Pasha, Murat - [SHINIGAMI]

Ayşe Kundakçı gave birth to her second son on a mild fall day in 1876 while her husband, Bekir, was out of town at a regional council meeting. For Bekir, this was nothing unusual. Izmir had been beset with troubles and he had taken it upon himself to see that they were resolved. In truth, he provided no substantial boon or detriment to the meeting, but that never stopped him from telling everyone that he was single-handedly saving the Empire from the forces threatening to tear it apart.

It would be over three weeks before Bekir was finally able to return to their home to see his child. Ayşe did as well as she could, relying heavily on their hired help. Murat was finally given his name after nearly a month, his father opting to forego his originally planned name in order to name his son after another member of the governing council who he was trying to get a favor from.

Murat's early life was one of content leisure, one of the benefits of being born into wealth. Bekir tried to hide it, but Murat noticed a very clear favoritism coming from his father for his oldest brother, Suleiman. His mother did a good job of keeping the peace between Murat and his brothers and sisters, a trait Murat came to admire deeply. It seemed like every time his mother recovered from her pregnancy, she was immediately with another child. By Murat's 13th birthday, he had 9 surviving younger siblings, in addition to his older brother and more half-siblings than he cared to know about.

It was a month after turning 13 that Murat had his first taste of sadness. He had been around the house during several of his mother's childbirths and had even been allowed to assist with the last two. This time, however, something was off. Gone were the almost playful attitudes of the midwives. Everywhere he looked, all Murat could see was panicked faces and hurried footsteps. Slowly, the reality of what was happening dawned on him. His mother was dying in childbirth, and there was nothing he could do to help. He watched in horror as his mother screamed in pain, grasping at the bed in the futile hope that there was something in her power that would prevent the inevitable. Suddenly, with one final deafening yell, Ayşe went limp. Weakly, he watched the midwives try to revive her and save the child. Seconds seemed to stretch on into hours as he pleaded to God that somehow everything would be okay and she would look at him and smile, but his prayers were not answered. His mother would never speak to him again.

Learning that the baby brother she was trying to bring in to the family didn't survive actually made Murat happy. The baby had killed her, and Murat hated it almost as much as the absentee father who had put it in her and who only had the time to attend the birth of his first son. It took him four days to return home after she died. By that time, his hatred for his father blinded him to reality. Murat didn't stop to think about how long it had taken for the message to reach Bekir, much less the time it would take him to get back from his government business. All Murat knew was that he hated his father and that he wanted to see him suffer.

For the next 2 years, Murat took to his studies. He did not want to get anything in life because he was his father's son. Finally, at age 15, he applied to school in İstanbul and was accepted. Leaving home with the clothes on his back and a small trunk of personal belongings, Murat dedicated himself to his education, determined to spite his father. Born equally of hate and of actual desire to make a difference, Murat fell in with a group of academic revolutionaries. He was sure they likely sought him out because of his family name, but he didn't care if they wanted to use him for their own means, so long as it served his too.

After graduating, Murat entered into politics, becoming a low level party organizer. As he expected, the party had him return to Izmir to agitate the masses. Needless to say, his father was disgusted by this, as were most of his siblings. For 5 years, Murat waged his war of words, scoring several victories and utterly humiliating his father until, in 1904, he met Ayla. Her fiery passion for democracy and progress drew Murat in. After his mother's death, he thought he could have never brought himself to take a wife, lest they suffer the same fate. As their love grew, though, Murat realized that he could provide where his father had not. He would not demand children of her, he would not desert her, and he would love her and any offspring they produced to the fullest of his ability. They married the next year and she gave birth to a son, Ali, four months after the wedding.

The next year, the party won in the elections handily. Murat was awarded a position in the foreign service for his work and was sent with a delegation to Japan, where he was to serve as diplomat and translator. Pooling what money he had, he was able to arrange passage for Ayla and Ali and, after some bargaining, he convinced her to move with him. Japan was great for Murat. Finally, he was free of his family legacy. In fact, most people couldn't even properly pronounce his full name, a fact which gave him great delight. Here he was, making alliances and working out trade deals and where was his father? Wasting away at home after having been ousted from his seat. Life couldn't get better than this!

