Note: Another chapter, and longer than the previous one. Ask yourself who was behind the rewriting of Ichigo's life in the previous short story as you read this one. I can't promise a clear answer, but perhaps this can give you something to think about. Or not. This story's premise has changed dramatically since I began writing it a few months ago, and I fear I haven't executed my ideas and thoughts and stuff as well as I could have.
...And sorry about the long delay between chapters, for the two or three of you reading my story. I hope the extra length appeases you enough to be an adequate apology. Think of this as two chapters for the price of one!But enough rambling. More reading.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
The room was dark, save for the glow of a computer screen. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was. Could be night or day. Or both. It didn't really matter, though, since the man in front of the monitor worked through the entire day and the entire night without rest.
A sound of keys being punched in could be heard in rapid waves. Occasionally, a break would occur in the typing and the dark room would go silent, save for the dim hum of the fan running inside the computer's tower. Then the typing would resume, more intense than ever. Louder than ever.
It was as though the man was trying to keep himself awake, he typed with so noisily.
Yet, it was to no avail. The room only got darker and darker for the man. The silences between the keyboard being furiously mashed grew in length. After the longest gap, the man went into overdrive and slammed his hands against the keys. He couldn't have even be writing anything coherent, his motions were so out of control. He was berserk. This was the climax. This could not last much longer.
And it didn't.
The typing slowed. The rage diminished. Heavy gasps were audible as the man's breathing went ragged, but his respiration was smoothing into gentler intakes of air with each breath. Hands, now sweaty with perspiration, eased on the keyboard. Fingers moved up and down in strain, then froze. And a head of slick hair crashed forward onto a desk, hitting countless keys.
The man was finally asleep. He would not wake for some time.
The room was dark, save for a glimmer of light radiating from a monitor. Soon, the monitor went to sleep and the room was enveloped in black.
The man dreamed.
2. Night and Day
Early, early, Ichigo Kurosaki woke up at an incredibly early hour. What a guy. He woke so damn early you had to wonder if he even slept at all. He did this every day and it was like he wasn't even controlling his body, sometimes, the way he moved about his apartment suite. He pretended as though this seeming lack of control did not bother him.
All right. Let's see if this turns out the way I wanted it to this time.
And he pretended he did not hear that thought, or voice. Whatever it was. It was nothing.
The penthouse he rented was stunning. Fully decked out. Came with four bedrooms. He only needed one, but what the hell, why not, he told himself. A nice, marble-top jacuzzi glittered in the bathroom. And it was never used because Ichigo worked too hard to ever stop and relax in it. For showering purposes only, the tub. He had a nice kitchen. Spotless. Pans of increasing size hung above an impressive oven; clearly, none had ever been used for their intended purpose, as each cooking tool was cleaner then the day it was purchased. Ichigo always went out to expensive restaurants instead of cooking anything fancy for himself. Hey, those chefs needed someone to pay their bills! All the rooms in his apartment were up-to-date with whatever was currently fashionable, though Ichigo had absolutely no idea what was cutting edge in interior decorating. None of the decorating had been done by Ichigo himself. A sort of lack of personal connection between his home and Ichigo existed because of this. Not that this mattered because he spent most of his day at the office. Or on his home PC, which was better than the best money could buy.
He spent time in his room. Yeah. Got lots of sleep and didn't work throughout the entire night on his personal computer.
After waking up early, Ichigo washed up, shaved, drank a lot of coffee and ate a simple bowl of cereal while going over the newspaper, checking out the stocks before quickly heading out the door. Nothing exciting in the paper--again. Only some news about a housing crisis for people trying to move into town because all the residents were too happy with their own homes to sell them, and an old man had died from Severe Overjoy after the local, professional baseball team had won its seventh straight championship. Old man died with the biggest smile in his life, which is always something in Hirusugi, City of Smiles.
Everything was super happy in the city of Hirusugi. Always was, always would be. They were all part of a never-ending pipe dream that only got better with the passing of time. A man could easily live in content in this peaceful city that needed no heroes. Certainly, Ichigo could. Hence a big smile often seen on his face.
Good. Just as it should be. This should be enough to be please anybody else. We're all sick of needing so many heroes. We want a better place to sleep.
Anyways, Ichigo needed to get to work. He did love that job of his. Deep down, at least. Right? Damn right.
Down the elevator, to the bottom of the tall apartment complex, to his car, he went. Along the way, any and every person he passed gave him a quick smile brightened by whatever jewellery they wore. Every person here was rich. He smiled back at those people. He was rich, too. His smile was as real as could be, not forced in any way.What was his job if he earned so much money? Must have been a good one. Yeah, had to be if he was this happy.
His car was a lease. Latest model of some sports car. Ichigo kept on forgetting the name of the thing, as he hadn't looked into what he was buying too carefully. He had wanted to sign the deal and driving away as quickly as possible. All he knew was that it looked important, and he looked important when he was in it. That was all that mattered in Hirusugi. Being cool. It was a cool city and so were its citizens. Ichigo was cool, too, and felt important. Big smile.
And he did appear cool and important, driving away from his suburbs that morning to the heart of downtown. To the center of numerous, sparkling skyscrapers that climbed closer to the heavens every year. The top of the car had been pulled down, and he slipped on a pair of shades after the sun started to climb into the horizon. Too cool.The perfect life. Yeah. It had to be. Who could imagine a world better than this?
Yeah, this is the life! Everyone will love this! It's perfect. So much better than the alternative.
By the way, Ichigo left so early because the drive to work was slow. Yeah, his apartment wasn't too far from the center of Hirusugi, but the traffic was mental in the dawn's early light. The life of excess everyone enjoyed here, the life that allowed the towering buildings to grow another floor every year, was only a product of hard work and that meant everyone needed to chip in and chip in early! Like they say, the miner that digs deepest gets the diamond-encrusted watch! And Ichigo had several fancy watches, despite needing just the one. More importantly, though, the one watch he wore told him he needed to step on it if he wanted to dig up another beauty this fine day.
Too bad the streets were clogged with hundreds of luxury cars not so different from his own, all moving at speeds considerably lower than their ludicrously fast potential. A city drowning in its riches, Hirusugi could be at times.
With the top of his car down, Ichigo nearly drowned in how awesome this all was. How exciting it was to have not a single worry save for his next money-making assignment.
Unbelievable! Who could imagine a world like this? I'm a fucking genius!
Shaking his head, Ichigo continued the slow descent into the maze of corporate paradise.
A few hours later--by then, the sun was clearly in the middle of the sky--he reached his destination: the most important, thus tallest, building in Hirusugi. As noted earlier, Hirusugi was a focal point of wealth. Opulence was the name of the game here. The unemployment rate was zero, and had been so for years. No one was without employment once they came of age at thirteen, and most began working before then. There was no shortage of cash. All the people could possibly be lacking was entertainment, and Ichigo's company supplied this most important of demands.
