The beads hung heavy on him as though his deceased predecessors' hands were gripping his shoulders in their pallid embrace. It chafed. Ichirō held his head in his hand, blinking away exhaustion. Papers were strewn over his desk, evidence of obstruction, eyewitness testimony of sabotage and 'affidavits of untrustworthiness' which had lately become enough to lock away most who were accused.
The 6th no longer had the resources to properly investigate every single allegation, yet orders had come down from above that any suspected traitors were to be imprisoned immediately. The risks of further assassinations and conspiracies were too great. With their cells overflowing, they were forced to dispose of those with even a shred of evidence against them.
With the crisis on Earth, every good sword was needed. Yet here they were, killing soldiers and potential recruits. The orders seemed tangled: every captain was at each other's throats, Central 46 was ripping itself apart and unable to fulfill their most basics duties.
Filibusters ground each meeting to a halt, discussions inevitably devolved into partisan tribalism and character attacks. The populists claimed the nobles were hastening the collapse of Soul Society by sending more souls to Earth via execution . The nobility accused them in turn of undermining order by freeing vipers and turncoats. Most days it seemed they were both at his throat - mad he had executed too many, mad he hadn't executed enough.
The accused was kneeling in front of the block, her head placed directly underneath the arc of the halberd above. It was a cheap imitation of the Sōkyoku, but not every two-bit thief in Seireitei was worthy of a grand execution. Besides, the sheer volume of saboteurs and traitors had necessitated the setup of dozens of execution centers across the city. He'd barely been the head of the family and a seated officer for a week, yet had already overseen the executions of a veritable deluge of petty criminals and enemies-of-state.
The woman stared up at him, neck writhing as she attempted to proclaim her innocence once again. He merely gazed back down at her with tired eyes, well assured by the 3rd seats of both the 2nd and 8th Divisions that their records held she was guilty of the crime. It no longer mattered to him: he hadn't bothered to verify much after the... He'd lost count.
The blade fell at lightning speed, obliterating what had once been the Shinigami. The crowd cheered, eager to see supposed justice done. At this point, the illusion that the problem was being dealt with was just as important as finding the actual criminals.
The 6th no longer had the resources to properly investigate every single allegation, yet orders had come down from above that any suspected traitors were to be imprisoned immediately. The risks of further assassinations and conspiracies were too great. With their cells overflowing, they were forced to dispose of those with even a shred of evidence against them.
With the crisis on Earth, every good sword was needed. Yet here they were, killing soldiers and potential recruits. The orders seemed tangled: every captain was at each other's throats, Central 46 was ripping itself apart and unable to fulfill their most basics duties.
Filibusters ground each meeting to a halt, discussions inevitably devolved into partisan tribalism and character attacks. The populists claimed the nobles were hastening the collapse of Soul Society by sending more souls to Earth via execution . The nobility accused them in turn of undermining order by freeing vipers and turncoats. Most days it seemed they were both at his throat - mad he had executed too many, mad he hadn't executed enough.
The accused was kneeling in front of the block, her head placed directly underneath the arc of the halberd above. It was a cheap imitation of the Sōkyoku, but not every two-bit thief in Seireitei was worthy of a grand execution. Besides, the sheer volume of saboteurs and traitors had necessitated the setup of dozens of execution centers across the city. He'd barely been the head of the family and a seated officer for a week, yet had already overseen the executions of a veritable deluge of petty criminals and enemies-of-state.
The woman stared up at him, neck writhing as she attempted to proclaim her innocence once again. He merely gazed back down at her with tired eyes, well assured by the 3rd seats of both the 2nd and 8th Divisions that their records held she was guilty of the crime. It no longer mattered to him: he hadn't bothered to verify much after the... He'd lost count.
The blade fell at lightning speed, obliterating what had once been the Shinigami. The crowd cheered, eager to see supposed justice done. At this point, the illusion that the problem was being dealt with was just as important as finding the actual criminals.
Name: Ichirō Takenaka | Black Hair/Eyes | Head of a Noble Family/Seated Officer (6th Div.) | Details aren't really important yet, can elaborate in other posts or Discord
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