"Kenpachi?" Ichigo moved over to the figure in the dark room. He saw the tray of food he'd brought yesterday was still there, still untouched. "Come on, I've come all this way, you could at least talk to me."

"Kurosaki." He turned at Soifon's voice just outside the door. He gave a sigh and set down the new meal, leaving Kenpachi on his bed, in the dark, the sheets flat where one leg should be.

"It's no use," Soifon said when she shut the door. "Didn't Rukia explain?"

"No, she just said he wouldn't be the best of company. What happened to him? How did he get injured?"

"Injured? Oh, the leg. The Clash. When he came through a piece of Las Noches landed on top of him."

"So that's not new? I thought that was why he was like this."

"No. He gets like this every so often, it will pass."

"But it's Kenpachi, I mean, I thought he was invincible."

"No one is invincible, Kurosaki, especially not him after he was forced to watch the Vandenrecih torture his closest squad members to death—including the lieutenant."

Ichigo stopped walking. Soifon did too. Perhaps she understood how shocking and cruel her words might be because she turned back and put a hand on his shoulder.

Ichigo covered his face with one hand, it was shaking.

"I apologize." She gave his shoulder the smallest squeeze before turning away, "but this is a cold world, and I guess it's made me cold sometimes too."

"No," Ichigo said when he recovered. "You're surviving. You're leading these people, Soifon."

"It wasn't me who did it, though."

"What do you mean?"

They were almost in the main room where Ichigo could see Rukia busy looking over maps with Iba and Hisagi, two more familiar faces.

"I followed her here, because she knew this would be the natural gathering place for former spiritual beings."

"Who?"

"Lady Yoruichi."

"Yoruichi? She's here? Where is she?"

"Gone." Soifon looked away, uncharacteristically emotional. "She left just days after we established this as our base. She never could stay in one place for very long."

"Why did she leave?"

"To search for others. You, I'm sure. She believes Urahara is still alive, and others..."

"My friends? Orihime? Chad?"

"Possibly."

"My sisters?"

"I don't know."

"You know I'm going to have to search for them."

"You already have, Kurosaki, I think it's time you try a different approach. Work with us."

"I will," he promised. Rukia had already spent much time convincing him that staying here would give him access to the information and resources he needed to find Karin and Yuzu. But in the short time he'd been here, he also knew he had to do everything in his power to help his former allies. "What can I do to help?"

He thought he saw some small form of relief on Soifon's hard face. She must have expected him to go running off like Grimmjow.

"First of all, you can finish getting acquainted with this place. You'll be no good to me if you keep having reunions with long lost friends ever five minutes. Get all that out of the way, learn the layout. In a few days, you can start showing me the territory you've covered in the last four years."

He nodded, relieved the grace period. They parted ways and he headed off to see who else was still alive.

"Jaggerjaques? Are you awake?"

Heavy eye lids forced their way open. Grimmjow winced at the over bright lights and tried to shield his eyes. He couldn't. His arms were stuck at his sides and when he could squint past the brightness and move his lead-filled head he saw the problem.

"...bastard." He was restrained to a bed. Padded straps held his wrists tight to the mattress, his ankles were likewise secured, one to each corner. He tugged against them but there was no give. Then his muscles went slack with another wave of sickness. He felt a thick heat in his system, his body was drenched in sweat.

"I'm afraid a good sedative is hard to find these days, even when you operate out of a hospital. It looks like it will take some time for the effects to leave you entirely. But in the mean time, let's have a discussion about how you can serve me."

"Fuck you."

"Well, that's a nice offer Grimmjow, and we'll come back to it later, but for now, I wanted to discuss the Glads."

Grimmjow swallowed and let out a dry laugh. "Shoulda guessed that's why you nabbed me."

"Yes well, you would have brought in a big pot for the ring matches but I see no need to cut half with you. I'd rather take one hundred percent of your profits in the gladiator stadium."

"You're gonna slave me out?"

"That's up to you. Yes, in actual fact, I will own you, but I'd rather not see you wasted as fodder. As you know, the most popular gladiator matches are between the slaves and volunteers. I want to present you as one such volunteer—the known champion of bareknuckle death matches now in the Glad ring with a sword—or a mace—or what have you. You get the picture. People like to see their celebrities, but not the same movie over and over again. You need to diversify, Grimmjow. People want to see you in the Glads, see you really rip people apart."

"You mean kill slaves, who don't want to be there."

"Does it really make a difference to you? Forget them and think about yourself. You are mine, now Grimmjow, no matter what. I could throw you in their like a slave, humiliate you and watch you die for one big pay-off. Or you go out there with your head held high, and when you win, you come back to me and I keep the winnings instead of giving you your prize."

"Or I fucking kill you soon as I get my chance."

