Laughing on the Journey to Hell

Final, but not last Chapter

Sat, 05 Jul 2008 04:25:50 GMT

I suppose I'll post this because it's been finished for some time.

Title: Dreams and Fears, Chapter Five
Rating: T
Summary: Do dreams cast shadows? Perhaps. If that's so, what's it like to be in a dream's shadow? Probably no different than being in reality.
Series: Bleach
Genre: Spooky, I hope.

Written as part of a challenge to laurie_bunter, and dedicated to her, of course. Even if she doesn't like it all that much.

Note: The last chapter, plus epilogue, which I swore to myself not to post until I had posted the rest of the chapters, but I broke my vow because nothing was being written for my third chapter, the only left to finish before this one.

This was written in present tense and I think I've screwed up in a few places. Oh well. Here I go again.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

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It is a desolate place. Black skies allow almost no light to penetrate through, but it is probably best that the memories of better times cannot be so easily seen. Perhaps the fallen buildings wished for the cover of darkness and desired to vanish from the face of the earth. Perhaps not.

What is most bizarre about this place is that, despite the sun being denied a chance to illuminate the countless ruined houses of old, it is still possible to make out the outlines of this decrepit graveyard. This is due to hundreds--thousands--of pale orbs spread across the area that each radiate their own dim glimmer of light. Actually, calling these things orbs would not be precise; it would be more suitable to call them constantly changing and shifting shapes. In any case, the form of these sources of light are of no importance because they are never stable.

It is only necessary to note that they exist and that they should not exist.

Exactly how long this place has been enshrouded in the dark is impossible to determine. Precisely why these fragments of light float about like falling leaves is even more incomprehensible. Looking at the dead city, it seems as though the morphing balls of light will stubbornly remain for all eternity.

However, all this is about to change. And soon.

Silently, a completely different phenomena moves close to the rotting place. Not only is this new shape moving without noise, it is almost as though it touches nothing; none of the crumbling pieces of black rock it passes over even stir. Being an embodiment of darkness, the opposite of the fading glimmers populating this dark land, there is no way to note this unusual existence. It makes no noise, has no scent, cannot be felt and is a shadow among shadows in the desolate place.

But it is still there, no matter how hard the lingering memories of this dying place try to deny it.

5. Shadow of the World

He isn't sure when it started, but Ichigo Kurosaki's world is slowly but surely fading away. Piece by piece, person by person, feeling by feeling, day by day, unpredictably but steadily. Unstoppable.

Shadows come and go as the sun rises and falls, and his world is at the end of twilight.

Lately, I've been feeling like I'm out of touch with myself, my family, my friends. Everything. It's like I'm separated from my body and I'm watching another person live my life for me, over and over again. What's weirdest about this is how much I really don't care. But that's probably the root of the whole problem. Things never would have gone so far awry if I had bothered stopping this when it began.

Light filters into his room, drawing shadows along the walls. Time for him to get out of bed, a new day awaits. Lazily, Ichigo rubs his eyes and strains himself to sit up. He has no idea how long he slept the previous night, if at all, but it can't have been anywhere near enough. Despite the fact that he stayed in bed until noon and will be ridiculously late for school, he doesn't feel rested enough. Whatever. No one cares if he's late, himself least of all. Distantly, he can remember a time when his father would never have allowed such lethargy. Now, however, it is shocking his dad's obnoxious snoring, drifting from across the hallway, hadn't awakened Ichigo sooner. Assuming Ichigo actually did get some sleep.

Not bothering to shower--maybe tomorrow he will--Ichigo stuffs himself into a school uniform and drifts down the stairs to the breakfast table. There, he encounters his two sisters. One, Yuzu, is yawning while the other, Karin, looks so tired and haggard that it seems she could almost drop dead at any second. Nothing Ichigo doesn't expect. Something at the back of his mind shouts at him that the two should be more lively and that he should be bothered by this, but he ignores this voice. Or can't hear it, possibly. It makes no difference either way.

Momentarily, he considers stopping at the table to eat or chat with his sisters. The moment passes and Ichigo is out the door before he knows it.

I can't remember the last time I've had anything to eat. Surely, it can't have been that long ago since I'd die without feeding myself, and I don't feel hungry. Still, it seems like it's been forever since I've filled my belly with anything more than air. Also, when was the last time I've held a conversation with another person? At times I wonder if I've forgotten how to eat or talk, it's been so long.

Brilliant, bright light from crystal clear blue skies cascades down to enlighten his way, yet Ichigo raises a hand to shield his eyes from it. Tired, he trudges his way to school. Without his textbooks or anything he needs to study, not that this matters. Along the way, he passes houses undergoing a slow death; paint is chipping off his neighbours' homes in scattered locations, broken windows are left broken, there are roof tiles that clearly needed to be replaced. Not so long ago, these same buildings were being maintained in an utmost, fanatically perfect condition. It is like any love for the houses has vanished over the past few days, or weeks, or months. Or years. Ichigo is uncertain.

Odder still than this, some lots are missing buildings entirely, or just small portions of the old framework. Ichigo cannot recall wrecking crews ever arriving to tear them down, but he figures something must be responsible for the vanishing homes.

A most strange decay his town is experiencing.

The few people, as well as the single car passing by, he comes across look much the same as the broken homes. Shadows of their former selves. Probably, Ichigo thinks, he is no different to look at. No more than a dimmed reflection of better days long past.

How long can this life go on until he is no more?

Is there anything I can do to stop this? Would I even want to, if I could?

Finding no answers, for there are none, his pace becomes slower.

Then, in a blur, a dark shadow flashes over the rooftops to his side, faster than the corner of his eye can follow. It is a glimpse of midnight in the middle of the day.

He lurches to a halt in order to try and figure out what that shadow is. Or was, since it is already gone. Around him, the only other person nearby he can see doesn't seem to have noticed whatever-it-was. This thing, this creeping shadow, it surprised him by moving so quickly in a slow-moving world, empty of life. As if affected by the shadow's dexterity, Ichigo quickly scans the tops of the homes, unconcerned that others may think he looks foolish, in a futile attempt to spot the dark blur again.

All he finds is other shadows. Soon, he gives up the pursuit and continues to school. The memory of the brief disturbance has already slipped away by the time he arrives.

"Okay, class," groans the homeroom teacher, "it's a free-study hour. Do whatever you want," she laments heavily, like she has the weight of universe pressing down on her. Then she leaves the room as though those few words drained her of all life for the week.

Before, the teacher was beloved by the students. She did not work hard for their affections, nor was she so lenient with them that she was taken advantage of. Strict, but not without sympathy. Steadily, her easygoing attitude but serious dedication to the job won the approval of every kid she taught, if not their outright affection. A secret fan club few knew of--certainly the teacher did not--was created. She had turned down ninety-seven guys who confessed to her and two girls. Everybody had placed their bets on who would be unlucky hundredth suitor to be turned down.

Fun times.

That was then, though. At some critical point, that energy around her evaporated. Along with the rest of the school. And town.

Now, the class has no response for her. No cheers. Half the seats are empty, and not a single student nor present had arrived before noon. Every face appears drowsy. In fact, a few of the students aren't bothering to put up an act and are sleeping in the middle of the class, unconcerned with any ramifications. Really, as can be seen from the teacher herself, none wanted to be here. Question is: why did anyone show up in the first place?

Class never had been the most fun for the students, and each could think of some place they’d rather be. Learning taxed the mind. It’s true that some students enjoyed the work, and some despised it, but everybody used to show up for as many classes as they could. Truancy never ran rampant in Ichigo's class before. If for no other reason than the opportunity to hang out with their friends, his classmates would try to be present. Before, that had been enough.

How did this stop being the case for every single student without exception? Ichigo can not figure this out for the life of him, and not just because he is uninterested in the answer.

