[Log] Sousuke Aizen, Gin Ichimaru, Ulquiorra Schiffer
Title: Taking Out The Trash
Characters: Aizen (formative), Gin (lcpdragonslayer), Ulquiorra (day_eight)
Timeline: March 15, 1940
Rating: R
Summary: Aizen and Gin have prepared a welcome gift for young Ulquiorra Schiffer. All Ulquiorra has to do is accept their generous offer and join the Concavos.
It used to be a place buzzing with activity. Hundreds of souls entered every morning, filling the space with laughter, warmth, and breathed life into the giant iron machines which made low rumbling noises like the belly of a whale. When the souls left and didn’t return, one day, the place tried very hard to remain hopeful. It tried to retain the residual traces of life and warmth, tried to stay a welcoming place, but eventually it grew tired and what little hope it had drained away.
Now, it was dark, shuttered and dank; rotting away in solitude. Which made it the perfect location for less friendly and pleasant souls. Just like these two men. A long time had passed since their last visit, but the building remembered them because they were the only ones who would replace the memory of pain-filled screams with the sound of warm, heart-felt laughter before they left. It was very grateful for the small kindness they’d bestowed upon it and hoped that this time wouldn’t be different.
Aizen had positioned himself in the middle of the space between the headlights of their car, mindful to stay out of the two cones which provided Gin with just enough light to do his work. Hands hidden away in his pockets, he calmly watched how his second-in-command slowly reduced their prey to a bloody pulp of meat.
So much time had passed since they had done this together and he only realised now how much he’d missed it. Nowadays, they had so many other matters to attend to - important matters that wouldn’t allow them to indulge in the more simple pleasures of life. It was a shame.
It was still uncertain whether the cub - the disenfranchised heir to the formerly thriving Schiffer enterprise - would make an appearance or not. The offer to join the Concavos had been made. It wouldn’t make a big difference whether the dispossessed prince accepted it or not. If Ulquiorra refused, however, Sousuke would be treated to another performance of his favourite play, starring Gin Ichimaru as the Angel of Death.
“Ease up a little, Gin,” he called out, voice laced with amusement. “We don’t want him to die before our guest of honour has had the opportunity to admire your handiwork.” Smiling he lit a cigarette and took a drag before he held it out to the silver-haired man. “And it’s more beautiful with a vestige of life still residing in it, wouldn't you agree?”
He couldn't remember the last time he felt... so... alive. As of late, he and Aizen have had to attend to matters which drew them away from doing activities on scene - having to make light talk with stuck-up boobs, having to force smiles when the storms were raging inside, having to deal with the technical side of issues, and really it was all a big mess of bureaucracy, idiocy and excessive formality.
If he had known things were to come to this today, perhaps he would have changed or done something differently somewhere down the track.
So, when he was 'cordially invited' to leave the office and do something like this, he immediately jumped out of his seat and disappeared down the corridor as if his office had been on fire.
Actually, the thought of setting the office on fire...
No - it would only add to Aizen's troubles. He would have to protest in some other - what was the word? Civil? Mature? - way.
He marvelled at the limp body slithering helplessly on the floor in the path of the light from the car, a maniacal grin wide across his face. His hands were ensanguined, dripping with fresh, warm blood. He had carved a crude-looking twelve-pointed star in the body with the switchblade he always carried around with him, and he had made a hole in the centre of his masterpiece big enough so he could slip his finger inside and feel around.
He pushed the knife through then, making sure the blade moved at an excruciatingly slow rate through the flesh, grating against the bone as it slid past.
He relished in it - the pain, the screams, the pleas, the blood. He was no stranger to violence - he was born in a home of violence, and he lived on the streets where he was greeted with violence everyday. In this world, you either make it, or you are nothing but trash.
Trash or not, the torture was fun. He pulled the blade out a little, just so he could drive it in again, cutting through more of the bone. Every bit of life that seeped away from the man was a bit of life that revived him. He wanted - he needed -
But he would heed Aizen's advice and let the man live long enough for the boy to come. Wiping his hands off on the man's shirt, he sighed and stood up, reaching out for the cigarette offered to him. He planted the cigarette between his lips and took a long drag.
Damn - this was better than getting snowed up on pure heroin.
The night grew darker and quieter with each mile that passed. Ulquiorra kept his eyes on the road, focusing on the little patch of light that extended from his car's headlights. To say that he had thought twice about coming would have been a vast understatement. Even as he continued to drive, he felt the urge to turn around and head back towards the welcoming commotion of Manhattan. He turned and glanced out the window to his left. The scenery that flew by was as strange and unfamiliar to him as the man he was about to meet. He knew nothing about this area, and he knew nothing about Sousuke Aizen. And yet, there he was, getting closer to the old factory with every second that ticked by on his watch.
The night before had been the first time that he had spoken to Mr. Aizen in person. He had spent the better part of two weeks trying to land a meeting with the illusive businessman, but in the end Mr. Aizen had been the one to approach him. The meeting, although tense and a bit uncomfortable, had gone well. Sousuke had even been generous enough to offer him a place in the Concavo family. He could not deny that he greatly desired to accept the proposal, but something held him back - something that he could not quite place.
Aizen's reputation was well known around the city, and Ulquiorra had set his sights on joining the Concavo family mere seconds after he had lost his own. He would be proud to be a part of such a powerful Italian family, despite of what went on behind the scenes. Or... perhaps because of what went on behind the scenes. He had been well taught in the ways of organized crime, after all, and he felt like it would be a dishonor to his deceased relatives to let all of his knowledge and practice fall to waste. Joining Aizen's family seemed like the most logical thing to do. So then, why the hesitation?
Perhaps it was because he had been trained to never trust anyone outside of his own "family". He blinked and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His father and grandfather had only trusted their own kin, and their own kin had been the ones to betray them. Even people who shared the same blood would turn on each other for the right price.
The young brunet stepped on the brake when a small raccoon darted out into the middle of the road. It stopped for a moment and stared into the headlights, its wide, yellow eyes no doubt a reflection of his own green ones. The animal sniffed the air for any signs of a threat, moving on once it was satisfied that it would not be harmed. As Ulquiorra continued down the road, he could not help but feel a bit like that raccoon, wide eyed and leery of any imminent danger. This was a perilous city and a perilous time, and anyone without an alliance would either perish or be forever stuck on the bottom of the food chain. He was not ready to die, and he was not fond of being on the bottom.
