This was a nightmare come true.

"Gin!"

He flew from the room, refusing to look back.

"Gin! Gin...!"

No.

No...

NO.

Gin almost covered his ears as he ran. Initially, the person was running behind him, but then someone else intercepted and they both stopped.

Good.

Stay away.

In moments, everything was still. Quiet. Unintentionally, he found himself near the living quarters and paused when he realized it. Only when he was certain it was safe did he exhale, hands tightening into fists.

His skin crawled.

Shuddering, he briefly shut his eyes. He was in Hell, alright...

Yet, he was confused. He knew this was the plan, the ploy, but he couldn't shut his mind off. He couldn't make it shut up, make it stop wondering. Was this true? Was this Hell? Was this a hallucination?

The illusions of the past were pushy about how real they were. Caring looks were giving to him, people urged him calmly and kindly that he wasn't hallucinating, that they knew he needed time to recover. People walked on eggshells around him. And while that initially began the same way...now it seemed as if everyone was leaving him to his own devices, not daring to interfere with his recovery.

It was...

He hated how confused he was becoming.

"Risk it."

He frowned. "No."

Shinsō thrummed within him. "What do you have to lose if this is all an illusion?"

Remaining silent, he shook his head and continued walking.

"If you are hallucinating—which you are not—it will have to end, eventually. But, if it isn't a hallucination—and it is not—you have everything to gain."

Panic began to rise within him, and he stopped in his tracks.

This was true. And he hated it. But...he was terrified of what it meant if it was true.

Shinsō materialized behind him, holding him close to her chest. "You cannot run forever, Gin..." She sounded pained.

He said nothing, his eyes shutting again.

"Trust me, as you always have."

Recalling how he never saw her in his previous hallucinations—not once, not ever—until now...he warred within himself. He physically twitched from the internal conflict, eyelids fluttering and body beginning to tremble.

"Please."

And he collapsed.

Shinsō fell with him, holding him even closer, tenderly, her bellowing clothes enveloping him, cradling him.

His jaw was locked, but he shuddered, his lower lip trembling.

He hated it.

He hated everything.

The last time he felt so much hate was when he vowed to kill Aizen. But this hate, this abhorrence, far surpassed that. That was a matchstick's flame. This was a forest fire, eating and licking at and searing his soul.

What did he have to lose...?

Nothing.

And why did he try to avoid his fate, anyway? This was Hell—he deserved torture, to go insane.

Fine.

Fine...

He was tired...So tired...

He gave a shuddering exhale, turning his head into the safety of Shinsō's garb. His voice choking, low and barely audible, he murmured, "I'll...trust ya..."

The words were like signing his own death warrant.

But if he couldn't trust his own soul, there was no point to anything.

And if this was a hallucination...if this wasn't real...he wouldn't be able to handle it. Not again.

Not after this.