Ōmo

This story is going to be a brutal journey of love, heartbreak, crime, murder….well maybe I should just tag these things.

Narusasu, crime, murder, drugs, angst, mpreg, children, Naruto is mean, but not to Sasuke, Naruto is really sweet and his weakness is his family, major character deaths, Naruto is a drug lord, modern times Japan, tribes of Africa, it'll all be explained, history without the sins of humans whited out, author attempts to glorify all people, war, gang violence, cartels, poverty, brutal murders, no seriously, some murders are very detailed, boyxboy, wise Sasuke, motherly Sasuke, bombings, hurt/comfort, RACIST TERMS, additional tags added later

This story may be controversial and I am in no way trying to spark any political, theoretical, or even philosophical debates. I am simply trying to understand something in the eyes of other people as I always do with my stories. So here goes nothing.

Paradise

People call me Lord, so I need my part played well.

If I order a man to be killed,

I expect him to die that same day.

-Naruto "Ōmo" Namikaze

October 11, 1983- October 12, 2025

Fuck anyone who ever said a drug cartel doesn't operate the same way a monarchical kingdom does. Fuck 'em all. Fuck the people. Fuck the president and all his men. Fuck the police who degrade them. Fuck the victims and their families- because they're the ones not giving the cartel its credit.

The cartel is too similar to the kingdom. The cartel was seated by the king as he made his orders. The cartel tasted the king's food. The cartel performed when the king was bored. There was nothing in the world closer to a king than a cartel was. In fact…the people and the president and the men and the police and the victims and their families had no idea, but….

The cartel was the king.

The cartel ran the world like God ran the religious; like the devil ran the murderers and rapists; like drugs ran a fiend. It kept power like a king through fear, intimidation, and bribery. It kept order with a system. A system of more than 200 men. A system that ran everything from the banks to the police to government officials. It had order and nothing could tear down a structure so well built.

There are mules. They weren't big in the cartel, but they weren't exactly small either. They did the dirty work. They smuggled the drugs and weapons across the border with the same subtleness as a crowd control gunman. They were the working class. They were the backbone even if no one admitted it.

There are falcons. These men watched the street like their own prey. They were the eyes and ears. Patrolling the streets, protecting the supply. Watching the police and drug dealers with both eyes and reporting back to the big men like foot soldiers. They watched the surveillance that had no idea it was being watched.

There are hitmen. The first infantry division of the cartel. There isn't a war unless they declare one. These men were the enforces. Intimidators. Gunmen. They executed the kidnappings, assassinations, or just plain executions. They didn't carry hands, they carried guns and even those didn't get dirty. This group was the largest group of any drug cartel.

Every cartel has a pilot. Or bomber. Whatever they wanted to be called. The pilots carried drugs across the border via cargo plane and had a kicker push the drugs out if the cargo hatch.

Among the most important were the soapmakers. The soap makers were a large group of three kinds of men. 1) The chemists who were hired to manufacture cocaine. The silent angels on the plant, cooking the powder for the pivoters. 2) The members of the cartel that stored drugs in soap packages to be shipped overseas. These guys were the original dirty money launderers. They cleaned drugs until they didn't look like drugs. Literally. And then there was the most vicious of the soapmakers.

3) the cleaners. The clean up crew. The crew that disposed of a dead body. In the sea, shipped to a love one, in a sinkhole, the soapmakers handled a dead body like a loose end. Sometimes, loose ends were tied so well, it was almost like they never existed.

But they weren't as brutal as the butchers. The blood drinkers. They had no souls; they were never met. They only ever stared into the eyes of the leader. These men had every choice in the world, and they chose to be loyal members of the cartel. They were called butchers because they were involved with chopping up the bodies. With or without gloves.

The commercializer involved himself in real estate and organized activities. The treasurer worked with businesses and launderders to fiscally move around income.

The secretary. The right hand man or woman of the drug lord. They were official cartel members in charge of records, correspondence, minutes of meetings between two cartel members who didn't regularly do business together, and other affairs. They almost had the same bounty on their heads as the lieutenant and kingpin himself.

And the cartel always had the Camel. The original OG members usually between the ages of 40 and 60. They often are called original gangsters because their lifespan is surprising and only age is an official initiation. These men had been in cartel business before the kingpin even knew about the life.