Turning the wheel sharply, Ulquiorra pulled off onto the little road that lead up to the abandoned factory. He had found it a bit odd that Mr. Aizen wanted to meet him in such a place, but he was not about to complain. Besides, the drive had given him enough time to think things through... again. Pulling up in front of the looming building, he put on the parking brake and shut off the engine.
There was no turning back, now. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. His father would not approve, but his father had been murdered by his own people. It was time to say "arrivederci" to the past. The family that he had been told to put his trust in had been blown away in one single, bloody afternoon. They were dead, and he was alive... and he was not going to waste any more time or energy worrying about the opinions of dead men. Sousuke Aizen was offering him a means of living and a place in an honorable family - and he would not, could not simply let that slip by. He was going to accept it, and in return, he would offer the only thing that he had to give - his loyalty and service.
Stepping out of the car, Ulquiorra glanced around and proceeded through the large opening in the side of the building. The only thing that he could see inside was a small area that was lit up by a car's headlights. Blinking, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the new lighting and began walking over to where Mr. Aizen stood. A silver haired man was bent over in the light, crouching above something odd-shaped and sickly looking. That 'something' moved and emitted an ear shattering scream that, although twisted with pain, was unmistakably human. Ulquiorra halted and stared at it. It appeared to be a man, bloodied and carved up like some unfortunate Christmas turkey. The silver haired man moved away, giving the young newcomer a better view of the victim. Pale limbs quivered, dripping thick crimson liquid onto the cement below. Sweat-damp hair was plastered to a face that housed two eyes that were painfully wide with fear.
Wait.
Bending slightly at the waist, the brunet took one step closer and got a better look at those terrified features. It was... No, that man was dead - he was sure of it. He crouched down a bit further and tilted his head. "Santino?" he asked, dropping his voice to barely a whisper. The man made a whimpering noise in the back of his throat, bringing a frown to Ulquiorra's face. This man had worked for his family, before the traitors had killed everyone. Santino Benita, age forty-six, had a wife named Maria and a son named Geno. He had worked along-side Ulquiorra's father for many, many years. It had been said that he had died in the shooting, along with anyone else who had chosen to remain faithful to the dying family. Young Mr. Schiffer stiffened and rose to look Sousuke Aizen in the eye. "What is the meaning of this?"
Aizen cast an appreciative glance over his companion and allowed his lips to curl into a fond smile as he took in the blood stained hands and the satisfied grin. He reached out to wipe a tiny splatter or crimson off of Gin’s pale cheek with his thumb and without thinking licked it off.
Seeing his second so enthusiastic, so alive, made him realise that he really shouldn’t have persuaded the younger man to become VP of the construction firm. Sitting at a desk in a quiet office all day must bore him to tears - which was probably the reason why he spent so little time in there…
It certainly wouldn’t hurt to reward Gin with tasks of a more interesting nature every now and then. Tasks like this one, for example. However, it did pain him a little that depending on the Schiffer boy’s decision he would have to bilk the silver-haired man of the kill. Well, they would…
The arrival of the guest of honour interrupted Aizen’s train of thought quite abruptly but before a word greeting could be exchanged, the cub had taken an interest in the prey. Sousuke refrained from laughing at Ulquiorra’s bold stare, it wasn’t easy but he managed. That one question confirmed the boy had no idea, didn’t even suspect that the Concavos might have had a hand in his family’s extinction.
“I’m surprised you have to ask. Oh, you don’t know?” he asked innocently, eyes widening a fraction, and exchanged an amused look with Ichimaru. “He doesn’t know, Gin. Isn’t that tragic? I always assumed that’d be part of being a good son.” Curving his lips into a slightly mocking smile, he nudged the body on the ground with the tip of his shoe, eliciting a gurgling noise and let his gaze come to a rest on Ulquiorra's face. “Mr Benita here has… transgressed and is receiving his due punishment. Isn’t he, Gin?”
The sounds of resounding footsteps echoed through the otherwise rather empty warehouse, catching his interest. Turning, he looked to see the silhouette of the small figure approaching them. He coughed a few times to prevent himself from being choked on the smoke, holding the cigarette a little bit away from himself.
This has got to be a joke.
He had to keep the man alive because of this. This boy.
Oh, for fuck’s sake…
He replaced the cigarette back between his lips and took another long, sweet serving of tobacco and nicotine. To top it all off, the boy knew nothing about what had happened to his own family - or, perhaps worse, believed the lies spread to everyone else to delude them from the truth.
Pulling the cigarette away, he exhaled smoke at the boy’s face.
“Real fuckin’ tragic,” he said, running his crimson-tainted hand through his hair, leaving a few streaks of blood coating clumps of silver strands. It was more tragic that his fun depended on a kid than the fact that the kid didn’t know nothing, but he wouldn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with someone Aizen has taken interest in. For all he knew he’d be stuck with the kid for the next few decades and then that would be real hell.
“Shoulda just let me killed ‘im before the kid came. He don’t know nuffin’ ‘bout what really happened to his family and the traitor’s part to it.” He held what was left of the cigarette out to Aizen. “Ya know how much better it feels when ya get to kill someone who actually deserves to die.”
Doubt rooted itself deeper into Ulquiorra's stomach with each word that was spoken. A brief look of confusion flashed across his face before he replaced it with an empty stare. It would not be wise to let these two men realize that he was completely and utterly at a loss for words. He glanced around, trying to get a better idea of what was actually happening. Some very important detail was unknown to him, and he knew that he had better find out what it was quickly, or risk appearing like a fool. His gaze alternated between the men in front of him and the bloody mess of flesh on the floor. Santino must have wronged the Concavos... but how?
The silver haired man, who seemed to be named Gin, blew a stream of cigarette smoke into Ulquiorra's face. He blinked twice and turned his head to the side, trying to escape the acrid fumes. Something about this whole situation seemed a bit wrong. He continued to stare blankly, until he heard one word that made his pulse race and his insides twist. Traitor. Now, that was a term that he understood quite well. He took a step back, a look of disgust written across his face, as the full reality of what was going on crashed into him with a sickening force.
