Tragedy Thrills Me

Parings: GinxTōshirō

Summary: His only friend was an experiment. He fell in love. The experiment killed his family. And then he forgot when he fell in love. AU GinxTōshirō Yaoi

Rating: M+

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of it's character, etc. This plot, situations, etc. is entirely mine and don't even think about plagiarizing it. I gave myself a pat on the back and a cookie when I came up with it.

Author's Note: I was in a very cruel and sadistic mood when I thought about this story. It's isn't exactly finished. But I know how I want things to go. There will be death, blood, gore, sex, angst, and sex. Plus some more angst. So sue me. I feel like taking this pairing to the extreme and becoming the master in it. Enjoy the ride. And you better tell me what you think, lol. Reviews really make me squeal. Also. I flipped the script in the story kiddies. Good is bad, and bad is good. Heh.

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Part One

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The cells were always wet, puddles mixing with the dirt. It sloshed all over the place when they threw him and the others inside. The mud always clung to him and the rags he wore. What was the point of the dirty flannels if they didn't protect him from the cold at night. It didn't stop this body from shaking and shivering. He had gotten used to the rank odors of piss and death. Spilled blood and decaying fresh. It was all around him. All he could do was accept them. They would heal, the White Coats made sure of that, but the smells would never go away.

They learned to stop screaming, at one point. It was useless, and when it was time for training, your throats would be ripped out somehow. The White Coats made sure of it. There was always a Hollow that would get the job done. was better to hold it in. Some felt nothing. Some felt everything. Their stomachs adjusted to the small portions of food they got. Stale bread. Lumps of cheese. The "special" medicine to slake their thirst. He preferred to drink the dirty water dripping in his cell but Mother had caught on to that, and punished him severely.

Punishment wasn't over of course. Mother was just getting started. She had lots of experiments to try on him. If she didn't stop, she would make the other ones jealous. He let's his hand trace the healing gash that connected his right arm and shoulder. Mother ordered him to stand there and let the Hollow rip it off in one swipe. All the blood made Mother happy, though. She said it was pretty and let the White Coats take him back to his cell. He didn't bleed to death, he was an advanced breed. But he did faint from that white hot pain. And only after two days, when the blood had dried, and his shoulder was forming a stump, Mother decided to give him back his arm. He got lucky-- Grimmjow didn't get his arm back after a full three weeks.

The loss of limbs were casual around here, whatever here was. The dungeons, the underground, hell. No one ever remembered where they came from, or who they were, but they would never forget the feel of the sun on their skin before they woke up here. He thinks there's a way to escape, that there must be someway out. If they got in here, woke up here, they could get out. But some of the others didn't want to. Hope died a long time ago for them.

But for him. There was no such thing as hope. Only survival. Because he knew, absolutely knew, that when Mother got tired of them, she would get rid of them. When they showed defects, or couldn't perform above average, she would kill them. And he was not going to be here.

He hears the iron door open, filling the entire cave with it's rusty groan. Light streams in, and his cellmates moan and try to move away from it, backing up to the wall and relishing in the darkness. He could hear the whispers and the sniffles. They were silently praying to not be picked. To be poked and prodded. Injected and sent out to fight. But he already knew who would be picked. He makes out the spotless white loafers in the dark that came to a stop in front of his cell. He grins at them. The White Coat cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Number 825. You've been selected to help Mother run the new tests. Stand and move out."

He grins again, maliciously this time. He stands, his thin arms swinging from side to side. The White Coats stiffly turn around and they begin to file out in a perfect line. Everything must be perfect here. He begins to follow only stopping when he hears her voice.

"Be careful. Please come back."

His grin hardens at the sad and pleading tone of Rangiku's voice. She's dying. They all know that, and they've been trying to keep it from Mother. Her body is breaking down, rejecting the last injection, the last upgrade. He thought about speeding the escape, just to get her out, just to let her see the real world before she died. But there wasn't enough time. So he turns and gives her a sad smile. A goodbye. He knows she won't be here when he come back.

"Sorry, Rangiku... If only you'd held on a little longer…"

She is silent for a moment, but her next words shock everyone in the cells. "Kill her. Even if it takes forever. Kill her. Please. For me." It was directed at him and yet to everyone else.

"I will." And then he is gone.

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The smell of the lab makes him sick to his stomach. The high and long ceiling lights make him dizzy. The smell of alcohol and rubber gloves makes him want to puke. As so many years of this, you would think that one would grow accustom to this life or hell. But that isn't what Mother wants. She wasn't her children to be in constant fear, to feel unease around every corner, to feel absolutely sick when it's time for tests. It's her control on them. Soon, soon, he will break that control.

The White Coats lead him to the lab table in the center of the room, and go take up a place against the wall. He gives a mocking smile to the table, wondering what they are going to do today. Will he scream? Will he cry?

The door opens. At once, he is embraced by her and his nose is filled with the scent of flowers. It's odd. He doesn't know what flowers looks like but he recognizes the smell. Roses, daisies, and tulips, even. Her black hair falls onto his shoulders and she smiles against his cheek. He fights off the wave of nausea.

"I have so many things to do to you today." She let's go of him and he's grateful for the air rushing back to his lungs. "But we'll go slow today. I don't want to break you." He wanted to laugh. He was already broken. He watches her pat the lab table. "Up you go." He hates her smile.

The White Coats strap him down on the table, double checking all the locks. He knows he can break them, he just won't. That would mean defying Mother's wishes. The table shakes and he watches the needles unfurl from under the table. Beside his arms, beside his legs, beside his neck, beside his…eyes. That was a new one.

Mother smiles, tapping the touch screen monitor that controlled the table. "After you lost your arm, your body hasn't been adjusting well. I have to fix that." Beeping noises fill the room. It's his heart beat. "And Mother has a gift for you. Your eyes, to be more specific." The White Coats pry open his eye, keeping the wide with metal clamps. The needles are within an inch of the sclera now. Mother looks thoughtful for a moment and then says, "You may scream."

And he does.

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