His mission was going well and, in addition to helping open up trade, Murat also began making friends from other lands. Not only the Japanese, but also American, British, Russian, and Germans. His linguistic skills expanded, as did his cultural sensitivities. Initially opposed to drinking, Murat's resistance finally gave way and he found himself regularly getting drunk with other diplomatic delegations, sharing stories of home over bottles of sake. One night in 1909, Murat had a few too many glasses with Harry Jacobson, a diplomatic assistant from Canada, waking up the next morning naked in his bed. Initially guilt-ridden, Murat noticed in the coming days that his proposals at the British office were getting through nearly immediately, instead of waiting for the usual month or more of processing time. Rationalizing his escapades away as serving the country's best interests, Murat began regularly going out to drink with Harry, typically ending back up at his place afterward. It wasn't long before he stopped needing to drink in order to justify his actions. Homosexuality had been legal in the Ottoman Empire for several decades, but the British held on to their cultural views. Though he feared what would happen to Harry if he were found out, the benefits were very tangible, plus Murat wasn't about to deny that it felt good.

He still loved Ayla and Ali, and was sure to spend more than enough time at home with them. His attraction to his wife had not diminished. If anything, Murat believed that it had been strengthened. In 1910, Ayla gave birth to a daughter, who Murat named Ayşe. Harry was recalled to Canada in late 1911 and, though Murat was sad to see him go, he accepted that it was probably for the best.

The next year was pleasant enough until September. His diplomatic mission had been enough of an excuse to avoid a call-up to military service. The threat of the impending Balkan War, however, led to immediate recall orders. Dread filled his chest as he read the papers. He had been trained in military matters at college, but didn't expect he'd ever be called on to use any of his training, especially at his increasing age.

Ayla was not enthusiastic about the prospects of war, but knew that their family didn't really have a say in the matter. Agreeing to stay in Japan for safety, Murat's family saw him to the ship he would be taking back to İstanbul. Murat had refused to spend more than one consecutive night apart from his wife since their wedding night, and he was now going off to fight for what could be years. As they stood on the dock, Ayla gave him a small wrapped bundle. Opening it, Murat looked upon an ornamental trench knife. Tearfully, Ayla insisted that he was only allowed to use that knife or any other weapon to make sure he could get back to them in one piece. Above all, she didn't want her husband coming back from war a changed man. Nodding to her and giving his family one final hug, Murat left for war.

Arriving in İstanbul, Murat quickly noticed several unexpected changes. The militarization of the city and populace was dramatic. He looked back on his idealistic college days and reconciled that this war wasn't about changing their society, it was about protecting it. Things would surely go back to the way they were once it all ended. He received his orders, met his men, and began organizing them as best he could, writing every week to Ayla.

His men fought bravely in the Balkan Wars, but bravery wasn't enough. He had hoped, once the fighting was over, that he would be allowed to reunite with his family. His wishes were not to be granted, however.  Ordered to the East to deal with a growing problem among the Armenian population in February 1915, Murat threw himself into his work, optimistic that a strong showing might allow him to get a promotion that would permit him some much needed leave. The government's orders had been clear. If war were to break out, the Armenians would surely try to rebel again, following the successes in the West. Opening up a giant hole of territory to let Russia assault straight to the heart of Anatolia was to be stopped at all costs.

The initial roundups went as well as could be expected, and Murat's men were making efficient progress in making sure the outlying populations were safely dealt with. Incidents were minimal, as most of their targets were easily persuaded to leave their homes when the military rolled up, especially with a compassionate commanding officer there to assure them that nothing would come to them as long as they cooperated. That cooperation ceased three weeks in when Murat and his men came to a small ranch. The whole endeavor was doomed from the moment his bright-faced private from Bodrum set his hand on the gate to the property. He hadn't even pushed on it when the gunshot rang out from the house, a round landing right in the throat of the rookie and dropping him to the ground, blood surging from the hole in his neck.

Something in Murat's mind snapped as he watched his soldier draw his last breath. The people in that house were no longer humans to him, they were murderers. Drawing his sidearm and taking a few wild suppressive shots at the window the rifleman had been in, Murat ordered his men to take the house, which proved to be nothing close to a challenge. The murderer fell first, followed by the rest of the house's residents in a brutally efficient bloodbath. From that day forth, gone was the friendly officer just following orders. In his place stood a resolute defender of his squad, determined to make sure no man befell the same fate as that private, no matter how much terror and pain it caused the populace.

