Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach...
This was supposed to be written for Halloween, BUT the previous one was erased, SO, I'm giving it another go. Also, this was meant to be a oneshot, but as I started writing, it evolved. I'm not sure how long it WILL be yet, but this first chapter should give me an idea by how you respond to it.
Thanks to my beta, Sonbon, for being so patient with me on this! Thanks, dearest! ;D
Ok, here we go!
Why, in the name of all kami, had he taken this job again?
Karin needed the money for knee surgery.
Oh, well. No use crying over spilled milk, now. He had accepted the job and had been working there for three months already. Long enough to know the ropes, and long enough to know that when the going got tough, it didn't mean punk out and quit. It just meant that he needed to build a tougher shell. Learn how to go with the flow of things.
Which was obviously easier said than done.
Ichigo sat in his beat up, two-door, 2001 Honda Civic, contemplating staying there forever, rather than getting out of the chilly vehicle and heading into his place of employment for the graveyard shift. He glanced out of the slightly frosted window and peered up at the large, gray, stone building with no small amount of disdain. To make matters worse, it was pouring raining, dark storm clouds obscuring what little moonlight there had been a few hours ago.
Lightning flashed. Thunder rolled. Ichigo shuddered.
The old building looked positively ominous, making sinister vibes swarm his entire being. Shadows rose and fell with each flash of lightning and the booming thunder was loud enough to shake the ground and make the car vibrate.
Did he mention he HATED thunderstorms?
There were so many elements working against him at the moment, telling him to call out sick (even though his boss would hear none of that, considering his shift was only twenty minutes away from starting) and peel out of the parking lot. For one, there was the thunderstorm. Two, the building itself was creepy and reminded him way too much of that American movie, House on a Haunted Hill. Thirdly, it was Halloween. Well, technically, Halloween would be over in about an hour, but the scare factor was still there.
Sighing dejectedly, he pushed his creaky car door open, threw the hood to his black hoodie over his head, and sprinted through the downpour towards the entrance of the ancient building. He deftly skipped over puddles, trying to avoid ruining his white scrubs. Not that he cared, but his anal boss would probably pitch a fit. Something about appearance is a person's best impression...or...whatever...he didn't know.
Ichigo skidded to a stop before the huge, steel door and pulled his ID from beneath his hoodie. He slipped it from around his neck and swiped it through the security pad, waiting for the light to blink a neon green twice before pulling the heavy door open.
The bright, fluorescent lighting nearly blinded him, causing black spots to dance across his vision. Blinking several times to adjust, he started through the long, pristine white halls for the employee lounge, where the lockers were located. His footsteps echoed loudly on the polished, gray linoleum, his sneakers squeaking noisily.
Silence hung heavily in the air, considering the hour, and Ichigo was glad he no longer worked the second shift. He could handle the quiet better than he could handle the strange patients of Hueco Mundo. Dealing with the patients was never fun, actually, oftentimes scary. They were all state-declared mentally unstable and he had been confronted with the blatant truth of that statement several times during his stint working the second shift.
Three Months Ago
Ichigo fiddled nervously with his newly issued identification card. He glanced down, studying the picture above his name. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, brown eyes wide and bright, orange hair sticking up in spiky waves. Grimacing slightly, he released the ID card, letting it fall to hang around his neck from the dark-blue string it was connected to.
His old man had insisted he take this job as an orderly at the local mental institute, Hueco Mundo, claiming it would aid in the money required for his younger sister's knee surgery. As a soccer player, the injury had been devastating for her, and Ichigo would do anything to see Karin smile again. It was really the only time she had let loose and now that had been taken from her.
Working as an orderly couldn't be that bad.
So, there he was, standing in the Day Room of Hueco Mundo, supervising a group of patients. Most played games, others watched the television located in the corner of the room, while the rest ambled listlessly about. There were only around fifteen patients currently in the Day Room, so supervising them shouldn't be so hard. Besides, there were two other orderlies working with him. He would be fine.
One of his co-workers, a tall, brown-skinned man with dark, wavy hair, stood on the opposite side of the room, thick arms crossed over his chest. His hair fell across his left eye, leaving only his right visible, but even that did nothing to detract from his formidable appearance.
Ichigo's other co-worker was also tall, with dark-brown, wavy hair, except his hair was pushed back from his forehead, giving an excellent view of piercing, gray eyes. He was extremely handsome, but Ichigo didn't see how the man fit in as an orderly. He always seemed incredibly tired, yawning every so often and lounging in one of the blue, plastic chairs littered throughout the Day Room.