It truly is mysterious.

Why did anyone show up in the first place?

Silently, the students sit in their seats doing nothing for the next hour. Alone in a corner by the windows, Ichigo hides from the sun's bright rays under a curtain's shade. A choice spot his colleagues would once have envied. None want his seat now, though, since that would mean changing their established routines.

Is this why people still showed up? Because it is what they have always done? But then, what about those who did not come to class? This returned to the initial question:

Why did anyone show up in the first place?

More and more people stop showing up each day. In my few dreams, I wonder if I'll be one of them some day. I have no reason to come here. I only do since it's what I've done for as long as I can remember. Somehow, breaking my routine sounds worse than following it. However, I cannot put into words why the idea of disrupting the pattern is so threatening to my existence. We're teenagers, right? That's what teenagers do, right? Break free of their established selves? Yeah, so this shouldn't be something to avoid.

Though free to do whatever he wants in the classroom, Ichigo does not get up to talk with his friends on the other side of the room. Actually, now that he thinks about it, Keigo and Chad disappeared a few days ago. Or has it been a few weeks? Or months, even? No matter. There was no search for the two conducted by the police, nor for any of the recent cases of missing people, and Ichigo isn't going to look for them himself. Anyways, Tatsuki, Orihime, Ishida, and Mizuiro still come to school, but who knows how long that will last.

So much of his free time used to be spent with them, it is astonishing how unaware of each other Ichigo and his group of friends have become. Like they've become strangers, it seems.

I feel that a crucial part of myself must be gone if I feel so undisturbed by all this. Yet, I can't put my finger on what that is.

It is tiring to think about this. Suddenly, the wooden veneer of his desk is seductively appealing and he realizes his head is laying against it. Before long, the world is turning black and not falling asleep will be impossible. Normally, this is the time when he will let himself separate from the rest of the world. However, today, an unusual twisting of light snaps him back to attention just before he can give in to sleep. Eyes heavy with drowsiness shoot up in time to see a black silhouette move and a door close shut.

What was that?

Glancing around, nobody else seems to have reacted to the minor disruption. Did only Ichigo catch sight of it, or is he the only one who cares it was in the room? Rather, cared to note its presence because Ichigo is already forgetting the shadow and drifting off into another dream.

The class continues to carry on devoid of any semblance to a normal room full of teenagers. Rather, it looks like a hospital ward full of elderly on their death beds, though even that would have appeared more lively than this.

Through a haze, Ichigo notes Tatsuki's desk, which she occupied when he first arrived, is now vacant.

He probably should be concerned by that fact instead of falling asleep.

Loud enough to wake him, the school bell rings to end the school day. Afternoon, more like, considering none of the students ever arrive in the morning.

Awkwardly, Ichigo battles an unwilling body and pulls himself together so he can head home and sleep there. He isn't the only one stumbling out of a desk. Most of the students who stayed the entire afternoon, and hadn't ditched early, are in a similar state. In a daze, the kids grab their bags, those that brought any, and crawl out the door. Words are not passed between one another, defying the standard for adolescents once more.

It is an unsettling image to be found in a school. The time immediately preceding the final bell is one to celebrate, to dash off to a club, socialize, or hurry home for whatever reason. This orderly, quiet, drained exit of the student body is too wrong.

Through a hallway, down a flight of stairs, another corridor, a pair of shoes are changed, then the exit and Ichigo is out the school and going home. Not long afterward, the last kid leaves the building and an empty school is left in Ichigo's wake. A school a mere figment of livelier times; it too is not exempt from this deadening of Karakura.

Ichigo can not be bothered by this, however. Home and his bed are all Ichigo can think of right now. That even they are shells of a former existence does not matter to him.

In this late hour, the shadows of Karakura are lengthening gradually. Short time has gone by since he left, but the buildings appear in worse shape than they did in the morning. Furthermore, the number of other pedestrians has decreased, too.

So unexciting...So tired of everything...Can hardly even bother to think...

Ichigo yawns, just long enough so he is unable to get a good grasp of a dark shape running in front of him. Again. Will this one shadow ever leave him alone today? Like lightning, in that you see it then hear its thunder, the dark shadow zips by Ichigo; only a second afterward does Ichigo realize the street he’s walking along feels emptier after the shape’s absence.

Could there be a connection?

Yet, he can't focus on the mystery for long. By the time his mind starts to rationalize, he is stepping through the threshold of his house and his lack of concern for anything returns.

Once inside, he goes to the living room to watch television. Soon, though, he loses interest and goes to the dinner room. Only one sister and his father sit there, doing and saying nothing. Not feeling hungry, the dining room becomes boring fast and Ichigo is dragging himself up the stairs, on his way to an early night The whole time, he can't shake off an uneasy feeling that a dark obscurity follows his every step. And that this darkness is the same he came across numerous times that day.

Enough.

Enough of this abstract blur. He needs to sleep.

Perhaps by the time I wake up, it'll be gone.

With this thought in mind, rest befalls him quickly.

Morning.

Or noon, to be exact. The time after waking up is morning to Ichigo, though, so morning it is.

The sun is too bright again today. I can't sleep with it so penetrating...At least, there shouldn't be any shadows when it's like this outside.

A comforting notion, he decides. Almost enough to give him energy to force himself out of the bed. But not quite. He still needs another ten minutes. Finally, he slips the covers off and rolls out. The fact he still wears his school uniform and doesn't need to change helps out a lot. In the hallway, something strange makes him think for a second.

Odd. No snores from the old man. Whatever. More sleep for me in the future, in that case.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Yuzu is napping by herself at the table. When was the last time she left the kitchen? And where did Karin go? Neither of these questions cross Ichigo's mind as he ignores or forgets the peculiarities of his own home, and slugs himself out the door.

During his walk, less people than ever travel along the sidewalks and no cars can be seen moving. Now, nearly a quarter of the buildings exist no longer and the other three quarters look to be in their most horrid shape ever. Dark shadows lurk behind the shattered windows of the remaining houses. Once or twice, Ichigo can swear he saw a shape move inside those dying houses, but he passes those off as residents moving, despite his suspicions to the contrary. Despite the fact no residents in Karakura are moving as fast as those vague, dark shapes in the window moved.

Today, the teacher doesn't even bother to appear and tell the students to study by themselves. Not that there are many students she could have told that to. Besides Ichigo, there are only three other students. One is Mizuiro; the other two have names and faces he can never remember.

Where Ishida and Orihime faded off to, he has no clue. Doesn’t care. The other three students don't seem to, either.

A nice day so far...

With nothing to do, Ichigo drifts off to sleep as soon as he sits at his desk. Again, the bell wakes him up, as it does the only other student, some girl, in the room. Like the day before, the students, though only two, drowsily slide out of the room. However, are his eyes deceiving him or does a dark figure leave the room with Ichigo and the other student? Roughly, Ichigo rubs his eyes and decided he is still tired and seeing things, as a result.

Of course he’s seeing things. Ichigo’s the only person in the hallway.

Grey clouds overhead and the day growing darker, Ichigo tiredly leaves the school and follows the usual path from school to his house. Along the way, he see one other person. It is an old man, standing in the middle of the road, as indifferent and neglectful of the emptiness consuming Karakura as Ichigo is. The two pass without acknowledging the other or the bizarre disappearance of half the homes and their denizens.

A block before reaching his home, Ichigo hears gravel skid. Shocked, he swerves backward but the black frame of a body is already leaping away into black clouds above. Listlessly, he stares upwards for a minute before disregarding it as his imagination.

Am I still dreaming? I should get back to bed fast and make sure I am, if I‘m not.

