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Alone, in the dark, the being known as Aizen Sosuke counted the centuries as they ticked by. He may as well have been floating in space, for all the stillness and silence. The one thing that disrupted that imagination was the tight black bonds that held him to cold stone. He passed the time in meditation, eyes closed out of habit. However, when sudden light manifested behind the fleshy wall, they opened.
“What’s this?” He asked the surrounding dark smoothly. “Someone keeping their Spiritual Pressure from me? I commend you. Come on out.”
No one appeared, but a soft click echoed from beyond the circle of light. “Good mornin’, Aizen-fukutaichō.”
The would-be god jerked reflexively. “Gin?!”
Another click, closer this time.
The aspiring deity’s eyes narrowed in the direction of the voice. “Is that you, Gin?”
“So, you survived. That surprises me. I was sure my sword had fully extinguished your life. How is it you escaped execution? It goes without saying that you are nowhere near powerful enough to be imprisoned here—”
The imprisoned male ceased speaking abruptly. A young boy was suddenly there in front of him, wearing a Soul Reaper’s shihakushō and a creepy grin. The faint light reflected off his silver hair, and at his waist was a wakizashi with an S-shaped handle.
“There ya are. How long you gonna stay there, Aizen-fukutaichō?”
The prisoner stared.
“Ya don’t wanna keep Hirako-taichō waitin’.” The eerie image waited, smiling.
When Aizen spoke, it was with a deceptively calm voice. “Who are you?”
The young fox cocked his head to the side innocently. “Whatcha talkin’ ’bout, fukutaichō? It’s me, Gin.”
“...Fascinating. You even sound just like him. At first I thought that perhaps all this time down here has affected even me. Now I see, your voice is slightly different than I remembered because you’re a child again,” Aizen regarded the young Soul Reaper coldly. “What are you doing here?”
“I jus’ thought you were lonely,” the fox said. “Aren’t ya happy to see me?”
“Is this another clever trick of Urahara Kisuke’s?” The trapped man spat out the name in hatred.
“Nah. It’s me, fukutaichō.”
“How are you concealing your Spiritual Pressure from me?”
“Why now,” the silver fox replied pleasantly, “would a ghost have Spiritual Pressure?”
“What?”
He spread his hands. “How am I a kid again, like ya said, if I'm not checkin’ in on ya from beyond the grave?”
The older man fell silent. He didn’t have an answer to that. But the creeping chill that had began since the inexplicable apparition had appeared was snaking up his spine and he felt cold for the first time since he was fused with the Hogyoku.
“No.”
“No what?” His creepy visitor asked.
“You’re not a ghost.” The traitor answered slightly louder.
“Didn’t ya say earlier that you killed me?”
Aizen glared down at him, but the child simply continued. “Ne, fukutaichō, are you scared?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“How much longer ya got down ’ere? I mean, even Hinamori-chan’s got a new captain ta follow, so she doesn’t think ’bout you no more.”
“Hinamori could never forget about me.”
“They’ll probably jus’ gonna keep extending yer sentence until everybody up there forgets ’bout ya. By then,” the young fox concluded aloud, “ya probably won't even be able ta walk if you could.”
“What do you want?” Aizen shouted, cutting him off.
“Jus’ fer you to be honest with yourself. After all,” the boy grinned widely. “Ya gonna be ’ere fer forever.”
“I will...” The prisoner lurched against his bonds, spitting. “I will destroy you! All of you! I will not bow to the Soul King! I will destroy it! I am a being far beyond all of you! I will shape the world! I will shape it! I am a god! You will never reach me!”
The silver-haired boy watched him for a moment quietly. Then he turned and left the screaming prisoner once again in the dark. On the surface, he exited into a brightly-lit corridor. Immediately, hands dropped onto his shoulders lightly.
“Not bad.”
The boy turned and buried his face into their clothes. The pale hands gently moved to his cheeks. “Did he scare ya?”
“A little.” The boy lifted his face up. “But I think he was more scared than me. I think he was really hopin’ you’d stick with him all the way, Dad.”
Gin’s smile undeniably softened as he gazed down at his spitting image. He reached under the boy’s sleeve and retracted a small device engraved with the Twelfth Division’s symbol, shutting it off. “I didn’t get ta kill ’im, but I got revenge fer yer mom. So why’d ya wanna see him?”
His son hummed, the creeping smile replaced with a more thoughtful one. “Shiro-chan hates him so much, but Hinamori-san misses him so much. I wanted to see what he was like.”
He lifted Shinsō off his person and handed the Zanpakuto back to its rightful user.
“Let’s go home, huh?” Gin suggested. “Don’ tell yer mother, she’ll kill me.”
The boy smiled mischievously and raised his hand, which Gin took in his own. “’Course.”