Okay, so how to explain my current situation.

How does one explain this exactly?

Well, for one thing, this bar sucks. Like, seriously; the table tops are sticky, the drinks taste like shit, and everything is dirt-cheap. Why am I here?

Oh yeah, I'm drowning my sorrows with horrible tasting beer, my bad. It's not like I do this often, you know.

My name is Ichigo Kurosaki, and I'm pretty damn close to living on the streets; so why not enjoy a beer before it happens?

Oh right, this beer sucks hairy-horse ass. Damn.

I sigh, running my tan hands through my fiery orange hair as I stare at the sticky table-top; decidedly not staring at the suspicious looking white-stains of unintelligible substance on my right.

I take a swig of my drink, grimacing at the horrid taste on my tongue and pushing it away from me. It was sour and probably strong enough to strip paint, and just generally tasted like something one would normally not consume, but to hell with it.

"Can't stand ta' taste either?" a tired sounding voice on my right questions, and I glance down. On second look, those unintelligible stains of questionable-substance turned out to be a man that looked about my age, slumped against the counter.

His skin was white, pale enough to look like a corpse. His hair was marble-white, and when he glanced up at me I saw black sclera and golden irises.

"Nah, not really. Definitely should've gone for the cherry-martini."

The exhausted retort got a small chuckle from the other male, and I watched out of the corner of my eye as he picked himself up from the counter top.

"So, why're ya here? Anybody comin' 'ere usually drownin' themselves in their sorrows."

I glance over at the other male, smirking slightly.

"My old man runs a clinic, so people who ain't close 'nough to a hospital got somewhere to go while waitin' for an ambulance; but nobody comes 'round anymore and we're goin' outta business."

The other nods, staring down at the countertop.

"Kurosaki Clinic?"

"Yep, that's the one."

"That sucks; I've been in t'ere once or twice, when I wa' younga'."

I nod, smiling softly. I could remember when the clinic always had visitors, whether it be for minor scrapes and bruises or major emergencies when the hospital had to come in. Those were the good days.

"Well then, I assume you're not here just for the horrible-tasting beer either?" I ask, taking another swig of the horrible drink before glancing at the other. He just smiles, shaking his head.

"I ain't here for a reason a' meanin-ful as yours; I gotta couple a' debts to pay off, and I can't afford ta' half of em'." The other male takes a swig of his drink as well, grimacing in equal fashion.

"I still don' know why I'm still drinkin' this shit." He groans, setting the dirty mug down. I smile at him, meeting his eyes.

"Cause this sack-o-shit don't got a cherry-martini."

The other male laughs, and I find myself laughing with him.

"What's ya' name?" he asks, and I look up at the TV as it flickers on.

"Ichigo Kurosaki, yours?" The other male turns to look at the TV with me.

"Shirosaki Hichigo. Jus' call me Shiro." I nod, focusing on the TV as the news flips on.

"Breaking News! The Tokyo Bay mall has finally set up its specialized diamond and ruby exhibit, showcasing the largest, most expensive jewels to be found on the planet; the Soul King's Jewel! My, what a sparkle!"

Shiro chuckles, glancing over at me.

"I'll bet 50 bucks it's gonna be robbed by nex' week." I chuckle as well, but my mind was drunk enough at this point to start assessing the vents and security. Tokyo Bay wasn't really that strict on their security these days, and a teenager could easily hack their systems these days.

"You know, given how 'lax things have been lately; it'd probably be easy as hell to break in and steal." I comment, and it would've taken the blind to not notice how Shiro's eyes suddenly changed. I watched as his eyes followed the same path as mine, mentally scoping out the ventilation shafts and security bases.

"Ta' old-fart who runs ta' place pro'bly hasn't updated ta' firewall in years, so its pro'bly easy to hack into the systems and shut down ta' cameras." Shiro mumbles, looking at the TV in a barely-masked interest.

"People like us could probably do it." I smile, shaking my head. "What a shame neither of us can, eh?" I glance over at Shiro, who I noticed pulled out his phone. He started typing something quickly, tilting the phone left and right like it was a video game controller.

"What're you doing?" I ask, only to be interrupted by the news.

"Oh my! It looks like the power has started to go out! This is certainly unexpected- oh my goodness!" I watch stunned as the security all flicked on at once, alarms blaring, bright security lasers blaring, and the lights flickering on and off rapidly.

"Yep, they definitely need ta' update ta' firewall." Shiro chuckles, and I turn to look at him in shock. He shows me the screen of his phone, displaying the security cameras and the alarm system.

"You're doing that?!" I whisper-yell, and Shiro nods.

"Hello, numbah one worl'-class hacker righ' here." Shiro smirks, and I raise an eyebrow.

"No way; pics or it never happened."

Shiro smirks, fiddles with his phone, and then passes it over. It showed a picture of a younger looking Shiro holding a diploma; shaking the hand of a professor. If one squinted, one could make out the writing on it.

TOKYO UNIVERSITY OF TECHNOLOGY-School of Computers and Technology- Hichigo Hollow Shirosaki- PhD of Coding – Double-Major of English and Engineering- 3/23/2102

Another picture showed an even younger Shiro, possibly teenaged, smiling widely as he held a check and an award. The award read:

FIRST PLACE WINNER: HICHIGO H SHIROSAKI

-WORLD CLASS CHAMPION HACKER & PROGRAMMAR

-12/7/2096

"Dude, holy crap! How old were you when you won that?" I ask, and Shiro smiles as he takes the phone back.

"Was 'bout 10" it takes me about 20 seconds to do the math between the two pictures.

"Wait, so you graduated at 16?" I ask, and Shiro nods. I smile, leaning back against the (still rather sticky) countertop.

"That's cool; I graduated top of the class at Tokyo's University of Medicine and Neurology with my PhD at about 14. I was captain of the male gymnastics team, and would've made it to the 2094 Olympics if I had been older." Shiro shoots me a look, and I dig out my phone to show him pictures.

The first one I showed was me with my diploma, my dad giving me a noogie as I glared up at him. The next couple showed me in the middle of surgery, my dad having taken them from the stage. The last was a little embarrassing; the school gymnastics uniform had been bright pink.

"Huh, you ain't kiddin." Shiro hands back my phone, and we turn back to the news. The female reporter looked flustered, but got back to her piece. When the channel flipped to the weather, I sighed and stood.

"Whelp, nice meetin' ya Shiro; but I gotta help run the clinic." I sigh, standing up and waving the bar tender over to pay. Before I could however, Shiro slapped my hand away and pulled out his own wallet.

"I'll pay for ta' both of ours." I raise an eyebrow, but his smile kept me quiet.

"So, ya'r house or mine?" Shiro asks, sliding his wallet back into his hoodie pocket. I turn to look at him.

"Ummm, why?" I ask, only for a strange shiver to creep down my back at his wide grin.

"Well, we got a rob-ah-ry ta' plan; don't we?"