In April, news came that the British were amassing forces for a naval assault. Taken off relocation duty, his unit was sent to Gallipoli in preparation of a suspected assault. When they arrived, command assigned them to the suspected front lines. Concerned, but assuring his men that they would remain safe, Murat led his team to their assigned location and began arranging a defense. After weeks of preparation, the offensive finally began. As they hid behind their cover, Murat tried to rally his men. Ordering them to fire, he watched as waves of men and boys were mowed down by his soldiers' guns.

They just had to hold this beach. As long as they could stop the landing, the Empire would be safe. Peace would surely follow soon after and he'd be allowed to return to his family. Murat kept telling himself this as he watched the battle unfold before him.

He had yet to draw his own weapon as he marched up the line barking orders to fire. As he reached a machine gun crew, a loud explosion rocked the ground behind him, sending a sharp pain surging to the back of his head and throwing him forward from the impact. An artillery shell had exploded just behind his trench, and debris had embedded itself deep into his back and head. Deafened by the blast, Murat frantically tried to move, but found his body unresponsive. In panic, he stared forward. The men who had been near him were in similar states, their eyes stuck open in shock, shrapnel sticking out of what remained of their previously pristine uniforms. He faded out of consciousness, overcome by a simultaneous exhaustion and pain as he watched blood drip from the previously pristine uniforms of his countrymen.

Murat came to in his trench shortly thereafter as a confused and frightened Plus. His trench had clearly been taken, though the British troops walking along the line didn't seem to notice him. He didn't make it far as he wandered the trench before he was spotted by a Shinigami assigned to clean-up detail. He would have probably ran if it hadn't been for the man calling out to his compatriots further up the trench line in Japanese. Despite his confusion over the whole situation, Murat composed himself as best he could and bowed lightly, greeting the man in his native tongue diplomatically.

His display caused the Shinigami to break out in a fit of laughter. Be it from the absurdity of finding someone here who could actually understand him or of a Plus acting so formal, Murat never really found out. The Shinigami, after he calmed himself down, took the time to explain a how things really were to Murat. It was a lot to accept that his entire worldview was wrong, but Murat's confusion was so severe that he really didn't fight any of it. He could hear voices in the distance crying out something else that seemed to distract the man in black in front of him and, before Murat could inquire as to what was going on, the Shinigami raised his sword hilt to the Turk's head and pressed down, sending him away from the battlefield.

The afterlife was nothing like what Murat had expected it to be and, had it not been for some timely assistance from a local official pointing him in the way of an office that had been set up to deal with the war dead, he would have been in a lot of trouble. Stumbling around the streets, he managed to eventually find his way to it, located within the 9th West district. Supposedly, this place would help him find a suitable family, but Murat had other ideas. He had failed to protect his men, and possibly his country. Sure, he could walk through those doors and become just another face in the sea of souls, but what if he could do some actual good here?

The building itself was essentially a miniature keep. The ever so slightly cracked foundation showed signs of not only the building's significant age but also the amount of care and, more importantly, resources that must flow through it. As he entered, Murat was almost immediately swept away by how busy everyone was. Nearly every person he could understand was pouring over logbooks with bewildered people sitting across from them, delivering similar speeches to what he had just been told by the Shinigami before he was sent on over. Wandering through the chaos, he eventually made his way to someone who looked important, judging by the fact that he was one of the only people who wasn't busy. After introducing himself and explaining the events that had happened since his demise, the man eyed him up for what felt like forever, finally shrugging and showing him to a desk in the corner and assigning one of the other workers to train him.

Murat learned quickly what his job was to be. He had an extensive list of "families," languages they spoke, and the amount of new bodies they were willing to take on. From this list, he was to assign newcomers to a suitable family to help them acclimate. It was good work and gave him a sense of belonging, despite never being formally acclimated himself.

Murat could have easily assigned himself a family, and quickly learned which ones were the best. He decided not to, though. A handful of his new coworkers had been recruited in a similar way as he and had shacked up in an empty wing of the building. Taking up residence with them, a bizarre sort of soldier's camaraderie was born. Most of the men had died at the hands of each other's armies, but they had set that aside in order to come together. Knowing a common language turned out to be a good way to ignore the ambitions of their former rulers. The men in this group jokingly began referring to each other by titles affiliated with their former governments. Murat, frustrated with people butchering his family name, formally adopted his new surname of Pasha.

