The Red Light, Green Light

In the real world, nothing was ever so clean cut or as finely honed as what came in movies and books. Stories had beginnings and endings, convenient little scene changes and lunges through time that helped those experiencing it to get a steady flow of enjoyable material. Had Ezekiel’s life been a story (and what a horrible one it would have been), he imagined that there would have been something neat and “final” about those words. A cryptic quip from the guest anti-heroine, a solemn stare and nod from the unlikely, unlovable main character, and the next thing one knew, they’d be carried away to this fated encounter that had been alluded to.

But life didn’t work that way, unfortunately, and there were so many clumsy things that were simply missed when one experienced such a story. For instance, if someone had left off there, at the conveniently set-up “ending” of the scene, then they might have missed the half-hour conversation that followed about whether or not the Denreishinki that Ezekiel carried was capable of functioning as a regular phone, whether or not he should still be carrying the damned thing in case it could be located by the Soul Society, and how exactly he was supposed to save numbers in it even if he was capable of making calls. Following that, the awkward (and apparently “irritating”) conjecture about what one was supposed to say when calling a stranger, and finally, the admission that Ezekiel had nowhere to stay while in the human world and outside of the person or two that he had met in Karakura. With disdain that the words “thinly veiled” were not at all applicable to, Rania finally agreed to allow Ezekiel a one night’s, all expenses paid sleep on the lumpy futon couch before he embarked in the morning to contact this new thread of hope... Which left them with an hour or two of time before any reasonable person would go to sleep, and Rania with a lifetime of memories to re-sort and evaluate. So Ezekiel just… Sat on the couch. By himself. The real world is an awkward place.

“Here again?” Ezekiel muttered to himself as he strode the dusty, silent hallways of the prison. It seemed that this was the only place his dreams cared to take him anymore, whether he was awake or asleep. The cellblock itself was only a small one. A dozen seemingly empty cells, all concrete and steel, spread out over two levels. Ezekiel was intimately familiar with the layout inside. A small, ragged cot pressed into one wall. No sink. No toilet. No space for anything else, really. But now he was unable to see inside of them. The windows that normally cast beams of opaque light through the dusty air, as they had done in his own personal cell, shone nothing, not even the light of a moon. Conversely, light poured in as normal through the windows on the opposite side of the block, making it easy enough to see around the large room that space that spanned both levels. The light simply did not penetrate the cells themselves.

Did it have something to do with the cell’s inhabitants? The inmates? Oh at first, Ezekiel had convinced himself easily enough that they were empty. After all, what would be living in them? Inside of his own soul? They were dark, and they must have been empty, aside from the first cell, which he knew to house his Zanpakuto spirit, Rosuto-Keisei. But the noises, the occasional motions, and the whispers that came from those shadows eventually had convinced the young reaper otherwise. There was someone or something that lived inside of those cells. Whether they were just echoes, stress-induced hallucinations, confusion in Ezekiel’s own soul, he was not sure. For all he knew, they could be a side effect of the Hollow blood he had consumed, that Rania had given him to help him cope. It was all conjecture of course, and he found that wondering what they were was a far less consuming thing than what they wanted.

And he was very sure that they wanted something.

Ezekiel stopped, his metallic steps on the catwalk echoing away, but there was another sound muddled in with it. There was a sound aside from the creaks of the old walkway. There was the sound of a hinge, squealing low as a cell door slid open. Something inside of Ezekiel’s mind sank and horror flooded in, burying his thoughts. But he did not flinch. Did not jump. Did not swing around madly to see what hell spawn was crawling out from the blackness behind him. No. Ezekiel had more control than that. Now, at least. He turned around slowly to face the silhouette.  

It wasn’t moving. It had… No features. No face. Just blackness. The room in general seemed darker than before. It was a being who had no form yet. No mold. A loose idea hanging in the space just outside of the open door.

“Who are you?” Ezekiel muttered calmly.

The entity seemed to consider itself for a moment, tilting its head from side to side, before a rift tore itself through the undulating shadow that made up its face, and a toothy mouth curled into a wry grin. “You seem to be healing everything up nicely. Good job, warden.”

“Don’t ignore my question. What are you, and what do you want?” Ezekiel grit his teeth, taking a step closer to the form and inflating himself. He would not be intimidated. Whatever existed within this realm was his to control because it was a part of him. Whatever demons his subconscious wanted to throw his way, he would overcome.