"Is it true?" he spat, eyeing the man on the floor with a glare that could have frozen the Devil's soul. Mr. Benita looked up at him with pleading eyes, crawling closer and gripping the hem of his pants. Giving his leg a shake, Ulquiorra freed himself from the bloody grip, practically trembling in horror and disbelief. Could this... really be the traitor? Could Santino, his father's loyal friend, really have started the uprising that had ended in dozens of deaths and his family's downfall? It felt like he had been stabbed - like Gin had thrust that bloody knife into his back and twisted the blade. He had not expected this... He had not expected to find the traitor, let alone in a setting like this, let alone for it to be...
"Santino."
He reeled, swinging his leg back for momentum before kicking Mr. Benita directly in the jaw. The sound of bones crunching resounded through the night air, and Ulquiorra was surprised to find that he liked it. This man... this man had wronged him in the worst possible way, and all the pain in the world would not be retribution enough. He closed his eyes and fought against the torrent of rage and hatred that was threatening to take over his actions. Self-control was something that he prided himself in, and he was not about to turn into a violent maniac in front of his new employer. Straightening his jacket, he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. A maniac, no, but perhaps a little violence would not be out of hand. The man at his feet had been reduced to a gory mess long before he had arrived, after all. Returning his attention to the filth on the floor, he bent down and gripped Santino's jaw, grinding into the broken bones with his thumb. "Robaccio merdosa*."
(*disgusting trash)
“I do indeed.” Aizen reached for the cigarette and took the last drag it still carried, not caring that Gin’s fingers had left traces of blood on the paper. To give Ulquiorra more room, he retreated further into the shadows and leaned back against the hood of the car, putting himself into the position of a viewer at the cinema.
If poor Santino had been able to talk, he might have told the boy a curious story about how his mind had been seduced by a pair of snakes. They had promised him everything he’d ever dreamt of if he did one little thing for them and he’d gladly accepted. How bitter it had been for him when he realised that he had been nothing but a pawn in a game he’d never learnt how to play. And now he had to face the wrath of his prince with the true culprits watching in the background, their eyes mocking him and his misery.
The Concavo knew the look on the boy’s face. It was the same the man on the ground had worn, when Aizen and Ichimaru had shown up on his doorstep to annul their agreement with him. It was the same look his long-term business partner and friend had worn when Aizen put a gun to the man’s head and pulled the trigger.
The hurt and anger of the betrayed - it never failed to amuse him.
‘Why, after knowing, believing that this is the traitor, do you still turn to him for confirmation? If he told you that it wasn’t his fault, that he never meant for any of it to happen - would you believe him?’
“We usually deal with our problems ourselves,” he said, his voice sounding like a deep purr. He stepped into the light, disturbing the lazy dance of age old dust particles and looked at Ulquiorra. “But I think your reasons weigh heavier than ours, don’t they, Mr Schiffer?”
Mr. Aizen's voice was calm. Ulquiorra took a deep breath, trying to inhale some of that calmness into his burning lungs. Closing his eyes, he clenched his fists at his sides and silently willed his heart to stop racing. He was afraid. Everything about this situation filled him with a sense of dread. The ominous lighting, the cracked cement flooring, the potent smells of old metal and fresh blood, the pleading whimpers from the man on the ground - it was enough to make the young brunet want to turn and walk away. But he would not run. He could not run, because something stronger than fear was steadily gnawing away at his insides. It felt like an acute hunger. A hunger for revenge.
The overwhelming mix of disgust and rage filled him to his core, suppressing the trembling in his fingers and removing the lead that had been keeping his feet firmly rooted to the ground. Opening his eyes, he leveled his gaze on Mr. Aizen and nodded slowly. Capturing such a low-life piece of scum for Ulquiorra's sake was certainly a considerate gesture, and the young man could not help but appreciate the violent act of kindness. He blinked once, then twice, before glancing down at the figure on the floor.
Finding out who had betrayed his family brought him a surprising sense of closure. It was like the missing piece had finally been found, and now the puzzle could be put away in the past, where it belonged. All that was left was to give this man his due reward, and then everything would be settled. There was no penalty too harsh for treason. Such an act was condemned by the gods, and rightfully so. Although he did not put much faith in religion, Ulquiorra would have accepted the idea of the Ninth Circle of Hell if it would have ensured that the man at his feet would end up there.
Ulquiorra walked around Mr. Benita slowly, placing one foot in front of the other with steady deliberation. Once he was directly in front of the injured man's head, he halted and crouched down, resting his forearms on his knees. Trying to hang on to his adrenaline-induced composure, he clicked his teeth together and studied the bruised and deformed face below him. After finding nothing in that mess of blood and mucous that could answer his questions, he stood up and turned to face Mr. Aizen. "So shall I be the one to kill him, then?"
So polite, so in control of himself. This boy was really interesting.
If Aizen hadn’t witnessed the small, yet strangely controlled outburst earlier, he would have wondered whether Ulquiorra was human at all. As things stood, however, he imagined that the boy’s finger must have been itching really badly by now.
“If you wish it.” Stepping out of the light again, he turned away from the illuminated scene and smirked at Gin. ‘Hook, line and sinker,’ it seemed to say. The next part, however, might not run so smoothly…
“Gin?” The dark-haired man let his gaze fall to the silver-haired man’s gun briefly and nodded towards the Schiffer boy.
He heard his name and perked up, looking at Aizen. The lighting was not perfect, but he got the idea that Aizen wanted him to lend his gun to the boy to finish the task.
Just rub it in, why don'tcha. He growled, quietly but still audible to Aizen, to Ulquiorra, to the trash writhing on the floor.
Tentatively, his hand moved to the handle of his gun, and he removed it from its holster. He took a couple of steps towards the kid and paused. The hammer of the gun was already cocked, and he took the safety catch off.
He slipped his finger over the trigger and pointed the gun at Ulquiorra, his expression dangerously serious. At least, until he released his hold on the handle a few seconds later and let it slip from his hand, spinning it around with his finger still in the trigger guard, holding on to the barrel of the now upside-down gun with the handle before Ulquiorra.
He grinned.
"Go ahead."
Ulquiorra felt his skin crawl at the menacing sound of Gin's low growl. He was not sure why, but he did not like this man one bit. Something about those slit-like eyes and that sinister demeanor set off a million warnings in his youthful mind. That was why, when found himself staring down the barrel of a gun, he took a deep breath and prepared to die.