Any kind of entertainment you needed, Ichigo's company could provide it. Ever wanted to be a professional baseball player? No problem. Sports simulations were easy. Other games? Soul Reaper Entertainment had them before you even knew you wanted them. Want to get physical with the latest hot singer? Come on, give Soul Reaper Entertainment a challenge: switching faces on virtual bodies was almost easier than creating the fantasy in your own head. Hate your boss? So does Soul Reaper Entertainment and they would gladly provide you with a safe environment to have a sociopathic killing spree. Because Soul Reaper Entertainment cares about you and loves it when you smile.
Want to be rich and drive around in a fancy car? Well, probably not because chances are you already are rich and drive around in a fancy car. Giant laughter. Sorry, Soul Society Entertainment joke.
Parking in the special spot reserved for him, Ichigo sighed in relief. Fifteen minutes early. Awesome. He walked from the parked car to the front entrance.
The entrance to his workplace was extravagant. Granite blocks polished smoother than a baby's ass and shinier than one, too, supported the majestic tower at its foundations. Gazing up, Ichigo couldn't even see the top of this spire. Somewhere up in the clouds breached by this gigantic building, he knew some well-paid window cleaners were working around the clock to make sure not a single insects' corpse could dirty a window for longer than a minute. Back down to earth, however, more revolving doors than necessary spun non-stop as people went in and out non-stop. Ichigo became another person to pass through those spinning doors.
Inside, where marble floors reflected both the wealth of the employees and the employees, themselves--it was incredibly clean-- Ichigo snapped off his sunglasses and greeted the secretary at the base of this economic fortress. Doing so risked being late, and being late was not cool, but not talking to his co-workers would be even less cool. And when you're in the business of making cool products, you need to be cool.
"Hello, Ms. Inoue." He was brisk. As always. Not a single sign that he was tired could be seen on his face. Because Ichigo was wide awake and lead by example. "How are you today?" And he was always polite, without fail. Good job, Ichigo Kurosaki. You are so like yourself.
The young woman at the desk jumped. As patterned to do so. "O-Oh! Mr. Kurosaki! You're early. As usual," her face was flushed. No need to be so shy, Ms. Inoue. Be happy and smile.
Inoue? Should she even be here? Did I screw up?...No, everything is running smoothly. Just met an unexpected development. Still...
Ichigo blinked.
"I have to be on time," replied Ichigo, pretending to have heard nothing in his skull, "otherwise who knows what Kuchiki will have done to this place," he smirked. Indeed. Kuchiki was a sly devil and she would do all sorts of nasty things if he was late.
"Mr. Kurosaki!" shushed Ms. Inoue, glancing around to make sure no one heard her boss. None had. She moved next to her superior, right by his ear "You can't speak of one of the directors that impolitely," she whispered intently, concerned. Then backed off immediately as if it was amazingly embarrassing to be so close to her boss.
"I don't care about rules and that bullshit," Ichigo brushed aside the issue brashly, apparently not noticing Ms. Inoue's strange behaviour. But he was surprisingly polite all the same, even though he used profanity. Nice work, Ichigo, you didn't slip in the slightest. "They pay me to think my own way. If Kuchiki has a problem with that, it's not my concern."
Heh, Rukia having a problem in this world? Wonder what kind of dumb issue it could be over here...But should she even be here? No matter.
Frustrated, Ichigo rubbed his temple. But the itch inside was not something that could be reached without digging through his cranium. He did what he could, nonetheless.
This was not missed by a certain colleague. "Are you feeling all right, Mr. Kurosaki?" Ms. Inoue jumped on this opportunity with no hesitation. Wait, what opportunity?
"Anything I can do?" she offered, hopeful.
"No, I'm fine." Her boss would never admit to being fragile, though. His livelihood depended on being tough. And suave. And classy. You know, just plain cool. "Been having this weird headache, lately." His secretary's mouth opened, yet he cut her off. "Don't worry about it. Should be gone before the end of the day or after I get some sleep." Probably. If not yesterday or today, then tomorrow.
Hey, I'm not going anywhere! This is too fun!
"Okay...Let me know if I can help, though."
"Thanks, Ms. Inoue, though I doubt it will be necessary." He checked his pricey watch absentmindedly, while still being polite. Damn! If he didn't rush now he might be only three minutes early! Also, how could he be polite while ignoring Ms. Inoue? He sure had some major coolocity if he could do that. Props to you, Ichigo Kurosaki. "Anyways, I need to head up. Have a nice day and work hard, Ms. Inoue."
"Bye...!"
But he was off, and soon inside the elevator that would take him to the top floor.
"Come on, come on!"
Impatiently, he smashed the button in hopes of forcing the door to close faster. Being late was never cool. Eventually, the doors began sliding shut but not before a voice slipped through the opening between the doors.
"Wait! Hold up!"
A hand slipped inside the crack to pry them open. While he was in a hurry, Ichigo would never be discourteous to a fellow worker and helped the person open the door. That simply was not cool for anyone, most of all himself, to make no effort to help.
Then he saw who the person--rather, the man--was.
Regret.
"Oh. It's you."
"Kurosaki," his uncool co-worker nodded his head, though it could hardly be called a tip, much less a nod. As blatantly stated earlier, not cool.
"Ishida." Then again, his own greeting was far from rad or pleasant. To be slightly less than precise, it was the most acid-filled greeting a greeting could be while still being called a polite greeting.
The two glared at one another. Coldly, the elevator doors slammed shut and trapped these rivals inside dangerously small confines. Pretty confines, by the way. The roomy elevator was gilded with gold throughout, which matched the imported, red carpeting nicely.
Why is Ishida here? More than that, what is this...hostility? Is something wrong with the...
The bespectacled employee struck first, while Ichigo was distracted by external thoughts.
"How's your current project going, Kurosaki?"
"Very well, Ishida," parried Ichigo with practised ease, losing track of the mysterious monologue. "Our projections indicate an even greater success than our last project produced." And he sent a blow of his own. "How is your team doing?" Okay, the words themselves did not indicate that this was an attack, but the way Ichigo vocalized each syllable was dripping with indifference. Just so to piss off Ishida.
This elevator ride couldn't possibly go any slower.
"Great, of course," Ishida defended himself with a conceited smirk. Light conveniently found its way to the frames of his glasses and glinted maliciously. "This year, Kurosaki, you won't be responsible for topping the sales charts for the company."
"So you say every year, Ishida."
A crack appeared on Ishida's guise and a pair of spectacles slid downward. "Hey, the games I design are great!"
"They're dating sims!" Ichigo lost composure, as well. He should have slept more. "What kind of a man wants to be part of the girly division at a gaming company?!"
"My creations are spectacular, Kurosaki, unlike your lame platformers," Ishida pushed his glasses up his nose with grace, despite his indignation.
Ichigo's hands shot up to grab his colleague's collar. "That's it, I'm-"
Whoa, whoa!
Loudly, a bell dinged to signal they had arrived at the top floor. The doors opened and other employees at the office were waiting outside. The need for perfection was out there.