Well, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.
Ichigo peered around the room at the various patients. A slender, pale young man sat primly beside the large window near the ping pong table. His black hair framed both sides of his thin face, and long, elegant fingers pushed up a pair of rectangular-framed glasses every few minutes. A stuffed, golden lion sat in his lap as the man stared morosely out of the window. Ichigo wondered what was bothering him, but knew better than to ask.
You're not their friend, you're their supervisor.
Or at least, that's what the boss had said.
Ichigo glanced at the man again, only to see a tear slide down the side of that pale face. He looked around, worried that the man would become unstable, only to meet the gray-eyed, brown-haired man's amused gaze. Ichigo arched a brow and the man sauntered over.
"I'm Stark. You must be Ichigo," he stated, deep voice rumbling pleasantly.
Ichigo nodded and held his hand out, accepting the gesture from the taller man, "Y-yeah. Oi, you know what's wrong with that guy?" he hesitantly asked.
Stark yawned loudly, his jaw cracking from the force of it, "Mmm? Oh, him? Yeah, that's Ishida Uryuu. He's always like that, sittin' in the window with that lion plushie. He claims he was an excellent seamstress - emphasis on seamstress - before he was put in here. He, uh, actually thinks he's a woman."
Ichigo gaped at Stark, mind unable to wrap itself around the concept. That young man thought he was...a woman?
Stark chuckled and ruffled Ichigo's hair, "Don't worry, kid, you'll get used to it. They've all got a strange little quirk. Just be glad you're working with this group instead of the one in Las Noches. These guys are harmless compared to those monsters," he drawled somberly, a serious expression settling on his face.
Ichigo shuddered forcefully. Shit. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
Stark ambled off to re-occupy his seat across the room and Ichigo's eyes met with a pair of startlingly aqua orbs. A head full of snow-white hair glared back as well, practically glowing under the flourescent lighting of the Day Room. The odd hair and eyes belonged to what - at first glance - appeared to be a boy, but upon closer inspection turned out to be a very short man. The little man was staring coldly at Ichigo, making an icy sensation creep down his back.
What the hell was his problem?
Ichigo scowled deeply, hoping against hope that this patient wasn't about to cause any trouble. Suddenly, the giant orderly standing against the wall on the opposite side of the room, pushed away from said wall and headed in his direction. Ichigo shifted nervously as the man finally came to a stop before him. A huge, brown hand was held forward and the man's deep voice came forth as a low rumble.
"Sado. Ichigo, right?"
Did everyone already know his name?
"Chad-o?" Ichigo inquired, tilting his head to the side.
"That's what I said...Chado."
The giant's eye glimmered with amusement as he gave a low chuckle and nodded, "Yeah, sure. I guess you wanna know what's up with Hitsugaya, right?"
"H-Hitsugaya?" Ichigo stuttered.
Chado nodded towards the white-haired man still glaring murderously, "Him."
"Yeah, it would be nice to know why he looks like he wants to pull out my insides with his bare hands."
"He's very cranky. He hates all the orderlies because we all call him "Hitsugaya", but he wants to be called "Hitsugaya-taichou". He's supposedly a war hero and old army captain, and he also thinks you're going to neglect that. He mean-mugs all the orderlies until he figures out where their loyalties lie."
Ichigo tried to suppress a soft chuckle, but couldn't. It gushed through his lips, making him cover his mouth. He didn't want Hitsugaya thinking he was laughing at him, although, technically, he was. Chado smirked slightly, placing his humongous hand on Ichigo's shoulder in a friendly manner. He definitely appreciated the gesture.
Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad, after all.
As Chado went back to his spot on the opposite side of the room, an unnaturally tall, lanky man slowly approached Ichigo. The man wore a light-blue bandana across his left eye and his raven-colored hair hung down, just past his shoulders. A wide, piano-key toothed grin split his face in half, narrowing the visible, violet-hued eye.
Terror seized Ichigo as ice chips slid down his spine and goosebumps covered his skin. Was this it, then? Stark claimed these patients were harmless, but the look on this man's face stated otherwise.
He had never felt fear like this before.
The tall man finally stood right before Ichigo, still grinning fiendishly. The facility-issued, white t-shirt hung loosely from his painfully thin frame, as did the light-blue pants, fashioned after hospital scrubs. On the man's feet were a pair of dark-blue, terrycloth slippers over white socks.
"What's yer name, Marine?" he asked.
Ichigo gaped at the man.