Fortunately, the door to his home has fallen off, in addition to most of one of the walls, so Ichigo doesn’t need to open the door. Less work for him. Watching television is out of the question, on account of the television no longer existing. Big deal. Nothing good is on these days, anyways. In the dining room, his sister Yuzu still sleeps; Ichigo is uncertain if she's moved since the morning. Not feeling a need for food or drink, though, he doesn't stay long at the table and continues upward to his bedroom. To his bed.

To the sweet nothingness of dreams.

Away from the ever present shadow. The shadow which somehow disturbs him immensely in a world without concern.

...Sleep...

However, he can still live without worry in his dreams.

Drip drip drip.

The incessant pattering of rain wakes Ichigo up.

No sun today...

Indeed, the darkness of his room is threatening. Shadows everywhere. Nowhere can he look without seeing dark shapes spreading across his room. So quiet, too. That downpour feels like the only noise in this world.

What time is it?

Is it still evening? Must be. Wow. Ichigo cannot remember the last time he was awake this late at night. Weirder still, he doesn’t feel tired. Not only that, it takes hardly any effort to detach himself from the sheets. Though, Ichigo is apathetic to all these

abnormalities, as always.

Until he bumps into something solid.

In turn, the black shape which Ichigo did not realize is in his room, gasps and jumps out his window, into the rain.

Contrary to what may have been expected, Ichigo is not shaken by this.

Instead, he reacts by continuing his routine as if nothing happened. Pretends it did not happen since it could not have. He creeps down the dark stairs, and goes by the dining room without noticing that Yuzu is no longer there. As always, he isn't hungry and doesn't stop to eat.

Outside, the rain pounds away heavily.

What should he do?

Guess I'll go to school. Maybe I'll be tired enough to sleep by the time I get there.

Not considering to bring an umbrella, Ichigo descends into the pouring night. There, Ichigo can see little for the rain to land on, other than himself. Karakura is suddenly in complete ruin, down to the last house. Down to the last person. Well, not quite the last person, as Ichigo still walks the streets. Regardless, these cold, hard truths pass through Ichigo. As does the rain. And the dark shadows. It seems nothing can reach him now.

Why am I going to the school again?

Because that is what his routine demands.

Without seeing another person at all, he arrives at the school, not a splash of rain on his body. While all of Karakura, save for his house, is practically gone, Karakura High School still stands as strong and proud as ever. Only the lack of light or students gives away its lie for what it is. A dream come true for Ichigo, though, if he can still be bothered by flights of fancy by this juncture.

Unhurried, Ichigo stumbles down the dark, empty hallways of his school at night; the sound of his footsteps is drowned by the hard fall of rain. Why he came here escapes him now that he’s on campus, but he can't stop moving.

Eventually, he is in his lonely classroom and sitting at his desk once more, ready to let the drizzling rain lull him to sleep.

"You gave me quite a surprise there, kid."

The deep, though womanly, voice comes from the darkness and is entirely unanticipated by Ichigo. His head rushes up to find the source.

There.

An open window. The dark shadow of a figure stands there. It is the shadow.

A breaking point is breached at last for Ichigo Kurosaki.

Dammit! Won't it--or she--leave me alone and let me dream peacefully?!

Ichigo steps away from his desk and glares at this dark shape of a woman.

"What are you?!" he shouts for what feels like the first time in ages. A dam has burst and he can no longer control himself. "Stop following me everywhere!" Along with the dam, a torrent of emotions is unleashed, none of them pleasant.

The woman chuckles. "So you can talk," she muses. "I wonder how many years it's been since that mouth of yours has uttered a sound."

Years? What is she talking about? It's only been a couple of days, a week at most. Half a month, tops.

The falseness of the thought rings empty in his mind.

"You didn't answer my question. Who are you?!" Ichigo demands to know again, suppressing his self-doubt with anger.

"Cranky without your sleep, are you? Seriously, I have never seen people laze around more than your town did before I arrived."

"Tell me!"

"Fine," she sighs. "I'm a Shinigami. I reap souls. The name is Rukia Kuchiki. I know who you are, Ichigo Kurosaki, so you need not identify yourself to me."

Light from a sheltered moon finds its way into the room, and Ichigo is allowed to clearly see that this shadowy woman is a short girl with jet-black, shoulder-length hair wearing traditional Japanese clothing darker than night. A sword hangs menacingly at her hip.

What a load of bullshit. This shadow was a cosplaying girl the whole time?

"Soul reaper?" Ichigo snorts derisively. "What's that supposed to be? Some kind of comic book character? Heh!"

"Far from it, Ichigo Kurosaki." A cold winter day can not compete with the chill of her words. "We Shinigami guide the dead to their fate...whether they desire it or not." She clenches the hilt of her blade.

This has a profound effect on Ichigo.

Or it should have. "Really?" He is unconvinced. "Can't leave the dead alone, can you? Got to harass them even after the end?" he mocks her.

"Do not jest about my job, kid! It is for their own good that we patrol the afterlife. All turn to darkness and become Hollows without our support."

"Hollows?"

"What you could call 'evil' spirits, Ichigo Kurosaki, though I find them more pitiable than anything."

"Right, of course. So, you say your job is to guide souls?" Smirking, Ichigo believes he sees a flaw present in her preposterous tall tale. "Then why are you here? Your story doesn't make sense. There are no ghosts here. Just me."

The air darkens noticeably around her face, and a cold smile graces her deceptively beautiful features. "Why am I here? Haven't you guessed it yet?" She waits until it’s clear Ichigo has no sardonic reply. "To take your soul away, of course, you silly boy."

Raindrops bouncing off the rooftop is the only noise for a few seconds.

"What?" Ichigo gapes, before recovering. "What sort of stupid joke is that?!"

"It is true. Though, as I said, you did surprise me a few times by noticing my presence...Most cannot see me, you see," she explains a little.

Ichigo shakes his head. This Rukia person is getting incredibly confusing. "Hold on. Why can only I see you when no one else can?"

"I'm not certain," she shrugs, "but I would say you likely had extremely strong spiritual powers while you lived. Actually, that shouldn't matter. Being a spirit, the living do not see me, but ghosts should have no problems comprehending my presence."

...Say that again?

His eyes narrow. "What do you mean 'lived’?" he asks the diminutive, yet frightening, shadow. "Are you going to kill me and turn me into a ghost or something?!"

Her eyes widen in surprise. "Oh, no! Not that!" She realizes she needs to elaborate herself further. "I can only send away the souls of the dead, not the living. I do not kill according to your understanding of the word."

That makes no sense, though.

And when did I start acting like I believed her crap?! Her frickin' seriousness is rubbing off on me too much!

Nonetheless, he gives her the appropriate protest. "But I'm not dead."

And the self-proclaimed Shinigami bursts out laughing. In the dark classroom he napped it in every afternoon, Ichigo watches the girl giggle uncontrollably after telling him the most ridiculous of lies.

"You think you're alive?" She laughs some more. "Oh, you all did, didn't you? I bet that's why all of them pretended they couldn't see me, because they couldn't before. Only you couldn't do that because you could always see the dead." As quickly as the humor came, though, it vanishes and Rukia Kuchiki is quickly sombre once more. "No, Ichigo Kurosaki, you are not alive. You and every person in your town have been very dead for the past hundred years, only existing as ghosts all this while."

The rain taunts Ichigo in the following silence, hammering in her proclamation with every drop against the windowsill.

What?!

This is too insane. The woman is taking this too far.

"A ghost? Me?!" Now, he admits he isn't the most lively person, but a ghost?! "How could that be even possible?!"

"When was the last time you ate?" He opens his mouth but she cuts him off. "When was the last time you drank? When was the last time you used a washroom? Why do you always feel like sleeping? When was the last time you hung out with your friends? Hugged your sisters?" she drills him. "Why aren’t you wet, even though you just walked through this downpour?" she gestures outside the window.

Ichigo has an answer for every question she shoots at him. At the same time, he reluctantly realizes none of them are true. Thinking about it, how could he not be wet?