"See you, Mr. Ishida. Have a nice day." Ichigo smiled warmly, putting up a front. Too cool for school, he was.
Immediately, the air between the two appeared as friendly as the air between two cats looking at the same fish. Yep, not very.
"You as well, Mr. Kurosaki. I look forward to seeing what your team produces today!"
And the two split ways on "good" terms.
...This Ichigo designs...things, too?
Great, not even nine yet and Ichigo already needed his coffee break. Ugh, and he still had to deal with the most troublesome person in the building. Ishida wasn't too bad since he didn't have to directly work with the guy, but the same could not be said of Kuchiki. There was no subtlety to his "animosity" towards Ishida, unlike Kuchiki. His relationship with Kuchiki was...complex. To say the least
In this bad mood, he stepped into the Research and Development Department, Badass Division, of Soul Reaper Entertainment. If he was lucky, she wouldn't spot him until he could get alone with her.
"Late."
...That voice...
Argh! She always found something wrong. Ichigo's boiled emotions let loose.
"Look at the clock, Kuchiki!" He exploded, pointing at said clock. Around him, other workers stopped to watch but he didn't care. "I'm perfectly on time!" Uh oh. What happened to the cool?
His superior scoffed. "You arrived after I did. Therefore, you're late, Kurosaki. Continue with tardiness like this and I'll have to speak with Mr. Urahara about you. No matter how 'gifted' or 'promising' you happen to be, that is no excuse for lethargy, Kurosaki."
...I'm not sure it's a good thing Rukia is the same as ever. This is somewhat scary. Perhaps, instead, I should change her personality into something less...intimidating.
"So you say every day, Kuchiki."
Strike.
"So you admit to being late every day?"
Parry.
Ichigo blinked. "No, I'm on time every day! It's not my fault you basically live in the building and it's impossible to arrive here before you!"
Horizontal slash.
"That is no excuse for tardiness, Kurosaki."
Counter.
"Listen, can we just start working?" Ichigo tried dropping the subject. "I actually will be late if I continue talking to you."
Retreat. Victory, Rukia Kuchiki.
She eyed him appraisingly. "Maybe he isn't as foolish as he looks..." Kuchiki muttered.
Wait, a draw? This was confusing.
"What was that?!"
"Nothing. Get to work, Kurosaki." Suddenly, she realized the two weren't alone. "That goes for all of you!" she barked at the circle of employees that had gathered to watch the two argue.
In an orderly fashion, the crowd dispersed to their respected cubicles. Not Ichigo, though, who had a fancy and very cool office of his own, no cubicle. Like, he had super rare action figures in there and high tech gizmos that wouldn't be available to the regular market for months. That office was where he settled himself in. His...haven. The place he did his most productive work. And, for the next hour-and-a-half, he did all kinds of complicated computer calculations and crazy brainstorming, as he did to start all his mornings. Then, at precisely 10:30 am, he forced himself to stop and head for a coffee break. As he did every day. Ichigo needed his coffee very much so
This is nice and dull.
Ichigo refused to acknowledge the bizarre voice at the back of his head, and walked purposely to the employee room. Once there, he stubbornly poured himself a hot brew. Smelled good and strong.
"Hey."
Oh, it was Chad, the giant of a man who managed the beta testing team. "Hey, Chad. How's the wife doing?"
Wife?! Huh? I don't remember putting that in here.
"Fine," his burly friend answered in his typically concise manner. "You okay? You fighting with Ms. Kuchiki again?" Chad sipped some coffee leisurely.
"Tch, don't worry over how I deal with that woman. She'll never do anything serious against me and I can take care of myself."
"You sure? You do look a bit pale, like you haven't been sleeping."
Brashly, Ichigo took a large swig of his coffee. letting the hot liquid and caffeine energize him. "I'm sure as can be." He thought of Kuchiki. "Very much so. She just likes teasing me for whatever reason."
What reason?
Silently, the two stood around the staff room drinking their coffee. Others came and went but didn't stop to chat with either Ichigo or Chad.
"Well, nice talking with you, Chad, but I have loads of work to catch up on. Oh, you and your crew will definitely enjoy the stuff I have in the works."
"I look forward to it."
"Seeya, man."
"Later."
Break time was over and the two split. Back to the drawing board for Ichigo. More like the computer screen, but same thing. Normally, he would get lesser employees to do the programming for him, but Ichigo could never really trust anyone else with the initial coding. They'd miss up with something. he always feared. Having someone else program
what he viewed as an avatar of himself gave Ichigo the jitters.
Close to lunchtime, a visitor knocked on his door.
"Who is it?" He asked, annoyed. Often, Ichigo was slightly on edge. "I'm busy now!" Normally, this would scare off any assistants and their stupid questions. Not the coolest way to act, but work was of the utmost important.
Unfortunately, this was no person to be frightened so easily. No assistant.
"It's me, Kurosaki. Show me what you got today."
Kuchiki.
"...Come in," he beckoned, although Kuchiki had already allowed herself inside and was looking at him expectantly.
Suavely, or that was the intent, Ichigo flipped his monitor over. All there was too see was a mess of numbers, but Kuchiki appeared to understand. More like, Ichigo knew that she understood it. Perhaps better than he himself could, as she was higher up in the food chain than he. So, why was she taking so long to do whatever it was she was doing?
"...Well?" Ichigo asked after about a minute of her blankly looking at the screen.
She startled. "Oh."
"What do you mean, 'oh?' How's it looking to you?"
"Fine," she muttered, looking away from the screen. "I was thinking, though..."
...Thinking? That shouldn't be possible. Everyone should be having tons of fun, not thinking.
Immediately, Ichigo went on guard. He glanced to his sides. Nobody outside the shuttered windows of his sweet office appeared interested on the goings-on inside. "Thinking about what?" he asked cautiously. "I'm not making any games about rabbits, if that's what you're going to demand again. People want to play games as avatars of what they wish to be, and no guy wants to be a damn bunny." Not the kind of guy that bought Ichigo's games, at least.
"Not that!" Blush. Or flush. Hard to tell which it was, though it was definitely red. "No, I've been thinking about how..." The world flickered dangerously. "...how perfect everything is in the city," She blinked, apparently not certain why she'd said that. The world flickered again. "I mean, I've been thinking about what we should do about...well, you know..."
What is she saying?! This is insane! How can this be possible?!
Yeah, Kuchiki was definitely more troublesome than Ishida. More complications were present in this relationship. Her way of thinking was too similar to his at times like these. Made them too close.
"...I'm sorry, but can we talk later? Like, after lunch?" Having a full stomach would help out a lot. And he pointed at the monitor. "Now's not the best time for this. I'm kind of preoccupied."
Also...
What's going on here?! I didn't program it to be like this...!
...he had to deal with this nuisance first. Which really meant he had to escape from it.
Dammit, I knew I should have fixed that binary line! The electric signals aren't working properly because of that. I'm sure of it!