"You won't Grimmjow. You're trapped, outnumbered, and I have more than sedatives to slow you down next time. Which brings me to my final argument—and I think it might be the one to convince you."

He moved right over to the side of the bed and leaned in low.

"There are other ways people desire to see their celebrities, you know. If you won't make me a profit in the ring, then I will slave you out Grimmjow—in the worst way possible. You'll never get out of this bed, and you'll never hold your head high again."

His hand closed over Grimmjow's chin and he watched his prisoner process the threat.

"Do we have an understanding? Or should I start rounding up cutomers?"

Everything in Grimmjow was shaking. His wrist were taught against the straps, his biceps bulging, everything in him trying to grab hold of this man's neck and throttle him until he was dead. But he couldn't. He was well and truly trapped. And if he didn't agree, he'd be well and truly fucked.

He shut his eyes. It was good enough for Cino.

"Excellent." He let go of Grimmjow. "Sleep off the rest of that sedative Grimmjow and by the time you wake up the word will be out at the flocks of spectators will be on their way."

"Shinji..." Ichigo stood staring up a broad staircase to a large console. The blond turned at his name and that sharp smile spread over his face.

"Ichigo Kurosaki. I didn't know if I believed them when they told me you were here." He abandoned whatever scan he'd been running and met Ichigo at the bottom of the stairs.

"Well here I am."

"Here you are," he agreed and grabbed Ichigo around the shoulders giving him a quick embrace. "Come on Hiyori, say hello to our guest."

Ichigo hadn't really taken note of the other people in the room but now he saw the girl who looked about fifteen, her blonde hair in two messy pigtails and a scowl on her freckled face.

"Yeah, yeah, nice to see you Kurosaki. Have any tips on how to put the world back to rights?"

"Ah…"

"Didn't think so." She crossed her arms and looked uninterested but Ichigo knew her too well to be offended.

"Nice to see you too."

He caught the edge of her lip turn up before she spun and returned to her work.

"What are they all doing?" Ichigo asked Shinji, surveying the many forms working away at consoles or over sheets of data. He noted Nanao working at a screen, her dark hair now long and loose at her back. At a different table he spotted Momo working with someone else. Ichigo smiled when he recognized the busy young soul reaper who'd been one of his very first allies—Hanataro "They're researching," Shinji answered.

"It's like the 12 division."

"Pretty much. We're in charge of researching any potential leads into how we might fix this place."

"Las Noches?"

"No, the universe, idiot."

Ichigo turned sharply. "What? You think it can be undone?"

Shinji ran a hand down the length of his grey tie and shrugged. "Who knows. It doesn't look good, but what other option do we have?"

Ichigo nodded but he was moved to silence. He thought everyone had given up on undoing the damage. He knew some part of him had too. He lowered his gaze to the floor. Shinji put a hand on his shoulder.

"Tell me you don't blame yourself for all this shit."

"I didn't stop it in time."

"We didn't stop it. It was our fault, not yours, and we have to do everything we can to make up for our mistakes. But you have a family to find right?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Well finding us was your first step to finding them."

"I hope so. I can't imagine what it's been like for them out there all this time, two little girls..."

Shinji shrugged. "Well, the way I see it, if they're anything like you, they'll be fine. Oh dear, looks like you've been noticed." He nodded to Hanataro who had just spotted him and was smiling ear to ear. "Go say hi to your friends, Ichigo. I'll join you and Soifon when you're ready to tell us about what you've seen in this world."

"Yeah, okay." He stepped away from the captain and let a smile take over him as he met Hanataro, even though his heart remained heavy from talk of the past.

Grimmjow sat in cold silence, staring at the room around him as Cino talked about the fight and how he was to play his role.

It was a real room—he'd expected a barren cell but they'd put him in a private room with a bathroom and everything. Yes, they'd reinforced every door and window with iron bars, but other than that they'd left him with a bed, a pair of chairs and some books on a small table.

The downside: his ankles and wrists were chained, no more than a foot of space between either, leaving him totally off balance and unable to escape. So he sat in the chair across from Cino, fiddling with this chains and a deep scowl on his face.

"Your first match is in two hours," Cino cloncluded. "I am expecting quite the show."

"Great." Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

"You will win it easily. For the first fight, I think people just want to see you in action—no one wants you to die before they get to see you a few times."

"I'm so glad people care." Grimmjow shot back without looking at the man.

"You'd better put on a good show or our agreement will change." This drew Grimmjow's eyes back to Cino and his clean suit. "You know what I mean, Grimmjow. So do what you're supposed to, alright?"

Grimmjow glared. Cino leaned forward.

"I said, alright?"

Grimmjow considered not answering, but he understood his position and nodded. "Yeah, I got it."

"Good. Then it will be with the sword. Make it entertaining."

