Much to her utter disbelief, stewed deep in the bland-chatter of her dealings she was, the intricate hamster wheels in her head spinning with vigour to work through her next steps– Contacting Ōhei(and the subsequent argument she is sure she'll manage to get into with him), monitoring That situation, going to That Other place deep in 12th, continuing her █████████-, she is brought out of endlessly looping thoughts.
Braids trip along her shoulder, head turned slowly, gingerly, following a surge of reiatsu.
That situation; A Bankai. rage. hate. hate. hate–
"Girl–" she begins, addressing Kokuren with a scowl, her following words dying in her throat, choked around a spit filled gasp.
No.
Absolutely not.
For all her bragging grandeur, in her belief that she is truly the epitome of everything– The end-all, be-all. Perfection incarnate-, it is this moment that shows what she is to her core. Not a genius. Not a perfect creation.
A bug.
She's a bug.
Wide eyes, seeing the danger, yet too stupid to get away in time, choosing to ignore those obvious redflags flying in her peripherals. What good was someone like her, in the end, when the fear of inevitability ripped chunks of hair from her scalp, reminding her that she can't stand her ground if her life is even vaguely threatened.
And threatened it is.
THUD – THUD – THUD – THUD
Not even a glance is given to Kokuren, the girl and Itaku firmly put out of her head as blood vessels threaten to burst against her eardrums. Doors open with hollow thunks as she speed walks through the halls, adrenaline stuffed fear keeping would-be legs of jelly barely stable enough to not collapse under her, shoulders nudging blurry bodies out of her way.
Under her nails, in her teeth, behind her pupils- She can feel it. It could be a dull buzz breaking through the dampened, reiatsu proofed walls of the twelfth to others, the less honed and refined, but for her it's an inhumanly loud thunder rattling through her skull. It's alarming either way, whether she was panicking or not. Very little could get through their walls.
Were she clear, present, she would have added that to her list of to-do's to fix. But she isn't.
Carried back to toward the Spiritual Wave Measurement Lab (電波計測研究科, Denpa Keisoku Kenkyūka; lit. "Wave Measurement Department") by hurried pattering steps she glances around at various monitors, the searing greens and reds on black burning the information of the conflict transpiring to her retinas. With the entire scenario seeming to get further and further out of hand, any hopes that she could acquire 'samples' from the individuals involved dwindled to nothing. A pity, considering they may have been useful in the development of Mosquito (蚊; ka). She could just never shake the– currently rather intrusive- thoughts for furthering her Azamushi.
"Ma'am," stopping short of her destination she blinks, once, twice, registering the voice of another bothersome unseated subordinate. He cleared his throat, brow furrowed, "Third Seat Teishi has returned," he pauses, eyes averted from meeting hers, "And she has an unconscious Shinigami in her office,"
She stares, owlish, blinking slowly, and waiting for further explanation. When it's clear she isn't going to get one, she lets out a sigh, shaking and uneven where she meant it to be exasperated and controlled.
"Is… That all?" the unseated shinigami nods, his guard as lowered as her own, just for very different reasons.
What the thought process of Nanami is when shit is, objectively, hitting the fan escapes Shibuya. Why bother alerting her to her return? Why bother alerting her that she has some no-name Shinigami in her office?
If she wasn't so frazzled she may have understood the first as Nanami informing her that she was still alive.
While she still criticized the third seat, the interruption gifted to her by the woman was enough to shake her thoughts closer to their proper places, pegs knocked askew but rolling to the holes they fit into. Would her pride allow it, the Harai may have even offered her a word of thanks the next time they came across one another– Alas, for Nanami, Shibuya is nothing short of a sinner.
She takes a shaky inhale, and rolls her head in a small half-circle, focus returning alongside her rationale.
This, for how terrifying it is, how it sends butterflies down her spine, is an opportunity. A situation where she can safely watch the happenings and not get involved in person, and take the reins of control to benefit from it.
"Understood." her jaw grinds against itself, popping out of its socket on one side, then popping back easily, "Please, go and check on our guest from Fourth Division. Kokuren is her name. She may still be in the Warehouse Sector, Storage Building Fourteen. Ensure she is kept safe until this conflict is over," the man yips a 'Yes, ma'am!', charging out of sight to follow his orders, as benign as they are.
Finally, she pushes the last leg forward to the Spiritual Wave Measurement Department, shoving open one of the many doors leading into the area. Heavy air hits her, hot and suffocating as the frantic clicks of typing and loud chatter greet the fifth seat.
Wasting no time, she stalks over to the center of the facility, the largest of the screens beaming down at her. This spot has been empty for as long as she has been a part of the 13 Court Guard Squads, its last occupant gone in what may as well have been mere moments before she arrived. A memory for those that were there, while Shibuya saw it as a goal, open and ready for her to reach it in what will leave a far stronger, more lasting, impact. A legacy of her own to strive for. Today is a simple taste-test for what she considers an inevitability.