"Hey, you all right, Kurosaki?" Kuchiki had gotten closer to him. Too close. She knew better. The voice in his head went insane with her this close. "Your eyes look more vacant than usual. Feeling sleepy?"
They did? Since when was he spacing out? Great, that wasn't cool at all. And wasn't she being serious? How dare she throw in that insult about being clueless.
"I need to get back to work," he told Kuchiki again, instead of what was on his mind. Or in it, rather. "We can talk later," he promised.
Kuchiki understood. "Yeah, I'm busy, too. Keigo did something really stupid that I need to fix. Again."
"Yeah. Real moron, that guy."
"He'll be regretting his indiscretion for the next month, I can guarantee you."
"I believe you."
"...All right. Goodbye, Kurosaki."
"Later."
And Kuchiki moved on. For now.
Yeah, he wasn't being cool. He knew it. But that voice was infuriating. Something was very wrong with Hirusugi, though Ichigo could not quite place what it was.
Gotta do something about that AI. It's not working properly. Should be happier, should be happier, should be happier. Need to, need to, need to...
The voice sounded so much like his own, only it was all wrong. Ichigo did not want to think of those similarities any longer.
Ah, I've had enough of this!
Ichigo couldn't take anymore, either, and the similar thoughts the voice had pissed him off even more. He had suspicions about what was going on. Damn, and usually he felt better after dealing with Kuchiki for the morning. Felt cool--and other things.That was it. There was only one thing for Ichigo to do now that could make him feel better:
Immerse himself into The Dead Zone; the game he was the lead programmer for. The game destined to send his entire city into a frenzy of excitement.Except Ichigo hated destiny. Almost as much as he hated this perfect city.
"Still needs a lot more work!"
The same problems kept on occurring in Kurosaki's project. He wasn't sure if he even believed he could perfect his Data. On the other hand, he had full confidence that he was pissed off.
Disgruntled, Kurosaki opened his eyes and removed the syringe from the side of his neck. The tip of the needle that had been poking into his brainstem glistened red in the gloom. At the end of the syringe, a cable ran out, connecting the syringe to a custom, self-built and shabby-looking computer sitting on Kurosaki's desk.
Strewn about the desk were numerous books, all in severe disrepair, and numerous bottles, all empty. Not just the desk was a mess, though; the whole room was. Throughout the cheap apartment room he rented out, more empty bottles cluttered whatever space it could on the floor, wherever there wasn't any dirty clothes, or old, empty boxes that used to contain food. Actually, more often than not the junk came in layers, with the top of a bottle poking out from beneath a sleeve. For certain, there was no sign of the floor. Oh. Not that the floor could be visible since Kurosaki kept all lights off to save money on his electricity bill; the only light came through shuttered blinds--always closed-- and the dim glow of his monitor. A table stood out because it significantly raised elevation of the trash in a small area in the center of the room. An empty fridge and a small, dirty kitchen occupied one corner of Kurosaki's den, but the clutter was even worse there. Dangerous to step there ever since he threw some bottles in that corner and had been too lazy to sweep away the broken glass. Somewhere, Kurosaki wasn't sure where any longer, a bed was buried beneath his excess. Kurosaki was unconcerned about the lack of a bed, though; the damn thing was forgotten because he never used it, after all. He typically slept at his desk if he ever did rest. Usually from exhaustion.
Exhaustion due to that. The needle in his neck. That was Kurosaki's work. He created Data that could be injected into the body and processed by the brain. Everybody wanted it, too. Everybody could think of a happier life than the one they currently lived, and Kurosaki could give it to them. Not without testing it out on himself...but his customers weren't the only ones who desired happier days.
Looks like the setting is perfect. It really feels like you've gone through hell in here. And is something else going on here? Must confirm my suspicions.
Kurosaki rubbed at his eyes. He must still have been tired from his dip into his subconscious through Data. Schizophrenia had never been a side effect associated with his product. A lot of suspect illnesses had occurred to frequent abusers of his Data, but never schizophrenia. So Kurosaki must still have been tired. Yeah, that's it. Like, tired could almost be called one of his personality traits, he slept so seldom these.
Why did he sleep so infrequently? Strange dreams pestered him. Vivid dreams. Dreams so vivid that he had to wonder if his waking moments weren't what was really a\the dream. Confusing, really. Point was, Kurosaki wasn't going to put up with those kinds of ridiculous dreams so he didn't sleep.
He preferred the dreams offered by Data. The kind he controlled.
The little comment in his head already forgotten, Kurosaki stumbled out of his desk and into the mess. His stomach gurgled. The task of finding food awaited him. A task of varying difficulty depending on his standard for freshness of the day.
The menu for the day was as follows:
A mostly empty-box of Chinese food that only remained uneaten because a particularly foul sock had slipped inside; Ichigo was not sure when or how that sock got in there. It was relatively fresh, except it probably tasted like a foul sock now. On the other hand, the slice of pizza he could eat had not been touched by any contaminants...but that pizza hadn't been touched by anything for at least a week. Not so fresh. Lastly, there was some teriyaki chicken to munch on. Made yesterday, too, so it was fresh. Not only that, it had yet to be affected by the filth of his room and was only dirtying other stuff. Should be the best of both worlds, the chicken. However, the teriyaki chicken wasn't take-out like the other two and had been made by Kurosaki himself, which meant it could be the most toxic of all.
Wow, I'm amazed by how filthy this is. Makes it real easy to be happy with your own life. Really reminds you how good you have it. Yeah, just what our city needs.
Before Kurosaki could make his selection, though, the phone rang. Maybe that was a good thing since none of those selections could have been safe.
Yet the phone was a bit tricky to locate. It could be anywhere. Under a shoe. Behind a bottle. Even in his pocket. With his current lack of cohesion, he could simply be imagining the phone ringing. Not dreaming, though, since he avoided sleep.
But he wasn't. Wasn't imagining things. The phone was in his pocket, he found the damn thing eventually before the person on the other end could get impatient and hang up.
"...Yo," Kurosaki answered cautiously. He got calls from the strangest people and needed to be careful. Not that carrying a phone was especially careful on his part.
Luckily, it wasn't a lunatic who phoned him. "Hey, Ichigo, come over. I'm running really low and need some more of you-know-what." Furthermore, it was a person Kurosaki knew personally. "Don't worry, I've got money, idiot."
...Huh? You-know-what? I should know what that is! What's going on here?
"You don't need to pay me," muttered Kurosaki, though he knew she would try to pay him, anyways. "And I'll be over soon. Later."
"All right, thanks. Seeya!"
Click. Click.
The conversation was over quickly. A need to be brief was always in order. Not due to cops or anything, as police hadn't patrolled town for what seemed like forever. No one really understood the hushed nature of these calls, actually. It was probably only a tradition, and was carried out as nobody knew any other way to go about things.
