Here chapter 2 :) and it is LOOOOOOOONG sorry bout that, i wanted all this in the chapter :) anyway plz enjoy theres lots to come :)

Chapter 2

The brown painted walls of cell number 4 echoed the loud commotion the prisoners were making throughout the entire hall. The commotion magnified as it passed through the cells of other prisoners and by the time it reached cell number 12 Renji knew something was happening. It seemed they had a visitor.

It had been two days since Renji's most recent injection, two days of no side effects. Two days of surviving off nothing but pure luck. Why wasn't he dead? He had seen patients before him become psychologically insane; he had watched patients' brains churn to a pulp the second they saw the disgusting abominations they had become. Why hadn't he become like them? Was he being tested using the same vile fluid and drugs as the others? Renji could sit all day and ponder about what the arseholes who ran the place would do next, but what was the point?

Loud, and authoritative footsteps drummed through the hall followed by the soft pitter-patter of soft footsteps; steps that represented innocence; steps that didn't belong here in this filthy place. Chains and shackles clinked as the pair walking down the hall continued and all too quickly the rotting and dying men of the jail began clinging to the bars shouting pleas of not only desperation but of disrespect, shameful insults stereotypical to men. Renji in particular could hear one man calling the prisoner a 'slut.' It was all too obvious this prisoner was a woman; the psychotic men's attitude explained it all. Yet Renji knew no grown woman had footsteps that soft.

Her name was Ayame. She treasured her name; it was a name everyday her parents would once call and a name she would always respond to. Ayame was named after the beautiful violet flower that took its home in the summery fields of the Yugakure (Hot Springs Country). It was a name that had once been close to her, a name she would love to hear called by others. But now that everyone she once knew was gone, who was there to call her name? Who was there to help her? The life inside Ayame had died upon her parents' death; she was a flower with no roots to feed her with nutrients. She had nothing to keep her alive.

The men continued their bickering. Ayame walked softly, hanging her lifeless head down, following the man keeping her chained. The shackles rubbed on her skin causing blisters and discomforting pain, but this pain was beneficial; it was her only reminder that she was still alive. Ayame was petite in figure; maybe that of a 12 year old; her straight brown hair hung over her lopsided head, swaying as she moved her crippled body. A large scar ran down the left side of her arm reaching up to a metre in length and the men couldn't help but notice the constant twitching that occurred time by time in her left hand, it seemed as though her hand was mimicking a recurring event that it had never let go of. This girl was distraught and disfigured… she was one of the world's new broken souls.

A man shouted something, perhaps a little too loud. But it was sharp in its intentions and caught Ayame's attention. Viciously the girl's head snapped towards the man, her eyes piercing him like a blade. He froze. Her eyes were bloodshot, a miserable yet insane appearance and like a raccoon, shady black rings circled her eyes. Her blistering and her cracked lips never opened to even curse the man. Her appearance was as sadistic as it was repulsive.

She continued walking after the large man dragging her smacked across the head.

She arrived out the front of a cell; in messy white paint were the kanji symbols for 10 and 1.

The man opened the door to cell 11,

"Go in," he exclaimed.

She walked in, soft footsteps tapping against the floor, the four other men in the cell began smiling, whispering to each other secretly. She walked straight to the back of the cell in time to hear the prison door eerily shut and then lock; she sat down laying her back against the wall, trying to be oblivious to the sick intended men around her. One man walked up to her; smiling wickedly he approached her in a manner that made her shiver. Slight seeds of panic sprouted inside her.

"Hey girl," he began teasingly, "See we've been in here a while and you see," he paused, "we've been lacking certain –how can I explain?" he licked his lips; she crossed her legs, wishing she could escape. Any escape would provide satisfaction, she'd be better off dead. Other men around him sniggered and she could feel them creep closer with every dire second that passed. The panic inside her began to grow.

He smiled once again and completed the sentence he had left empty, "certain desires." He stepped closer; she clenched her hand and tried to back herself further against the wall. There was nothing she could do, not as her leant down closer to her. She could feel her heart pound against her ribcage, and her lungs gasp for air. She couldn't struggle as the sick bastard stroked the inside of her leg and began creeping up to her thigh.

And whilst stroking her thigh – a deep smile on his face- he looked up to the girl and saw a strange black pattern spreading across her face. All the hatred inside her exploded into an unforgiving animosity. Now all that was on her mind was intent to kill. Her arm, now a grotesque clawed behemoth reached out the man and snapped him in two. Blood rushed from the man and created a puddle on the floor. She smiled. The other men looked upon the insane creature petrified.

The sound of men shouting was prominent in cell 11.

She smiled at the coloured red mess on the floor; it would be good to have a cell of her own.