"If you guys are finished already," Urahara Kisuke glared in the direction of the first bickering duo of Shinji and Hiyori, before turning to fix his gaze on Ryuuken and Isshin, the former attempting to completely ignore the existence of the latter, the latter attempting to catch the attention of the former, creating loud noises but still utterly failing. Leaning not so casually over the table to draw attention, he looked like he was going to clear his throat. Looks can be deceiving, no? (And this was Urahara. Nope, not Ikkaku, not Zaraki, it was Urahara, deceiver extraordinaire, also known to the world as He Who Played Too Many Jokes.)

Nanao was sure that he was trying to get the four people to look at him. What Nanao did not expect was for a large pink assumingly air-filled pig to appear on the table, not oinking but quacking madly. Nope. Of all the possible ways she would have thought to gain the attention of others, a large pink assumingly air-filled pig quacking madly had not at all come to mind. Not at freaking all. Where on earth had he gotten the pig from in the first place? And how on earth had he set it up on the table?

She noticed that he was the only one grinning. And by grinning, she meant grinning like a madman and looking like one. "So, can I begin?" It was apparently a winning smile, for both duos backed down and glared at each other. Actually, Hiyori huffed and turned around while Shinji made a face, only to be smacked down by Kensei next to him. Ryuuken merely looked away from Isshin, which was actually what he had been doing for the past five minutes while Isshin slumped and pouted.

Urahara must have been wonderfully perceptive for apparently, all the different reactions were a signal for a hyperactively overly exuberant, "Yosh! Let's start, then!" Zaraki's men tried not to groan collectively but failed, Byakuya looked up from polishing his own shoes, Nanao whipped out a laptop to take notes, Ichigo inched away from his father, Ukitake and Kensei reached out to whack Shinji on the head once more just for good measure. Yup, they were ready for the briefing.

Urahara's grin piped down a little before completely disappearing, a more solemn and serious look replacing it. Personally, Nanao found this face a little disturbing. There was no telling what he was thinking behind it, and she liked knowing how people thought. "We all know it's Aizen behind this, so I thought that I would elaborate a little on his partners," Ichimaru coughed loudly, getting to his feet and sweeping into a bow, "who Gin was nice enough to do some scoping around and find out."

A little wave of his hand and one of the research technicians, a youth named Akon, pressed a button and activated the slides. The projector whirred to life and the table collectively leant a little closer to the wall which now doubled as a screen. A picture of a man looking too confident to be normal appeared. "Aizen Sousuke," Urahara muttered with distaste, gesturing with a metal pointer, "Head honcho of the operation. We don't know too much about him, except for that fact that he once worked with us. Nothing turned up on his past, his university qualifications or even his life before he was working with us."

A click. "Barragan. Again, not much on this guy, but we went a little deeper," Urahara coughed, "and paid a little more money, and it turns out that his company does retail of pretty much anything, also known as black marketing. Owns properties all over the world. Why he would ally with Aizen is anyone's guess, it could be money, power or something that greedy people want. We think that Aizen allied with him for his connections, something which he did not have previously. And it is precisely his network that makes him so dangerous. Any questions so far?"

"Can ya get to the point?" Zaraki looked bored but pissed at the same time. "Show us the bastard who blew up the training ground, Urahara. I've got a score to settle with the asshole. I don't give a damn about the others. You guys can do yer sissy plotting and all. I'm gonna beat that asshole into pulp."

Nanao's mind flickered to her neighbor in the hospital ward, the normally hyper jumping menace known as Yachiru. Nanao was fine, the slight concussion had been as it was, slight, and there were no lasting after effects besides more common headaches which Unohana-san had assured her would fade in a week or two. Most of the others were fine except for Yachiru who had not gotten away in time, having been hanging around the other side of the stands bothering Kurotsuchi. The little girl was recovering from some rather serious burns and shrapnel wounds even as they were having the meeting.

And speaking of Kurotsuchi, the father was currently undergoing emergency medical treatment, which would explain why Unohana-san was not present, with Kotetsu-san sitting in as her replacement. Rumors had it that he was intending to replace some of his severely damaged limbs with implants and prosthetics which had been developed recently by the sub-department under him. Nemu was fine though a little shell-shocked. Matsumoto had bounced happily into her life and was now guiding her to live it properly without the influence of Kurotsuchi Senior.