Well, it seemed Kurosaki's breakfast--or lunch, or supper, he wasn't sure what time of the day it was--was not to be. He had work to do. Why not do it, though? He could buy a half-decent meal if he had a little change in his wallet. Oh, that's right. He told the person he didn't need to be paid. Well, damn. Still, Kurosaki helped his friends out, right? And she'd pay him, anyways, don't forget.
All right. Time to do a favor for a friend.
After shutting off his precious computer and preserving its far more precious Data, Kurosaki tiptoed across the floor of his tiny room, wary of the chaos he'd created over time, to a little closet. He opened it up without thinking and was bombarded by falling magazines of the adult variety. Three of them stuck on to him. Yuck. Shaking his head at himself, he brushed the sticky pages off his body. Behind all kinds of shit he'd stuffed in there, through a mess of trash, Kurosaki found his coat and pulled it out of the closet. Slipped it on. Yeah, he was cool now. Not. It was impossible to appear cool in the jacket. For one thing, it was too big, and that meant something since Kurosaki was by no means a small guy. Also, the coat appeared almost lumpy. Only because it was lumpy--all the pockets were full--but it still made the coat and whoever wore it look less appealing without fail. Lastly, and most disgustingly, a solid layer of grimy, stained veneer coated the whole jacket. Fact of the matter was, the point of the jacket was to not look cool. To keep people away and draw negative attention, if any...though it couldn't really draw negative attention since practically everyone wore a coat just like this one.
Anyways, Kurosaki definitely did not want attention in this thing. The pockets were stocked full of Data and if anyone found out about that, Kurosaki would be mugged to death. Literally. Everybody wanted the contents of those pockets and would kill for them. No kidding. He'd seen it happen to another dealer before. Could have happened to himself before if he hadn't been lucky in the past.
Coat on, he forced his closet shut once more--after great effort and multiple attempts--and made another trek across the minefield to the door out of the apartment. After getting to the threshold of his crappy home, a search began for a pair of shoes. A desperate search that yielded no results. Of course, the search was doomed because, as Kurosaki realized, he was already wearing his shoes. He'd never taken them off. Again. He should remember these things, really.
Should sleep some more, was what he needed to do. But no.
Now he was ready. Shoes, coat, and data. He hadn't shaved but that was no matter. Kurosaki could do that tomorrow. Or the day after. Whenever he found the razor would be fine.
He made sure his keys were safe in the coat, unlocked all three heavy bolts on his door, and ventured out of the relative safety of his room. He only did this kind of thing for his best friends. For one, in particular.
Man, I'm a genius. This is so...realistic. The people will love it.
While there was nearly no light in his pigsty, the hallway outside was even darker. If that was possible. When was the last time the tenant changed the lights? Oh yeah. The old man running the building died a few months ago and no one had bothered to step up in his place. That was why Kurosaki was stepping over, or on (since they couldn't be avoided), so many people on the floor of the corridor. His complex had been overrun by the homeless...err, the formerly homeless. After the news that this building had no authority leaked out, the less fortunate had leaked in. Only a few at first, but now it was a serious problem for Kurosaki. Every time he left his place, or wanted to get back in, he risked letting a couple of over-grown mice slipping inside his home and taking it for good. All the "real" residents in the apartment took this risk, too, but, as far as Kurosaki knew, no one else had a priceless stash of Data lying around like he did. Yeah, he probably should have moved out of the building a long time ago.
The only reason he stayed was because you get free rent when you don't have a landlord. Hey, those homeless saps weren't the only ones short on money, you know. Nobody had money. He wasn't scared to leave, that was for certain. Also, he needed to help his friends.
Perfect. Perfect...Absolutely perfect. This desolation is what they want to see.
Kurosaki ignored the strange comment. Just like he purposely ignored how still one body he stepped on was. He had a long night ahead of him. Nothing would distract him. He didn't think he should have been able to help these poor people.
Of course, Kurosaki did not stop moving once he reached the elevator. It would have been pointless to. The useless contraption had been garnished with a big "Out of Order" sign since before he moved into the apartment all those years ago, when the landlord's heart was still ticking away. He couldn't see the sign in the darkness, but the spray paint that had crossed out the word "Order" and replaced it with "Sex" hadn't been around when Kurosaki first started renting a room here. Heh, the sign always made him chuckle in a half-hearted way. It was too true in Kurosaki's case of late.
The staircase was plagued with human impositions like every other inch of this apartment was, but not as many people lived here since the stairs were considered to be the worst place to live in the building. Like, who wanted to sleep on a perpendicular surfaced? Bad enough when you've got no real home. Add a terminal sore back to the equation and hell might as well pass you over because the real world wasn't any better. To Kurosaki, though, none of this mattered much. Not at all, nosiree. However, the lack of good sleep for these poor vagrants meant he had to deal with them moaning and groaning in addition to taking his personal space. His every footstep woke at least two people up, and these saps loved nothing more than to beg you for spare change and tell you how horrible their lives were when they were awake. Kurosaki didn't know why they bothered to tell him, of all people, these things. His life sucked, too, and not a single person in this apartment could spare a cent. He did his share of moaning as well from lack of good sleep.
But the descent to the apartment's landing went by with little to no incident. Other than the three-year old who woke up in a fit of screams when he accidentally stepped on her foot, Kurosaki avoided feeling sympathy for any of them. Or so he convinced himself. He didn't accidentally drop any needles full of Data for these unfortunate souls. Nope.
Finally, he was stepping into the lobby and some light returned. The lobby, fairly large, was jam-packed with the destitute and reeked of poverty; this part of the apartment had always been prized for the lighting, which had always been better than anywhere else in the building. A slip of paper blew in from the doorway lacking any doors, where the luminescence from powerful street lights snuck inside from.
Yeah, it was night all right. Always seemed like it was here. Kurosaki couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun.
Anyways, the light made it much easier to step around bodies. And that's what Kurosaki did. At the entrance of his crummy apartment complex, he weaved around the uncaring masses, to that big doorway with no doors. His destination was outside the apartment. Very outside the apartment, unfortunately.
Unfortunately, because as much a nuisances as the vagabonds making a home out of his home were, they weren't nearly so bad as the people hanging outside the building.
Just as he reached the threshold separating the apartment from the twilit city of Yoru, a distraction presented itself in the form of a squeak.
"K-Kurosaki!"
He turned around. Through the darkness, a girl stepped into his view. The tattered clothing she wore was shaking noticeably, along with the rest of her.
What will you think of this, Inoue? You get to be the inspiration for a character design. Think of it as my way of giving you a bonus.
Kurosaki twisted back to face outside. "What is it, Inoue?" he asked, his voice distant.
Keeping himself detached from people was a must in Kurosaki's life; proximity was akin to death for him.
"...Are you going out again, Kurosaki?" She sounded troubled, as could be expected. Likely, her expression would have matched her worried tone, had Kurosaki been able to see her face.
"Yeah."
While the number of times he left his place was seldom more than a few times a month, it was considered a lot by Yoru standards. Nobody really wanted to leave the safety of their homes when they could be sleeping. Assuming they had a place to call home.