“Technically a different question, my keeper. But I only want what any other ‘prisoner’ would want. So perhaps you should just ask yourself what that is?” His voice was deep. Booming. His form seemed taller now. More defined. Was it becoming lighter in the room?

Instantly, the word was on the tip of Ezekiel’s tongue, spoken before he even realized it. ”Freedom.”

The creature smiled and the fear spiked within Ezekiel’s gut. No. They were his prisoners for a reason. They would not run free. They would not destroy the sanctity of this place. Blue light erupted from Ezekiel’s eyes, an icy color that carried a familiar resonance. Instantly, the tables turned. The shade grasped at its own skulls and bellowed his fury, before the darkness around his face tore open to reveal similarly blue eyes.

“You’re strong enough now! We won’t hide anymore!”

The gate slammed shut. The room went dark. There was nothing but silence. Order had been restored.

It was barely three in the morning when Ezekiel woke from his dream, if it could really have been called that. The apartment was dark. Whether Rania was asleep in the other room, still out gathering her thoughts, or ever planned to return at all, the soul was not sure, but he did not feel like theirs was the sort of relationship that required a goodbye, and so he gathered his few things and took his leave from the tiny cluttered space. A local bar provided a cool place to think until morning, and though Ezekiel drank lightely while he was there, he found the taste of the whiskey and the sensations it brought on oddly repulsive, mostly relegating himself to beer nuts and ice cubes.

Things were becoming more and more complicated each time that he closed his eyes. Things kept changing, and for the life of him, Ezekiel could not decide if they were for the better or the worse. Whatever that thing had been, it had confirmed his darkest fears. There were things lurking inside of his own soul that he did not fully understand, but that he apparently did know how to control. How exactly he had done that… He wasn’t certain. But there was a haunting familiarity in it, something that reminded him of a certain Arrancar whose presence had come just before all these things had come undone inside of him.

The night eventually turned into day, the bar closed itself down, and Ezekiel found himself simply wandering in thought until he felt it was a comfortable time to make his call. But at that time, the young renegade reaper realized that he had a problem.

There were two names saved in his “phone.”

“Hana, and Maya…” The revelation that he did not specifically remember the name of the person that he was supposed to be meeting was infuriating. How could he not remember? It had only been twelve hours ago. Why would there even be two numbers in his phone to begin with? He had never before added one to the list, that he could remember. Was it something that had come pre-programmed? Did that mean he had a fifty-fifty chance of ringing up someone in R&D in the Seireitei?

Those did not seem like the best odds. But… No risk, no reward. That was what they said, didn’t they?

“Here goes.”

The phone rang for a long second before someone answered with an inquisitive “hello.”

“Hello. My name is Ezekiel. A mutual friend gave me this-“

“Ezekiel from the bar?” The voice suddenly interjected, sounding much more confident than it had before.

“Uhm…”

Most likely. If there was an Ezekiel at a bar, it was probably me.

“Yes?”

“Click~”

Ezekiel stood a moment dumbfounded. Obviously, that had been the wrong number of the two. But at least it hadn’t sounded like a hunting party would be dispatched. Well… Not of Shinigami, anyways. The mystery of just who the hell that was would have to come later, and so he dialed again.

“Hello, Maya? My name is Ezekiel. A mutual friend gave me this number. I would like to speak to you.”

Words: 1,650 (Total: 8,295)

GP: 33 (Total: 164)

Her world strobed. The beat was off-kilter this time, just at the edge of not making sense; some DJ trying something new, experimenting just to stay at the edge of the cut and sometimes he failed, sometimes the beat jarred and skipped but it was enough and when the lights turned off she kept screaming inside of her mind because the noise ate her voice. It ate all of their voices and united them in silence, it beat through their veins, it synchronized their hearts and when it played every moment

every moment

was worth living

and she never wanted it to stop. But it did. It ended and the skinny kid on the stage said his goodbyes and the energy faded, and no one was left and nothing was left and she walked, she wandered out in the cold with the dead things, where the garbage went and she waited because it wouldn't take too long. It wouldn't, it wouldn't take too long, it never took too long, the sun would rise and the sun would fall and she would feel like that again and it would be wonderful, it would. It would. It always was. She didn't remember the in-between times because they weren't worth it, where she could hear, where she could think.

It wasn't worth it.