Shortly into his employment, Murat was approached by a man who identified himself as Mr. Stanley. This man, who looked far more Asian than a name like Stanley would imply, offered Murat a simple deal. If he would see to it that men who seemed physically strong were assigned to a few specific families, he would be given a small bribe. Murat agreed and, after a quick investigation, discovered that Mr. Stanley was using these men in what was essentially slavery and, more importantly, that they were earning his associates a considerable sum of money.

Rationalizing his actions away, Murat realized that he could do some real good here. Exposing the slavery ring would do nothing in the long run. A new Mr. Stanley would likely pop up in a matter of months and, worse, Murat would likely not fare too well for having snitched. No, what he needed to do was get more involved in their operation, but use the money he got to work toward the greater good. Murat revealed what he had found out to Mr. Stanley and offered to help him make it so the same paths of inquiry that were used to find that information wouldn't work again, as well as to implement a few efficiencies into the whole process to allow for a much cleaner and more effective system. Mr. Stanley's initial shock dropped off his face as Murat spoke, replaced with a broad smile. He agreed and brought Murat on board. In rather short order, Murat's take had multiplied tenfold and contingencies were set up to make sure that it would be extremely difficult to detect his involvement.

Throughout the rest of the war, Murat worked in this office. Recently dead troops progressively told of worse and worse problems going on. These continuous tales of pain and suffering weighed heavily on Murat's heart. If only they would have listened to him and fought against the Central Powers, this whole mess could have been avoided. Instead of enjoying his days, Murat found himself dreading waking up every morning. The war didn't take weekends off, and Murat became worried that he would spend his entire afterlife in a dead end job, slowly waiting for some link in the criminal organization he had entered into to break down and reveal his participation.

As the war finished up, the dead slowly trickled down to more manageable levels and Murat found himself at a crossroads. He had amassed a small personal fortune thanks to his dirty dealings and, with the war dying down, he knew it was a matter of time before his office downsized. Recognizing that if he lost his job and didn't have something lined up right away, he would likely be sucked into levels of Mr. Stanley's organization that he didn't think it would ever be possible to escape from, Murat took his saved money and bought a large building in the district, founding a small school in association with the assignment office and bringing some of his former coworkers on to help out.

After a few years, the school was doing quite well. Murat continued to teach the classes that interested him, but he found his days taken more and more up with administrative duties, not that this bothered him. He still spoke regularly with his students and teachers, new and old, and kept tabs on what was going on in the human world. He was heartbroken to learn that the post-war treaties had seen his old Empire dissolved, though news of the new Turkish Republic filled him with optimism. Though he had long since given up on meeting his wife or children again, it was comforting to know that they had a country to return home to in the event they had to leave Japan.

Things were going well, until a string of unfortunate circumstances drove Murat out of his pattern of complacency. In the spring of 1934, Mr. Stanley showed up in Murat's office with an offer. His employers had recently opened up a facility that required laborers trained in chemical processing, opposed to the brute strength they had been using. To assist with this, he wanted Murat to start pushing his students toward careers with the organization. Recognizing several poorly veiled threats in Mr. Stanley's offer, Murat said it would take him some time to get everything set up, but that he would have his answer within a fortnight.

Unwilling to send his students off to work in what he had inferred to be drug manufacturing, Murat started looking for a way out. As luck would have it, a Shinigami showed up nearly a week later to assess one of his graduating students, a youngster by the name of Shin, who had expressed interest in attending Shinigami Academy. This had happened a few times before, but Murat had always been busy and unable to attend. Deciding that he needed to step away from his desk for a bit, Murat attended the meeting, his mind still racing as to possible ways to get out. His spiritual essence was typically unintentionally held in check by his strict focus, but that was not the case today.

As the Shinigami, a tall and beautiful woman, walked into the room they had arranged for the interview, her eyes were drawn to Murat first. Eyeing him up, she sat at the table with Shin and conducted his interview, her eyes shooting back over to Murat every minute or so. Murat, for his part, didn't even notice this with how absorbed he was in his own thoughts. The interview concluded after about 30 minutes, at which point, the Shinigami thanked Shin for his time and said that he would hear the results in a few days. Giving a small bow to the student, the Shinigami walked over to Murat and started making small talk as Shin left.