Urahara nodded slightly grimly, which intimidated most of those who knew him, before bending over the computer and flashing through three more slides. "That would be this man. Nnoitra Jiruga." Another click and the picture of a sneering almost snake-like man appeared on the screen. White suit, black shirt, white tie and a cigarette dangling from his mouth, Nanao took an instant dislike to the man. She did not like the smoker types, nope, not at all. And it was something about the way that he seemed to be carrying himself that she had a great dislike for. Come to think of it, that face was rather familiar. Now, if she could only remember why.

"24th Mafia-esque Boss, controlled a sizeable area in Western Russia as well as shipping routes throughout the region with a monopoly on the Arctic Circle waters, cooperated with the Grantzes to oust former Siberian Mafia leader Neliel Tu Oderschvank due to unknown reasons. Blew up the headquarters while they were at it, and has sponsored numerous military expeditions, illegal ones, of course. He is probably aiming to secure superiority around Japanese waters, that which is currently controlled by the Ishidas."

Urahara paced around the table, stopping behind his own empty seat. "This means two things. Firstly, Aizen wants us out of the picture. That is rather predictable. After he left us quite a while back and even started up his own organization, it was obvious he wanted his old gang out of the picture. But now, it seems that he wants everyone else besides him out of the picture. That's the Ishidas, Hirako and gang, and probably even Yamamoto-san and the Shibas. Anyone and everyone who's got connections to us, he wants gone. That's what we've got so far."

"Secondly," this time it was Ichimaru who spoke up, "Jiruga-san's previous association with the Grantzes means that it is likely that they are on Aizen's side as well. That means that he's serious about whatever he's doing, because the Grantzes don't come cheap. I don't think he's just trying to get rid of us, only that getting rid of us will let him accomplish something bigger. Judging by the way with which he has utterly eradicated the streets of the other major cities of opposing gangs, and judging by the huge conglomerate which he seems to be setting up, he wants to go national first." Ichimaru raised his head slightly, looking straight at the two bosses before sweeping his gaze around the room. "With his new network of mostly foreigners, we think he wants to go international."

Silence filled the room as Ichimaru sat down, his smile a little larger than usual, which in his own unique series of facial expressions meant that he was uncomfortable or slightly displeased or both. As with most of the room, Nanao was stunned, her pen falling to the notebook softly. Most of the senior members merely looked displeased or resigned while the newer members, the transferees and the rookies, were utterly stunned. They were all waiting for something to happen, for someone to say something. It was simply not possible. To take over the world? Insane, impossible! Aizen was completely off his rocker!

"Thought so." Blinking, Nanao looked up to where Ukitake-san had just spoken up, the white haired man exchanging glances with Kyouraku-san. Leaning his elbows on the table, he continued, "Shunsui and I have had suspicions ever since we received word from Komamura that his clientele had been decreasing in size. That and the demand for goods and works has been going down. Most of you would know," he shot a glance at Zaraki who merely looked faintly annoyed as usual, "that business for us has been decreasing, fewer and fewer gangs are approaching us with requests for merger, for protection, and even for jobs to be done. The last time we did a heist was two years ago. Aizen is up to something and we're mostly on our own; we have been since the start."

Shunsui cleared his throat to speak. "We've already isolated his main focus." Pulling a suitcase out from below the table, it clunked loudly at contact with said table. A few clicks and it opened. "This," he held up a semi-automatic submachine gun that Nanao was sure she had seen somewhere before but could not quite figure out what model it was, "is what he is dealing in currently. That and he has assembled with him quite an group of," another pause as he attempted to phrase his next sentence properly, "talent, which will be elaborated on later by Urahara and Ichimaru. As of now, we are unsure as to what his next step is, but one thing is apparent. He wants something that we stand in the way of, and he is going to get violent to get it."

"I'm surprised, frankly." He smirked, swirling the tea in the teacup around for a moment before looking up to meet the amber orange eyes at the other side of the table. The room was sparsely decorated, minimalistically decorated, the white furniture accented with either black wood or metallic silver.