But it wasn't all the time, just twenty or so hours of every day and then the doors would open again and she would be alive.

She could hear the sound of her breath in her ears and feel the cold wind against her skin and while it didn't hurt exactly, while she could walk through a Russian winter in bare feet and feel just fine, it took something from her to ignore those little things like food, like temperature and breathing and thirst. It took something from her. It was harder to think and she didn't want to think and she kept her mind in fragments because it was better so much better than being whole. If she could shatter herself into pieces, they could talk to eachother and she wouldn't have to be alone.

Her mind wouldn't echo with the absence of a voice. Her every thought wouldn't be a reminder of who'd been torn away.

No, this was fine it wouldn't be long the sun would come and, and the club would open again and there'd be music and she'd be fine.

A noise came. A noise measured in seconds rather than hours and she had to speed up her mind and live in the now not the eventually, condense herself down to a point aware enough to speak, to hear, to feel the cold brick and the wind's chill and the dryness of her throat, the growling of her stomach and the hard buzzing plastic against her hip.

What was that?

There were lights and as her vision focused down to a point, as she came back to the now, there were things that might have been numbers or words. It buzzed again. There was a seam and she split it open with a too-long fingernail and the noise changed. She looked at the thing in wonder and brought it to her ear.

"Hello..."

A voice?

"Maya?"

It knew her name.

"A mutual friend gave..."

What did it know, did it... was it real?

"How are you talking to me?" She licked her lips and took a few breaths, swallowed once or twice, trying to make it sound less ragged; more like a person and less like a ghost.

"Who are you, and what the hell do you want?"

Words: 600
GP: 12

Ezekiel winced at the less than friendly voice that answered him across the line of the phone. Rania’s words of warning began to echo through his head. ’twisted,’ ‘deranged,’ ’base.’ His contact with humans had been limited, but Ezekiel was well aware of just how powerful the mortals could be. He took a deep breath, gathered his thoughts and pushed the exhaustion from the forefront of his mind. The woman seemed out of her head, at least a little. That, or she simply did not know what a phone was. This was the seemingly less valid of the two theories, given that she owned a phone. Was she on some kind of drug? Or was she just crazy? He had to keep her calm, but also keep her interested enough to not just hang up. It was amazing to Ezekiel how despite the fact that he was basically a ghost soldier, nine times out of ten, in order to get the things he needed he was forced to resort to meticulous diplomacy. And let’s face it. That’s not exactly my strongest suit, now is it?

“My name is Ezekiel.” How honest did he need to be here? What did he tell her? ’I’m a Soul Reaper, but not really? Not right now?’ Did he tell her what his problem was or did he hold his cards a little closer to his chest? Did he bluff? Did he try to be cryptic and leave her intrigued?

“I was told that you can help me.” The words were automatic, fluff to buy precious fractions of seconds while Ezekiel’s mind probed for answers. It was amazing how many times he had run through this conversation prior to calling, and yet, he still did not know what to say. “My sword…” He struggled with the word for an instant. Was this the best plan? To lay his cards on the table? “My sword is empty.”

There was only one way to find out.

“Please. I know you have no reason to help me, and I can’t even promise that I can do anything for you in return, but I am not sure where else to ask for help.” His words were solemn, tired. He had been away for some time now. He had talked to this person and that. He had made interesting acquaintances. But what he had not made was progress, and it was beginning to wear heavy on his mind. There was something foreboding that he could feel rising up since his recovery in the Seireitei. There was an unseen clock counting down to something. He was running out of time, but he just couldn’t be sure what would happen when he did. 
 
 
 
Words: 451 (Total: 8,746)
GP: 9 (Total: 173)

The voice twisted and spiralled like a nautilus, like a lobster or a crab with pincers that gripped tight and didn't let her slip back into the state that wasn't quite like sleep, wasn't quite like waiting, where she didn't dream. Where the sun and moon raced across the sky and she waited and didn't think except to hope that when they stopped it would be a better day.

It never was, but hope wasn't a bad thing to have.

His voice, though. It was a low sound. Pitiful, like he was hiding something. It was dripped in shame and she looked down to see if she still had that handkerchief from, oh, forty years ago now, she was sure she'd seen it not much longer ago than that. She didn't. The phone dripped on the ground and she couldn't clean it up and that was pitiful. She should fix that, really. Maybe. One of these days, when it was better.