"Why? Is it because you..." Inoue trailed off, as if not sure what to ask Kurosaki.
It's because this would be dull if he stayed inside all day. Because I want him out there. Because I am responsible for this, not him!
Kurosaki offered no explanation for his motives.
"Later," was all he said, but who knew if there ever would be a later.
Honestly, it was amazing Kurosaki was still alive after all this time. The Devil's Luck, he must have had, to pull through numerous walks across town without being murdered for a stray glance. Or nerves of steel, as one trek through Yoru at night was often enough to keep even the bravest of men hiding under their beds for a month.
A frantic attempt was made to hold him back. "Wait, Kurosaki...!" Yet, he was already slipping away.
Excellent. Never met a person who could stand these guide characters, but they need to be here. Now, for the real fun, for the proof...
Once out of the mostly-safe confines of the apartment, anarchy awaited Kurosaki.
Gunshots welcomed him to the streets of Yoru. Really. A stray bullet whistled by him immediately after he left the apartment. It hadn't been aimed at him, and it was purely chance that he happened to be near the line of fire, but what a way to start the night. Yet, Kurosaki walked down the crumbling sidewalk. With confidence. Or arrogance. Perhaps he was just stupid, but you could not deny the fact that the guy was used to this sort of thing; it wasn't the first time he'd nearly died.
While guns were fired continuously in Yoru, their din a thunderous song of fire and chaos that never ended, it wasn't actually all that dangerous to walk around town, contrary to common sense. You see, only the crazy people left the relative safety of the buildings and joined one of the many gangs on the street. They were all drunk, all the time. Where they obtained guns was beyond Kurosaki--he had suspicions that some lucky bastards made a fortune supplying these lunatics with heat--but the wild ruffians couldn't aim worth a damn. You were in more danger of being hit by a stray projectile that was not intended specifically for your head. Though, really, none of these gang members seriously aimed to kill people.
Those that chose to live on the streets wanted to get shot, more than anything else.
It was hopelessness that drove these insane people to the streets. Or they were unable to get their hands on any Data. Either way, they had been crushed by the oppressive weight of Yoru and were very suicidal. Driven mad from this world without opportunity or hope, they went berserk. Picked up guns because they secretly wished to become targets for other maniacs and die. Leave this hellhole once and for all. Yeah, it would make more sense to turn the lethal weapons upon themselves. Say goodbye on their own and save people who needed to go somewhere, like Kurosaki, a lot of trouble instead of going ballistic and lashing out at random against the city. However, you have to realize that these people weren't right in their minds. Besides, very suicidal or not, they still feared death almost as much as the city.
This carnage was what Kurosaki went through.
The streets of Yoru were terrifying because they made real your fears about failing. The sight of its buildings crumbling chipped away at your own soul. After your will to go on left you, this hell was what awaited you.
Oh, the possibilities with this setting are unlimited. I wonder how many lives I should allow each user...
The occasional grenade was tossed indiscriminately, and Kurosaki hated it when one landed nearby. Not because it risked his life--nor because it meant others could die!--but because throwing himself to the ground to save himself could mean the loss of his all-important Data. Fires burned from where stray grenades had hit cars or people, providing light where street lamps had long since been knocked over or burnt out. And so many still bodies. Most were dead or lifeless, if not running down the middle of the road like a madman. Young, old, every gender alike. Didn't anybody ever take them away? A few of the especially daring made a living rummaging through the deceased remains of those who were unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire.
Still, someone should do something about the blood. It would have been nice if it rained more often here, so the dark, brownish-red stains that graffittied the walls and sidewalks would get washed off more frequently than never.
Doing his best to ignore most of his ludicrous surroundings, Kurosaki made his way through the residential district, where he lived, on his way to the outskirts of Yoru. To the edge of the mad city. His destination. He avoided walking too quickly, so as not to attract attention, would pause occasionally when it seemed a heavy round of gunfire would go off right in front of him. The stars above the ruined buildings hid beneath a smoky haze across the atmosphere, as if ashamed by the chaos below.
Then, after being so successful in not making any grave mistakes, Kurosaki fucked up real bad and bumped into a person.
Then, he snapped at that person. Which was the biggest mistake. "Hey, watch where you're going!" he yelled at the large, dark shape that had the audacity to step in his way. That was the dumb move. Speaking up. He always had problems with that.
Awesome! Die, impostor! My heart's pounding! Wait, isn't that...?
The shape turned around, possibly intent on murder. A big pair of knuckles cracked menacingly. And white eyes suddenly widened.
"...Ichigo?"
"Huh? Chad?"
Recognition passed between the two. Abruptly, both burst out laughing like idiots, in the middle of insanity personified.
...What a letdown. I should have programmed it so he would have perished in this scenario.
"Hey, what are you doing out here, man?" Kurosaki laughed, in too good a mood to be disturbed by the voice.
Light-hearted seconds before, Chad's gaze darkened. "Doing a guide job."
An explosion went off in the far distance.
"Guide job? Where's the customer, then?"
"Dead. Went ahead of me and was gunned down."
"Oh."
"Don't worry, though. The guy was a loner that no one cared about. Still..."
"You wished you could have done your job. Right?"
"...Yeah."
Being a guide was a dangerous job. More dangerous than most, rather. A guide's role was to help regular folk get through the city unharmed. You had to be half-mad to become one, but the pay was far better than most. Only the few successful people in Yoru could afford guides--or needed to go anywhere and needed them--so you'd get a lot of cash if you got your client safe to their destination. If. Most often, either the client or the guide, or both, didn't survive. If only the guide lived, he or she risked a bounty being placed on their heads by the client's relatively wealthy and surviving family members. Bad enough that you don't get paid for a failed mission, you could go mad after failing to protect too many customers because you'd be forced to deal with too many bounty hunters. A lot of guides did go mad if they weren't crazy already to accept the job..
"Well, I need to go, Chad. Seeya."
"Wait, where you going?...Making a..." Chad hushed into a whisper. "...delivery?"
All Kurosaki did was nod. Gunfire pounded.
Chad understood. "Want a guide, Ichigo?" he offered his assistance. "Free of charge for a friend."
"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm already drawing too much attention by talking to a guide. I should have left before now."
"All right...Mind if I ask who you're going to?"
"Later, Chad."
And Kurosaki's detour ended. He felt Chad's eyes on his back until he turned a corner. He pulled his jacket closer to himself, huddling his gangly shoulders. Why did he do these things, again? At times, it felt like he had no control over himself.
Hmm, that's dangerous thinking. Don't want the customers' systems crashing mid-game.
The hissing roar of a missile being fired caused Kurosaki to glance upwards. Across the city, a plume of fire lit up in an already-damaged skyscraper, and Kurosaki felt fortunate he was nowhere near the building as debris descended towards some unlucky people sleeping below the skyscraper.
While his head was up, Kurosaki stared at the brightest light in the sky. The moon was full this night. A pretty good night so far, Kurosaki figured.
But he soon changed his mind.