A dozen thoughts sprang to life, each one warring with the others to be his last. He thought about his father and grandfather, and realized that he had not expected to be joining them so soon. He thought about his mother, and wondered if she would be able to cope with the death of her only son. He thought about how dying at the hand of a stranger was not the way he had hoped to go. He thought about the press and the field day that they would have when he was found dead, not a month after the rest of his family.
As compelling as all of those thoughts were, the one that eventually won out concerned none other than Mr. Benita himself. The detestable traitor was bleeding quite profusely, and would probably die soon, even without any assistance. Ulquiorra found comfort in the fact that he could have his vengeance once he and the vermin were both situated in the flames of hell. The thought of finding Santino in the afterlife and teaching him the meaning of pain eased away any fear of death that the young Difference may have had. He set his jaw and stared at Gin's deadly expression, fully acceptant of what was about to come.
However, it seemed like that night was not his night to die. It took him a second to realize that his life was not actually in danger. When one thinks that they have taken their last breath, the moments that follow seem like nothing more than a hazy dream. He cleared his throat and regained his composure, even though it had only faltered for the briefest of moments. Blinking in the dusty light, he glanced at the gun that was being offered to him and shook his head.
"No."
He hated guns. Yes, he realized that they were useful and sometimes needed, but taking someone's life by pulling a trigger seemed to be too easy. Life was indeed fragile, but forcibly taking it should not have been so effortless. Turning away from Gin, he stared at the soon to be corpse and tilted his head. If he was going to do this, he would only settle for doing it his way. He could not fathom why Mr. Aizen would mind, since a dead man was still dead, regardless of the way he was killed.
Crouching down, he retrieved the dagger that he always kept fastened to the side of his ankle. Unsheathing the weapon, he tilted it slightly and watched as blade reflected the dim light. It had been a birthday present from his father, many years before. He smoothed his thumb over the inscription on the handle. ‘Forza e onor con verita.’ Strength and honor with truth. Although he was not sure about the 'truth' anymore, he finally had a chance to show a bit of strength and honor.
He knelt on the ground, ignoring the blood that began to seep through his pants, and slipped his hands under Mr. Benita's shoulders. Using most of his strength, he sat the Judas up and used his own body to prop up the bleeding figure that would have collapsed otherwise. Rivers of blood leaked through to his skin, but he barely noticed as he pulled Santino's back against his chest. They remained frozen for a moment, one man nearly dead and the other more alive than he had ever been. After a few seconds, Ulquiorra raised the blade and held it against the traitor's neck.
"Per mia famiglia.*"
His hand was completely steady as he pushed the dagger into Santino's throat and pulled it sideways. Hot, sticky blood poured out over his fingers as he slowly dragged the blade further, cutting through skin, muscle, and cartilage. Mr. Benita shuddered and made wet, gurgling noises, clutching out at thin air while his life slipped through his bloody fingers. Ulquiorra held the traitor up, gripping those convulsing shoulders until they finally became still. Once it was clear that he was no longer holding a man, but a lump of raw meat, the young brunet let go and let the body fall to the floor with a dull thud.
Getting up, he wiped the blade on his blood-soaked slacks and returned it to its sheath. He straightened his back and stood, taking a deep breath before turning to face Gin and Mr. Aizen. His green eyes sparkled with the thrill of a boy's first kill, and he could just barely keep his fingers from shaking with excitement. Taking a step forward, he glanced at the lifeless body at his feet and cleared his throat.
"I appreciate this. More than you will ever know."
*For my family.
When Gin pointed his gun at the cub, Aizen shifted imperceptibly, manoeuvring himself into a better position to interfere - not with his companion but with the boy - should the need arise. Who knew what kids these day were capable of doing when they felt cornered and while he had a feeling that bringing Ulquiorra into their family would benefit them greatly, he would not tolerate any kind of hostile behaviour towards his Capo Bastone.
The hold on the gun was released and the tension evaporated into thin air. Part of him was a little disappointed, he realised.
Young Mr Schiffer hadn’t even tried to safe his own life. Was it because he knew it was futile or because he had been too terrified? A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips when the boy refused to take the gun and pulled out a knife instead.
‘What were you thinking, little one?’
The child was making a mess. Of himself. Of the prey. Personal grudges did funny things to people - or so he’d heard. However, this was not at all how it had played out in his mind, not what he had expected and despite (or maybe because) of that he felt an infinitesimal thrill of joy.
How refreshing.
“Please, it was the least we could do.” Smiling fondly, Aizen cupped the boy’s face in his hands and patted his cheek lightly. Chuckling he pulled out a snow white handkerchief and put it into Ulquiorra’s bloodstained hands. He stepped back and let his eyes, now cool and dispassionate, stray to the carcass on the ground as he reached for the matchbox in his pocket to scatter its contents across Santino the fool.
“Clean yourself up and meet me at my office in an hour. We need to discuss your future.” Without taking another look at the boy, he turned away walked towards his car, confident that Gin would follow swiftly. Their business here was done.
The matchsticks didn’t form a recognisable pattern on the body. They didn’t have to for their mere presence marked the corpse as a traitor who’d received his due punishment by the Concavos.
His ears were ringing. Ulquiorra blinked and tried to make out what Mr. Aizen was saying, but the ringing overpowered everything else. The pats to his cheek resounded through his body like punches to a steel drum. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, looking down at the handkerchief that had been dropped into his hands. His breath caught in his throat as he watched dark patches of blood spring up through the pure white of the fabric, like roses from a patch of snow. It was... beautiful. Everything seemed better than it had before. He felt reborn.
He was reborn, and this man in front of him was his new family. His only family. It might not have seemed like much to Mr. Aizen, but Ulquiorra felt like he had been given a second chance at life. One moment he had been mourning the shame of his family's demise, and the next he was bursting with the thrill of vengeance. The debt he owed Sousuke was unfathomable and everlasting. He would give his life to repay it.
That steady voice spoke to him again, and this time he could hear it. He nodded and watched as the other two men got into their vehicle and departed. Once he was alone, Ulquiorra crouched down by the traitor's body and picked up one of the matchsticks. He twirled it between his fingertips and placed it in the pocket of his coat. After giving the corpse one last glance, he stood up and walked over to his car. It seemed somewhat fitting - that his rebirth would be marked by the death of another man. For the briefest of moments, he wondered how Mr. Aizen had found out that Santino had been the traitor. Shaking his head, he started the car and began the drive back to the city. It did not matter. The only thing that mattered was that he would show his gratitude by giving Mr. Aizen his unending loyalty and service.