"Yeah, Marine! All da' guys in white are marines. Well, da' man with da' pink hair, he's da' Admiral, but, all da' rest a'yas, yer marines."
"But...we're not in the water. I'm-I'm not a marine," Ichigo stuttered.
"Course ya are! Yer wearin' white, ain't ya?"
"Den' dat makes ya a mariiine," the taller man said slowly as if he were educating a child. "Anyway, s'not what I came ta discuss with ya." The man took a step closer and leaned his long, upper body forward, "Since yer still fairly new, I was thinkin' maybe I'd recruit ya fer mah crew."
Ichigo opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. All he could do was gawk at the taller man, wondering what exactly the hell he was talking about.
"Ya know, da' way I see it, yer not suited ta be a lowly marine. Naw. Yer a pirate, through an' through, I c'n tell. Cap'n Jiruga knows dese things."
Ichigo coughed slightly, hiding a grin behind his fist. This man was an absolute lunatic. A pirate? Seriously? "So, er, ahem, what, uh, what makes you think I'm suited to be a pirate? Jiruga, did you say?" he asked nervously. He knew talking to the patients this way was against the rules, but this was just too good to pass up.
The man nodded, wide grin spreading to damn near reach his ears, "Ah. Cap'n Nnoitra Jiruga at yer service, marine...?" Nnoitra's voice trailed off in question.
Ichigo jolted in surprise. He hadn't expected to be asked for his name. "Uh, Kurosaki."
"Yosh, Marine Kurosaki! Taday's yer lucky da-"
"Awww, but Captain, you told me I could do the recruiting!" a voice whined petulantly.
Ichigo's head darted to the side, brow bunched in confusion. Now what?
A medium-sized man with dirty-blond hair, stood off to the side, carefully assessing Ichigo as if he were stuck in a petri dish. The new man's right eye was covered with a small, black eyepatch, his visible, left eye sparkling a cloudy gray. He eased beside Nnoitra and glanced up at the man with a look of pure adoration, while the taller, raven-haired male grinned saucily.
"Yeh, I know dat! If ya weren't bein' so lazy 'dis mornin', ya woulda been able ta recruit 'dis one!" Nnoitra exclaimed.
"I wasn't being lazy! Those damned marines put something in my food last night and it made me all...weird. Besides, I didn't know we were allowed to recruit THEM," the blond stated, indicating Ichigo with a swift point of his chin and voice dripping disdain.
Nnoitra cackled, rocking back on his heels, "Well, he's diff'rent."
Ichigo was unsure of what to think, nevermind how to proceed. He knew for certain that the orderlies would never put anything into a patient's food, simply because they'd rather take the direct approach, by either injection or administering medication in pill form. The pills would be given at a certain time and the patients were directed to take them in front of the orderlies, just to be sure that the medication was taken properly.
"I don't see it. I mean, sure, he's got some strange hair, but so does Hitsugaya-taichou and you didn't recruit him," the blond pointed out, making Ichigo scowl darkly.
He hated when people talked about his hair. The fact that a mentally unstable person had done the talking, only added salt to the wound.
"Oi-" he started, ready to chew the blond's head off.
"S'ok, Marine Kurosaki, don' mind mah first mate. He can be kinda rude ta guests sometimes, right, Tesla?" Nnoitra inquired with a menacing glare.
The blond named Tesla, shrank away from the penetrating stare, merely nodding and hanging his head shamefully. Ichigo bit his bottom lip, trying his hardest to stifle the bubble of laughter threatening to burst from his chest at any moment.
"Anyway," Nnoitra continued, "what say ya, Marine Kurosaki? Ya wanna be an Espada?"
"A what?" Ichigo asked quizzically.
"Espada! Dat's da name a'mah crew. Ya like it, eh?" the taller man asked, wiggling his visible brow and making Ichigo inwardly chortle.
This was too fun.
"Er, yeah, sure. It sounds awesome. So, what are the benefits of joining your crew, if you don't mind me asking? I mean, as a marine, I get paid and everything. I can't just jump with no parachute, ya know?"
Come on. He couldn't help but play along. It was too entertaining.
Nnoitra's violet eye lit up with unbridled excitement, "A'course ya c'n ask dat! What sane person wouldn't wanna know da pros a'joinin' da Espada? Che! They'd hafta be dumb!"
Ichigo nodded sagely, but before Nnoitra was given the chance to explain, Stark ambled over, "Sorry to break this up, but Nnoitra, you know better than to approach an orderly," the brunet stated tiredly.
Nnoitra bristled and fisted his hands at his sides, "Dat's CAP'N JIRUGA ta YOU, filthy marine scum!"
