Stitch #16.
It seems as if the City is recycling through recent decades from my world. Yesterday must have been the 70s, especially to the English speaking world, and today, the 80s. Bogus
My glasses have been replaced with a rad pair of sunglasses, I suddenly own Nike sneakers, and my computer won't stop playing what I think is a Michael Jackson song. The City seems to think I'm a fan; my wardrobe may have raided his. To be frank, I'm really not in the mood for it.
Zaheela-san, I will spar with you now.
Kurotsuchi-san must have intended these notes to be helpful. Zaheela-san said she intended that I could use them, learn from them to direct my training.
There are many entries. He said, then, that he had experimented on 2,661, so it cannot be complete. They are graphic. They are disgusting. They are cruel, detailed, and merciless. I know far more than I ever needed to know about the workings of the body, the amount of pain a Quincy can stand to certain pressure points. Every page holds a new list of horrors. I may never regain my appetite.
... But his entry is there. I can't, I haven't been able to stop returning to it.
"Horrible mutative reaction to experimental muscle stimulants."
"During treatment and various mental stimulation, subject mentions offspring whom subject was in the midst of passing on Quincy techniques. Though this merits no need for further investigation, One must ensure that survivor will be eradicated before it can become a threat."
He spoke of me, and I wasn't
Eradication, he wrote. How comforting to know that he failed, to know that I will eradicate him. I hate him, I hate that I That man. That fucking monster. If Ryuuken could see this, would he still ask that I keep my promise? When that man must be killed? When if so much as a tooth remained, I would fail as a Quincy? I didn't deserve to keep my abilities then, not when I let that man escape.
No matter what I do, no matter what I try, I keep failing him. Grandfather, are you very... disappointed?
My glasses have been replaced with a rad pair of sunglasses, I suddenly own Nike sneakers, and my computer won't stop playing what I think is a Michael Jackson song. The City seems to think I'm a fan; my wardrobe may have raided his. To be frank, I'm really not in the mood for it.
Zaheela-san, I will spar with you now.
Kurotsuchi-san must have intended these notes to be helpful. Zaheela-san said she intended that I could use them, learn from them to direct my training.
There are many entries. He said, then, that he had experimented on 2,661, so it cannot be complete. They are graphic. They are disgusting. They are cruel, detailed, and merciless. I know far more than I ever needed to know about the workings of the body, the amount of pain a Quincy can stand to certain pressure points. Every page holds a new list of horrors. I may never regain my appetite.
... But his entry is there. I can't, I haven't been able to stop returning to it.
"Horrible mutative reaction to experimental muscle stimulants."
"During treatment and various mental stimulation, subject mentions offspring whom subject was in the midst of passing on Quincy techniques. Though this merits no need for further investigation, One must ensure that survivor will be eradicated before it can become a threat."
He spoke of me, and I wasn't
Eradication, he wrote. How comforting to know that he failed, to know that I will eradicate him. I hate him, I hate that I That man. That fucking monster. If Ryuuken could see this, would he still ask that I keep my promise? When that man must be killed? When if so much as a tooth remained, I would fail as a Quincy? I didn't deserve to keep my abilities then, not when I let that man escape.
No matter what I do, no matter what I try, I keep failing him. Grandfather, are you very... disappointed?