Two hours later Grimmjow stood in the tunnel entrance to the ring. After his experience in the stadium with Ichigo, he now knew the true purpose of this place. Players on teams would line up where he stood now before entering the field. But he couldn't see much difference between crowds shouting at sports, and them cheering for the sport of killing—humans really were base creatures—hollows were born from their souls after all.

That didn't help though, as he stood in the dark tunnel, listening to the sickening jubilation of those crowded in the rings of seats, cheering as starved, beaten men slew each other, even if they'd been chained and caged alongside one another for days, weeks, maybe even months. It shouldn't bother him, after years of making a living off of killing people—but it did.

The slave fights came to an end. Now it was time for the headliner and they began announcing Grimmjow's debut even as bodies were dragged away.

He grit his teeth as he was shoved forward. They weren't going to arm him until they had a gate between them. Just before the audience could see him the two men who'd been flanking him put the sword into the holster at his back and then shoved him out of their range. The gate fell into place behind him, locking him in the ring until the match was over.

An enormous cheer rang out through the crowds. He looked around him, never having been at the centre of such a mass. He saw men and women, old and young, cheering and leaning over their seats to get a better look at him.

Why the fuck did he ever make himself famous?

His attention turned back to ground level when the gate at the opposite end opened and three men were shoved out at gun point. All around the ring were snipers, just to make sure there was no escape. Grimmjow quickly counted them in the upper part of the stadium. There was no getting out of this ring alive without killing the three poor bastards edging their way cautiously toward him.

They were armed and wore some type of hand-made leather armour. Grimmjow stood in nothing but his jeans and undershirt—by his own choice. He'd never fought with protection before and wouldn't start now in case it slowed him down. Besides, he couldn't imagine men forced into slavery would be anywhere near the talents of an espada who'd fought under Aizen.

This became clear when he cut through them like nothing.

He'd waited. He'd given them a chance to go out like men. He took no pleasure from their violent deaths. In the ring, when a man chose to face him, and died in the fight, it was the natural order, it was a free choice. This was just slaughter.

But he did it anyway. It was self-preservation.

He left the ring specked in the back lash of their blood, the crowd on its feet cheering. He gave them no wave, made no prideful gestures, he just turned his back and walked away.

And that made them love him more.

Once on the other side of that gate the shackles clamped back on, four men hustled him out a side door into an old moving van where he was forced to lay flat on his face with a gun to his head until they pulled into the supply entrance of the hospital.

They got him back up the stairs and into his room. It was all well planned—both so he never had an opportunity to escape and so no one would see he wasn't a true volunteer.

"Well done."

He was still trying to right himself on the floor. The men seemed half afraid of him and had shoved him inside the room as quickly as they could before slamming their homemade prison door in place. Grimmjow looked up through the bars but Cino opened them without concern. Grimmjow's hands were still chained at his back, he was little threat for the moment.

"I brought you your reward." He set down a pint of dark liquid on the table.

"Great, how am I supposed to drink it?"

"I'll have you sorted out after I go. For now, I have a few questions for you."

"What?"

"You are widely known as being unkillable. You fight with a sword naturally, as if it was a weapon you'd used all your life."

Grimmjow knew where this was going. He said nothing.

"You aren't Japanese are you?"

"What the fuck do you think I'm speaking?"

"I don't just mean the country—you aren't from here. You're one of them, aren't you?"

"What the Hell are you talking about?"

"A soul reaper—or one of those other spiritual things. Come on, tell the truth?"

"I'm not a damn soul reaper."

"Alright, answer this—it's a question any human from any country can answer. Who was the president of the United States at the time of Clash?"

Grimmjow's eyes shifted. He'd learned all about the political borders of this place, but he didn't know the first thing about its history.

"So it's true. Are you Vandenreich?"

"No. I'm a hollow."

At this, the man's eyes widened a bit. Cino had been standing over him and now he crouched down on his haunches, his pale suite stretching over his stocky form. "No wonder you're such an animal out there."

"Fuck you."

"I thought all the hollows were killed."

It was true. Though hollows had been physically converted to humans in the Clash, they were for the most part, still bestial in their minds. Some couldn't speak, many moved or acted in ways that gave away their true nature and humans, soul reapers and Vandenreich alike had slaughtered them en mass. It was very possible Grimmjow was the only one left.

"Does that six tattoo on you back have something to do with it?"

Humans wouldn't know anything about the espada but Grimmjow still refused to answer. He turned away. Cino caught his chin and forced his face back around.

"It does, doesn't it? I bet you'd be worth alot to the Vandenreich."

"Don't fucking touch me." Grimmjow yanked his chin back but Cino grabbed him around the throat and shoved him back into the floor. With his hands and ankles chained he couldn't do much to protect himself. He shook in anger under the hold. Cino knelt above him, obviously enjoying being able to control a being as deadly, powerful and valuable as Grimmjow.