Characters: Aizen (formative), Gin (lcpdragonslayer), Ulquiorra (day_eight)
Timeline: March 15, 1940
Rating: R
Summary: Aizen and Gin have prepared a welcome gift for young Ulquiorra Schiffer. All Ulquiorra has to do is accept their generous offer and join the Concavos.
It used to be a place buzzing with activity. Hundreds of souls entered every morning, filling the space with laughter, warmth, and breathed life into the giant iron machines which made low rumbling noises like the belly of a whale. When the souls left and didn’t return, one day, the place tried very hard to remain hopeful. It tried to retain the residual traces of life and warmth, tried to stay a welcoming place, but eventually it grew tired and what little hope it had drained away.
Now, it was dark, shuttered and dank; rotting away in solitude. Which made it the perfect location for less friendly and pleasant souls. Just like these two men. A long time had passed since their last visit, but the building remembered them because they were the only ones who would replace the memory of pain-filled screams with the sound of warm, heart-felt laughter before they left. It was very grateful for the small kindness they’d bestowed upon it and hoped that this time wouldn’t be different.
Aizen had positioned himself in the middle of the space between the headlights of their car, mindful to stay out of the two cones which provided Gin with just enough light to do his work. Hands hidden away in his pockets, he calmly watched how his second-in-command slowly reduced their prey to a bloody pulp of meat.
So much time had passed since they had done this together and he only realised now how much he’d missed it. Nowadays, they had so many other matters to attend to - important matters that wouldn’t allow them to indulge in the more simple pleasures of life. It was a shame.
It was still uncertain whether the cub - the disenfranchised heir to the formerly thriving Schiffer enterprise - would make an appearance or not. The offer to join the Concavos had been made. It wouldn’t make a big difference whether the dispossessed prince accepted it or not. If Ulquiorra refused, however, Sousuke would be treated to another performance of his favourite play, starring Gin Ichimaru as the Angel of Death.
“Ease up a little, Gin,” he called out, voice laced with amusement. “We don’t want him to die before our guest of honour has had the opportunity to admire your handiwork.” Smiling he lit a cigarette and took a drag before he held it out to the silver-haired man. “And it’s more beautiful with a vestige of life still residing in it, wouldn't you agree?”
He couldn't remember the last time he felt... so... alive. As of late, he and Aizen have had to attend to matters which drew them away from doing activities on scene - having to make light talk with stuck-up boobs, having to force smiles when the storms were raging inside, having to deal with the technical side of issues, and really it was all a big mess of bureaucracy, idiocy and excessive formality.
If he had known things were to come to this today, perhaps he would have changed or done something differently somewhere down the track.
So, when he was 'cordially invited' to leave the office and do something like this, he immediately jumped out of his seat and disappeared down the corridor as if his office had been on fire.
Actually, the thought of setting the office on fire...
No - it would only add to Aizen's troubles. He would have to protest in some other - what was the word? Civil? Mature? - way.
He marvelled at the limp body slithering helplessly on the floor in the path of the light from the car, a maniacal grin wide across his face. His hands were ensanguined, dripping with fresh, warm blood. He had carved a crude-looking twelve-pointed star in the body with the switchblade he always carried around with him, and he had made a hole in the centre of his masterpiece big enough so he could slip his finger inside and feel around.
He pushed the knife through then, making sure the blade moved at an excruciatingly slow rate through the flesh, grating against the bone as it slid past.
He relished in it - the pain, the screams, the pleas, the blood. He was no stranger to violence - he was born in a home of violence, and he lived on the streets where he was greeted with violence everyday. In this world, you either make it, or you are nothing but trash.
Trash or not, the torture was fun. He pulled the blade out a little, just so he could drive it in again, cutting through more of the bone. Every bit of life that seeped away from the man was a bit of life that revived him. He wanted - he needed -
But he would heed Aizen's advice and let the man live long enough for the boy to come. Wiping his hands off on the man's shirt, he sighed and stood up, reaching out for the cigarette offered to him. He planted the cigarette between his lips and took a long drag.
Damn - this was better than getting snowed up on pure heroin.
The night grew darker and quieter with each mile that passed. Ulquiorra kept his eyes on the road, focusing on the little patch of light that extended from his car's headlights. To say that he had thought twice about coming would have been a vast understatement. Even as he continued to drive, he felt the urge to turn around and head back towards the welcoming commotion of Manhattan. He turned and glanced out the window to his left. The scenery that flew by was as strange and unfamiliar to him as the man he was about to meet. He knew nothing about this area, and he knew nothing about Sousuke Aizen. And yet, there he was, getting closer to the old factory with every second that ticked by on his watch.
The night before had been the first time that he had spoken to Mr. Aizen in person. He had spent the better part of two weeks trying to land a meeting with the illusive businessman, but in the end Mr. Aizen had been the one to approach him. The meeting, although tense and a bit uncomfortable, had gone well. Sousuke had even been generous enough to offer him a place in the Concavo family. He could not deny that he greatly desired to accept the proposal, but something held him back - something that he could not quite place.
Aizen's reputation was well known around the city, and Ulquiorra had set his sights on joining the Concavo family mere seconds after he had lost his own. He would be proud to be a part of such a powerful Italian family, despite of what went on behind the scenes. Or... perhaps because of what went on behind the scenes. He had been well taught in the ways of organized crime, after all, and he felt like it would be a dishonor to his deceased relatives to let all of his knowledge and practice fall to waste. Joining Aizen's family seemed like the most logical thing to do. So then, why the hesitation?
Perhaps it was because he had been trained to never trust anyone outside of his own "family". He blinked and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His father and grandfather had only trusted their own kin, and their own kin had been the ones to betray them. Even people who shared the same blood would turn on each other for the right price.
The young brunet stepped on the brake when a small raccoon darted out into the middle of the road. It stopped for a moment and stared into the headlights, its wide, yellow eyes no doubt a reflection of his own green ones. The animal sniffed the air for any signs of a threat, moving on once it was satisfied that it would not be harmed. As Ulquiorra continued down the road, he could not help but feel a bit like that raccoon, wide eyed and leery of any imminent danger. This was a perilous city and a perilous time, and anyone without an alliance would either perish or be forever stuck on the bottom of the food chain. He was not ready to die, and he was not fond of being on the bottom.