It was getting all over the floor, the ground. His voice was getting all over her ears and droning on and on, and on. And on. The stars hadn't moved at all.

It was like a, a, a-a-a, one of those, like... Wait.

Wait, what was that?

(like a raindrop, an elephant, five, ten elephants dancing in a storm)

No, no but, what? Something about

(the savanna baked in the sunlight, basked in the clouds, boiled and drowned)

a sword? Did he mean, was he like, did they do it, did they

(whirlpools and eddies full of baobabs, secretary birdnests lost in the waves)

figure it out? Did they finally, did they understand her?

(sad giraffes clinging to driftwood washing up in the tide)

Did they make another?

(a new land exactly the same, tidal waves retreating)

Was she not alone anymore?

(normalcy returns)

Just when she'd been giving up hope.

(hope returns)

"And the rest of it?" Her voice was greedy, desperate; alive in a way it hadn't been before. "Has the rest of it happened?" She moved the phone in front of her lips, in the path of her eyes. She looked at it like it could see her, as if the expression on the other side held answers and she could see it from here.

"Will you bleed, still?" She shifted position to shield herself from the bite of the wind. "If I cut you, will you bleed or will your flesh knit back together like you're one of the monsters?" There was silence. She put the phone back to her ear to try to hear the voice, because that's how it works and she'd forgotten.

"There is no help, you know. You're damned. You're stuck, like me."

Nothing else moved in the darkness of the night. The wind and cold concrete chilled her bones.

"It gets so lonely down here."

A siren, in the distance, and she watched the flashing lights. More death, so many people dying without her.

"Please don't go."

Everyone died and everyone left her behind.

Words: 504
GP: 10 (22)

Ezekiel’s heart pounded up into his throat. It was a slow and rhythmic thing, not at all like fear or adrenaline, but sorrow. He understood Rania Odette’s words now. This woman… She was a broken thing. On a very fundamental level, she had been altered in a way detrimental to her sanity. He didn’t know what the “rest of it” was. He didn’t know how to tell her that he still bled the same. He didn’t know how to help her, and that made him fear for his own ability to find help. That was what caused his throat to tighten and his eyes to suddenly sting: sympathy. But if this woman had been in a similar situation, if she had any information that he could use, Ezekiel had to try to get it.

“I won’t go.” He muttered into the receiver of the phone. The words felt like betrayal, allowing this desperate thing to believe for even a second that he might be the same as her. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To know she was not alone in whatever situation she found herself in? That was what it seemed. The reasons for that, he couldn’t know. Was it because she was lonely? Or because she wanted the information that “another” could clarify. How much damage would be done to Ezekiel’s own soul if someone had offered him false hope now, in his most desperate and empty time?

“I need you to tell me where you are.” He asked soothingly. “I can find you. You just have to tell me. I want to talk.” It was a bitter taste, betraying the trust of someone whom he didn’t even know, who had never done anything wrong to him. Ezekiel had betrayed expectations his entire life. He had betrayed confidences. He had even lied and schemed, but it had been to survive. It had been against people who were stronger than him, smarter than him. It had been fair game. Taking advantage of someone wounded felt like cheating.

“I don’t…” he hesitated. If he followed through with this, then she might not help him. She might not even speak anymore. He’d lose her and any hope at a lead. But if he didn’t? How much would it destroy him inside? Why did he care so much now? Why did his own actions haunt him so? Some days, he felt like he might be a saint. Others, his disdain for those around him was palpable. Why did he feel so disjoint?

“I don’t think I am like you.” The words finally flowed out. He regretted them instantly, but unlike the others, they were easy to speak. “I am simply a soul. I bleed daily.”

Words: 454 (Total: 9,200)
GP: 9 (Total: 182)

"They sell tampons for that."

Her mouth quirked to one side in what might have been a smile, voice echoing in the voluminous space. If anyone found it odd, her speaking out loud in the dead of night, they gave no sign. Probably people heard, cursing into their pillows until sleep claimed them again.

"At the store down the road, you know? I'll show you."

After a beat.

"Can you see me?"

She had to think.

"It's... there's a dent in the sign approximately forty centimetres from the base that I believe a car caused; I can see rubbed-off flakes of rust. The sign is yellow-green, and hissing faintly. There is a man inside. His skin is darker than mine, and he has... something covering his face, it's... oh, it's a beard!" She laughed delightedly. "He's waving at me now! Oh, don't worry, he knows me. I think he knows me. Is this the one that knows me, or was that... did he die? Is he the one that died?" She held her hand over the phone and spoke to the man herself. "Are you the one that died?"