"Yeah, whatever you say. Go on and play. You too, Tesla. Let's leave Kurosaki here alone."
"Tch. No worries, Marine Kurosaki, we'll talk bidness later," Nnoitra growled and stalked off, shooting a last icy glare at Stark.
Ichigo turned to Stark with a tiny smirk, hoping it wouldn't blossom into the fit of hysterical laughter being held tightly under the surface. Stark rolled his eyes and shook his head, brown hair swaying slightly.
"He's a little overbearing, but he's really harmless. He tried to 'recruit' me as well, and when I declined, he'd made it his personal mission to 'thwart' me," the older man said with a soft chuckle. "Don't worry about him."
Ichigo nodded and almost giggled like a girl. This was all too strange, but wholly hilarious.
After that, no other patients approached him, although, Hitsugaya and Nnoitra watched him rather intently for the rest of his shift. Ichigo also spotted two females near the mounted television, giggling and pointing at him, while covering their mouths. They were both rather short and petite, with equally dark hair, one an inky black, the other a deep violet held up in two curly ponytails.
He didn't know what they were whispering to each other about and frankly, he didn't really want to know.
That had been the first and last time Ichigo worked the day shift at Hueco Mundo. The next morning, his boss had called him and asked him if he'd be willing to switch with another employee who preferred the second shift, rather than her third shift. There was nothing keeping him from refusing, so he'd agreed and had been promptly added to the graveyard shift. Three months later and he was still the newbie at Hueco Mundo, but he was more accustomed to the work environment.
Ichigo finally rounded a corner and reached a set of swinging, metal doors that he pushed open warily. He really wasn't in the mood to work that night, but what could he really do? He stepped inside, immediately pausing at the sight of two of his co-workers huddled at the large roundtable of the break room.
The two pranksters had been Ichigo's worst nightmare since he'd started working the third shift. They were like teenagers, putting strange things in his locker, sending him to odd places of the ancient facility before he was used to the layout, just all around causing trouble and being nuisances. He'd gotten them back a few times, but the double team left him at a disadvantage.
Now, they seemed like they were up to something else.
Their hushed conversation came to a halt when they noticed Ichigo standing in the doorway. Deciding to just get it all over with, he headed for his locker, undid the combination lock, stepped back and slowly swung the beige, metal door open, the hinges screaming in protest.
He peeked his head around and sighed in relief to find the space empty, but the hairs on the back of his neck hopped to attention when the two started cackling softly. Glaring over his shoulder as he removed his hoodie, he snapped angrily, "What's so fuckin' funny?"
The tall, bright-red-haired man scrunched his tattoed eyebrows in annoyance, his broad shoulders tensing as he glared right back at Ichigo, "Who the fuck ya talkin' to like that, Strawberry?"
The raven-haired male at his side grinned and placed a hand on one of those tense shoulders, "Don't be so rude, Renji. Ichigo's in for a long night as it is," he said, voice filled with amusement.
"What the hell are you talking about, Shuuhei?" Ichigo growled as he stuffed his hoodie into the small locker, certainly not liking the smug look gracing the spiky-haired bastard's face. He slammed the metal contraption closed and headed for the time-clock, swiping his ID through and waiting for his name to appear. Once it did, he turned to face the other two men, folding his arms over his chest in the process.
What were they up to now?
The taller of the two, Renji Abarai, sat up straighter in his seat, a small, evil smirk pulling at his lips. He too, folded his thick arms across his chest and stared Ichigo down. The silence dragged on, only serving to piss him off even more. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Shuuhei lifted a hand and pointed at the cork-materialed, bulletin board mounted on the wall behind him.
"You might wanna take a look at your schedule for tonight, berry head."
Ichigo scowled, but his heart suddenly began river dancing behind his ribs. What the hell did his schedule have to do with anything? A deep sense of dread slowly overwhelmed him, sending warmth pooling in his gut and making his stomach quiver nervously as he mechanically moved towards the board.
The bulletin board held a few papers and posters relating to work ethic and etiquette, but there was also a large piece of paper, located directly in the middle of the haphazardly situated sheets, that held each employee's schedule for their designated shifts.
Ichigo approached the board stiffly, palms already starting to sweat. He desperately scanned the paper for his name and once it was found, mumbled aloud the words found.
Third shift, eleven-thirty pm to seven-thirty am.
So far, so good.
Work area, Las Noches ward.
