a safe bet that it hadn't asked the gunman politely to be allowed to walk free. He'd woken up to voices and movement, only to find himself someplace completely foreign, in a building -a house? -he'd never seen before. And aside from the hum of electronics, all without seemed silent; none of the usual city traffic, or the nearby ocean, no car horns or whistling wind. The single doorway that led out of this place was dark, but he thought it might have been a staircase, which made little sense given the inhabitant's disability.
He may not have known where he was, but it hadn't taken him long to realize who he was with. Infamous, was this man, despite the secrecy and rumors. The killer robot was a surprise, though.
"I'm just a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A nobody. I wont tell anybody about all this. Hell, I'm not even sure what I'm seeing."
"I know you wont."
The man bristled, straightening where he sat. "Is that a threat?"
"No." Ichigo said, distracted, as he dropped his wrench beside the half dozen bolts he'd loosened. Wrapping fingers around cool, smooth, colorless steel, he pulled loose the section of Shiro's spine. He twisted it in his hands, finding a few scuffs and scratches, but not much overall damage to the shell. Most of the damage that was more than just cosmetic was internal, where a knife had found a soft spot in the shell and made it to the wiring below. He set the spinal plate aside. "Alright, Shiro, expect some numbness." The android hummed an electronic sound, bringing its left arm up to rest its chin against, cold, yellow eyes fastened unblinkingly upon the stranger. "No," Ichigo stated again, addressing said stranger, "I don't make threats. I don't need to."
The man was long in replying, "You're a Kurosaki, aren't you?"
This got Ichigo's attention. His hands tightened, bracing against the table, as he turned his head to stare the man down with as impassive an expression as he could manage.
"The son." The stranger nodded, almost to himself, cool blue eyes traveling Ichigo's features and figure. "I see it now. The hair. You're all supposed to be dead, but you made it, didn't you? See, you're not the only one that can make vague threats like that."
"The difference," Ichigo said lowly, voice tight, "Is that I have a killer android that will make sure you don't leave here with what you know."
"Can it even move still? Half its spine is laying on that slab, you said-"
"Numbness, yes. But." And Ichigo pushed back a half step, away from the table. "Shiro; initiate standby."
"In- In-" It struggled to voice a copy of the command, something too damaged in its head to allow for full speech, "Ndby." But its arms slid upward to wrap fingers tight around the end of the table, its gaze unwavering, sharp, like a sniper's scope, upon the man. It fell still, poised, artificial muscle tight and ready, coiled tight like it was ready to spring. As realistic as it was, the thing's fullest attention was uncanny; lifelike, but not alive. It looked ready to launch, like a predator awaiting the exact moment its prey would trigger the instinct to chase.
"Numbness doesn't slow an AI the way it slows a person." Ichigo intoned, "Who are you?"
"…fuck." The word was hardly a whisper, as blue eyes anchored on the android's own stare, unable to look away from it, like to blink was to miss the moment it came after him. He finally held up his hand in something like surrender, "Fine, fine. Fuck. My name's Grimmjow. That's it, just a guy who walked down the wrong street while your killer bot was out."
"How do you know who I am?"
"Who doesn't know that story? Just because it's dangerous to talk about doesn't mean no one does."
Hard, brown eyes took in the man for a moment longer, before going back to the task at hand. "My first name's Ichigo. Call me that." He tapped a light finger against Shiro's back. "Shiro; stand down. Let's get back to work."
The android settled back, fingers uncurling from around the edge of the table. One hand lifted to tap a finger, in a mimic of Ichigo's motion, against the side of the android's head. "Fi- cks."
"I will." Ichigo said, a slight smile tilting his lips, "But fixing your wiring is more pressing. I'll fix your speech center and visual outputs next."
Pale features twisted, but it nodded, recrossing one arm to pillow its chin while it watched their guest.
Grimmjow forced himself to relax back in the chair, hand tight on the armrest, resigning himself to wait this out and see what happened. Considering he faced a man that was apparently paralyzed, he was at quite the disadvantage here. "There were rumors that there were survivors." He said lowly, watching as busy hands stilled momentarily, before resuming.
Ichigo grunted. "Just one survivor."
"Would you tell me if there was more than just you?"
"No." The word was sharp. "How'd you lose your arm, Grimmjow?"
The bigger man went rigid all over again, his remaining hand migrating up to the stump of his missing arm to absently rub at the ache there through the sleeve of his coat. "Point taken." He conceded, then muttered, "Damn thing still hurts sometimes, especially when I think about it."
"Phantom pain." Ichigo nodded, then turned a lopsided, somewhat sympathetic smile on the man. "You know, I've been paralyzed for years now and still there are days where it feels like I've stubbed my toe, or ran ten miles, or wake up feeling like I've slept with my legs bent at an uncomfortable angle. Other days, I could drop a hot soldering iron into my lap and not know it until I smell burning. It's a cruel joke, and it never really goes away, but you learn to live with it."
"You gonna let me live long enough to find out?"
That smile turned sadder, before Ichigo turned away again. "I hope to. Shiro's put me in an awkward postion, and you knowing who I am makes it worse."