There were so many other roles in the cartel kingdom. Some the public didn't know about. Some that got the hands bloody. And some that allowed workers to sit back, never worrying about getting their own hands wet.

And everyone worked under the Big Man. The Kingpin. Bigwig. Top Dog. Boss. Honcho. Captain. Ōmo. The boss of bosses. This person either lived in the jungle or out in the open and was so deeply tied into politics. They had bounties upon their heads like no other because they controlled the drug trade. And when you control the drug trade, you control the world. And only one in history had enough power to be called Lord.

The static of a recorder blared through the living room and Sasuke leaned forward grabbing a lighter and one cigar. He lit the tight roll of dried tobacco leaves and inhaled deeply, slowly, his system responding to the smoke; and he felt his lungs being wrapped by a warm blanket. Taking small, slow draws of the cigar, he felt delighted, like he had never felt before. He almost hated the way his lungs could be black from all these years, but everything about the habit intoxicated him. And he almost loved it.

With a small smile, he leaned forward and stretched his arm out, offering the cabbage leaf to the interviewer. The short man shook his head. "No, thank you, Namikaze-san."

Sasuke shrugged and gave the man a look as if to say 'more for me then.' He leaned back into the soft cushions and took another inhale. "Naruto hated these things too." He whispered.

The mention of the man's name made the interviewer look up and Sasuke sighed, the words coming back to him.

Make me the bad guy, Sasuke. Make me seem horrible so you and the kids can live free.

"Yeah." He whispered even though the man had said nothing. "You know, the first time I had one of these, I was nineteen. And...and I was pregnant."

A tense silence seated itself on the coffee table, staring at the men, and a look of guilt crashed upon Sasuke. "Yeah." another whispered confirmation. The guilt sat not on his chest but inside his brain. What he had done he could not un-do. The guilt was like gasoline in his guts. His insides died slowly in the toxicity, needing no more than a spark to set it ablaze. The fire burnt him out so badly there was nothing left but a shell, an outline of a person.

"Yeah." Sasuke leaned forward and put out the cigar, watching it's ash crumble in the tray. "I was stressed. I know my baby is healthy and there are no effects of my habits in him, but it doesn't stop the guilt of knowing that I put his life in danger because of my own selfishness."

Finally, as if broken out of his stupor, the man across the table spoke. "You were stressed?"

Sasuke eyed him and then grunted. "Naruto was gone for two weeks during my first pregnancy and I called to check on him one day. I missed him and apparently he missed me because he stayed on the phone." There was a small smile on his face as if he were remembering the contents of conversation. "We talked. That's what lovers do. They talk." Sasuke inhaled. "And in the background, away from the phone, I could hear someone screaming."

It grew quiet. Sasuke looked at the man, who had now paled, and continued. "Just kept screaming and the screams got louder and louder. And the man screaming was being tortured. I knew that. I think I must have sighed and Naruto told me to hold on. And I think he covered the speaker of the phone, you know the part you talk in? Yeah, I think he covered that because his voice got really muffled and he said 'shut him up.'"

Sasuke's eyes teared up and the other man got increasingly uncomfortable with where the conversation was going. Sasuke went on anyway. He was the one that had to deal with it.

"And all of a sudden there was this popping noise. The loudest spark of gunpowder and metal intermixing and letting loose." Sasuke shrugged and looked away. "And I couldn't hear the screams anymore."

Silence was all they knew to speak. The only language that gave a sense of understanding between the two.

"It was the first time I had dealt with the killings head on. And I smoked."

The man put his hand on a button, hesitant to push. He looked to Sasuke and lifted his glasses with another hand. "Would you mind if I record our conversation, Namikaze-san?"

Sasuke just shrugged, reaching forward to grab the unfinished blunt.

The static returned and with difficulty. "My name is Ito Akihiko, I am a reporter for Yomiuri Shimbun. I am sitting here with Namikaze Sasuke, who is the widower of Naruto "Ōmo" Namikaze, leader of the Namikaze cartel. Namikaze-san has agreed to do this interview with me on this day of January 17, 2027 and is willing to explain how he survived "Ōmo." Go ahead, please."

He looked to Sasuke, who had been confused by the words. "Uh. Where do I start?"

