Bleach Captains Jacket Novels & Stories

The 250-pound man flew backward through the smoke, slamming into the wall with enough force to crack the concrete. Sebastian looked at his hands. They weren't shaking. They were steady as stone. He felt... electric. Every beat of the music outside felt like a pulse in his own veins. "Holy sh*t," Dr. Klaus stared, holding a half-eaten kebab. "I gave you the Captain America juice." "Move!" Harper screamed, firing her pistol at the second and third Cleaners entering the room. Bang! Bang! Her shots sparked off their body armor. These weren't standard mercenaries. They were walking tanks.

“SO LADIES AND THEIR GENTLEMEN, GIVE A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR OUR PLAYERS!” The crowd erupted in louder cheers as I spotted multiple players making their way to their bikes, donning matching suits, padded jackets, and helmets. I effortlessly located Killian with a curious gaze. Standing tall and commanding attention, he stood distinct from the crowd, his physique accentuated by his broad shoulders and sleek, all-black ensemble. Striking red stripes adorned his padded jacket, complimenting the design of his helmet. Although his face remained concealed, his pale blue eyes sparkled brilliantly behind the transparent glass.

Lightning flashed across the black sky, illuminating the massive figure waiting for me. Captain Kai stood with his captain’s jacket open, white shirt plastered to his broad, tattooed chest from the rain. Water streamed down his face and neck. His eyes burned even in the darkness. “You’re late, brat,” he growled, grabbing my wrist and yanking me against him. “It’s three-oh-two,” I shot back, already breathless as cold rain soaked through the thin silk. “And this storm is insane. Couldn’t you have picked a calmer night to…”

“I’m not exactly a sports person.” “You will be after tonight. The energy is addictive. Hawthorne versus Westfield is always brutal—especially because of the captains. Brad Walker versus Sebastian Hale. Pure rivalry.” I raised an eyebrow. “Sebastian Hale?” “Captain of Westfield. Tall, insanely talented, and actually a decent guy from what I’ve heard not the cocky asshole type like Brad and his crew. The stands go wild whenever he’s on the ice. Total heartthrob material.” She winked. “You’ll see why.”

Dax observed, his tactical mind never shutting off. "They're doing more than talking," Captain Reyes said, stepping out of the shadows near the panoramic window. She had stripped off her heavy white-and-gold Paladin armor, opting for a sleek, dark tactical suit she’d found in the Ark's armory. Her jagged scar looked stark under the harsh quartz lighting.

I didn’t get five seconds. Three girls were already waiting by the sinks, all fake tans and fake laughs and real venom. I recognized them instantly regulars on Rowan’s I*******m comments, the ones who called him “daddy” unironically. And no I'm not some stalker, I just happened to notice one night, you know while digging up about him. “Wow, look who it is,” the blonde in the middle said, tilting her head like she was talking to a lost puppy. “Captain’s little charity case.”

Heavy Fighter [A] 4x Raijin Concepts “Shatterpulse” Mortar [X] — Their captain, Tyretha, appeared on the fleet’s comms and signaled their readiness once all were fully deployed. “Hydra squadron, ready to go,” she said. “Received, Hydra,” Lucifer answered.

"Is it?" The voice didn't come from the comms. It came from the doorway. Blind Eye froze. The humming stopped. The hand holding the whiskey glass trembled, sending ripples through the amber liquid. Slowly, the motorized wheelchair turned. The servos whined in the silence. Jack stood in the archway. He looked like a vision from hell. His trench coat was shredded, revealing the Kevlar and blood beneath. His face was smeared with soot and the blue dye from the confetti. His eyes were burning silver pools of absolute, unadulterated violence.

I sighed. "This is what you are going to wear." Hanaele lent me common identity clothes that the Agila squad is wearing. A white, knee level cape with a logo of an eagle in the emphasis of its sharp eyes, and its writing style that I did not recognize. A stretchable, dark red pants. Several blue strands of which I still do not know what are uses, and yellow upper attire. An orange-colored hip length jacket-like. And of course, peach footwear in knee level.

A voice came out, causing a hush of silence in the room. Out of the shadows, stepped the least person I expected. He looked way different from how I knew him. And this was the second time I was seeing him today. Jason Myers. What was the captain of the hockey team doing here? In a place surrounded by such men? The fat man's face had instantly turned white. “Mr. Myers. I didn't know she had an affiliation with you.” He stammered, instantly letting go of my hair. Jason's eyes narrowed, “Now you do, and that hand…” his gaze zeroing on the man's hand.