Once Shin was out of the room, she asked Murat what she thought of the student's abilities. Murat bit his lip as he thought about Shin's record. He was certainly good at his studies, but Murat had recently discovered that he had been cheating. Murat looked into the smiling face of the Shinigami and gave a truthful review of his performance and difficulties. She then asked him if, in her position, he would bring someone like that in. Murat, still very distracted, casually said that if he were in her position, there were a lot of things he'd do. Continuing to smile, the Shinigami asked him what he had meant by that, to which Murat realized what he had blurted out apologized and elaborated, explaining that he would take the student on, as cheating can be a valuable life skill if properly honed.

The Shinigami looked at him for a moment and then laughed heartily, saying that it wasn't often that you saw a teacher call cheating a valuable life skill. She then launched into a lengthy discussion with Murat, going over his mortal life, his life in Rukongai, and his personal philosophies. Murat, his attention still diverted, continued answering truthfully and casually. The conversation went on for roughly 2 hours when the Shinigami folded her hands and sat in silence, pondering Murat. Finally, she asked him if he had ever given any thought to attending the Shinigami Academy. Murat, taken aback by the suggestion, suddenly realized what had been going on these last 2 hours. At much further-spaced intervals, she had asked identical questions to Murat that she had also asked Shin. She had been interviewing him and, from the sound of her question, she was offering him admittance, or at least consideration, to the Academy. Murat jumped on the opportunity, saying that he hadn't realized that he could have applied, making a joke about his apparent age compared to those he had seen from Shinigami. After a brief chuckle, the woman said that she certainly couldn't guarantee anything, but that it would be possible for her to see what she could do. Murat happily expressed his interest and she nodded, saying she would talk with her superiors and see what they could work out.

It was two days a messenger arrived for Murat and Shin, informing both of them that they had been accepted for admittance and that they were to report immediately. Hurriedly, Murat got his affairs in order, handed temporary control of the school over to his staff, and sent a message to Mr. Stanley letting him know that he had been recruited into the Shinigami, and that his school was likely under surveillance by the authorities. Wishing him the best in his future affairs, Murat finally washed his hands clean of the criminal organization and prepared to move on to the next chapter of his life.

Academy life was rough for Murat. He did well enough in Kido, placing in the top quarter of his class. He also excelled in more mundane subjects like history and philosophy, though he received little recognition for his mastery of "boring" subjects. Combat drills were, by far, his worst subject. He proved barely capable and only ever won a handful of very close one-on-one fights, only ever winning through a handful of sand to the eyes or other trickery. Many times, he considered dropping out, but he knew that doing so would guarantee that he would fall too deeply into crime, assuming he survived whatever Mr. Stanley had in mind as punishment. No, Murat's only option was to pass and become a full fledged Shinigami.

There was one unexpected benefit Murat quickly found and embraced. His Academy robes seemed to grant him easy access and free drinks at several establishments. He made extensive use of this privilege, spending most nights sitting at a bar enjoying a strong drink on the house. For their part, the bar owners were also happy with this arrangement. Shinigami had a reputation as unparalleled fighters and Murat wasn't about to ruin has meal ticket by breaking that illusion. In fact, on the rare occasion Murat did need to break up a bar fight, he proved more than capable. Sadly, smashing chairs over people's backs didn't really fit into the standard Shinigami combat training program.

Due to the large numbers of civilian deaths already taking place in the years leading up to World War II, many graduates were finding certain requirements waived in order to get more Shinigami in the field and, as the only thing he had yet to accomplish was displaying a Shikai, Murat was allowed to enter active duty service prematurely. After graduating, he considered entering Third or Fourth Division. His scores certainly would have justified applications, but he realized that his organizational talents would be better used in First. On his first day, Murat was assigned a back office near a seldom used meeting room. He immediately set about personalizing his work area, obtaining much more comfortable furniture, getting a liquor cabinet and large humidor installed, and submitting the paperwork to get the floor and walls fixed. It was only a matter of years before the old meeting room's wall came down and he expanded into there, secretly gaining one of the largest offices in the Sereitei, particularly for an unseated novice.