"From the first occurrences. Tell us about Naruto's past. Tell us why he was the way he was."

Sasuke breathed deeply. Naruto Namikaze was so smitten with him that there was nothing he didn't know about the man. Naruto told him everything. But still…

Do you want the kids to always face the harassment of being my children? Do you want to constantly be labeled as something horrible because of me? Then make me the bad guy, Sasuke. Make it so that you and the kids had no choice but the be parts of my life. Make it look like an accident that you fell in love with me.

He inhaled deeply once again, trying to relieve himself. And when he had gotten a hold of what to say, he grabbed it with severity, his knuckles cold, red, and yellow. "There is nothing in this world that made Naruto the way he was. Not the way he grew up, not the way he was raised. Not the neighborhood or the poverty or the crime. Naruto was a monster by default and nearly took pleasure in everything he dealt. Naruto was so good at being a monster that he looked like a human."


Camp Kinser, US Military Base

Okinawa, Japan

May 1947

1200 Hours

"Linda. Linda Patterson."

At the call of her name, the woman leaned away from her patient to the front of the tent. There by the front, tensed almost as militarily as Uncle Sam himself, was lieutenant general George G. Smith. Upon seeing her innocent blue eyes and that flick of a blond ponytail, the general nodded, a signal to come, and left the tent to wait.

"Uh oh." Linda turned to look at the African American woman that was already smiling at her. "Someone's lookin' to git in trouble."

And in return she smiled too because she knew that this was just play and she could play with friends that way. A giggle left her rosy lips, causing the other nurse to laugh too. "Oh stop, Betsy. Ah 'spose he's just lookin for somethin to fuss about. Mind taking care of my Joey for a while?"

Betsy shrugged. "Got nothin better to do anyway." The woman looked over Joey, Linda's patient, her eyes stopping only for a moment at the stump that should have been his left leg. And then she crossed her arms and leaned on one side. "I've met you before, Joey."

Linda watched a rose paint Joey's face when he looked toward Betsy and she gasped only a little. There was something there, but Joey spoke before she could decipher the code.

"I'd imagine you'd remember my face, miss Virginia. Like I remembered yours."

The woman smiled brighter and went to tighten her apron. And that made Joey turn redder. "I'd expect you to take care of yourself more, farm boy. Don't want to be seeing you in here a lot."

Joey smiled. "I always request this base when I get hurt. You're always here."

And Linda, who felt long forgotten, clenched her lips tight to hide her smile. She saw it then and would be damned if someone stopped it. A romance brewing between a white American private first class and a Negro woman was something that should be cherished, but all the more kept to themselves and the people who understood.

With ease, Linda closed the curtain and blinked her soft tears away, heading out of the tent with a new attitude.

The general was still waiting outside and upon seeing her, he began walking, obviously expecting her to follow. She did and he began.

"I am very busy and I know you are too, so I'll just get to the point of this meeting. We have someone we need you to spend a few years healing."

The southern woman's blond eyebrows lowered in confusion. "Why not just bring em own into the tent?"

There was a hesitant reply before the general stopped in his tracks. His face was solemn and Linda felt like she was going to be told she might have wanted to sit down for the words. "He's a Jap."

The word coming from his lips made bile rise in her throat and her eyes burned as it went back down. Where did humans get off on hating other people because of how they looked? Hating people because they didn't understand them? Calling them words with enough hate to make the devil himself flinch?

She must have looked confused because the man cleared his throat as if to elaborate. "I don't want him to feel as though he is as important as our boys. So we placed him in his own shabby tent. If that makes you feel better."

She shook her head even more. "If that makes me feel better?"

"Yes because of who he is."

She realized that her silence was confused for hate. "Well, general, Ah spose his blood was red just like any other man's in my tent. Why would Ah not want to take care of him?"

If Smith seemed offended, he didn't show, but instead, led her to the tent where the man was being held. He lay on the bed, coughing profusely, his skin sickly, his arms….

Linda turned to ask the general for a name, but blinked in surprise when she realized he'd been gone. Slowly, she made her way to the man, trying to assess his every injury before she made eye contact.

Why would she want to offend someone?

The man had odd scabs over his legs, arms, and torso. His left eye was gone and had been replaced by a rose shaped hole. His upper lip had been halfway peeled off and Linda moved back in horror. She blinked rapidly and even that wasn't enough to stop the onslaught of tears that violated her happiness.