A few final steps have her on the raised podium, encircled by the railings like a safety blanket.
"What are the casualties?!" she yells, voice carrying over the mutterings of her squadmates easily from her position.
A second without reply goes by, her fellow eggheads unsure how to respond- if they even should. She isn't the acting leader of their squad, her sudden jump into the deep-end will only create turbulent waves in time to come.
"Approximately ███ Shinigami, ma'am!"
The reply breaks through the quiet, all the signal the others need to pick-up their work again. It shouldn't feel as good as it does as they allow Shibuya control over their hive.
With all her internal celebration, the number worries her. As far as she is aware, the ranks of the Gotei 13 haven't fully recovered since the civil war incident, its numbers barely warranting the vast space of the Seireitei anymore as each division was met with what could almost be a halving of their total bodies. Needless to say, even a handful of casualties would be far too many after such an incident. Depending on the squads they came from, this could be devastating for more than just the physical damage likely being caused.
"Do we know who the perpetrator is?"
"Shiba Densagi, most likely," A Shiba? Well, that could certainly explain motivation. The massacre of his clan, finally no longer being able to stuff the hatred down, eventually leading to the current display of malice still leaking through her vertebrae. The intricacies fly over her head, however, only able to guesstimate the process that landed them where they are currently.
The choice of words catches her attention, though.
"Most likely? What does that mean?" she asks, glowering toward the voice's direction.
"Our sensors cannot get a clear reading of ground-zero, so we are unable to verify if it is him or not,"
"Captain Kurayami of Fifth Division alluded to it being him as well,"
Ah, right. That. In all her panic she had barely heard the other woman's voice in her head earlier, and she certainly wasn't in the right frame of mind to understand what she was saying. With how fast and loose Shizukana played it with sharing her reiatsu, many had likely heard what she had to say, including the hermits of 12th despite how little a majority of them actually left. Seeing her crinkle her nose, one of said members relays the message to her as verbatim as they can remember.
As she ruminates over what to do, what she could do, her eye catches a spike of red just out of view on the giant screen, huddled into the upper left corner of the zoomed in overhead perspective of the N.W. district of Seireitei.
"What in the…" she mutters, squinting at the oddity. She knows the N.W. isn't the only area caught in the attack, obvious from the display of power, but those dots aren't over the N.E. or the S.W. as she expects. Perhaps it's a glitch? Some sort of graphical problem caused by Densagi's overwhelming Bankai futzing with their tech. The rationale is flawed, enough so that she finally looks to the control panel before her.
Scrolling the view over, her fear is confirmed. Red dots cluster in Central- the opposite portion of Central that she could rightfully lump into the incident plaguing most everyone's attention at the moment, all close and huddled as-if–
She doesn't hesitate and pulls an Azamushi Injector(痣蟲 注射器; azamushi chūsha-ki) from her obi, its cap flying off somewhere as she stabs the needle into her forearm. Once the vessel's plunger clicks, it's ripped from her arm just as quickly as it entered, an inky black tattoo blooming where it once met her flesh.
Centipede(蜈蚣; mukade), 1 out of 6 injector(s) used.
The tattoo begins to move, squirming, until it divides itself into nine separate, identical tattoos, three of which crawl off of Shibuya's body, scattering in various directions toward the surface.
Centipede #1 to N.E., 4th Division HQ!
Centipede #2 to Central, 2nd Division HQ!
Centipede #3 to N.W., Ground-Zero!
One stands out against her face, blatant while it slithers around, blending seamlessly even as it digs itself into her eye, stretching toward her ear in a line between the two orifices.
She sighs, gripping the metal railing around her.
"Allow anyone nearby to enter the S.R.D.I. down to level two," she orders, hand-picking a few from the ranks of twelfth that she is confident can suppress their reiryoku enough to not immediately make the problem worse. Level 2 contains many sub-labs, most of which require clearance, but it is the first level of the S.R.D.I. built with reiryoku dampeners, meaning it will just have to do to house any stragglers, the injured, or whoever else may need to get away and somehow haven't fallen unconscious yet.
Speaking of unconscious Shinigami…
To be sure she won't miss out on anything pertinent, one of the Centipede's crawls off her to the railing, standing on its back legs to watch the large screen.
"Keep a close eye on the situations until I return," she says to both the Centipede and the members of S.W.M.D. before vanishing into a short-lived shunpo– She's moved around so much already she can't rightly warrant more walking.
Her head beats with pressure, migraine blurring her surroundings, as she swiftly makes her arrival. Shibuya clenches her fist, slamming it into her superior's door.
"Teishi!" she yells through the door, trying to keep her voice level, "Open up!"
