Change

"I heard you got pretty roughed up." Urahara stands at the entrance of the hospital room. The eerie silence of the night was accentuated by the flickering lights of the hallways. The sanitized, chemical smell filled his nose as he tried to breathe slowly, running up the stairs as fast as he could.

"Yeah." Arima is sitting in the hospital bed, dressed in his hospital gown as the machines are all hooked up to him. "I don't need this." He rips off the pipe that fed straight into the vein. Blood splatters on the ground as his body regenerates nearly immediately.

Both of them look at each other, unsure of who's going to say what.

"Look I've got some ba-"

"Is she okay-"

Both of them looked at each other again, pausing as they saw the other person's mouth open. However, even as Urahara was interrupted by his question, he had already gotten his answer.

Urahara reaches into his pocket and pulls out Mai's desert eagle. The barrel had been cracked in the chaos of the battle. "She died on impact."

Arima just looked at the gun's reflection. The corporate lights of the hospital showed Arima's reflection. A monster. A creature resembling nothing that of a human.

Urahara takes out a piece of cloth from his breast pocket and starts wiping it down, holding it to the trigger. "It's a really good Chime." Urahara places the gun on Arima's side table after he finishes wiping it.

Neither of them looks at each other.

"Come here." Urahara takes a chair and sits down next to Arima, groaning as he bends his knees to sit. "Losing someone you love or someone you just met is part of the job scope."

Arima doesn't reply, his eyes fixated on the cracks on the guns.

"The sooner you learn that, the better," Urahara speaks in a cold tone. He could tell although Arima could hear him, he wasn't listening. He reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet. "Arima, look at this." He opens his wallet and takes out a license.

Arima finally turns his attention off the gun and looks at Urahara. "Is that a license?"

"It's not any license." Urahara points to the stamp at the bottom. '1998'. "His name is Chun, a kind man from China who came to Japan in search of a home and a job. One way or another, he ended up becoming a Poacher and one in my division. One day we were tasked with settling with a small chimera. A chimera even a normal human could handle." His hand hesitated for a moment as he placed the card on Arima's lap. "But I messed up. I took out the chimera but I didn't make sure it was dead."

Arima looks at the man's license, a tear right through the man's face with splotches of blood everywhere. "I still blame myself for his death."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Arima says, fishing for defiance.

"If I kept every single one of my deceased partner's licenses, there wouldn't be enough trees in Tokyo," Urahara says. "I'm too old for this job Arima. I've worked for over 20 years. I've burned through partners faster than you've gone through diapers as a baby." Urahara crushed up Chun's card. "Either you die or your partner dies. If you can't choose, you'll both die."

His words lingered in the air as the stale atmosphere of the hospital crushed Arima's spirit. "I'll give you a three-day vacation." Urahara sighs, standing up as he pushes his chair back. "I want you back sharp," Urahara says as he walks out of the room, his feet clattering against the tiled floors.

Arima sits and wallows in his sorrow. His regrets.

A singular drop falls from the corner of his eye. It rolls down his cheek and falls off his chin, staining the bed sheets. He pushes his mouth upwards to try and curb this feeling he's never felt.

"I'm crying." Arima wipes his cheek. "Why am I crying?" Arima could feel another tear rolling down his other eye. "I'm not in pain, I only cry when I'm in pain." Arima's tears flowed endlessly, a stream of tears. "I'm not in pain." Arima looked at his palms as more tears dripped onto them. "I'm not in pain."

"My name is Arima Gen, sector 4A under Associate Urahara." Arima arrives at the Organisation's headquarters, announcing himself to the receptionist.

"Arima..." The lady hummed to herself as she scrolled through endless amounts of files. "Gen..." She spots 'Arima Gen' and clicks on it. She looks surprised.

"What's wrong?" Arima tries to jump over the counter to look at the screen.

"It says you're on suspension. For the next two days." The woman folds her hands. "I can't print a license if you're on suspension."

"He called it a vacation. He just gave me a suspension for my inability." Arima groans as he plunges his head into his hands. "Okay." Arima shoots back up. "Thanks." He smiles at the receptionist as he makes his way out of the building.