Ichigo whirled around to face Renji and Shuuhei, brown eyes incredibly wide and mouth agape in shock. The two idiots stared back at him wearing twin, face-splitting, shit-eating grins.
They knew! They knew he was scheduled to work in the dreaded Las Noches ward for the evening and they were fucking gloating! Smug fuckheads!
"This is obviously wrong!" Ichigo shouted, in the midst of a full-blown panic attack.
"Hoolyyy shit, he's losin' it," Renji snickered.
Shuuhei nodded and leaned back in his seat as if preparing to thoroughly enjoy the show. Ichigo had a mind to kick both of their asses, but at the moment, he had an entirely more pressing issue to deal with. He turned on his heel and fled the break room, the two idiots cackling as he made a hasty retreat.
Ichigo needed to know. He needed proof; concrete evidence that he was really to work in the Las Noches ward that night, and he knew the only person he would get that information from was his boss. His white Nike Air Forces slid and squeaked noisily against the glossy linoleum as he sprinted through the silent corridors towards his employer's office.
His heart was thrashing in his chest and adrenaline flooded his system, making his steps jerky and uncoordinated. His white, short-sleeved, v-neck uniform shirt stuck to his back, the slight perspiration there making an excellent adhesive. His equally white uniform pants clung to his legs as they pumped furiously, the whooshing air cooling his sweat-dampened face.
The quick run was oddly invigorating, but it did nothing to tamp down the sense of terror clogging his throat and making his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. He pressed onwards, rounding a corner and finally slowing his steps as he approached his boss's office.
The large, wooden door held a pane of frosted glass, making the interior of the room impossible to see from the outside. Black letters on the glass read, Director Szayel Aporro Grantz, Ph.D. Ichigo paused, suddenly very nervous about entering the man's office.
Should he really question his schedule?
Ichigo thought about all the rumors he'd heard floating around about Las Noches. The place was like an urban legend, a myth to those that didn't and had never worked there. Hair-raising stories were told, but none were ever proven and Ichigo wasn't too sure he wanted to be the one cracking the mystery of the terrifying ward.
Las Noches supposedly held patients that were extremely unstable and oftentimes violent. Said ward held the infamous padded rooms, where each patient was confined alone to his/her room, strapped into a straitjacket.
Very cliched, but apparently also very efficient.
Ichigo shuddered. He had to know if what he'd seen on that schedule had been the truth. He reached forward for the doorknob, but immediately changed his mind, raising his fist to knock first instead. The hollow sound echoed throughout the empty hallway, making him jittery.
"Enter," a charming tenor drifted from the other side of the door.
Ichigo finally wrapped a hand around the knob, turned and gently pushed the door forward, peeking his head around the side. Dr. Grantz stood near a tall, gray filing cabinet, one of the drawers opened and a manila folder held open in his hands. The cabinet was situated against the left wall, off to the side of a large, mahogany desk.
The office was huge, with a polished, hard-wood floor and pale green walls. There was a single window behind the desk, but it was covered with steel bars.
Guess Dr. Grantz didn't trust his patients.
A door to the right led to what Ichigo assumed was the director's personal restroom, and beside the door was a large, glass enclosed bookshelf. Odd-looking specimens and microscopes littered the shelves, giving the lavish office space an eerie, scientific feel.
A black laptop was open on the desk, a loud whirring being emitted. Ichigo raised an orange brow at it, but refocused his gaze on his boss. Dr. Grantz wore a mustard-colored dress shirt with a black tie, the shirt tucked into black slacks. A long, white labcoat was worn over the immaculate outfit and black, leather dress shoes completed the look. The director watched Ichigo carefully, honey-colored eyes curious and calculating behind silver, rectangular-framed glasses.
He felt like he was being dissected.
Dr. Grantz raised an elegant, pink brow (yeah, he said pink) and smiled amiably, "Ahh, Ichigo-san. What brings you here this evening?" he asked, closing the folder and slipping it back into the open drawer of the filing cabinet.
Well, it was now or never.
Ichigo straightened his back and gathered his courage. Dr. Grantz always made him so fucking nervous, like any minute the man would strap him to a gurney and perform experiments on him. "D-Dr. Grantz, sir, I just, uh, you see...my schedule says I'm assigned to the Las Noches ward...and..." Ichigo trailed off nervously. Dr. Grantz had pinned him to the wall with his sharp gaze and he really didn't know what to do.
"What is it that you're asking, Ichigo-san?"
"Y-you, you really assigned me there?" Ichigo asked incredulously, his voice an indignant squeak.