Turning the wheel sharply, Ulquiorra pulled off onto the little road that lead up to the abandoned factory. He had found it a bit odd that Mr. Aizen wanted to meet him in such a place, but he was not about to complain. Besides, the drive had given him enough time to think things through... again. Pulling up in front of the looming building, he put on the parking brake and shut off the engine.
There was no turning back, now. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. His father would not approve, but his father had been murdered by his own people. It was time to say "arrivederci" to the past. The family that he had been told to put his trust in had been blown away in one single, bloody afternoon. They were dead, and he was alive... and he was not going to waste any more time or energy worrying about the opinions of dead men. Sousuke Aizen was offering him a means of living and a place in an honorable family - and he would not, could not simply let that slip by. He was going to accept it, and in return, he would offer the only thing that he had to give - his loyalty and service.
Stepping out of the car, Ulquiorra glanced around and proceeded through the large opening in the side of the building. The only thing that he could see inside was a small area that was lit up by a car's headlights. Blinking, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the new lighting and began walking over to where Mr. Aizen stood. A silver haired man was bent over in the light, crouching above something odd-shaped and sickly looking. That 'something' moved and emitted an ear shattering scream that, although twisted with pain, was unmistakably human. Ulquiorra halted and stared at it. It appeared to be a man, bloodied and carved up like some unfortunate Christmas turkey. The silver haired man moved away, giving the young newcomer a better view of the victim. Pale limbs quivered, dripping thick crimson liquid onto the cement below. Sweat-damp hair was plastered to a face that housed two eyes that were painfully wide with fear.
Wait.
Bending slightly at the waist, the brunet took one step closer and got a better look at those terrified features. It was... No, that man was dead - he was sure of it. He crouched down a bit further and tilted his head. "Santino?" he asked, dropping his voice to barely a whisper. The man made a whimpering noise in the back of his throat, bringing a frown to Ulquiorra's face. This man had worked for his family, before the traitors had killed everyone. Santino Benita, age forty-six, had a wife named Maria and a son named Geno. He had worked along-side Ulquiorra's father for many, many years. It had been said that he had died in the shooting, along with anyone else who had chosen to remain faithful to the dying family. Young Mr. Schiffer stiffened and rose to look Sousuke Aizen in the eye. "What is the meaning of this?"
Aizen cast an appreciative glance over his companion and allowed his lips to curl into a fond smile as he took in the blood stained hands and the satisfied grin. He reached out to wipe a tiny splatter or crimson off of Gin’s pale cheek with his thumb and without thinking licked it off.
Seeing his second so enthusiastic, so alive, made him realise that he really shouldn’t have persuaded the younger man to become VP of the construction firm. Sitting at a desk in a quiet office all day must bore him to tears - which was probably the reason why he spent so little time in there…
It certainly wouldn’t hurt to reward Gin with tasks of a more interesting nature every now and then. Tasks like this one, for example. However, it did pain him a little that depending on the Schiffer boy’s decision he would have to bilk the silver-haired man of the kill. Well, they would…
The arrival of the guest of honour interrupted Aizen’s train of thought quite abruptly but before a word greeting could be exchanged, the cub had taken an interest in the prey. Sousuke refrained from laughing at Ulquiorra’s bold stare, it wasn’t easy but he managed. That one question confirmed the boy had no idea, didn’t even suspect that the Concavos might have had a hand in his family’s extinction.
“I’m surprised you have to ask. Oh, you don’t know?” he asked innocently, eyes widening a fraction, and exchanged an amused look with Ichimaru. “He doesn’t know, Gin. Isn’t that tragic? I always assumed that’d be part of being a good son.” Curving his lips into a slightly mocking smile, he nudged the body on the ground with the tip of his shoe, eliciting a gurgling noise and let his gaze come to a rest on Ulquiorra's face. “Mr Benita here has… transgressed and is receiving his due punishment. Isn’t he, Gin?”
The sounds of resounding footsteps echoed through the otherwise rather empty warehouse, catching his interest. Turning, he looked to see the silhouette of the small figure approaching them. He coughed a few times to prevent himself from being choked on the smoke, holding the cigarette a little bit away from himself.
This has got to be a joke.
He had to keep the man alive because of this. This boy.
Oh, for fuck’s sake…
He replaced the cigarette back between his lips and took another long, sweet serving of tobacco and nicotine. To top it all off, the boy knew nothing about what had happened to his own family - or, perhaps worse, believed the lies spread to everyone else to delude them from the truth.
Pulling the cigarette away, he exhaled smoke at the boy’s face.
“Real fuckin’ tragic,” he said, running his crimson-tainted hand through his hair, leaving a few streaks of blood coating clumps of silver strands. It was more tragic that his fun depended on a kid than the fact that the kid didn’t know nothing, but he wouldn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with someone Aizen has taken interest in. For all he knew he’d be stuck with the kid for the next few decades and then that would be real hell.
“Shoulda just let me killed ‘im before the kid came. He don’t know nuffin’ ‘bout what really happened to his family and the traitor’s part to it.” He held what was left of the cigarette out to Aizen. “Ya know how much better it feels when ya get to kill someone who actually deserves to die.”
Doubt rooted itself deeper into Ulquiorra's stomach with each word that was spoken. A brief look of confusion flashed across his face before he replaced it with an empty stare. It would not be wise to let these two men realize that he was completely and utterly at a loss for words. He glanced around, trying to get a better idea of what was actually happening. Some very important detail was unknown to him, and he knew that he had better find out what it was quickly, or risk appearing like a fool. His gaze alternated between the men in front of him and the bloody mess of flesh on the floor. Santino must have wronged the Concavos... but how?
The silver haired man, who seemed to be named Gin, blew a stream of cigarette smoke into Ulquiorra's face. He blinked twice and turned his head to the side, trying to escape the acrid fumes. Something about this whole situation seemed a bit wrong. He continued to stare blankly, until he heard one word that made his pulse race and his insides twist. Traitor. Now, that was a term that he understood quite well. He took a step back, a look of disgust written across his face, as the full reality of what was going on crashed into him with a sickening force.