"Is that so?" Fingers ran over the cup, a slight smile going to the other man's face as he met brown eyes with an unwavering gaze, the smile taking on a feral edge. The suitcase sat halfway between the pair, open and on the table. "And why, pray tell?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Just a rumor. Just a rumor." The listener relaxed a little, leaning back in his chair. The smirk grew more pronounced on the speaker, gaze growing menacing as he leant forward, drawing closer to the other man's face. The tone was completely different from the warmth and relative hospitality of before, now icy and venomous.

"Or so I've heard, Mr. Grantz." The smirk again. "But it's alright. Not to worry. I'll call the others in for your verdict."

Szayel Apollo Grantz exchanged glances with Il Forte as shivers ran up his spine. Damn, this was dangerous, but if he could get what he wanted, then he was going to stick in this till the end.

The door creaked open and the occupant scowled mentally at the unwanted intrusion. Fingers flew over the keyboard before he snapped the laptop cover down and turned around, mildly annoyed but not showing it. "You."

"Why yes of course it's me." Lounging against the doorframe, Grimmjow smirked, looking all too pleased with himself. "Who else could it have been, eh? S'not like ya've got any friends around these parts."

"You have not changed a bit since MIT, I see." The occupant spoke calmly, much unlike what one would expect from a person in his place. All the while, he was packing up his equipment and returning the desk to its originally clean state.

"And why would I need to change, eh?" Grimmjow did not like whatever it was that he was attempting to imply with that statement, not at all. No way.

"I would have no idea." The occupant busied himself with moving around the room, calmly ignoring the presence of Grimmjow and treating the conversation as if it were something as normal as a phone call.

Hah. Yeah right. As if the almighty hacker idiot would have something as lowly as no idea. But that was fine with him. If he had no idea, all the better. "Damn straight."

"Perhaps you might have wanted to rid the world of such trash as your ridiculously colored hair, Jeagerjaques?" Ridiculous. As if Grimmjow was completely normal. Back in their university times, that ridiculous cyan blue hair and ridiculous blue green eye highlights were very, very noticeable. Even more so than his own facial features.

"HAH! And who are you to tell me to do that, nerd-face? You haven't changed a bit either." Grimmjow sneered, entering the room and picking up the nearest gadget to look at it. A small black presumably hand held and portable device with a big screen. Well, Grimmjow had never seen something like this before, and happily assumed that it was expensive, judging from his rival's slightly annoyed face, not that said rival would actually show it.

Said nerd-face turned around to semi-glare at Grimmjow, stopping halfway through shutting down the program in the fifth laptop. This intrusion better be important, because the program required quite a bit of processing power and quite some time to set up as well. "I see no reason to change."

"Oh yeah? Well, I do. C'mon, dude, eye lines were so last decade." Grimmjow's sneer broke into an outright smirk as he leant in, gesturing with his right index finger to prove his point.

"Excuse me?" Now he was annoyed. Rather annoyed. Fingers no longer flew over the keyboard as he took in a silent deep breath to calm himself down. No, do not let Grimmjow get to you, do not let the big cyan jerk in the corner get to you. Damn. This was not working. Not at all. Asshole.

Grimmjow knew from the tone of voice and the halt in movement that he had hit his mark. His smirk growing ever more triumphant, he leant in further, taking another step into the surprisingly immaculately neat room. "Yeah. The Goth thing, it's over now, y'know. There aren't so many Goths around now, ya?"

"I am not a Goth!"

Hah! Yes. For once, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques was going to win an argument against this man. He could already see it, the annoyance. A few more buttons to push and he would be there. And it was so easy. Loser hacker must have lost his touch then. This was so easy. Too easy. Almost too easy. "Emo, then. Whatever, you loser hacker."

"It's better than being a loser bomb-constructor."

Oh, ow. Now that hurt. But he was not a 'bomb-constructor'. He was an explosives expert, and he was damn good at what he did. Scowling, he shot back angrily, well aware that he sounded more than a little petulant and childish. He did not particularly care. "Hackers suck."

Huh. If Grimmjow thought that he was going to win that easily, then he was severely mistaken. The occupant simply raised an eyebrow as he turned to face Grimmjow, retorting calmly, "So says the man who can't code to save his life."