Dr. Grantz smiled, then chuckled, a slim hand reaching up to his forehead to brush aside a strand of pink hair, "Well, Ichigo-san, I needed a replacement for one of my regular Las Noches orderlies. Kenpachi called in for a family emergency, since his daughter, Yachiru, is ill. I thought instead of calling someone else to fill in, I'd just use someone already scheduled for the third shift," the director explained.
Ichigo's brain felt like a pan of sizzling bacon, thoughts jumping out of his head like hot oil spatters.
It was true.
He was really scheduled to work the graveyard shift...in fucking Las Noches.
He wanted to cry.
Being a man wouldn't permit him to do so, though.
"Something wrong, Ichigo-san?" Dr. Grantz asked, and Ichigo just knew the pink-haired director could probably smell the fear coming off of him from how strong it was.
"W-why me? I've never worked there before, so wouldn't someone with more-"
"Las Noches isn't as terrifying as most of the orderlies try to make it seem. The patients are confined to a solitary cell, some even wearing straitjackets, no less. You have nothing to fear, Ichigo-san," Dr. Grantz said comfortingly, but Ichigo detected a bit of impatience.
"Yes, sir," Ichigo muttered and began backing out of the man's office.
He got as far as the door, but was halted by the director's voice, tinged with warning, "Ichigo-san, whatever you do, do NOT go near padded room six in Las Noches."
The hair on the back of his neck raised and his blood chilled. Hadn't Dr. Grantz just told him that there was nothing for him to be afraid of? So, why was he scaring the crap out of him now? Ichigo glanced over his shoulder and caught his boss's stern gaze, honey-colored eyes almost demanding. Ichigo nodded and slipped out of the director's office.
Something was different.
He could feel it, could taste it...could hear it.
There was an unease from the authorities around the place, but an unbridled excitement from his fellow inmates. He could hear the anxious twittering that passed through his mind like a ghostly echo.
Something was definitely different.
He'd been locked away in this hell-hole for a little over six months, having been declared mentally unstable and a danger to himself, as well as others.
He would admit that he was dangerous, of that he had no doubt, but he certainly was NOT fucking mentally unstable.
They didn't understand him. They never would. He was unique because he had a gift. An ability that no one shared or could relate to and since they didn't understand him, they feared him.
Called him a freak.
He didn't need anyone; all he needed was himself.
He shifted against the wall of his padded cell, yawning loudly, then cursing when the urge to scratch his chest became nearly unbearable.
Stupid fucking straitjacket.
He slammed his head backwards, his mess of hair and the padded walls softening the blow. He wanted out of this place. He didn't belong there. Shit, he didn't belong anywhere, but he knew for certain that being locked away for the rest of his life in someone's loony bin wasn't his idea of fun.
Fun was making those that called him such detestable names squirm and writhe while he cut off their oxygen without even laying a finger on them. Crushing their limbs until their precious blood pooled on the ground. That was fun.
Sitting in this cell, nothing to stimulate his overactive brain and nothing to sate his enormous libido, was absolutely not fun.
What was worse, this entire situation could have been avoided. He should have known not to trust the blond, but the man had been rather irresistable with that long hair, lean body and those lovely, dark eyes.
He spat disgustedly. Now he was locked in this boring prison because the blond had been on their side. The side of the law.
"Che, what a fuckin' waste," he mumbled to himself.
He kicked his legs out in front of him, the long extremities tingling, having fallen asleep from sitting Indian-styled for too long. He wiggled his toes and sighed.
He was fucking horny.
And he couldn't even make love to his hand because of the stupid fucking straitjacket.
Shit, if they didn't keep him hopped up on sedatives all the damned time, he'd be out of this place already and not worrying about being horny. It was hard enough to keep his ability under control, what with him being drugged so much.
Yet, they thought they had him on a leash.
He glared down at the blue pants he wore. They reminded him of the uniforms doctors and nurses wore, except his came with a straitjacket, while theirs probably came with name tags and a paycheck.
Waha! He cracked himself up...
...Yo, six, newbie's comin' yer way. He's cute as a button and just yer type...
His head drifted up and his senses reached out, feeling for the man that Shirosaki had just alerted him to.
...don't know why I'm here...the fuck is Dr. Grantz thinking?...wait...where the hell am I?...shit...
He smiled. He couldn't influence the oaf named Kenpachi or the ice bitch, Halibel, but this guy was new meat. Like a breath of fresh air after a claustrophobic episode.
God, his dick was already hard.
So, please lemme know what you think! Reviews would definitely be helpful here! Thanks for reading! xD