"Is it true?" he spat, eyeing the man on the floor with a glare that could have frozen the Devil's soul. Mr. Benita looked up at him with pleading eyes, crawling closer and gripping the hem of his pants. Giving his leg a shake, Ulquiorra freed himself from the bloody grip, practically trembling in horror and disbelief. Could this... really be the traitor? Could Santino, his father's loyal friend, really have started the uprising that had ended in dozens of deaths and his family's downfall? It felt like he had been stabbed - like Gin had thrust that bloody knife into his back and twisted the blade. He had not expected this... He had not expected to find the traitor, let alone in a setting like this, let alone for it to be...
"Santino."
He reeled, swinging his leg back for momentum before kicking Mr. Benita directly in the jaw. The sound of bones crunching resounded through the night air, and Ulquiorra was surprised to find that he liked it. This man... this man had wronged him in the worst possible way, and all the pain in the world would not be retribution enough. He closed his eyes and fought against the torrent of rage and hatred that was threatening to take over his actions. Self-control was something that he prided himself in, and he was not about to turn into a violent maniac in front of his new employer. Straightening his jacket, he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. A maniac, no, but perhaps a little violence would not be out of hand. The man at his feet had been reduced to a gory mess long before he had arrived, after all. Returning his attention to the filth on the floor, he bent down and gripped Santino's jaw, grinding into the broken bones with his thumb. "Robaccio merdosa*."
(*disgusting trash)
“I do indeed.” Aizen reached for the cigarette and took the last drag it still carried, not caring that Gin’s fingers had left traces of blood on the paper. To give Ulquiorra more room, he retreated further into the shadows and leaned back against the hood of the car, putting himself into the position of a viewer at the cinema.
If poor Santino had been able to talk, he might have told the boy a curious story about how his mind had been seduced by a pair of snakes. They had promised him everything he’d ever dreamt of if he did one little thing for them and he’d gladly accepted. How bitter it had been for him when he realised that he had been nothing but a pawn in a game he’d never learnt how to play. And now he had to face the wrath of his prince with the true culprits watching in the background, their eyes mocking him and his misery.
The Concavo knew the look on the boy’s face. It was the same the man on the ground had worn, when Aizen and Ichimaru had shown up on his doorstep to annul their agreement with him. It was the same look his long-term business partner and friend had worn when Aizen put a gun to the man’s head and pulled the trigger.
The hurt and anger of the betrayed - it never failed to amuse him.
‘Why, after knowing, believing that this is the traitor, do you still turn to him for confirmation? If he told you that it wasn’t his fault, that he never meant for any of it to happen - would you believe him?’
“We usually deal with our problems ourselves,” he said, his voice sounding like a deep purr. He stepped into the light, disturbing the lazy dance of age old dust particles and looked at Ulquiorra. “But I think your reasons weigh heavier than ours, don’t they, Mr Schiffer?”
Mr. Aizen's voice was calm. Ulquiorra took a deep breath, trying to inhale some of that calmness into his burning lungs. Closing his eyes, he clenched his fists at his sides and silently willed his heart to stop racing. He was afraid. Everything about this situation filled him with a sense of dread. The ominous lighting, the cracked cement flooring, the potent smells of old metal and fresh blood, the pleading whimpers from the man on the ground - it was enough to make the young brunet want to turn and walk away. But he would not run. He could not run, because something stronger than fear was steadily gnawing away at his insides. It felt like an acute hunger. A hunger for revenge.
The overwhelming mix of disgust and rage filled him to his core, suppressing the trembling in his fingers and removing the lead that had been keeping his feet firmly rooted to the ground. Opening his eyes, he leveled his gaze on Mr. Aizen and nodded slowly. Capturing such a low-life piece of scum for Ulquiorra's sake was certainly a considerate gesture, and the young man could not help but appreciate the violent act of kindness. He blinked once, then twice, before glancing down at the figure on the floor.
Finding out who had betrayed his family brought him a surprising sense of closure. It was like the missing piece had finally been found, and now the puzzle could be put away in the past, where it belonged. All that was left was to give this man his due reward, and then everything would be settled. There was no penalty too harsh for treason. Such an act was condemned by the gods, and rightfully so. Although he did not put much faith in religion, Ulquiorra would have accepted the idea of the Ninth Circle of Hell if it would have ensured that the man at his feet would end up there.
Ulquiorra walked around Mr. Benita slowly, placing one foot in front of the other with steady deliberation. Once he was directly in front of the injured man's head, he halted and crouched down, resting his forearms on his knees. Trying to hang on to his adrenaline-induced composure, he clicked his teeth together and studied the bruised and deformed face below him. After finding nothing in that mess of blood and mucous that could answer his questions, he stood up and turned to face Mr. Aizen. "So shall I be the one to kill him, then?"
So polite, so in control of himself. This boy was really interesting.
If Aizen hadn’t witnessed the small, yet strangely controlled outburst earlier, he would have wondered whether Ulquiorra was human at all. As things stood, however, he imagined that the boy’s finger must have been itching really badly by now.
“If you wish it.” Stepping out of the light again, he turned away from the illuminated scene and smirked at Gin. ‘Hook, line and sinker,’ it seemed to say. The next part, however, might not run so smoothly…
“Gin?” The dark-haired man let his gaze fall to the silver-haired man’s gun briefly and nodded towards the Schiffer boy.
He heard his name and perked up, looking at Aizen. The lighting was not perfect, but he got the idea that Aizen wanted him to lend his gun to the boy to finish the task.
Just rub it in, why don'tcha. He growled, quietly but still audible to Aizen, to Ulquiorra, to the trash writhing on the floor.
Tentatively, his hand moved to the handle of his gun, and he removed it from its holster. He took a couple of steps towards the kid and paused. The hammer of the gun was already cocked, and he took the safety catch off.
He slipped his finger over the trigger and pointed the gun at Ulquiorra, his expression dangerously serious. At least, until he released his hold on the handle a few seconds later and let it slip from his hand, spinning it around with his finger still in the trigger guard, holding on to the barrel of the now upside-down gun with the handle before Ulquiorra.
He grinned.
"Go ahead."
Ulquiorra felt his skin crawl at the menacing sound of Gin's low growl. He was not sure why, but he did not like this man one bit. Something about those slit-like eyes and that sinister demeanor set off a million warnings in his youthful mind. That was why, when found himself staring down the barrel of a gun, he took a deep breath and prepared to die.
A dozen thoughts sprang to life, each one warring with the others to be his last. He thought about his father and grandfather, and realized that he had not expected to be joining them so soon. He thought about his mother, and wondered if she would be able to cope with the death of her only son. He thought about how dying at the hand of a stranger was not the way he had hoped to go. He thought about the press and the field day that they would have when he was found dead, not a month after the rest of his family.