She continues. “When was the last time you breathed, Ichigo Kurosaki?”

When was the last time I did any of those? Why can't I remember...? Am I really...

Dead.

"You're getting it now, aren't you?"

His reverie breaks. "Maybe." Ichigo sounds a touch angry. Perhaps very mad is more accurate. "But so what if I've been a ghost? I was happy with my life the way it was!"

"Obviously you were. Otherwise, you would not have remained attached to this world. It's startling neither you nor anyone else went rampant as a Hollow during the last hundred years."

The nail in his coffin is driven deeper.

"Hundred years?" Still, that’s really strange. "If you actually are a Shinigami and your job is to guide the dead, how could it have taken a hundred years to take care of my town?!"

She averts her gaze. "I'm...sorry," she apologizes with sincerity. "There was a war that put the world into a perennial winter...one that destroyed your entire town. It lasted so long we only recently won and could do something for the innocent lost in the crossfire."

Ichigo listens to her silently. Is it the rain that made her face so wet? Whatever it was, he cannot deny she believed every word she spoke.

"...And this 'something' you will do involves taking away what little I have left?" He softly concludes.

"Yes." There is no hesitation before her response. Her gaze hardens into steel and penetrates Ichigo deeper than any swords could. "We Shinigami must make up for lost time. What your town has been doing for decades is an affront to life. Most importantly, it's a disgrace to who you used to be. I will gladly see an end to it. For you, more than anything."

"For me...? I quite enjoyed myself, thank you very much."

"Do you honestly believe that?"

Images of living the same day repeatedly, never talking, never smiling come to Ichigo.

"Yeah! I did..."

Even to himself, he doesn't sound very convincing.

She sighs at him. "Be that as it may, Ichigo Kurosaki, it is time for me to complete the job Soul Society should have finished a hundred years ago." While telling him this, she draws her blade from its scabbard. The edge shines brightly despite a lack of any light for it to reflect. "You're the only who has yet to be sent up. I promise this will not be painful."

And she points the tip of the sword towards Ichigo's forehead.

"Wait a second...you aren't serious, are you? Is that thing real?" He backs away, stumbling against desks behind him. The blade certainly appeared razor sharp. "Okay, I'll admit that I'm a ghost, you don't need to stab me with that!"

More graceful than the wind, Rukia moves forward. "You have nothing to fear. Trust me, Soul Society is a restful place."

A step back. "Sound nice, but no thanks. I can dream all I like here."

Across from him, a step forward. "This world is a dream."

Back. "A good one. I want to see how it ends."

Forward.. "Only an eternity of loneliness awaits."

"Better that than dying."

"You already died."

"I can dream, can't I?"

Ichigo backs into the wall and is forced to a stop; he has no more space to back into. The distance between him and the curve of Rukia's sword diminishes to next to nothing immediately.

For the first time in a hundred years, Ichigo’s chest rises and falls in rapid succession as a hot sweat breaks over him. The Shinigami’s weapon is pressed against Ichigo’s throat and is drawing blood.

The shadow sighs at him and removes the edge away from Ichigo.

"If you want to dream, Ichigo Kurosaki, then let me take you away from this world.” She pauses to choose her words. “This place is a nightmare, no pleasant dream...Can’t you see that?” A hint of pleading enters her tone.

And Ichigo thinks of what she says. Of what he wants. What he really wants. Can he believe this woman? Silently, he considers her offer as his lungs expand and contract. The tip of her sword is still pointed towards the center of his neck.

Seeing his indecision, Rukia whispers two words.

He chooses to step forward.

Come Home

In a suspended state of disbelief, I snap awake.

Where was I?

My sacrifice, a haze of dreams, an exchange student, monsters, a ghost? Bizarre events flood through my mind too fast to process. Which one of those places am I in now?

"Ichigo! You idiot, how could you sleep in a place like this?!"

A shrill tone calls to me. Heh. Maybe she doesn't think it's shrilly, but she can't hear herself like I can.

"Hey, I'm awake now, right? I'm sure I missed nothing important."

Probably. I’m not good with plans, anyway, so it won't matter if I don't know what was discussed.

"That's not the point! Do you want to make a fool of yourself in front of my brother?!"

"I don't care what he thinks."

She groans in vexation. Does she believe she can change my personality? She already changed my world, so what more can she hope for?! Seriously.

"Just don't do it again, or you'll regret it." A promise, not a threat.

Ooh, I'm so scared.

Then, images of the cold steel of a Zanpakutou piercing me return. And hot fangs digging possessively all over my body. I'm trapped in darkness, dreaming of an end, hoping more than anything that this is a dream. That my waking moments won't be the real dream.

"Ichigo...? You all right?"

"Yeah," I reply, shaking the vivid imagery away. "They were just dreams."

"Dreams? About what?"

You.

"All kinds of things. I can hardly remember them all."

Really. Most of them are already fading. Except for two words that still sound perfect to me. More so now, if that is possible.

"That's pointless, then. Don't be such a baby about dreams."

"Baby?! As if," I scoff.

She laughs. Not with me. At me.

Rukia punches me on the arm, softly. As soft as she gets, at least. "Good morning. Let’s go home, already."

And I’m suddenly very happy. So happy this must be a dream, but so happy that I don’t care, even if it is.

---

Sweet Dreams

---

...And that is the end of this series. Except it's not because I still need to finish the third chapter. Ah, procrastination is an obstinate mistress.

Chapter Deuce II

Wed, 28 May 2008 07:38:14 GMT

...And I'm still here.

Title: Dreams and Fears, Chapter Two
Rating: T
Summary: Slowly, Ichigo realizes that his life is slipping away from his control. Things are about to get very bizarre for him and Rukia, and very soon.
Series: Bleach
Genre: Is sarcasm a genre? If not, I'd say there's a touch of humor, a dose of mystery and drama, some cyberpunk, and a lots of awesome.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

"Still needs a lot more work!"

The same problems kept on occurring in Kurosaki's project. He wasn't sure if he even believed he could perfect his Data. On the other hand, he had full confidence that he was pissed off.

Disgruntled, Kurosaki opened his eyes and removed the syringe from the side of his neck. The tip of the needle that had been poking into his brainstem glistened red in the gloom. At the end of the syringe, a cable ran out, connecting the syringe to a custom, self-built and shabby-looking computer sitting on Kurosaki's desk.

Strewn about the desk were numerous books, all in severe disrepair, and numerous bottles, all empty. Not just the desk was a mess, though; the whole room was. Throughout the cheap apartment room he rented out, more empty bottles cluttered whatever space it could on the floor, wherever there wasn't any dirty clothes, or old, empty boxes that used to contain food. Actually, more often than not the junk came in layers, with the top of a bottle poking out from beneath a sleeve. For certain, there was no sign of the floor. Oh. Not that the floor could be visible since Kurosaki kept all lights off to save money on his electricity bill; the only light came through shuttered blinds--always closed-- and the dim glow of his monitor. A table stood out because it significantly raised elevation of the trash in a small area in the center of the room. An empty fridge and a small, dirty kitchen occupied one corner of Kurosaki's den, but the clutter was even worse there. Dangerous to step there ever since he threw some bottles in that corner and had been too lazy to sweep away the broken glass. Somewhere, Kurosaki wasn't sure where any longer, a bed was buried beneath his excess. Kurosaki was unconcerned about the lack of a bed, though; the damn thing was forgotten because he never used it, after all. He typically slept at his desk if he ever did rest. Usually from exhaustion.

Exhaustion due to that. The needle in his neck. That was Kurosaki's work. He created Data that could be injected into the body and processed by the brain. Everybody wanted it, too. Everybody could think of a happier life than the one they currently lived, and Kurosaki could give it to them. Not without testing it out on himself...but his customers weren't the only ones who desired happier days.