Her patient was no soldier. Or prisoner of war.

He was a Hiroshima Bombing survivor. The woman turned away, speaking quietly, panicking.

"Ah can't do this." She whispered. This man had been bombed by her country and survived. He wasn't a soldier. He was just a citizen. He was probably a doctor. Or a lawyer. Or even an engineer. "Ah can't handle these kind of injuries. Ah'm no psychiatrist."

"Ko- konnichiwa."

The hoarse voice cut off her own rant and she turned startled to the man, makeup and tears running down her face.

"Ah'm sorry?"

The wounded man stared at her, confused by her tears until he finally spoke. "American woman." The broken English made her smile and she bet she looked so silly.

"You fix me?"

"How do you know English?" She asked instead, moving closer and grabbing a few healing ointments.

He looked away and whispered so softly, she almost couldn't hear. "Linguist."

The woman looked up sharply. So he wasn't just a citizen. He was a Japanese imperial army linguist. But still, he was a human and no one deserved to be hurt in such a way.

"What's your name, honey?"

The soldier looked back at her, confused by the new term. "It is Maso."

"Mou-so." She sounded the word out on her tongue and realized it didn't taste so bad. "Hm. Maso. Well, Maso, is your blood still red?"

Another confusing thing said by this American. "Uh. Yes, I believe. Yes."

"You still got flesh, don't cha?"

"Yes."

"Can you still cry? And laugh? Can you talk and have conversations with people?" Her eyes narrowed in a feigned seriousness and the last question to leave her lips was "Can you still shit in a toilet?"

The man stared in bewilderment, before his lips quivered. She smirked and looked away to give Maso this luxury, but whispered only what she could hear. "Got chu."

He laughed. He laughed so hard that tears left his eyes. Linda was always like that. She had that effect to make even the most down people laugh. She was a nurse, yes, in the nurse corps. But really, she was just a young woman that loved to laugh more than kids and was so boisterous that it hurt.

"Yes, nurse. I can. Those questions, they are personal, no? But I can."

Linda's smile grew soft and faint, like the rubbery pink scar going down his chest. "Well, Mr. Maso, I believe you are human."

He looked at her then, his laughter died out, and finally understood what the questions were for. They made him feel real. Despite the rubbery skin; despite the lost eye; despite the lung cancer; he was indeed a human.

And he said something to her that made her and he smile. "Thank you, American nurse."

She giggled and grabbed some ointment. "Call me Linda. Now, there ain't nothing that need uh fix, cause you sure look human. One uh the beautiful ones, you know?"


1500 hours

"A'm tellin you, Betsy, ah never met someone so hurt, but so understanding and nice as he."

The other woman's knees went up to her chin. "You better not let one of our boys hear that. They'd vilify you like Jesus."

Linda looked away, her eyes boring holes into the carpet. "ah know, ah just wish…"

"..."

"..."

"You wish?"

"Wish ah understood you more." Linda's eyes filled with tears as she looked back up. She had no idea the troubles of her best friend's life. She had no idea if it were hard being a Black women in America and Maso made her realize that. She knew nothing of her good friend. And she felt just like the rest of them. The rest of her own kind that judged before they understood. "Ah wish ah knew your troubles, but ah can't walk a mile in your shoes. Ah can't."

Betsy looked away, saddened now. "It ain't all bad. I love myself and you should too. Don't hurt yourself for the mistakes of other people."

Linda blinked. "Thank you for that." She laughed in a pathetic nature. "Ah have no reason to whine. My life isn't a quarter as hard as yours."

Betsy smirked, trying to find a different subject to speak on. Because really, it was hard. But why should anyone else know that? "Maybe you're just emotional cause you're in love."

Her teeth bared in amusement and hidden excitement and she leaned forward to smack her friend's leg. "Betsy! Don't say such things. It's only ban three hours."


2315 hours

When the camp was asleep and only a few soldiers were guarding the borders, Linda found herself traveling back to Maso's tent with better healing supplies for the next day.

And to her surprise, the wounded man had been sitting up as far as his injuries would let him. In his hand was a book that was closed instantly upon hearing her small patter of footsteps.

