#thread:captive

@godless-crownless-king​

They were on a mission to as to why Aranccar were gathering and regrouping once more. A group of four had traveled to Las Noches to investigate. It didn’t take long to see that they were meet almost right away with resistance from the enemy.  He had fought Grimmjow and after a lengthy battle they had been overrun when another had come to assist in the battle all together.  After some consideration, Toshiro had given the order for the others to retreat back through the portal to return to tell the council what was discovered.  That something has happened here that caused the arrancar to once again band together in force. He had watched the others retreat but not before he was struck down himself. 

Toshiro didn’t know how long he was unconscious, but he woke up to an unfamiliar surroundings, without his zanpato. The room itself was bare of any features and a sturdy door flanked the entrance to the room.  Toshiro didn’t know why he was left to live.  Grimmjow wasn’t one to let an opponent walk away from a battle.  No his pride usually was one to squash the opposition with out questions.  Although Toshiro knew that his wounds would have surely take his life; here he was bandaged and now alive. But for which purpose was remained to be see  Hyorinmaru was also missing. Normally if one was injured.  Their zanbackto was not to far from them within arm reach. He must have been take back to the compound. and  Hyorinmaru another location all together entirely.

Looking at his wrists, Toshiro noticed that they were held together by two heavy metallic bracelets with glowing aura around the surfaces of the bands. Probably to syphon off Reitzu from a host... Toshiro thought.  Moments later he herd an lock move within the cylinder of the handle of the door and a figure walked in.  His eyes widened.  Someone -- Someone he believed to be dead. “Aizen?”He questioned mostly shocked. But with some curiosity laced within his tenor. 

@researcher-tydera-leiara

Exhaustion... Yes... He was exhausted to some extent... He didn’t wish to rise from his bed, and thus didn’t. It wasn’t like they were going to do anything to him anyways. He was content where he lay, the bed wasn’t soft, nor was it comfortable, the sheets that he could use for a blanket he never did unless the room became freezing... The Foundation staff was rather good with keeping temperatures constant within his cell. Milky blue eyes flickered opened, staring into the darkness of his cell-- it must be late at night... When was the last time he pushed himself up from this mattress... He wasn’t sure.

There were many things he could say he regretted, there were many things he could say he wished he could change, and there were many things that hung heavy upon his ‘heart’ and ‘mind’. In this time frame, which began sometime in May of the previous year, it seemed he was almost completely immobile. Sometimes he would rise from his bed and walk about, but that was as far as activity went with SCP-049. Eventually even that halted and he found no need to get up. With his inability to test his new cures and with Dr Hamm, the only person out of the Foundation Staff for which he interacted with that he actually enjoyed, now deceased he had no will to really do anything.

He was sick and the last thing the Plague Doctor wanted to see was his ‘friend’ suffering through the pain that came with the pestilence. So he cured him, but his cure wasn’t perfect yet! He couldn’t perfect it! Nobody understood what he was trying to do! If they had just given him more time, he could have brought him back-- he knew he could... But they refused that and now his only like minded comrade was gone. For that first month he was pacing around a lot, anxious and seemingly hostile towards everyone, he was violent, cruel, cold, much unlike himself from before the incident. Time passed and those violent urges, that cruelty ebbed away.

Pacing was reduced from an all-day occurrence to an hourly occurrence to none at all. Over the course of the months he soon found himself where he was now. Some people commented that perhaps he was grieving in his own twisted way, others commented that perhaps he was depressed, some just said that he had nothing to do but sleep and hope for a dream better than where he was. Perhaps all of them were true. SCP-049 didn’t quite understand the concept of human emotion, he could feel them to an extent, but all the same he couldn’t always distinguish joy from sadness from rage... On occasion they blurred together, on others they were as distinct as colors. With the recent passing of the New Year, it seemed nothing would change.

The sound of someone speaking to him filtered through his brain for a moment, but he couldn’t quite hear it. For a moment, in his groggy state, 049 figured that it was just a hallucination, a trick of his brain. He didn’t react. There was no reason to for if it was that, than there is no reason to register such a thing. However the sound, the voice, eventually returned, repeating what it said perhaps? But much clearer now. He figured perhaps it was the lack of not hearing anything for a while, perhaps it was the lack of a will to be in the present, whatever it was slowly that filter was ebbing away as he rolled onto his back in reaction to the voice that was trying to speak to him.

And yet he still didn’t say anything as his milky blue eyes stared blankly at the ceiling above him, still finding no want nor will to rise from where he lay...