With the outbreak of the Second World War, Murat found himself routinely volunteering for field duty, ending up on a team of novice Shinigami tasked with making sure those who met their demise as a result of the fighting were quickly dealt with. It was during the war that he fought his first Hollows, almost always with multiple other Shinigami as backup and never truly alone. It was also during the war that Murat came to develop an interest in motion pictures. He would routinely sneak away to soldier recreation areas in order to watch the latest films, claiming that the research was necessary in the event he needed to stimulate a passable Gigai, an argument his superiors begrudgingly accepted.

Murat would continue to volunteer for missions on Earth for the next few decades, treating them like miniature vacations. He could still get the mission done, but there would almost invariably be gaps in his reports for recreational "research." He would find himself coming back to work relaxed and refocused after every trip. It was during these side-trips that Nesim would become the loudest he had heard her to that point, decrying his laziness and trying to get him to actually act like the guardian of the cycle that he was supposed to be.

Things are going well for Murat until December 6, 1975. A report came in of small scale civil unrest brewing in Beirut, Lebanon. Volunteering immediately, Murat was sent on his first solo mission. Upon arriving, Murat was shocked to see that things were rapidly deteriorating. What was supposed to be a light disturbance with a handful of dead was fast turning into a massacre. Either the intelligence had been off or someone had set him up. Murat didn't know which was the case, but he also didn't want to look bad on his first outing alone. First Division got a lot of flak for being a bunch of weak bureaucrats and, even though it was likely fully deserved in Murat's case, he was going to do whatever he could to prove them wrong.

Running through the streets, he hurriedly took care of any lost souls he could find. After an hour, he started realizing the suspicious lack of hollow activity. Things had been hot in Lebanon for a while now, so it would have made sense for at least one to be hiding in wait, but he wasn't seeing or sensing anything aside from the mortals and fresh Plus souls. Thinking himself lucky, Murat barreled around a corner into a back alley.

Suddenly, Murat felt a strong Hollow presence above him, something he would have normally hesitated to fight even with backup. Looking up, a gigantic Hollow shaped like a snake hung down between the two buildings on the sides of the alley. The creature dropped down into Murat with no warning, scrambling to wrap him in its coils.

He was too slow to get away. Panicking, Murat drew Nesim and tried futilely to defend himself. The Hollow cackled as it wrapped him up. Frantically, Murat stabbed at the beast, but his blade might as well have been a thumbtack for all the good it was doing. After a long struggle, the Hollow held Murat in its coils so that only his head was visible. It squeezed, causing a sickening cracking noise to run throughout Murat's body. As the Hollow opened its maw over Murat's head, he watched in terror as a drop of venom dripped down, giving off a strange heat. The drop connected directly with his eye, sending a pain Murat had never before imagined surging through his head.

Murat had known his Zanpakutō's name for some time, though he had been hesitant to bring her forth. She was eager to get out and had told him how he could do so many years ago during one of his excursions to Earth. He did not normally trust his blade to cooperate or to allow him to hold back if the need arose, as her advice had always been far too aggressive for his tastes. None of that mattered at this point, though. Crying that it was time for her to make her showing at last, Murat triggered his Shikai. As his inner rage took over, his years of withholding his spiritual power melted away. A darkness began emanating from his hands, black lines shooting from the small gaps between the Hollow's coils. Murat didn't understand why, nor did he particularly care at the moment, but his Shikai had caused the snake to lessen its hold enough for him to slip his fingers between the gap. It wasn't until well after the encounter in one of his talks with his spirit that he learned just what his power was capable of. Prying and tearing, Murat freed himself from the hold he was stuck in and set to work on the snake Hollow.

He could and should have gone for the mask right away, but Murat didn't care about giving the Hollow peace. He wanted it to feel and remember the pain he was about to cause it though any future reincarnations. Slowly and maliciously, Murat began skinning the Hollow alive. It's shrieks filled the night air, joining the chorus of moral voices crying out for mercy from their captors. Slowly, Murat tore the flesh off the beast, wrestling it all the way. In its frenzy, it attempted to bite him, but Murat was prepared. After deflecting the fangs with his new gloves, he grabbed the beast's head and forced it to bite its own exposed internal organs. As the hot venom dripped into the wound, a putrid smell flooded the alleyway, and the Hollow's cries of agony turned into weak whimpers.

Standing up over his dying foe, Murat panted in exhaustion. His eye still burned and he felt broken bones in several places throughout his body. Looking at the Hollow, he spat as he pulled his blade out for the final strike. Driving his knife into its mask, he used his free hand to hold the Hollow down. Several times as he pulled his blade, Murat had to pause and reinsert it from a fresh strike. The final cut resembled a 7 year-old's arts and crafts project, but it got the job done. The Hollow dissolved and Murat painfully made his way back to Soul Society.