Looks like the setting is perfect. It really feels like you've gone through hell in here. And is something else going on here? Must confirm my suspicions.

Kurosaki rubbed at his eyes. He must still have been tired from his dip into his subconscious through Data. Schizophrenia had never been a side effect associated with his product. A lot of suspect illnesses had occurred to frequent abusers of his Data, but never schizophrenia. So Kurosaki must still have been tired. Yeah, that's it. Like, tired could almost be called one of his personality traits, he slept so seldom these.

Why did he sleep so infrequently? Strange dreams pestered him. Vivid dreams. Dreams so vivid that he had to wonder if his waking moments weren't what was really a\the dream. Confusing, really. Point was, Kurosaki wasn't going to put up with those kinds of ridiculous dreams so he didn‘t sleep.

He preferred the dreams offered by Data. The kind he controlled.

The little comment in his head already forgotten, Kurosaki stumbled out of his desk and into the mess. His stomach gurgled. The task of finding food awaited him. A task of varying difficulty depending on his standard for freshness of the day.

The menu for the day was as follows:

A mostly empty-box of Chinese food that only remained uneaten because a particularly foul sock had slipped inside; Ichigo was not sure when or how that sock got in there. It was relatively fresh, except it probably tasted like a foul sock now. On the other hand, the slice of pizza he could eat had not been touched by any contaminants...but that pizza hadn't been touched by anything for at least a week. Not so fresh. Lastly, there was some teriyaki chicken to munch on. Made yesterday, too, so it was fresh. Not only that, it had yet to be affected by the filth of his room and was only dirtying other stuff. Should be the best of both worlds, the chicken. However, the teriyaki chicken wasn't take-out like the other two and had been made by Kurosaki himself, which meant it could be the most toxic of all.

Wow, I'm amazed by how filthy this is. Makes it real easy to be happy with your own life. Really reminds you how good you have it. Yeah, just what our city needs.

Before Kurosaki could make his selection, though, the phone rang. Maybe that was a good thing since none of those selections could have been safe.

Yet the phone was a bit tricky to locate. It could be anywhere. Under a shoe. Behind a bottle. Even in his pocket. With his current lack of coherence, he could simply be imagining the phone ringing. Not dreaming, though, since he avoided sleep.

But he wasn't. Wasn't imagining things. The phone was in his pocket, he found the damn thing eventually before the person on the other end could get impatient and hang up.

"...Yo," Kurosaki answered cautiously. He got calls from the strangest people and needed to be careful. Not that carrying a phone was especially careful on his part.

Luckily, it wasn't a lunatic who phoned him. "Hey, Ichigo, come over. I'm running really low and need some more of you-know-what." Furthermore, it was a person Kurosaki knew personally. "Don't worry, I've got money, idiot."

...Huh? You-know-what? I should know what that is! What's going on here?

"You don't need to pay me," muttered Kurosaki, though he knew she would try to pay him, anyways. "And I'll be over soon. Later."

"All right, thanks. Seeya!"

Click. Click.

The conversation was over quickly. A need to be brief was always in order. Not due to cops or anything, as police hadn't patrolled town for what seemed like forever. No one really understood the hushed nature of these calls, actually. It was probably only a tradition, and was carried out as nobody knew any other way to go about things.

Well, it seemed Kurosaki's breakfast--or lunch, or supper, he wasn't sure what time of the day it was--was not to be. He had work to do. Why not do it, though? He could buy a half-decent meal if he had a little change in his wallet. Oh, that's right. He told the person he didn't need to be paid. Well, damn. Still, Kurosaki helped his friends out, right? And she'd pay him, anyways, don’t forget.

All right. Time to do a favor for a friend.

After shutting off his precious computer and preserving its far more precious Data, Kurosaki tiptoed across the floor of his tiny room, wary of the chaos he'd created over time, to a little closet. He opened it up without thinking and was bombarded by falling magazines of the adult variety. Three of them stuck on to him. Yuck. Shaking his head at himself, he brushed the sticky pages off his body. Behind all kinds of shit he'd stuffed in there, through a mess of trash, Kurosaki found his coat and pulled it out of the closet. Slipped it on. Yeah, he was cool now. Not. It was impossible to appear cool in the jacket. For one thing, it was too big, and that meant something since Kurosaki was by no means a small guy. Also, the coat appeared almost lumpy. Only because it was lumpy--all the pockets were full--but it still made the coat and whoever wore it look less appealing without fail. Lastly, and most disgustingly, a solid layer of grimy, stained veneer coated the whole jacket. Fact of the matter was, the point of the jacket was to not look cool. To keep people away and draw negative attention, if any...though it couldn't really draw negative attention since practically everyone wore a coat just like this one.

Anyways, Kurosaki definitely did not want attention in this thing. The pockets were stocked full of Data and if anyone found out about that, Kurosaki would be mugged to death. Literally. Everybody wanted the contents of those pockets and would kill for them. No kidding. He'd seen it happen to another dealer before. Could have happened to himself before if he hadn‘t been lucky in the past.

Coat on, he forced his closet shut once more--after great effort and multiple attempts--and made another trek across the minefield to the door out of the apartment. After getting to the threshold of his crappy home, a search began for a pair of shoes. A desperate search that yielded no results. Of course, the search was doomed because, as Kurosaki realized, he was already wearing his shoes. He'd never taken them off. Again. He should remember these things, really.

Should sleep some more, was what he needed to do. But no.

Now he was ready. Shoes, coat, and data. He hadn't shaved but that was no matter. Kurosaki could do that tomorrow. Or the day after. Whenever he found the razor would be fine.

He made sure his keys were safe in the coat, unlocked all three heavy bolts on his door, and ventured out of the relative safety of his room. He only did this kind of thing for his best friends. For one, in particular.

Man, I'm a genius. This is so...realistic. The people will love it.

While there was nearly no light in his pigsty, the hallway outside was even darker. If that was possible. When was the last time the tenant changed the lights? Oh yeah. The old man running the building died a few months ago and no one had bothered to step up in his place. That was why Kurosaki was stepping over, or on (since they couldn't be avoided), so many people on the floor of the corridor. His complex had been overrun by the homeless...err, the formerly homeless. After the news that this building had no authority leaked out, the less fortunate had leaked in. Only a few at first, but now it was a serious problem for Kurosaki. Every time he left his place, or wanted to get back in, he risked letting a couple of over-grown mice slipping inside his home and taking it for good. All the "real" residents in the apartment took this risk, too, but, as far as Kurosaki knew, no one else had a priceless stash of Data lying around like he did. Yeah, he probably should have moved out of the building a long time ago.

The only reason he stayed was because you get free rent when you don't have a landlord. Hey, those homeless saps weren't the only ones short on money, you know. Nobody had money. He wasn't scared to leave, that was for certain. Also, he needed to help his friends.

Perfect. Perfect...Absolutely perfect. This desolation is what they want to see.

Kurosaki ignored the strange comment. Just like he purposely ignored how still one body he stepped on was. He had a long night ahead of him. Nothing would distract him. He didn't think he should have been able to help these poor people.

Of course, Kurosaki did not stop moving once he reached the elevator. It would have been pointless to. The useless contraption had been garnished with a big "Out of Order" sign since before he moved into the apartment all those years ago, when the landlord's heart was still ticking away. He couldn't see the sign in the darkness, but the spray paint that had crossed out the word "Order" and replaced it with "Sex" hadn't been around when Kurosaki first started renting a room here. Heh, the sign always made him chuckle in a half-hearted way. It was too true in Kurosaki's case of late.