Walking across Yoru with your head up is incredibly stupid. And Kurosaki was walking across Yoru with his head up. And this was incredibly stupid because Kurosaki stepped into a crack in the sidewalk and immediately tripped.
Yoru went silent, or so it seemed. The guns stopped in this one moment when Kurosaki needed them blazing.
The fall didn't hurt. However, a precious needle rolled out of his coat and the sound of weighted glass spinning across the concrete was louder than any explosions earlier tonight to Kurosaki's ear.
Oh shit.
Oh yes.
Kurosaki forgot any pain in his body. All his troubles of making ends meet vanished. He didn't care about what he'd do for supper. He was in serious trouble and he scrambled to his feet at a full sprint.
He was running for his life now.
From a group of hundreds of people that were suddenly awake and after his blood. The needle that fell out was greedily snatched up and a crowd fought to the death over it. Machine guns roared. None were fired at Kurosaki because no one wanted to break the Data. Machine guns were fired at any and everyone else in his vicinity. It was chaos.
The dead city came alive in order to get the happy memories they could take from Kurosaki.
He could run and they would follow him anywhere, pulverize him and strip him of all his Data that they desperately wanted. And they would fight each other for this Data, but Kurosaki could not care less about that because he would be dead if that happened.
Run, run! Hahahahaha!
He hated this damn voice, so much like his own, laughing at him but Kurosaki did run for all his worth, regardless. This wasn't the first time he'd been in such a position. Screams pursued him. He wasn't sure how he hadn't already been grabbed, but he somehow kept ahead of his followers. That's all that mattered and it gave him some hope.
But he needed more than hope, he knew from experience. Right now, the doctor called for a big dose of luck. And didn't Kurosaki have the Devil's Luck?
Yeah, he did.
Twisting and turning down streets to keep ahead of an every-growing mob, Kurosaki was convinced his luck had finally ran dry this night when a door in a building abruptly opened and an arm pulled him inside a dark room. The door slammed shut. The mob ran past the door.
And Kurosaki was given another reprise.
Lucky bastard...but that sure was exciting. I'll have to find a way to put more weapons on the street for anyone to pick up...Increase the width of the sidewalks or something...
"You're a moron, you know that? Eh, Kurosaki?"
Kurosaki's saviour taunted him from the darkness. It didn't remain dark, however, and a glint from glasses greeted him after a light flickered on.
"Shut up, Ishida." Kurosaki was in no mood to be reminded this. He couldn't believe he'd made such an amateur mistake.
"...And you owe me for this, you know that," added Ishida.
Kurosaki grimaced. "Yeah, I do," he spat out in disgust. Both at himself and Ishida.
"You know what I want, too."
"Yes. The same thing those crazed people do. Well, you'll get it, don't worry."
Ishida smiled. The smug punk was enjoying this rare change of fortune. More often than not, it was Kurosaki who pulled his fellow hacker out of the fire. Ishida would milk this for all it was worth and Kurosaki would not hear the end of this for quite some time.
Ah, annoying that he had to get saved, but nobody wants a game over screen too quickly.
After partaking some of the data, Kurosaki waited in Ishida's lab for a few minutes before setting out again. He'd whipped the mob into a frenzy with a foolish slip of his foot, but their fervour couldn't last long. Sure enough, not a soul was in sight when he'd left the abode of his rival supplier minutes later.
The moon was bright. The air smelled of sulphur and ashes.
He hated this city. The temptation to open his coat right then and inject some Data directly into his brainstem was strong. To take total control in another world. If he didn't have a mission he needed to complete, he'd be a drooling vegetable right now at his home and loving it.
No can do, though.
Kurosaki was well out of the residential district, out of downtown and near his destination by this point. Real close. The things he did for a friend.Her house was in the suburbs, hardly even a part of Yoru. A much safer place to live. Kurosaki should move out here, too, but he didn't have the money. It made no sense how he could be creating such a desired product and have no money to show for it. He blamed the voice for this, but quickly changed that thought. He refused to give power to the voice.
Ah, he seems to be here. Wherever "here" is.
Yes, Kurosaki was there. His objective was this normal-looking house. The house was one among many that all look strikingly similar. All were a touch decrepit but were in far better shape than the any of the buildings in the heart of the chaotic Yoru.
For a few seconds, Kurosaki paused to catch his breath. Then he knocked on the door.
She was expecting him, so the door was quickly opened.
"Took you long enough, Ichigo."
Kurosaki glared at this woman while thinking of the troubles he went through.
...Will he fight her? I hope so.
But he could not stay very angry. She kept him going the whole time, after all. He put himself through all that shit for her.
"Come on, Rukia," Kurosaki took her by the shoulder and welcomed himself inside. "I really need some Data after what I just went through." Really needed to prove to himself that he wasn't being manipulated.
"No kidding," Rukia agreed, unaware of any ulterior motives. "Seems like Data is the only way I can see the sun these days."
I've been wondering...just what is this "Data" that everyone finds so important? I don't recall ever programming anything like that into this world...Just so long as it isn't...
In Rukia's living room, where her computer was, Kurosaki set things up for maximum simulation. Her computer was bought from a store ages ago and was nowhere near as good as his, but any computer could amplify the effects of Data considerably. And Rukia's simple piece of machinery could do this much.
The wait felt unbearable now that the payoff was so close. But Kurosaki and Rukia managed to contain themselves. After opening a special program he installed on Rukia's computer, pulling some wires out from his custom needles and plugging them into the proper ports, Kurosaki was ready.What is he doing...? Don't let it be...
Kurosaki ignored the bizarre mumbling. All he could think of was blue skies and fast cars. At last, he had two needles in hand. Then just one needle, after he passed one to Rukia."Ready?" They both asked at the same time, each with sharp tips pointed towards the bases of their necks. Of course they were ready.
What is this?!"You want to know what it's like to live in a peaceful city, as a rich person where nothing goes wrong in your life, Rukia?"
...No way.
"Sure. It's got to beat this dump."
As one, they slid the needles in, entering the fantasy reality provided by the data created by Kurosaki. It was a pleasant daze of pleasant days.
So...that voice from before...it really is...?
Outside of Rukia's house, the moon was sinking. The sun was rising. It was currently a time that could neither be called night nor day. It was the dawn of a new day.
Ichigo ripped himself away from the computer screen, panting. He knew it. Suddenly, nothing in his office appeared to be concrete. It was all as transparent as the glass in his windows.
Yeah, he understood what Data was. And now nothing else made sense, as he feared. His world was collapsing into a nightmare.
Ahh, nothing like pretending I work at a fancy office all day.
Unbelievable. This was so wrong. Ichigo wanted to smash his computer in. But he didn't dare. How could this be possible? How could a virtual avatar of himself that he created be his creator? This was backwards. Mind boggling. He wondered if he was experiencing some strange dream. He better not be. He avoided sleep for a reason.
What time was it? Ichigo looked at his clock. About eight o'clock. Night was approaching. He'd been on his computer for some time, absorbed in his work. He couldn't think of much else now.
