Ichigo picks at a small flaw in the vinyl table top. A piece of flat, gray plastic catches under his finger nail and lifts up. He peels it back, creating a flaw in the otherwise perfectly ordered environment around him.

A tray bangs down hard on the table and he draws his hand back at once, instantly regretting marring the table. But then he sees it is not an instructor but another citizen taking a seat across from him.

Standing out among the sea of straight postures, white shirts and quietly eating citizens, this man sticks out like a sore thumb. It's not his bright blue hair—it's his slouched shoulders, his spilled juice, his rumpled shirt and the scowl plastered on his face.

"Who'd have thunk it," his lips curl back in an ironic grin, "you and I in the reject pile together."

He makes no effort to keep his voice low or to pretend he fits into the crowd of demure beings all around. He stabs his spoon into the bowl on his tray and begins to stuff food into his mouth while he waits for Ichigo to respond.

Ichigo doesn't. He glances down the end of the row of tables to where a man in black stands, watching. A fist slams down on the table and startles him, bringing his eyes back to the newcomer.

"Yo, Kurosaki. You do know who I am, right?"

Ichigo's eyes fix on the fist. The man looks to it and he too takes a look in the direction of the watcher. He relaxes his hand and Ichigo watches him straighten his posture ever so slightly. So he hasn't been able to resist them either—not entirely.

"Yes, Grimmjow."

"Good," his voice is lower now. "I can't believe they put the two of us in the same facility."

"There aren't many facilities left—I mean, most citizens have completed retraining already."

"Weaklings," Grimmjow grunts.

"No, Grimmjow. Humans."

"And Soul Reapers."

"Forced into gigais that leave them essentially human."

"Still, they were soldiers." He looks around to see who else might be among the other citizens but there is no one else he recognizes. He himself is in a gigai but it doesn't seem to have tamed his hollow anger. Those blue eyes still blaze with rebellion.

"You don't seem like you're ready for retraining."

"Probably not. This is my third time being released. Don't know why they don't just kill me."

"No martyrs. No heroes. We're all just citizens."

Grimmjow narrows his eyes and leans across the table, his voice just a hiss. "That sounds a little too well rehearsed, Kurosaki."

Ichigo shakes his head. "They've just drilled it into me so many times that…"

"Exactly. That's how they do it. Until you start spouting the same shit they do. And worse, you start believing it."

"Grimmjow they're going to hear you, you know. And if you're on probation—"

"Of course I'm on probation." But he quiets, because he knows Ichigo's point. While he's on probation, he still has to return to the torture they all endured at first—for days, weeks, months—depending on your level of resistance—until their new overlords deemed them ready to reintegrate into society.

It wasn't physical torture—they're bodies were completely untouched. The pain they'd been dealt had all been in their heads, but it made it no less real to them. It did the job, and most had given into the Vandenreich's will immediately. They had gone through retraining and been allowed to return to their lives in the world of the living, so long as they continued to abide by the Vandenreich's rules, of course.

Ichigo and Grimmjow were among the last to succumb. In fact, the Vandenreich had also tried to retrain Ichigo twice but he'd been sent back for more torture. Until now. Grimmjow was staring at him again and he must have been figuring this out for himself.

"Wait, you're not on probation?"

Ichigo felt himself redden at the implication. Grimmjow's hand tightened over his spoon again.

"You're giving in?"

"Grimmjow, what's the point? Resisting has gotten me nowhere but back in that torture chamber. How long do expect me to keep—"

"FOREVER!" he screams, the whole hall going completely still as he rises from the table. He knows already what he's done, and turns to meet the black figures that are running his way. He holds back the grunt of pain from the stun gun and goes limp between two men. They turned their attention to Ichigo.

He stares back at them for a second before lowering his gaze to his meal and dipping his spoon into his pudding. He doesn't look up again.

A white wall stares back at him. He is thankful that he is alone—he is allowed to be alone and just to lay still, sleep. That no one comes in and puts cathodes on his skin, or fills a needle with adrenaline, or begins the process that allows them to invade his mind and make him suffer for as long as they deem necessary.

Grimmjow will not sleep tonight. Grimmjow will be strapped down and he will suffer until morning, at the very least. Maybe they will even put him back into stasis, but some part of Ichigo doubts it. The Vandenreich must know that they can only do that for so long before it breaks a person's mind. And because of their strict rule that all citizens are equal, despite what happened in the war, they will not allow him to die. It might make him a martyr. It is more effective to show that everyone, no matter what kind of warrior they were, will give into the Vandenreich. That is the real way to destroy any seed of resistance.

Ichigo knows he needs to fight them, but not yet. Every time he fights, it makes no difference and he only suffers. The only way he can ever make a difference is once he is free—or as free as a person can get in this world. Once he is back home, he can make a plan and fight. The only problem is, he has to graduate from retraining first. And retraining means proving your loyalty to the Vandenreich.

They don't need you to be a true believer. They don't care if you only follow their rules because you are afraid of pain. Because in a generation or two, that will be forgotten, and the universe really will be theirs.

The fact that Grimmjow keeps resisting doesn't show that he is stronger than anyone else, it simply shows he doesn't understand how pointless it is. He hasn't thought it through. He doesn't realize that the most important thing is to just get out of this place.

Ichigo shuts his eyes on the white wall. He's already memorized all the flaws in its surface. Most have been painted over but he can still see where tacks were once pushed in the plaster, holding posters of rock bands, or celebrities. He noticed stains that hadn't quite been cleared from the window where someone must have hung pictures with stick tack or tape. The desk had been repainted but there are still scratches under the fresh coat that were surely the names of other occupants of the room.

Ichigo was finally in university, but not under the circumstances he'd desire. His class sizes were probably better than what he could have hoped if he'd been accepted here at the University of Tokyo. But his professors were even stricter than he'd imagined. The meal hall sucked and he was always hungry. And his schedule was the worse—no time off except to sleep and eat.

He half smiles to himself at the sick comparison. This building had once stood for expansion of the mind, freedom of youth, a rite of passage between high school and the "real world." But now it is a place where they are forced to forget all those things, narrow their thoughts and minds and believe in only one truth: the Vandenreich's.

He would learn it. He would spout it. But he wouldn't believe it. He would get out of this place, and he'd be damned if he'd let Grimmjow's hot-headed rebellion delay him.

This idea just hit me today so I wrote up a beginning. Maybe I'll come back to it. I would also like to try writing in the present tense. It gives a very different narrative, I think.