The staircase was plagued with human impositions like every other inch of this apartment was, but not as many people lived here since the stairs were considered to be the worst place to live in the building. Like, who wanted to sleep on a perpendicular surfaced? Bad enough when you've got no real home. Add a terminal sore back to the equation and hell might as well pass you over because the real world wasn't any better. To Kurosaki, though, none of this mattered much. Not at all, nosiree. However, the lack of good sleep for these poor vagrants meant he had to deal with them moaning and groaning in addition to taking his personal space. His every footstep woke at least two people up, and these saps loved nothing more than to beg you for spare change and tell you how horrible their lives were when they were awake. Kurosaki didn't know why they bothered to tell him, of all people, these things. His life sucked, too, and not a single person in this apartment could spare a cent. He did his share of moaning as well from lack of good sleep.

But the descent to the apartment's landing went by with little to no incident. Other than the three-year old who woke up in a fit of screams when he accidentally stepped on her foot, Kurosaki avoided feeling sympathy for any of them. Or so he convinced himself. He didn’t accidentally drop any needles full of Data for these unfortunate souls. Nope.

Finally, he was stepping into the lobby and some light returned. The lobby, fairly large, was jam-packed with the destitute and reeked of poverty; this part of the apartment had always been prized for the lighting, which had always been better than anywhere else in the building. A slip of paper blew in from the doorway lacking any doors, where the luminescence from powerful street lights snuck inside from.

Yeah, it was night all right. Always seemed like it was here. Kurosaki couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun.

Anyways, the light made it much easier to step around bodies. And that's what Kurosaki did. At the entrance of his crummy apartment complex, he weaved around the uncaring masses, to that big doorway with no doors. His destination was outside the apartment. Very outside the apartment, unfortunately.

Unfortunately, because as much a nuisances as the vagabonds making a home out of his home were, they weren't nearly so bad as the people hanging outside the building.

Just as he reached the threshold separating the apartment from the twilit city of Yoru, a distraction presented itself in the form of a squeak.

"K-Kurosaki!"

He turned around. Through the darkness, a girl stepped into his view. The tattered clothing she wore was shaking noticeably, along with the rest of her.

What will you think of this, Inoue? You get to be the inspiration for a character design. Think of it as my way of giving you a bonus.

Kurosaki twisted back to face outside. "What is it, Inoue?" he asked, his voice distant.

Keeping himself detached from people was a must in Kurosaki's life; proximity was akin to death for him.

"...Are you going out again, Kurosaki?" She sounded troubled, as could be expected. Likely, her expression would have matched her worried tone, had Kurosaki been able to see her face.

"Yeah."

While the number of times he left his place was seldom more than a few times a month, it was considered a lot by Yoru standards. Nobody really wanted to leave the safety of their homes when they could be sleeping. Assuming they had a place to call home.

"Why? Is it because you..." Inoue trailed off, as if not sure what to ask Kurosaki.

It's because this would be dull if he stayed inside all day. Because I want him out there. Because I am responsible for this, not him!

Kurosaki offered no explanation for his motives.

"Later," was all he said, but who knew if there ever would be a later.

Honestly, it was amazing Kurosaki was still alive after all this time. The Devil's Luck, he must have had, to pull through numerous walks across town without being murdered for a stray glance. Or nerves of steel, as one trek through Yoru at night was often enough to keep even the bravest of men hiding under their beds for a month.

A frantic attempt was made to hold him back. "Wait, Kurosaki...!" Yet, he was already slipping away.

Excellent. Never met a person who could stand these guide characters, but they need to be here. Now, for the real fun, for the proof...

Once out of the mostly-safe confines of the apartment, anarchy awaited Kurosaki.

Gunshots welcomed him to the streets of Yoru. Really. A stray bullet whistled by him immediately after he left the apartment. It hadn't been aimed at him, and it was purely chance that he happened to be near the line of fire, but what a way to start the night. Yet, Kurosaki walked down the crumbling sidewalk. With confidence. Or arrogance. Perhaps he was just stupid, but you could not deny the fact that the guy was used to this sort of thing; it wasn't the first time he'd nearly died.

While guns were fired continuously in Yoru, their din a thunderous song of fire and chaos that never ended, it wasn't actually all that dangerous to walk around town, contrary to common sense. You see, only the crazy people left the relative safety of the buildings and joined one of the many gangs on the street. They were all drunk, all the time. Where they obtained guns was beyond Kurosaki--he had suspicions that some lucky bastards made a fortune supplying these lunatics with heat--but the wild ruffians couldn't aim worth a damn. You were in more danger of being hit by a stray projectile that was not intended specifically for your head. Though, really, none of these gang members seriously aimed to kill people.

Those that chose to live on the streets wanted to get shot, more than anything else.

It was hopelessness that drove these insane people to the streets. Or they were unable to get their hands on any Data. Either way, they had been crushed by the oppressive weight of Yoru and were very suicidal. Driven mad from this world without opportunity or hope, they went berserk. Picked up guns because they secretly wished to become targets for other maniacs and die. Leave this hellhole once and for all. Yeah, it would make more sense to turn the lethal weapons upon themselves. Say goodbye on their own and save people who needed to go somewhere, like Kurosaki, a lot of trouble instead of going ballistic and lashing out at random against the city. However, you have to realize that these people weren't right in their minds. Besides, very suicidal or not, they still feared death almost as much as the city.

This carnage was what Kurosaki went through.

The streets of Yoru were terrifying because they made real your fears about failing. The sight of its buildings crumbling chipped away at your own soul. After your will to go on left you, this hell was what awaited you.

Oh, the possibilities with this setting are unlimited. I wonder how many lives I should allow each user...

The occasional grenade was tossed indiscriminately, and Kurosaki hated it when one landed nearby. Not because it risked his life--nor because it meant others could die!--but because throwing himself to the ground to save himself could mean the loss of his all-important Data. Fires burned from where stray grenades had hit cars or people, providing light where street lamps had long since been knocked over or burnt out. And so many still bodies. Most were dead or lifeless, if not running down the middle of the road like a madman. Young, old, every gender alike. Didn't anybody ever take them away? A few of the especially daring made a living rummaging through the deceased remains of those who were unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire.

Still, someone should do something about the blood. It would have been nice if it rained more often here, so the dark, brownish-red stains that graffittied the walls and sidewalks would get washed off more frequently than never.

Doing his best to ignore most of his ludicrous surroundings, Kurosaki made his way through the residential district, where he lived, on his way to the outskirts of Yoru. To the edge of the mad city. His destination. He avoided walking too quickly, so as not to attract attention, would pause occasionally when it seemed a heavy round of gunfire would go off right in front of him. The stars above the ruined buildings hid behind a smoky haze across the atmosphere, as if ashamed by the chaos below.

Then, after being so successful in not making any grave mistakes, Kurosaki fucked up real bad and bumped into a person.

Then, he snapped at that person. Which was the biggest mistake. "Hey, watch where you're going!" he yelled at the large, dark shape that had the audacity to step in his way. That was the dumb move. Speaking up. He always had problems with that.

Awesome! Die, impostor! My heart's pounding! Wait, isn't that...?

The shape turned around, possibly intent on murder. A big pair of knuckles cracked menacingly. And white eyes suddenly widened.

"...Ichigo?"

"Huh? Chad?"

Recognition passed between the two. Abruptly, both burst out laughing like idiots, in the middle of insanity personified.

...What a letdown. I should have programmed it so he would have perished in this scenario.

"Hey, what are you doing out here, man?" Kurosaki laughed, in too good a mood to be disturbed by the voice.

Light-hearted seconds before, Chad's gaze darkened. "Doing a guide job."

An explosion went off in the far distance.

"Guide job? Where's the customer, then?"

"Dead. Went ahead of me and was gunned down."

"Oh."

"Don't worry, though. The guy was a loner that no one cared about. Still..."

"You wished you could have done your job. Right?"

"...Yeah."