"Don't forget, you belong to me, Grimmjow. The more I learn about you, the more I'm glad I invested so much into capturing you. I was pleased with your performance today. Continue to please me out in the ring and I will keep you very comfortable."

He let him go and stood. "Speaking of pleasure, I have another reward for you." He motioned to the door and someone came through with keys. They undid his wrists but not his ankles, dropping the key on the bed so Grimmjow still wouldn't be able to attack them until they were out of the room. But this wasn't what Cino was talking about. Grimmjow's attention came back to the door when he heard the shrieks coming from a young girl.

"Shut up!" Cino grabbed the chains between her hands and yanked her into the room. She was young, only sixteen or seventeen, brown hair cropped short around a round, terrified face. "She'll be yours for the duration, Grimmjow, I haven't even broken her in, thought I'd give you the pleasure." He gave another harsh tug on her wrists and forced her on the floor. She shook where she lay, shivering in fear. "I'll see you at your fight tomorrow. Enjoy."

He left. The metal bars slammed shut. Then the door. Grimmjow was alone with the teenage girl. He turned to her. She shrieked.

"Fuck," he sighed as she stumbled over to the far side of the room. She must have just been grabbed—young girls often were at Markets. She clutched her bare midriff where her tank was torn. She wore a short skirt and black leggings. She looked like she was dressed for a day at the mall—not surviving in a post-apocalyptic world. Someone had been taking care of her all this time, but that someone must now be dead or lost.

"Give me a break." Grimmjow groaned as he stood up and shuffled to the bed to get the key to his shackles. When he was free, he looked to the girl. "Who are you?"

No answer.

"Fine. I'm gonna shower." He passed her trembling form and slammed the door on the bathroom. He swore at his reflection in the mirror again before stepping under the hot spray and washing off the blood from today.

He stepped out even angrier than when he'd gone in. He couldn't stop picturing those three men and hearing the blood-lust roar of the crowd.

"Dammit." He threw his towel in the corner and stormed out into the rest of the room, swiping the bottle off the table and knocking back a long swig. He set it down with a bang and noticed the girl jolt in the corner. He'd almost forgotten she was there.

"You gonna answer me or not?"

She shook her head. He sighed again.

"You a slave, then?"

No answer. Obviously she was but perhaps she hadn't even had time to come to terms with it. They might have just grabbed her today.

"Do you even know what kind of shit you've gotten yourself into?"

This time, she gave a slow nod. He saw the well of tears threatening to rise up in wide, brown eyes. She knew what her future held now. She bowed her head. She looked familiar somehow, but he had a good memory and he knew he hadn't seen her before.

"I don't need this shit," Grimmjow muttered. He just wanted to be alone until the next fight, sleep and try to forget his situation. He took another long swig and sat heavily in one of the chairs, dropping his head into one hand. Several long drinks later, she moved from her perch on the wall and cautiously made her way toward him.

"You aren't really a volunteer, are you?"

He laughed into his hand. "What gave me away? The bars, or the chains?"

"Both." She said it like she didn't understand his sarcasm. He looked up. She was in the middle of the room. He stood. She instantly retreated back toward the bathroom.

"I'm going to sleep." He set down the empty pint and sat on the bed. She cowered like she was waiting for him to do something. He tried to ignore it but he couldn't, so he spoke again.

"Look, we both know why they put you in here with me."

She let out a small "yes" and covered her face with her hands.

"I'm not going to, so would you stop. Besides, you're just a friggin' kid."

He watched her pull her hands away from her face to see him—to see if he was being truthful. Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, she straightened, though she still shook and looked half about to collapse.

"...thank you."

"Don't say that. Just keep out of my way, okay?"

She nodded.

"Good." He lay back, but her small voice stopped him from going to sleep. He couldn't make out what she said so he sat up again. "What?"

"My name," she whispered. "My name is Yuzu."

"Grimmjow." He reciprocated and lay back again, never knowing he'd just made introductions with one of the two people Ichigo had scoured this world to find.

Duh duh, duhhh... and some great gladiator action coming up!

As for the Gimmjow Rukia thing, I guess I'm still a little novice at all of this since I never expected that having Grimmjow get laid would be the worst thing I could do to him, lol (and I've done a lot to him...poor Grimmjow...). Glad some of you picked up on the hints I dropped a while back, but no worries if you're not into it. This is an action adventure after all, not a romance. And in the next few chaps, I do hope you are all ready for some high-intensity ass-kicking by our favourite espada. Don't worry, Ichigo will have his chance to show his true grit too.

Hope you stick around for the ride. As always, I appreciate all your opinions, thanks for sharing your thoughts,

Riza

And Aeden—stop reading my damn mind, or I'm going to have to start changing things! ;)