I lay in my ominously dark bedroom, the walls scathed by kunai knives I've thrown from boredom or frustration and the ceiling charred from a collection of dust that I don't care to clean. My bed sheets are not soft; the cotton clings to my gray/white shirt, the one that doesn't quite fit right on my skin but works well enough to show the world that I, much to everyone's terror, am Sasuke Uchiha, Orochimaru's prize possession. The heir of the Uchiha clan.

And a snake slithers menacingly across my blank chestnut floor, curling in and out of itself like a painter might dance his brush across a canvas. I can almost see the trail of color following its path, and wonder if it is difficult to both slither and make that hissing noise at the same time.

It's almost always like this at the layer: I notice vain details of the walls or pay too much attention to the way the snake struggles on the ground, my Sharingan playing tricks on me while I observe and make poetic similes out of desperate boredom, waiting for Kabuto to find me and force me into his medic center for a round of Petri dish-built pills and torture.

This, is the nature of Orochimaru's hideout.

The snake, I vaguely remember, is refered to as 'T-3'. Here at the lair, Orochimaru sorts his 'residents' into categories, based on species and class within that species. 'T' just so happens to be the letter for 'snake' organisms. 'V' is for rabbits. 'Z' is for rats.

All species have a number beside their letter: '3' signifies that T-3 is the 3rd most esteemed snake, according to its use to Orochimaru. It would amuse me that Lord Orochimaru could have such a time commitment; sorting through rows and rows of animal species and tediously labeling them, except...

There are human subjects here, too.

The letter 'A' is representative of the human species. There are almost 1,900 human experiments that Orochimaru has classified as 1900, 1899, 1888, and so on... But, the image of him sorting through them doesn't amuse me the way the snakes might.

Sometimes, my Sharingan tricks me. I see the cells that I walked past this morning, the ballistic human experiments leaping toward me, grappling the bars of their cage, screaming, eyes running wild as they wail and snarl with saliva and bile spilling from their furious tongues.

The subjects did bother me, at a time. I recall entering the base, 13 years old, and hearing the creatures hollering in sheer pain, anger, terror. And, the mere sound had been enough for me to bend over in revulsion to release the Onigari from my stomach.

Kabuto had thought the act was cute.

Orochimaru didn't.

He brought me to the cages, identifying a bear like creature as A-1248 and hushly explained in my ear, that 'A' identifies human, and '1248' identifies, well, hopeless. The vile beast had continued to shriek over his tone, I could just barely hear his whisper beneath the loud cries and clawing of the beast's nails on the metal bars. The Sannin had simply tossed a kunai over his shoulder, leading me out of the narrow hall, and the noise had ceased with a sickening thud.

I swallowed, that time. I swallowed hard.

That memory feels like lifetimes ago. The hollering of test subjects just another breath, the sinking of kunai knives into flesh just another creek in the hollowing halls of this lair. Death, life, just movements of air.

I can move past those jails without illness, now. My ears have become immune to such noise.

However, there are the occasional 'A's that still disturb me. The ones that don't wrestle the metal bars of their cell with foam oozing from the corners of their lips. Those, the rare few that have gripped onto their sanity despite the isolation, the ones that have yet to come into Orochimaru, Karin, and Kabuto's experimenting hands...They evoke a whole different feeling in my body.

They remind me that these creatures, these humans, they were people: People, with lives, families, names. They're not just a '126' or a '765'. These miserable, sad humans were beings who had thoughts once, who stared at their ceilings, charred with collected dust that they didn't care to clean.

But there are so few. I pass by one in particular, a girl, whose sorry eyes do not quite meet mine even on the occasion that I stop to look at her. She toys with her hands, often with pools of tears forming in her downcast eyes and matted strawberry hair, sticky with sweat and tears that cling to her cheeks meekly.

She, clearly, is ashamed. Sorrowful. She dislikes me and intentionally avoids my gaze like the plague.

A-300. She's interesting. She makes me think of how her cell is right beside a screeching experiment. I could hate her for making me see that screeching behemoth as a person, just another person who was turned into a creature without a name. Seeing the girl and the thing together is enough for me to taste bile on my tongue.

But, I want to know her name. I want to know that she is not just an experiment, the animals not just test subjects. Of course, these are all simply assumptions. Perhaps she is like T-3, born in the lair, storyless. Perhaps she doesn't have a life outside of the cell she sits in. Perhaps she is just the 300th A, not a completely useless subject but not all that special. Perhaps she is not a life, but just a body. Her body, just organic meat. Her mind, well, just another mind.