Being a guide was a dangerous job. More dangerous than most, rather. A guide's role was to help regular folk get through the city unharmed. You had to be half-mad to become one, but the pay was far better than most. Only the few successful people in Yoru could afford guides--or needed to go anywhere and needed them--so you'd get a lot of cash if you got your client safe to their destination. If. Most often, either the client or the guide, or both, didn't survive. If only the guide lived, he or she risked a bounty being placed on their heads by the client's relatively wealthy and surviving family members. Bad enough that you don't get paid for a failed mission, you could go mad after failing to protect too many customers because you’d be forced to deal with too many bounty hunters. A lot of guides did go mad if they weren‘t crazy already to accept the job..

"Well, I need to go, Chad. Seeya."

"Wait, where you going?...Making a..." Chad hushed into a whisper. "...delivery?"

All Kurosaki did was nod. Gunfire pounded.

Chad understood. "Want a guide, Ichigo?" he offered his assistance. "Free of charge for a friend."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm already drawing too much attention by talking to a guide. I should have left before now."

"All right...Mind if I ask who you're going to?"

"Later, Chad."

And Kurosaki's detour ended. He felt Chad's eyes on his back until he turned a corner. He pulled his jacket closer to himself, huddling his gangly shoulders. Why did he do these things, again? At times, it felt like he had no control over himself.

Hmm, that's dangerous thinking. Don't want the customers' systems crashing mid-game.

The hissing roar of a missile being fired caused Kurosaki to glance upwards. Across the city, a plume of fire lit up in an already-damaged skyscraper, and Kurosaki felt fortunate he was nowhere near the building as debris descended towards some unlucky people sleeping below the skyscraper.

While his head was up, Kurosaki stared at the brightest light in the sky. The moon was full this night. A pretty good night so far, Kurosaki figured.

But he soon changed his mind.

Walking across Yoru with your head up is incredibly stupid. And Kurosaki was walking across Yoru with his head up. And this was incredibly stupid because Kurosaki stepped into a crack in the sidewalk and immediately tripped.

Yoru went silent, or so it seemed. The guns stopped in this one moment when Kurosaki needed them blazing.

The fall didn't hurt. However, a precious needle rolled out of his coat and the sound of weighted glass spinning across the concrete was louder than any explosions earlier tonight to Kurosaki's ear.

Oh shit.

Oh yes.

Kurosaki forgot any pain in his body. All his troubles of making ends meet vanished. He didn't care about what he'd do for supper. He was in serious trouble and he scrambled to his feet at a full sprint.

He was running for his life now.

From a group of hundreds of people that were suddenly awake and after his blood. The needle that fell out was greedily snatched up and a crowd fought to the death over it. Machine guns roared. None were fired at Kurosaki because no one wanted to break the Data. Machine guns were fired at any and everyone else in his vicinity. It was chaos.

The dead city came alive in order to get the happy memories they could take from Kurosaki.

He could run and they would follow him anywhere, pulverize him and strip him of all his Data that they desperately wanted. And they would fight each other for this Data, but Kurosaki could not care less about that because he would be dead if that happened.

Run, run! Hahahahaha!

He hated this damn voice, so much like his own, laughing at him but Kurosaki did run for all he was worth, regardless. This wasn't the first time he'd been in such a position. Screams pursued him. He wasn't sure how he hadn't already been grabbed, but he somehow kept ahead of his followers. That's all that mattered and it gave him some hope.

But he needed more than hope, he knew from experience. Right now, the doctor called for a big dose of luck. And didn't Kurosaki have the Devil's Luck?

Yeah, he did.

Twisting and turning down streets to keep ahead of an every-growing mob, Kurosaki was convinced his luck had finally ran dry this night when a door in a building abruptly opened and an arm pulled him inside a dark room. The door slammed shut. The mob ran past the door.

And Kurosaki was given another reprise.

Lucky bastard...but that sure was exciting. I'll have to find a way to put more weapons on the street for anyone to pick up...Increase the width of the sidewalks or something...

"You're a moron, you know that? Eh, Kurosaki?"

Kurosaki's saviour taunted him from the darkness. It didn't remain dark, however, and a glint from glasses greeted him after a light flickered on.

"Shut up, Ishida." Kurosaki was in no mood to be reminded this. He couldn't believe he'd made such an amateur mistake.

"...And you owe me for this, you know that," added Ishida.

Kurosaki grimaced. "Yeah, I do," he spat out in disgust. Both at himself and Ishida.

"You know what I want, too."

"Yes. The same thing those crazed people do. Well, you'll get it, don't worry."

Ishida smiled. The smug punk was enjoying this rare change of fortune. More often than not, it was Kurosaki who pulled his fellow hacker out of the fire. Ishida would milk this for all it was worth and Kurosaki would not hear the end of this for quite some time.

Ah, annoying that he had to get saved, but nobody wants a game over screen too quickly.

After partaking some of the data, Kurosaki waited in Ishida's lab for a few minutes before setting out again. He'd whipped the mob into a frenzy with a foolish slip of his foot, but their fervour couldn't last long. Sure enough, not a soul was in sight when he'd left the abode of his rival supplier minutes later.

The moon was bright. The air smelled of sulphur and ashes.

He hated this city. The temptation to open his coat right then and inject some Data directly into his brainstem was strong. To take total control in another world. If he didn't have a mission he needed to complete, he'd be a drooling vegetable right now at his home and loving it.

No can do, though.

Kurosaki was well out of the residential district, out of downtown and near his destination by this point. Real close. The things he did for a friend.Her house was in the suburbs, hardly even a part of Yoru. A much safer place to live. Kurosaki should move out here, too, but he didn't have the money. It made no sense how he could be creating such a desired product and have no money to show for it. He blamed the voice for this, but quickly changed that thought. He refused to give power to the voice.

Ah, he seems to be here. Wherever "here" is.

Yes, Kurosaki was there. His objective was this normal-looking house. The house was one among many that all look strikingly similar. All were a touch decrepit but were in far better shape than the any of the buildings in the heart of the chaotic Yoru.

For a few seconds, Kurosaki paused to catch his breath. Then he knocked on the door.

She was expecting him, so the door was quickly opened.

"Took you long enough, Ichigo."

Kurosaki glared at this woman while thinking of the troubles he went through.

...Will he fight her? I hope so.

But he could not stay very angry. She kept him going the whole time, after all. He put himself through all that shit for her.

"Come on, Rukia," Kurosaki took her by the shoulder and welcomed himself inside. "I really need some Data after what I just went through." Really needed to prove to himself that he wasn't being manipulated.

"No kidding," Rukia agreed, unaware of any ulterior motives. "Seems like Data is the only way I can see the sun these days."

I've been wondering...just what is this "Data" that everyone finds so important? I don't recall ever programming anything like that into this world...Just so long as it isn't...

In Rukia's living room, where her computer was, Kurosaki set things up for maximum simulation. Her computer was bought from a store ages ago and was nowhere near as good as his, but any computer could amplify the effects of Data considerably. And Rukia's simple piece of machinery could do this much.

The wait felt unbearable now that the payoff was so close. But Kurosaki and Rukia managed to contain themselves. After opening a special program he installed on Rukia's computer, pulling some wires out from his custom needles and plugging them into the proper ports, Kurosaki was ready.What is he doing...? Don't let it be...

Kurosaki ignored the bizarre mumbling. All he could think of was blue skies and fast cars. At last, he had two needles in hand. Then just one needle, after he passed one to Rukia."Ready?" They both asked at the same time, each with sharp tips pointed towards the bases of their necks. Of course they were ready.

What is this?!"You want to know what it's like to live in a peaceful city, as a rich person where nothing goes wrong in your life, Rukia?"

...No way.

"Sure. It's got to beat this dump."

As one, they slid the needles in, entering the fantasy reality provided by the data created by Kurosaki. It was a pleasant daze of pleasant days.

So...that voice from before...it really is...?