Things were not so cool in Hirusugi, all of a sudden. Ichigo could not deny this fact for the first time, try as he might.
Hey, something is wrong with this Data...is he thinking what I am...? Hearing me?
What a punk this other Ichigo Kurosaki was. Masquerading as himself. Tch. Ichigo was too cool to stand for this. He won Game Developer of the Year five years in a row (a record). Obviously, he created a game so ingenious that even he could not comprehend it. But he would undo this. For certain.
A knock on his door distracted him."Yeah?" He called out. It could only be Kuchiki. Ichigo and Kuchiki were the only two workers on this floor who stayed past seven.
Naturally, though, the woman let herself inside before he spoke.
"Hey, you all right, Kurosaki?" she asked. This conversation sounded very familiar. "You've been in your office since I left this morning. Didn't even come out for lunch."
"...I've been real busy."
"You missed Keigo's latest screw up. He set back development two weeks. He's very lucky he wasn't fired."
"So he often is."
"You look tired. Did you get enough sleep last night?"
"Of course."
Kuchiki clearly did not believe him but she let it slide."...How is your game coming along? You must have made some great progress."
"About my game...I'm thinking of scrapping the whole project."
"Scrapping it?! Why? You've never done that before."
"...The game is not very fun."
"Really? You were raving about how it would be the greatest game you ever made before. About how it would perfectly simulate a post-apocalyptic environment, and would allow the people of Hirusugi to enjoy gang wars with their neighbours...or something...I know it would sell a lot of copies."
...Post-apocalyptic simulation? Don't tell me...
"I changed my mind. It was a stupid idea. Now I'd rather make a game about cute rabbits."
Stunned silence.
"What happened, Ichigo?" Kuchiki suddenly switched to his first name, even though she knew better than to do that. And she knew she shouldn't be moving this close to him.
"It's about what you said earlier. About Hirusugi being too perfect. I agree with you completely, Rukia." Whoops, he wasn't supposed to use her first name, either.Her gaze hardened on him. "What happened, Ichigo?" she repeated her question firmly.
The Data isn't working...! This isn't how I designed Hirusugi...!
His office was dark. Outside Soul Society Entertainment, it was no longer day. It was dusk and soon it would be night. The sun had nearly been eclipsed by the horizon.
Ichigo could not bring himself to explain what happened. He chose instead to kiss Rukia; she didn't complain about the choice. She had words later.
He was sick of his life. Sick of his job. Sick of pretending to be living as though life was a game. And, most of all, sick of the dumb front he and Rukia put up every day at the office.
So he shut off his computer. After deleting The Dead Zone. The game never was released to the public.Night finally fell over Hirusugi. Ichigo Kurosaki never heard a voice in his head again.
Except in his dreams.
Kurosaki yanked the needle out of his neck.
At last, his head was blessedly quiet, except for his own angry thoughts.
But the man was baffled. What he saw in his dream world was not pleasant at all. His Data was a complete failure. Just like his whole life and everyone else's in Yoru.How could his dream self have an independent conscious? What sort of side effect was this? Kurosaki forced himself to calm down. He had been imagining things. Again. He only thought his other self gained a life of its own accord.No, he'd suspected this for a long time. It was just he had no way of denying the truth now.He'd been denying it because the notion of another Ichigo Kurosaki having control over his destiny really pissed him off. He threw the needle--still in his hand--to the floor in disgust. Then he scrambled through the pockets of his dumb coat, flinging out countless needles. Destroying all of them. Destroying all the "priceless" Data he'd toiled so long to make. When he realized Rukia was still connected to the false world of his Data, he pulled her needle out, too, and smashed it against the floor.
All the Data was gone.
"What are you doing, Ichigo?! Are you crazy?!"
"No. I've had it with Yoru, Rukia. I'm leaving this rotten city." Oh, he was. He didn't even notice he'd decided this until he said it."...Huh? Why?" His companion was stunned.
The real question was why hadn't he already, though. Something had snapped in Ichigo Kurosaki. Snapped free and was out of control.
He finally felt like he was in control of his destiny.
"Doesn't matter why," he told Rukia. "All I want to know is if you'll leave with me."
The sun was on the rise. Daytime was finally upon Yoru. Ichigo Kurosaki never heard a voice in his head again."Dummy. Of course, I will."Except in his dreams.
The room was no longer so dark. Either a light had been turned on or the sun had risen. Neither were very plausible but there had to be an explanation for the sudden light.
At his computer, where he'd fallen asleep, the man woke up in a fit.
Most likely, he wouldn't be sleeping again for a long time. It was these dreams. He hated them. He kept on seeing visions of himself, more than one. All reminded him of himself but were nothing like him. It was surreal.
They were disturbing, those dreams. Gave him reason to fear, even if the reasoning made sense to none save himself. But he wouldn't be consumed by these dreams. That was why the man avoided sleep; it was his way of refusing to give in. How long could the sleepless nights last? Not long enough, so far as the man was concerned; he was determined to conquer the need to rest.
On his computer in the not so dark room, he wrote about what he did in the dreams. About the various incarnations of himself he was privy to in the stuff of dreams. The man noted recurring elements that gave him cause for concern. For example, every version of himself created another version of himself. The same people surrounded him in each different world, with that one woman being the most important to imin all of them.
He wrote this down, noting the similarities. The dreams were all his mind could think of, even when he wasn't dreaming. The worst dreams were the ones where another variation of the man saw into his life or even created his existence.
That was why sleep was so frightening, by the way. He saw these key recurring elements in his own life, not only in the dreams. The people in the dreams were the people in his life. That one most important woman in the dreams was the most important woman in his life. He wrote about--and possibly created?--other versions of himself on his computer. No different from the men who were him but not him did in the dreams. He and his dream selves were too similar for the dreams to only be dreams.
Come to think of it, which started first? The dreams or the writing? The two were interlinked. Inseparable. In fact, something told the man they started at the same time, impossible though that should be. Would the dreams stop if he no longer wrote? Would the writing stop if no longer dreamed? The man was uncertain.
This doubt permeated through his whole life now, came to represent it. Was the truth that all the avatars of himself, spread across countless worlds, were real? That they needed to create one another to sustain one another? Somehow, the man did not think any of them were real--including himself--and it was this growing conviction that gnawed at his soul.
This growing belief that none of avatars were real tormented the man known as Ichigo Kurosaki, and not just the Ichigo Kurosaki in the not so dark room. Yeah, all of the Ichigo Kurosakis must have this nagging thought somewhere at the back of their heads. The only exception, of course, should be the real Ichigo Kurosaki that was not a fake. The original, wherever he was dreaming, could not be sharing these doubts. And if the Ichigo Kurosaki in the not so dark room had these doubts, how could he be the original? Exactly. Or so the man in the not so dark feared.
However, the man refused to accept this reality, this fear. Ironic, this stubborn denial, considering that he also refused to dream just as desperately.