Started and completed on March 10th, 2009.
Disclaimer(s): I do not own Bleach. If I did, Ichigo would have an obsessive stalker-girl that somehow and coincidentally has the exact same name as me.
I do not own Porsche, nor do I own a Porsche Boxster. Although I really, really, really, want one.
The smell of gasoline and tar permeated the air, filling his nose. He heard cars off in the distance, somewhere behind all of the towering buildings surrounding him. The street was dark, only an occasional dim lamppost casting its dim yellow glow appeared at each street corner. He could barely register everything around him, only able to hear the pounding of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears.
He was running, forcing one foot in front of the other, his bare feet slapping the pavement of the sidewalk.
Left foot, right foot.
He stepped onto the untidy, littered street, crossing it quickly as he passed into an alleyway. He slowed down, his breathing erratic.
He gave a breathy cry as he forced his limbs past their limits, running once more.
His thoughts were muddied and hazy. He could barely even remember why he was running in the first place-could barely remember why fear was tearing at his every limb, demanding him to flee far, far away. He came out of the alley onto yet another deserted street.
He could hazily remember being chased by people clothed in white but the rest was just a blur. A blur of blood and glinting metal. The thought spurred him to increase his speed.
Run, run, run.
He glanced down momentarily as he vaguely became aware of a sharp pain that had been shooting up from his feet ever since he had crossed the last street. He shook it off quickly.
No time to waste.
He ran down the dark, quiet street, mentally begging his legs to keep going, desperately hoping he could last long enough to make a getaway.
He ran along the sidewalk, his vision blurring in and out of focus. He collapsed with a cry when a large shock of pain shot through both of his legs simultaneously, climbing up his back and attacking his brain in a hectic fervor. He glanced at the baseball cap that had fallen off his head, a violent crimson spot staining the delicate blue fabric.
He reached his lightly tanned hand out to grab it on instinct, his arm freezing when his ears picked up the sounds of fast-paced footsteps closing in behind him.
He sucked in a labored breath and forced himself to his feet, stumbling into a run.
He darted into another alleyway, running desperately to the brighter end. The further he got in the alley, the louder the sounds of honking and revving engines and crunching of tires to road grew. He only dimly registered these at the back of his mind.
The only thing he could see was the light at the end of the cramped space between two buildings.
The only thing he could hear was the pounding of his heart, the rushing of his blood...
And the hurried footsteps of those that were chasing him close behind.
As he came closer to the end, the sounds died away. The sounds of cars faded away, the street having had its momentary traffic for the night. The only sounds left were of him and his pursuers.
He burst through the opening out of the darkness and into the light, darting into the street. He vaguely registered the quiet click behind him.
Spinning around, his eyes caught a flash of silver held in the hands of a man clothed from head to toe in white. He sucked in a breath, his heartbeat pounding painfully and loudly in his chest. The man holding the small semi-automatic pistol widened his eyes in surprise at the precise moment that a loud honking cut through all sounds down the street.
The young man in the middle of the street snapped his head to the side, his fear-filled brown eyes dilating as they met the bright headlights of an 18-wheeler truck speeding his way. The driver was trying his best to stop, the screeching of the brakes ripping through the nearly silent street. He stepped away from the man in white, away from the truck, toward the opposite side of the street.
It was too late.
He felt a tremendous force send him flying to the sidewalk, his head slamming on the pavement. He vaguely registered the screeching of the brakes shifting to a revving engine, the rubber of the abused tires being left behind as the driver sped away, undoubtedly panicking.
He could barely think or hear or use any of his senses. His mind was able to piece together one piercing, almost-clear thought.
Is he gone? Is it over?
He slowly tilted his profusely-bleeding head in the direction of the alleyway, catching sight of the white of a retreating back.
A smile slowly overtook his face, no longer able to keep his consciousness as the last thing he saw was the color of electric blue.
One last thought reverberated through his mind.
Finally. It's over.
Everything went black.
He sucked in a deep breath, the taste of tobacco covering his tongue and the tainted smoke filling his lungs. He glanced at the computer screen, tapping at the arrow keys on the keyboard to scroll down.
Pulling the cigarette away from his mouth, he exhaled, swirling gray smoke ascending above him. He stared at the screen for a few seconds more before deciding that he liked the design. The blue haired man leaned forward and smashed the cigarette butt into the black ashtray, leaving it amongst a few others.
After a few clicks of the computer mouse, the computer was logging off and shutting down. He pushed himself back and rose out of the comfortable office chair, stretching his arms high above his body and giving a low, deep yawn.
Grabbing his keys and jacket off of the door-side table, he stepped out of his office, locking the door behind himself.
One of the two women sitting at the desk smiled in his direction and gave him a kind 'goodnight' along with a small nod. He waved a hand over his shoulder lazily, giving his thanks and a goodnight of his own.
Everyone knew that he didn't like to talk much.
It was just the way that Grimmjow was.
He pressed the down button next to the elevator doors, the ding of the elevator almost automatically responding as the shiny silver doors slid open to reveal an empty elevator.