As compelling as all of those thoughts were, the one that eventually won out concerned none other than Mr. Benita himself. The detestable traitor was bleeding quite profusely, and would probably die soon, even without any assistance. Ulquiorra found comfort in the fact that he could have his vengeance once he and the vermin were both situated in the flames of hell. The thought of finding Santino in the afterlife and teaching him the meaning of pain eased away any fear of death that the young Difference may have had. He set his jaw and stared at Gin's deadly expression, fully acceptant of what was about to come.
However, it seemed like that night was not his night to die. It took him a second to realize that his life was not actually in danger. When one thinks that they have taken their last breath, the moments that follow seem like nothing more than a hazy dream. He cleared his throat and regained his composure, even though it had only faltered for the briefest of moments. Blinking in the dusty light, he glanced at the gun that was being offered to him and shook his head.
"No."
He hated guns. Yes, he realized that they were useful and sometimes needed, but taking someone's life by pulling a trigger seemed to be too easy. Life was indeed fragile, but forcibly taking it should not have been so effortless. Turning away from Gin, he stared at the soon to be corpse and tilted his head. If he was going to do this, he would only settle for doing it his way. He could not fathom why Mr. Aizen would mind, since a dead man was still dead, regardless of the way he was killed.
Crouching down, he retrieved the dagger that he always kept fastened to the side of his ankle. Unsheathing the weapon, he tilted it slightly and watched as blade reflected the dim light. It had been a birthday present from his father, many years before. He smoothed his thumb over the inscription on the handle. ‘Forza e onor con verita.’ Strength and honor with truth. Although he was not sure about the 'truth' anymore, he finally had a chance to show a bit of strength and honor.
He knelt on the ground, ignoring the blood that began to seep through his pants, and slipped his hands under Mr. Benita's shoulders. Using most of his strength, he sat the Judas up and used his own body to prop up the bleeding figure that would have collapsed otherwise. Rivers of blood leaked through to his skin, but he barely noticed as he pulled Santino's back against his chest. They remained frozen for a moment, one man nearly dead and the other more alive than he had ever been. After a few seconds, Ulquiorra raised the blade and held it against the traitor's neck.
"Per mia famiglia.*"
His hand was completely steady as he pushed the dagger into Santino's throat and pulled it sideways. Hot, sticky blood poured out over his fingers as he slowly dragged the blade further, cutting through skin, muscle, and cartilage. Mr. Benita shuddered and made wet, gurgling noises, clutching out at thin air while his life slipped through his bloody fingers. Ulquiorra held the traitor up, gripping those convulsing shoulders until they finally became still. Once it was clear that he was no longer holding a man, but a lump of raw meat, the young brunet let go and let the body fall to the floor with a dull thud.
Getting up, he wiped the blade on his blood-soaked slacks and returned it to its sheath. He straightened his back and stood, taking a deep breath before turning to face Gin and Mr. Aizen. His green eyes sparkled with the thrill of a boy's first kill, and he could just barely keep his fingers from shaking with excitement. Taking a step forward, he glanced at the lifeless body at his feet and cleared his throat.
"I appreciate this. More than you will ever know."
*For my family.
When Gin pointed his gun at the cub, Aizen shifted imperceptibly, manoeuvring himself into a better position to interfere - not with his companion but with the boy - should the need arise. Who knew what kids these day were capable of doing when they felt cornered and while he had a feeling that bringing Ulquiorra into their family would benefit them greatly, he would not tolerate any kind of hostile behaviour towards his Capo Bastone.
The hold on the gun was released and the tension evaporated into thin air. Part of him was a little disappointed, he realised.
Young Mr Schiffer hadn’t even tried to safe his own life. Was it because he knew it was futile or because he had been too terrified? A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips when the boy refused to take the gun and pulled out a knife instead.
‘What were you thinking, little one?’
The child was making a mess. Of himself. Of the prey. Personal grudges did funny things to people - or so he’d heard. However, this was not at all how it had played out in his mind, not what he had expected and despite (or maybe because) of that he felt an infinitesimal thrill of joy.
How refreshing.
“Please, it was the least we could do.” Smiling fondly, Aizen cupped the boy’s face in his hands and patted his cheek lightly. Chuckling he pulled out a snow white handkerchief and put it into Ulquiorra’s bloodstained hands. He stepped back and let his eyes, now cool and dispassionate, stray to the carcass on the ground as he reached for the matchbox in his pocket to scatter its contents across Santino the fool.
“Clean yourself up and meet me at my office in an hour. We need to discuss your future.” Without taking another look at the boy, he turned away walked towards his car, confident that Gin would follow swiftly. Their business here was done.
The matchsticks didn’t form a recognisable pattern on the body. They didn’t have to for their mere presence marked the corpse as a traitor who’d received his due punishment by the Concavos.
His ears were ringing. Ulquiorra blinked and tried to make out what Mr. Aizen was saying, but the ringing overpowered everything else. The pats to his cheek resounded through his body like punches to a steel drum. He cleared his throat and swallowed hard, looking down at the handkerchief that had been dropped into his hands. His breath caught in his throat as he watched dark patches of blood spring up through the pure white of the fabric, like roses from a patch of snow. It was... beautiful. Everything seemed better than it had before. He felt reborn.
He was reborn, and this man in front of him was his new family. His only family. It might not have seemed like much to Mr. Aizen, but Ulquiorra felt like he had been given a second chance at life. One moment he had been mourning the shame of his family's demise, and the next he was bursting with the thrill of vengeance. The debt he owed Sousuke was unfathomable and everlasting. He would give his life to repay it.
That steady voice spoke to him again, and this time he could hear it. He nodded and watched as the other two men got into their vehicle and departed. Once he was alone, Ulquiorra crouched down by the traitor's body and picked up one of the matchsticks. He twirled it between his fingertips and placed it in the pocket of his coat. After giving the corpse one last glance, he stood up and walked over to his car. It seemed somewhat fitting - that his rebirth would be marked by the death of another man. For the briefest of moments, he wondered how Mr. Aizen had found out that Santino had been the traitor. Shaking his head, he started the car and began the drive back to the city. It did not matter. The only thing that mattered was that he would show his gratitude by giving Mr. Aizen his unending loyalty and service.