"Why would I need to code to save my life? Ya stupid or what?" Che. Just because coding was his entire life did not mean that the loser hacker had to force that onto others. Especially not him. Grimmjow had better things to do than code, much better things. (Like blowing up stuff. Yeah. Explosives were way cooler than codes.)

"Excuse me?"

"And what's with the prissy attitude? Don't tell me ya living the high life. Ya not some noble, Schiffer, and ya'll never be. S'not like ya'll ever be rich enough to make it big in Prissy Land." Huh. Stupid Schiffer still thought he was better than all of them, eh? Well, news flash, he was not. No way. There was no way that Ulquiorra Schiffer was better than Grimmjow Jeagerjaques. Hell no.

"So says the man who's still stuck at the bottom of the hierarchy of life," Ulquiorra shot back, this time already packed, equipment snatched back from the undeserving unappreciative of its beauty Jeagerjaques.

"Hell no, that's not me. That's ya," Grimmjow paused, smirking before he leant in again to deal his so-called final blow, "Schiffer No-lifer."

"I do so have a life," huffed Ulquiorra, looking slightly annoyed, which Grimmjow read to mean that he was really very annoyed. Schiffer was not the type to show emotions, so showing them even fractionally meant something.

This was good. He could almost feel victory, and man, did it feel good. Pressing his point further, Grimmjow continued, "Oh yeah? With what? Ya funny keypads, ya laptops and ya digits? Ya call that a life?"

"What about you? You with your wires, your explosives and your lack of proper common sense?" Ulquiorra shot back. No, Jeagerjaques, he was not going to give up or lose just yet.

And damnit. This was the how-many-th time he had nearly gotten better of Schiffer only to throw it away? Damnit, hacker asshole. "Oi, oi. What's common sense gotta do with any of that, Schiffer?"

"Common sense is essential to survival, something which you seem to be having difficulty doing." Schiffer's voice was back to its normal smug tone, and Grimmjow slumped inwardly, growling with frustration.

"I'm alive, dude. Are ya blind or what?"

"I never insinuated that you were dead." And damnit. That tone was getting happier, or at least, whatever it was that passed off as happy with the weirdo anyway. Grimmjow did not like this at all. Not at all. Time to strike back in the only way that was relatively safe.

"And again with the prissy attitude. Dude, someone needs to get ya a life, and it sure ain't gonna be me."

"I don't want anything you give me, Jeagerjaques."

"Hah. Thought so too, loser."

There was a knock to the doorframe when it became apparent that both parties were so absorbed in their argument that neither had noticed a newcomer standing by the doorframe, not looking too pleased at all. The two heads swiveled simultaneously to said doorway. "He's calling for us, Grimmjow, Ulquiorra. You two, stop fighting for a moment so that we can actually get to the meeting room, will you?"

"Who's fighting, Fishtank? Sure ain't me."

"So says the man who builds bombs."

"Well, ya sit in front of ya digital equipment all day long till you've got no color at all, so I'd say I'm better than you."

"Oh really, now?"

"WILL YOU TWO JUST STOP FIGHTING?!"

"Now look what you've done, Jeagerjaques."

"Oh yeah? It's ya fault that Fishtank's angry, Schiffer."

"Says who? You?"

"JUST SHUT UP! YOU TWO! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! AND MY NAME IS NOT FISHTANK! IT'S AARONIERO!"

"Whatever, loser. Ya suck."

"Surprisingly, I agree with you."

"Huh. Was talking about ya, Schiffer. Such a pansy. Can't even understand proper language."

"Really now? In that case, I take my words back, Jeagerjaques."

"Oh yeah? You wanna fight, Schiffer?"

"As if you could beat me."

"Huh. So confident in your abilities, Eye-liner?"

"Ooh. Look who's talking."

"You bastard, those aren't eye-lines like yours."

"Really now?"

"CAN'T YOU TWO JUST…" The man referred to as 'Fishtank' collapsed in a heap, sobbing. The other two took a look at him, Grimmjow smirking and sniggering and Ulquiorra just ignoring him as they leant to open the doors.

"And that would be the remaining three, Aizen-sama."

"I see. Thank you, Kaname."

Thanks goes to DelMarch for helping me read through part of the chapter! Hope you all will like this chapter, it's one of the longest I've written.

Cheers,
Tan