The headquarters blended in with all the other skyscrapers in Tokyo. Large glass structures with no obvious branding or logo. The organization, although a public force recognized by the government, remains in a cloud of anonymity as it works in the background. No one can simply apply to be a Poacher, you need a story.

"Twelve dead after horrific attack by Hippo Chimera." The news reporter states, a worried look on her face. "More bodies are being recovered from the scene, however, the appearance of the Phoenix Hybrid; Maximillia, has raised some doubts. What is the organization trying to keep from us that they require such heavy weaponry? What is the Phoenix hybrid's true identity?"

"I swear the news is becoming a compilation of conspiracy theories," Arima comments as he presses buttons on his remote to change the channel.

The screen flashes momentarily before flipping to a cartoon meant for children.

Arima watches for a short moment before groaning and covering his face with his hands. "I'm so bored!" He exclaims, dragging his 'bored.'

Arima puts his hands down as he sighs. He looks around his empty and vacant house. There are no decorations, no wallpaper, not even a single painting or something on his wall. It was as new as when he had arrived in this apartment two years ago.

"Hey!" A knock at the door.

"Hello?" Arima opens the door, standing at the entrance of the door with a confused expression.

"Good to know you're doing well." Lentor appears, his hand in a sling and a brace around his neck. He's holding a plastic container of hot soup, expecting Arima to be in a much worse state than him. "Surprised you're not dead kid." He invites himself into the apartment, walking past Arima.

"Hey, I didn't invite you in." Arima looks at Lentor placing the plastic container on the table. "But I don't mind." His stomach grumbles.

Lentor sighs as he looks around his apartment, the sheer emptiness catching him off guard. "You live like this?"

"Kind of." Arima takes out the only bowl in his entire kitchen a spoon. "What's this?"

"Seafood Soup, from down the street." Arima opens the container, his eyes watering. An entire lobster tail with golden scallops covered in a silky smooth broth.

"What's the occasion?" Arima looks up at Lentor will sparkles in his eyes.

"I'm asking you to join me under my division." Lentor asks plainly. "I think you've got balls kid, real balls." He smiles. "You've got what it takes to join the big leagues. Don't waste time patrolling the streets waiting for something to happen, I think you're the kind to find something to happen."

Arima looks at Lentor blindly, his eyes wandering off. "Doesn't that mean I'd have to leave Urahara?"

"It would." Lentor nods in agreement. "But that also means you'll be directly under me, and I'll be able to train you. I'll teach you how to be the strongest poacher in all of Tokyo."

"I don't know man." Arima scratches his head. "I'm only in this business as a favor to Urahara, if not for him I wouldn't even be alive. Kind of a big deal." He shrugs his shoulders.

"I understand." Lentor sighs, reaching into his pocket. "Then keep this." He pulls out a business card from within his coat, placing it gently onto the marble countertop. "In case you ever change your mind." He slides it across towards Arima.

'Lentor Abrams: A2 Associate'

"Why me?" Arima looks at the card.

"Like I said." Lentor leans against the counter. "I'm going to need someone strong and resilient to handle my work. It's tough being in charge of the humanitarian sector." Lentor comments. "Urahara's all about the containment side. He's more hunter than poacher at this point, constantly resolving and hunting down Chimeras in god-knows nowhere."

"Humanitarian." Denji laments.

"We're the ones who get into the nitty and gritty of society, we're the ones protecting humanity. The humanitarian branch is the Organisation's largest and for good reason, because they work. Urahara's containment branch consists of him and just him. He's lucky he hasn't been fired with the amount of people that have died under his watch." Lentor scoffs.

Arima, now physically uneasy, doesn't know what to do, at a conflict with his pre-existing knowledge and the words being said to him. "Urahara is a good person."

"Sure you think so." Lentor walks towards the entrance of the door. "There's a reason there's only 5 people in the branch and you're about to be the next in line. They don't live long enough to be worth the time spent typing their names into the system." Lentor takes a foot out of the door. "If you want to make a change, join me." He turns his head slightly to face Arima before completely walking out and leaving the door ajar.