He didn't immediately answer.

"There are glass doors. I'm not sure how to describe glass doors in detail. Is that what you need?"

Her voice grew small and hesitant.

"What else do I need to do to make you see me?"
 
Words: 230
GP: 4 (26)

Ezekiel simply tipped the phone away from himself, placing it against his chest and taking a deep breath. This woman was completely out of her right mind. She was a train wreck of thought, one tangent colliding into another with no way to stop it until it had all finished. Ezekiel wondered if she even really knew where she was. How was someone like this going to be able to help him figure out why it was his sword wasn’t working? How was someone of such discord going to help him find peace?

A sigh. He supposed he didn’t have any choice. Rania seemed to think that the woman could help him, and at the moment, he simply had no other leads. My, how much simpler it might have been to simply do this within the impenetrable walls of the shining city, but Ezekiel knew that he had to do this on his own.

He placed the phone back to his ear.

“What does the sign say?” He asked patiently and soothingly. It would be a start at least. Maybe from the air he could see it, though from the description he had a hard time telling if it was supposed to be a road sign or neon. One kind was on the top of stores and hummed faintly, and one kind was easy to hit with cars. Here was hoping it was neon. 

Words: 234 (Total: 9,434)
GP: 4 (Total: 186)

She walked back out and traced the sign, golden but off-color, rising and falling, ignoring its disrepair.

"It's, um..." she paused, looking closer at the letters. "I don't recognize those kanji, I think... Oh, it's in English! Why is it...? Sorry, it says..." she slowly sounded the word out. "McDonalds?"

Words: 50
GP: 1

(just get here you bum)

Ezekiel rolled his eyes slightly. “Well that should be easy enough.” He muttered more to himself than to his super special soul society cell phone.

With a quick glance of the skyline, Ezekiel picked out the towering sign, golden arches thrown defiantly up into a natural sky, obscuring colors and clouds like a corporate middle finger to whatever gods may have been looking down.

But they do make a pretty decent shake. The young reaper mentally added, and with a blink, he was gone, turned into an alleyway nonchalantly, slipped out of the gigai he had been wearing for days now, and torn open a gateway to the location. He exited just above the sign, dropping down from the sky and landing near Maya, taking a moment to stretch and brush himself off. The phone had already been tucked into his robes.

He identified the person easily enough: they’d be one of the only ones who could see him, and if that was more than one person, then the one that didn’t look like they were shitting their pants. He smiled formally towards the woman. “Maya?” He paused momentarily to gauge the response before carrying on. “Ezekiel. I know we already exchanged names, but a formal introduction couldn’t hurt.”

Words: 204 (Total: 9,638)
GP: 4 (Total: 190)

(I can't help it that you were so in character that you were even giving directions like a woman.)

"Who? You're not the..." He didn't look the same. The voice made the image of a man and that man wasn't this one, there was a disconnect somewhere in the ears and the eyes and she didn't want it. He looked foul and fierce. His questions ripped, her flesh tore from her. He knew her name.

"Don't get close."

There was distance in those words and he was looking from afar, he didn't know. He wasn't her. He floated inches from the ground and a man passing by saw nothing, stumbled almost through him and veered away. They weren't the same.

"You don't know me," and she didn't know if it was truth or hope, fact or belief, because she'd promised to hide. There were things that would happen, dread that came. Factless emotions that spread.

There were things being taken from her--bit by bit, in a slow drip--as chemicals had their way with her mind. She was only herself for short bursts, and if she saw emotions as colors--and she did sometimes--they were grey and jagged bursts with tinges of brown rust-blood, dried, congealing for long enough to wish herself away. It was green now, with colors fading.

There were secrets knock-knock-knocking at the doors of mind and she didn't know what she couldn't say and what came out of her mouth until she heard. He was a danger, a red-yellow blare that sounded like trombones and silence, and anywhere was a better place. Anywhere was darker, easier on the eyes and the ears and the "where are you going?" mind, voice fading as she walked away and leaned against a wall that wasn't there before because she wasn't where she was before (her feet hurt, where had the golden arches gone?) and began to wait, in the light of a better hue.

The doors would open soon.

Words: 309
GP: 6
 
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