I feel T-3 slither up my leg, across my torso, and I extend my left arm so it can entangle its slender form around it. I wonder what it is like to be T-3. Never to see any light but the dim halls, illuminated by waning candles on deep brown wood. I wonder if that kind of ignorance is what A-300 needs. To accept. To just be A-300, to allow her dark little cell and wild-eyed neighbor to be all she will ever know for her remaining years.

Though, the comforting thought is not enough to halt my resentment for the day Karin gets her hands on her. I don't want those teary-eyes to lose that desperation.

I once named T-3 'Timothy', because 'T-3' and 'Timothy' sound similar.

(It did sound clever at the time, I swear.)

I stuck with the name Timothy for about a week, repeating the syllables until they felt alien to my lips. I'm not a child anymore. I realize that this snake is not transcendental. It is sentimental. It is T-3, the snake born in the hideout and dying in the hideout. And that's all.

What even is the point of a name, I wondered. T.I.M.O.T.H.Y. Timothy. Just an assortment of letters, I suppose. The name 'Timothy' has no purpose for the snake. It is belittling; it is something a childish-me made up to console. To give the hunk of flesh some meaning.

These animals, born and dying in this place, do not get names. I am not egotistical enough to go around giving them. I realize that I'm not giving these lifeless creatures a purpose by arranging a few letters.

What even is a name.

Orochimaru has a name. Kabuto has a name.

I have a name.

I know it. I'm Sasuke Uchiha, the last surviving member of the Uchiha clan. I'm going to kill my brother, Itachi, for the malevolent acts he's committed. I'm here for training.

...I'm here because Orochimaru wants my body. I'm here because he wants me to be.

But I know that I have a name, because I can hear it every time I fall asleep. I can hear it every time I look into A-300's teary eyes, her strawberry hair reflecting that of an old teammate who once told me that she loved me.

"Sasuke-kun", she'd said to me, her eyes just pools of gathering water, reflecting the light of the moon as she stared deep into my skin. "I love you with all of my heart!"

I wasn't paying much attention to her at the time, but just recently had I realized her words actually matched with the expression she wore on her cherubic face. Replaying it in my mind, I can see her. I can see how she says my name with a certain recognition, that I am not something to look at. That I am someone to her.

Then there's Naruto, and if I'd tried to memorize the various times that he's called me "Sasuke-teme" with an immeasurable understanding, I'd probably lose my mind. I often think about his sunny face, how it never will really match the dark corners of my mind. But I do cherish the thought, the times he's yelled out my name in disgust during Academy years, his fruitful competition with me slowly souring into a bitter rivalry, and then to a scathing fight to the death.

I'll never forget the last time I heard him say my name, a desperate whimper of "Sasuke..." before he passed out beneath me, his eyes flickering into and out of focus as he slowly lost consciousness. I still don't know how I'd managed to walk away after that.

This is why 'Timothy' is a stupid name for T-3: Why bother? Why, if he's never seen anything outside of this lair and doesn't know anything outside of feeding on mice and wrapping around my torso?

I'm not trying to be insensitive, but it is simply a snake. T-3 doesn't know about names, and meaning, and that adolescence is a period of time between ages 13 and 19 where a person psychologically struggles between the need to stand out, and the need to belong. No: None of that exists for Timothy. Timothy should remain as T-3.

I'm still sitting in the bed, wondering how much longer it's going to take for Kabuto to get me. T-3 is still wrapped around my arm and torso. I want to search my face in a mirror, to try to catch the sort of story of recognition in my eyes, and I'm wondering if I can get the light to catch my pupils just right.

There he is. Kabuto. I hear him in the hallway, his footfalls even and calculated as he twists the doorknob into my bedroom, eying the snake that is now suffocating my arm. His white coat covers his plain clothing, signifying to me that he has been performing some more tests on his recent subjects. I watch him adjust his spectacles as he gestures for me to follow him to his office. My dimly lit room obscures his face featureless, as he tells me, "your daily check-up will end around 1:00, since there are some extra exams for you today. Lord Orochimaru-sama's orders."

He doesn't even bother to say my name, or ask me to go with him. He adjusts his glasses, yet again, as he begins to walk, assuming I'll follow behind.

I can't even see the light behind his glasses.

During times like these, in this isolated hole of dark walls and howling creatures, I suppose I should just be called A-1.

A/N: Adolescence is the period between ages 13 and 19 where someone struggles between the need to stand out, and the need to belong. In other words, identifying ones self. (I got that from Crash Course: Psychology on Youtube) ;)

Also, I'm an animal lover, and this fic is not intended to belittle animals or people in any way. The snake is a symbol that I'm using to get the point across about Sasuke.

Please leave a review, and if there are any questions about the story, I will PM you. :D