Stepping inside quickly, Grimmjow pressed the button for ground level, a sigh escaping his lips as the doors slipped shut. He pulled his tie to loosen it up a bit whilst gazing at his reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator.
Anyone could tell that he was tired, light bags visible underneath his electric blue eyes, his matching hair wilted slightly.
Grimmjow gave another sigh, shoving his keys into his pocket as he shrugged his jacket on. He pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for the elevator to arrive at his desired floor. Finally, a small jolt of the elevator and quiet ding notified him of his arrival. He opened his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets as the doors slid open and he stepped into the main lobby.
The man proceeded out the large glass doors, heading to the employee's parking lot. He walked quickly to his car, eager to get out of the nippy cold of the air.
He stepped up to his navy-blue Porsche Boxster, pulling the keys out of his pocket and unlocking the driver's side door, sliding inside and slamming the door shut. Eager to get home, the car was started in a quick and orderly fashion as he backed out of his reserved parking spot. The car smoothly pulled to the parking lot exit, momentarily pausing before pulling out and driving down the road in the dark, late-night hours of the February night.
Grimmjow sometimes hated his job and regretted ever accepting it. It was on the opposite side of town from his penthouse apartment room and it required him to drive across town.
If there was one thing that absolutely every resident in Las Noches knew, it was the fact that the middle of the city was the worst. The outer edges were fine--they had upscale housing and businesses and had worthy, good people.
The middle of the city, however, was home to rundown apartments, crooks, shady dealerships and stores along with bars and many other disquieting things. The streets were littered with broken glass and trash. Drunken men stumbled along the sidewalks on their way home from the bar. Gangs claimed the streets, fighting over who had staked their claims on which area first. The things that happened in this part of the city were a hush-hush topic. There was such a large amount of crime in the area that cops had just given up on it.
Not to mention if anybody tried to rat a crook from this part of the city out, they would probably find themselves dead the next morning.
Anybody who drove through the middle of the city was either a fool or had ridiculously bad luck.
Grimmjow was one of the latter, forced to drive through the area twice a day every single time he had to work.
Grimmjow wasn't scared--no, of course not. He wouldn't freak out if he ended up getting in a fight with some big shot in the area or had a knife pulled on him. He knew how to fight and how to hold his own--he wasn't afraid.
He just sincerely preferred to keep the chances of being held at gunpoint for a car-hijacking to be significantly low. He wanted to keep his beautiful car, thank you.
Not to mention it would be a pain in the ass if he happened to witness something by mistake and then have someone try to keep him quiet by killing him.
He didn't like the idea of potential stalkers. Just a major pain in the ass that he really would rather not deal with.
He turned on the radio, the quiet strumming of an acoustic guitar resounding throughout the small car. Fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel, keeping to the beat.
He turned on to a deserted road, frowning when he heard the loud honking of a large truck-either a 16 or 18-wheeler. On the intersecting road up ahead, he saw a scene that nearly made him freeze, his stomach doing horrible flops in his abdomen.
A young orange-haired man, covered in blood and half-naked, stepped back slowly out of the street as an 18-wheeler truck hurtled toward him, desperately trying to brake. His reaction was too slow. The truck slammed into the left side of the kid's body (quite possibly just his arm), sending him flying backwards and the kid's head smacking into the pavement.
Grimmjow slammed on his brakes, the sound of the low screech lost with the noise of the large truck speeding off. The blue-haired man yanked his seat-belt off, cranked the emergency brake in place and threw his car door open, running to where the orange-haired young man lay still, blood collecting all around his body. He let out a loud curse, eying the guy's form as he came closer. The boy's breathing was labored, but still there.
The bloodied boy slowly turned his head to the opposite side of the street, away from Grimmjow, as the blue-haired man approached. When Grimmjow hurriedly went around the limp body, he noticed a small smile stretch across the young man's features before he blacked out.
Grimmjow reached forward and clumsily felt for a pulse on the kid's neck. His heart was still beating quite loudly but was pulsing at was undoubtedly an unhealthy rate. He slid his hand under the boy's head and heaved his body up, careful not to touch any visible wounds. He hurried back to his car, throwing open the passenger door and shifting the body into one arm as he used the other to reach the open bag on the floorboard. He pulled out a spare towel that he used when he had to stay at work for the night.
The towel was awkwardly thrown around the orange-haired man's neck and tugged down over his back before he carefully placed him in the seat. He wrapped the towel all the way around the man's torso in an attempt to keep him warm and absorb some blood.
He snapped the seat belt over the limp body and slammed the car door shut, shuffling to the opposite side of the car.
He slipped into the car, slamming the door behind him and snapped his own seat belt on, gripping the steering wheel and quickly trying to decide where to go.
Opting to go to his own home that was only a few minutes away as opposed to a hospital halfway across town, he headed toward his penthouse. He knew somebody that lived nearby who was a highly-ranked doctor.
He pulled out his cell phone as he sped along, dialing a number and speaking quickly when someone answered. He told the person on the other end of the line to meet him at his house and to be prepared with a vast amount of medical supplies.
Grimmjow flipped his cell phone shut, sighing as he glanced over to the bloodied man beside him.
This night was turning out to be much longer than he expected.