Returning from his ordeal in Lebanon, Murat was rushed to Third Division to see if there was anything they could do for him. Agonizing hours of pain stretched out into weeks as the healers tried everything they could think of. To the surprise of the staff, everything they tried only served to make it worse, until the pain became simply unbearable to continue trying conventional healing methods. Finally, one of the assistants mentioned having heard of a device that Fourth had designed as part of an advanced combat aid. It was intended to help normalize vision and inner-ear stability to improve balance, but no discernible benefit regarding sure-footedness could be established and, worse, had caused significant damage to the test subjects' affected eye. Still, there was a chance Murat could get his depth perception back with it, if not his full range of sight.

Eagerly, he accepted the offer and was fitted for one of the prototype models. The installation procedure was incredibly painful, but nowhere near as bad as what the last few attempted treatments had been. When it had finished, Murat eagerly tested the device. As he had feared, it did not restore his eyesight, but he did see a return of his depth perception. He remained in recovery for another two months while his vitals were monitored and the staff could verify he wasn't experiencing any side effects. Finally, without any cause to keep him, Murat was released and allowed to return to duty, which he did gladly.

Upon getting back to his office, Murat found a massive pile of paperwork waiting for him. He also found that his desires to go back to Earth, be they for work or pleasure under the guise of work, had all but vanished. Whenever he thought of returning, his eye socket burned and he remembered the pain he had suffered. Continuously justifying his staying behind by claiming his pile of work had simply gotten too large, even decades after having gotten back, Murat kept himself safe from harm in the dark backrooms of First Division for nearly 40 years. These 4 decades were a trying time for his already tenuous relationship with his spirit, frequently dissolving into mental shouting matches and nightmares about that fateful night in Lebanon. While he was at work, he poured over countless records, trying to find out what had happened with regard to the night he went out. He could find no indication of why the intelligence hadn't registered the threat level as needing more than one novice Shinigami, and no evidence that anyone had tampered with it. Whatever had happened, Murat was finally forced to accept that it was either a grander conspiracy than he expected he warranted or it was simply a run of bad luck.

Realizing that his paranoia had been holding him back and eager to find a way to make Nesim quiet down a bit, Murat began looking into combat training. Sadly, his skills and weaponry did not fit into most standard Shinigami training programs. It was also extremely humiliating to get his ass kicked by a bunch of kids fresh from the Academy. Doing some research, Murat discovered a new martial art that had been used in the old USSR that seemed to rely on the up close fighting-style his weapon's reach was restricting him into.

Setting out into Rukongai, Murat called on some of his old contacts who had remained on the right side of the law in West District 9 to locate someone able to train him. It was through them that he was united with Pyotr, the soul of a former KGB agent and Spetsnaz officer who claimed to have died in a recent drug sting back on Earth. Making his way to the small house Pyotr lived in, Murat found a boy who appeared no older than 9 waiting for him. Murat greeted the boy and asked for Pyotr, only to be saddened to learn that the child was in fact the person he had been seeking.

Most other men would have turned their backs, maintained their sense of pride, and left to find a different teacher. Murat was not like most other men. He had no delusions of pride or dignity. Kneeling before the boy, he pleaded with him for training in Systema. Had anyone who knew Murat seen this, it would have been the talk of First Division for months. Their veteran of nearly 80 years was begging a small child to teach him how to fight. Pyotr laughed at the absurdity of the situation, not aware that his client was one of the supposed defenders of the balance of worlds. When Murat's seriousness was made clear, Pyotr's laughter continued for a good three minutes. Finally, he settled down and, after some price negotiation, agreed to train Murat in Systema.

This training would prove invaluable in the summer of 2016. Taken by surprise and away from his Division-mates during Obsession's Invasion, Murat seized a leadership role rallying support and leading a rescue team to the Academy grounds. Though his own personal prowess wasn't as heavily tested as many others, his leadership abilities were. Accidentally making a name for himself and drawing a whole lot of unplanned attention, Murat now fears for what is to come. How will he deal with his newfound prominence? Will he slink back into the shadows or will our backroom manipulator finally step into the light?