But he wasn't making promises and Grimmjow didn't miss that. "I'm not so sure it matters." He decided, stretching his legs out before him and slouching in the chair a bit. He didn't have much to lose at this point. "If you let me live and let me out of here, I mean. The guys that took my arm aren't done. Next time I'm short, they'll take something else."
Ichigo didn't look up, arm buried half way into the shell below him, grease smearing his hands and forearm, but the scowl on his features was obvious even from across the room. "You owe money? That's why you're missing an arm? Because you owe someone–" He stopped dead, a single name creeping into this thoughts.
Grimmjow seemed not to have noticed, or didn't care. In truth, he knew the name on Ichigo's tongue and could well enough guess his opinions. "No. Messed up years ago and been having a bad run ever since. The money is just their excuse."
"Seems we might have something in common." Ichigo muttered, pulling his hand free of Shiro's body cavity and using a wrench to tighten bolts back into place. With the spinal plate back where it belonged, he side stepped further toward the end of the table to where Shiro's head rested, a hand trailing the edge of the table in case he misstepped. He worked his fingertips under the edge of synthetic hair, peeling back the android's scalp once he found the joins, so that he could begin fixing the rest of it. After digging around for a few quiet minutes, he sucked his teeth and straightened to turn, searching across the room in the direction of the cradle and the tools and supplies he had near it.
Longer than it was wide, the room was fairly large but didn't look it at a glance. It had a cramped air about it, but only because there was a lot of large objects crowding the space; the cradle, the table, desk and work bench, rigging for wall mounted screens and moveable lights. The whole space had the look of organized chaos; clean, maintained, but used and far from sterile. Old grease and oil and who knew what else stained the otherwise bare concrete floor. The walls were unfinished drywall, chipped and showing the signs of having been run into by the various things in the room. It was probably close to forty paces from the chair Grimmjow occupied to the shadowed doorway that led out and about half as wide.
The twenty strides it would take to get from one side of the room to the other may not have been much for most people, but it was a far walk for Ichigo.
"You get around pretty well for a guy who took a bullet to the spine." Grimmjow said, standing from his chair. It wasn't hard to see that Kurosaki didn't waste too much movement if he could avoid it. Those braces must not have done all the work, or weren't as well built as his android.
Brown eyes turned sharply towards him. At the same time, the android's head snapped up to pin him with a look that was decidedly threatening, hair and scalp laying on the table beside it to expose the back of its head and the workings within, all coated in black rubber of some sort that stood out starkly against the white of the rest of it. Grimmjow again held up his lone hand, then pointed towards the upright table he'd seen the android standing in when he'd woken up. "What you're looking for's over here, right? Let me grab it for you."
Ichigo frowned, but leaned back against the table behind him, letting it take some of his weight. He liked being able to move under his own power, to stand and get around, but it took a lot out of him. The chair was easier on him. "I took more than just one bullet that night." He said, then pointed, "To the right of the cradle, in that tall tool box, the third drawer down. There should be a speech processor." He rapped his knuckles against the metal band wrapped around one thigh. "This lets me stand, even walk short distances. It provides the strength I no longer have, but my legs are still mostly numb on a good day. It doesn't return feeling to dead nerves. I can't feel what I'm doing, where I'm putting my foot down, if I'm on level ground or standing on something. I can't feel if my foot catches or if I trip until it's too late. I have to be able to see where I'm going and where I'm stepping." And the more he used the brace, the more he tried to push himself and his damaged body, the more he hurt. He knew, of course, that most of the ache in his legs was fake, just his brain running on the memory of using untested muscle. But the pain that shot through his spine, sharp enough to tighten his lungs, was real.
Pulling the indicated drawer open, Grimmjow glanced back at him, eyes scanning the metal bands of the brace, before he began digging through the contents. "Why don't you just build yourself new legs? You can make a whole person."
"It looks kind of like a bank card wrapped in black rubber. Flat, about three inches long. One side's open and there will be ports for input and output, with wires coming from it." Ichigo described what he needed absently, before he huffed a short laugh. "Believe me, I've thought about it. But I still have my legs. There's nothing organic inside Shiro. I'd have to amputate and then operate on myself. I haven't come up with a feasible way to turn myself into a cyborg yet. In the mean time, I'm forced to settle for coming up with tools to make my life a little easier."
Grimmjow held up an object fitting the description.
Ichigo nodded, then held up his hands, "Toss it, don't come close. You're not the only one that knows I can't move fast enough to get out of the way. You come too close and Shiro stops you. Its standard procedure includes protecting its creator, it doesn't require a command."
Blue eyes flickered towards the android again, seeing that the thing's unnerving gaze had followed him as he'd crossed the room, but Grimmjow tossed the speech processor underhanded to the Kurosaki heir. "Why do you think I want to hurt you?"
"I think everyone wants to hurt me, else the largest crime lord in the country wouldn't have ordered me and my entire family murdered. I know he suspects I'm alive, I know there's a price on my head. He's got everyone in his pockets, and you've had dealings with him."
"He took my damn arm." Grimmjow all but growled, defensive.
"And you still owe him."
Writing has been hella hard for me for a while now, so. Hope y'all enjoyed this.