Outside of Rukia's house, the moon was sinking. The sun was rising. It was currently a time that could neither be called night nor day. It was the dawn of a new day.

Ichigo ripped himself away from the computer screen, panting. He knew it. Suddenly, nothing in his office appeared to be concrete. It was all as transparent as the glass in his windows.

Yeah, he understood what Data was. And now nothing else made sense, as he feared. His world was collapsing into a nightmare.

Ahh, nothing like pretending I work at a fancy office all day.

Unbelievable. This was so wrong. Ichigo wanted to smash his computer in. But he didn't dare. How could this be possible? How could a virtual avatar of himself that he created be his creator? This was backwards. Mind boggling. He wondered if he was experiencing some strange dream. He better not be. He avoided sleep for a reason.

What time was it? Ichigo looked at his clock. About eight o'clock. Night was approaching. He'd been on his computer for some time, absorbed in his work. He couldn't think of much else now.

Things were not so cool in Hirusugi, all of a sudden. Ichigo could not deny this fact for the first time, try as he might.

Hey, something is wrong with this Data...is he thinking what I am...? Hearing me?

What a punk this other Ichigo Kurosaki was. Masquerading as himself. Tch. Ichigo was too cool to stand for this. He won Game Developer of the Year five years in a row (a record). Obviously, he created a game so ingenious that even he could not comprehend it. But he would undo this. For certain.

A knock on his door distracted him."Yeah?" He called out. It could only be Kuchiki. Ichigo and Kuchiki were the only two workers on this floor who stayed past seven.

Naturally, though, the woman let herself inside before he spoke.

"Hey, you all right, Kurosaki?" she asked. This conversation sounded very familiar. "You've been in your office since I left this morning. Didn't even come out for lunch."

"...I've been real busy."

"You missed Keigo's latest screw up. He set back development two weeks. He's very lucky he wasn't fired."

"So he often is."

"You look tired. Did you get enough sleep last night?"

"Of course."

Kuchiki clearly did not believe him but she let it slide."...How is your game coming along? You must have made some great progress."

"About my game...I'm thinking of scrapping the whole project."

"Scrapping it?! Why? You've never done that before."

"...The game is not very fun."

"Really? You were raving about how it would be the greatest game you ever made before. About how it would perfectly simulate a post-apocalyptic environment, and would allow the people of Hirusugi to enjoy gang wars with their neighbours...or something...I know it would sell a lot of copies."

...Post-apocalyptic simulation? Don't tell me...

"I changed my mind. It was a stupid idea. Now I'd rather make a game about cute rabbits."

Stunned silence.

"What happened, Ichigo?" Kuchiki suddenly switched to his first name, even though she knew better than to do that. And she knew she shouldn’t be moving this close to him.

"It's about what you said earlier. About Hirusugi being too perfect. I agree with you completely, Rukia." Whoops, he wasn't supposed to use her first name, either.Her gaze hardened on him. "What happened, Ichigo?" she repeated her question firmly.

The Data isn't working...! This isn't how I designed Hirusugi...!

His office was dark. Outside Soul Society Entertainment, it was no longer day. It was dusk and soon it would be night. The sun had nearly been eclipsed by the horizon.

Ichigo could not bring himself to explain what happened. He chose instead to kiss Rukia; she didn't complain about the choice. She had words later.

He was sick of his life. Sick of his job. Sick of pretending to be living as though life was a game. And, most of all, sick of the dumb front he and Rukia put up every day at the office.

So he shut off his computer. After deleting The Dead Zone. The game never was released to the public.Night finally fell over Hirusugi. Ichigo Kurosaki never heard a voice in his head again.

Except in his dreams.

Kurosaki yanked the needle out of his neck.

At last, his head was blessedly quiet, except for his own angry thoughts.

But the man was baffled. What he saw in his dream world was not pleasant at all. His Data was a complete failure. Just like his whole life and everyone else's in Yoru.How could his dream self have an independent conscious? What sort of side effect was this? Kurosaki forced himself to calm down. He had been imagining things. Again. He only thought his other self gained a life of its own accord.No, he’d suspected this for a long time. It was just he had no way of denying the truth now.He’d been denying it because the notion of another Ichigo Kurosaki having control over his destiny really pissed him off. He threw the needle--still in his hand--to the floor in disgust. Then he scrambled through the pockets of his dumb coat, flinging out countless needles. Destroying all of them. Destroying all the "priceless" Data he'd toiled so long to make. When he realized Rukia was still connected to the false world of his Data, he pulled her needle out, too, and smashed it against the floor.

All the Data was gone.

"What are you doing, Ichigo?! Are you crazy?!"

"No. I've had it with Yoru, Rukia. I'm leaving this rotten city." Oh, he was. He didn't even notice he'd decided this until he said it."...Huh? Why?" His companion was stunned.

The real question was why hadn't he already, though. Something had snapped in Ichigo Kurosaki. Snapped free and was out of control.

He finally felt like he was in control of his destiny.

"Doesn't matter why," he told Rukia. "All I want to know is if you'll leave with me."

The sun was on the rise. Daytime was finally upon Yoru. Ichigo Kurosaki never heard a voice in his head again."Dummy. Of course, I will."Except in his dreams.

The room was no longer so dark. Either a light had been turned on or the sun had risen. Neither were very plausible but there had to be an explanation for the sudden light.

At his computer, where he’d fallen asleep, the man woke up in a fit.

Most likely, he wouldn’t be sleeping again for a long time. It was these dreams. He hated them. He kept on seeing visions of himself, more than one. All reminded him of himself but were nothing like him. It was surreal.

They were disturbing, those dreams. Gave him reason to fear, even if the reasoning made sense to none save himself. But he wouldn’t be consumed by these dreams. That was why the man avoided sleep; it was his way of refusing to give in. How long could the sleepless nights last? Not long enough, so far as the man was concerned; he was determined to conquer the need to rest.

On his computer in the not so dark room, he wrote about what he did in the dreams. About the various incarnations of himself he was privy to in the stuff of dreams. The man noted recurring elements that gave him cause for concern. For example, every version of himself created another version of himself. The same people surrounded him in each different world, with that one woman being the most important to him in all of them.

He wrote this down, noting the similarities. The dreams were all his mind could think of, even when he wasn’t dreaming. The worst dreams were the ones where another variation of the man saw into his life or even created his existence.

That was why sleep was so frightening, by the way. He saw these key recurring elements in his own life, not only in the dreams. The people in the dreams were the people in his life. That one most important woman in the dreams was the most important woman in his life. He wrote about--and possibly created?--other versions of himself on his computer. No different from the men who were him but not him did in the dreams. He and his dream selves were too similar for the dreams to only be dreams.

Come to think of it, which started first? The dreams or the writing? The two were interlinked. Inseparable. In fact, something told the man they started at the same time, impossible though that should be. Would the dreams stop if he no longer wrote? Would the writing stop if no longer dreamed? The man was uncertain.

This doubt permeated through his whole life now, came to represent it. Was the truth that all the avatars of himself, spread across countless worlds, were real? That they needed to create one another to sustain one another? Somehow, the man did not think any of them were real--including himself--and it was this growing conviction that gnawed at his soul.

This growing belief that none of avatars were real tormented the man known as Ichigo Kurosaki, and not just the Ichigo Kurosaki in the not so dark room. Yeah, all of the Ichigo Kurosakis must have this nagging thought somewhere at the back of their heads. The only exception, of course, should be the real Ichigo Kurosaki that was not a fake. The original, wherever he was dreaming, could not be sharing these doubts. And if the Ichigo Kurosaki in the not so dark room had these doubts, how could he be the original? Exactly. Or so the man in the not so dark feared.

However, the man refused to accept this reality, this fear. Ironic, this stubborn denial, considering that he also refused to dream just as desperately.