She blinked abruptly at him. "Sorry to bother ya. Just wanted to bring some supplies over so ah wouldn't bother myself first thing tomorrow."

He looked away from her, his slanted eye watching his book with thought. Linda felt her stomach drop; it could only mean he wasn't interested in having a conversation. Or worse. Why would he want to speak with an enemy. Her own men bombed his country. They killed children and women, and people who didn't care about the war. They stole parents as parents were stolen years ago at the US naval base of Pearl Harbor. They killed Japanese citizens as American citizens were killed on that wintry December day.

Her eyes trailed over his wounds. The scabs and the missing eye and the lip that couldn't be used properly. Not to mention the onslaught of radiation that would build up in his organs for years just to kill him early.

They killed people who didn't even die.

Linda blinked. That damn war, she thought. Those damn bombs.

She remembered the day she read on it.

First Atomic Bomb Dropped on Japan; Missile Is Equal to 20,000 Tons of TNT; Truman Warns Foe of a 'Rain of Ruin'...

At 10:45 o'clock this morning, a statement by the President was issued at the White House that sixteen hours earlier- about the time that citizens on the Eastern seaboard were sitting down to their Sunday suppers- an American plane had dropped the single atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima, an important army center.

Why would he want to speak to a woman of a country that could have killed his parents, or his brothers, sisters? Children?

"Ah'm sorry."

A black eye looked up. She wondered if it had always been like that; if it was hereditary. She wondered if the bombing had done that. But that eye squinted in confusion and the wondering did not last.

"Par...don?" He asked in that same broken English that introduced them.

She turned so her tears were not visible. "Ah said ah'm sorry...for what they did to you. And your country. For the bombings and the people that it killed."

Maso said nothing in return and if he were shocked, he didn't show it. The only thing that urged her to go on was his eye, that told he was interested in this.

"Ah know ah have never hurt anyone, but you must think I hate you like the rest of em. I hear what the soldiers say about you and your people. They talk about your skin…"

She sat down as if she needed a moment and breather from the oppression that belonged to him.

She looked up to him, watching him put his head down in shame, watching everything that he knew about himself become a hate.

But still, she needed to get this guilt off her chest and apologize for the actions of others.

"They call you 'yellowman' like there's something wrong with the color of your skin. When they call you yellow, Americans….we ain't sposed to think of the sun and sunflowers or anything so beautifully golden, it makes us cry. The propaganda makes us think of a sick yellow, makes us think of horrible things like the yellow jacket, you know, the stinging wasp?"

Still, Maso did not open his mouth and he did not look up.

"They call you all Japs. It's short for Japanese, but somehow along this war, it became derogatory. It was almost like you had to spit the word out in a sentence. But that's how it was back home. 'those Japs are joining the Axis forces. Did you hear what those Japs did in Hawaii?' They call you a color and a word as if the devil himself made you."

She sighed, not exactly knowing where she was going with such a topic, but not exactly knowing how to stop.

"My best friend." She whispered. "My best friend is a….they call her 'nigger.'"

It was then that beady black eye looked up in surprise. And his mouth opened wider than the rubbery scab on his chin.

What a term. And what a surprise. For America to fight a war and not even treat their own citizens like people.

And now that secret was out and Linda was so guilty that she didn't even care.

"Her life is so much harder than mine and ah have a guilt as if ah brought her to America. As if ah made her ancestors slaves. As if ah won't allow her to get paid the way we do. She tells me that ah'm the sweetest one she knows, but the hate and the racism still doesn't cease to exist. Ah just want you to know that ah know nothing of your oppression and ah shouldn't be the one cryan."

She looked to him, who was now looking to her. "But ah am sorry for what they call you and Betsy. Sorry that I don't even understand your oppression enough to apologize."

They sat quietly for a long while. Linda felt as if she had gotten the entire world and all its burdens off her chest, so she was not subdued. She was not fearful of his reply nor was she in a hurry to leave that tent. Her eyes did not leave his own because she was determined for him not to hate her.

"Iiisss stu..pid, no?"

She blinked, confused. But then he continued and the burden of having a one sided conversation was no more.

"The fuss that we all make about skin as if it will mean something when we die. I myself have went through the great war with the same thoughts as you. Why have I been drafted for a war when I do not feel offended? Why must I be called yellow monkey when my blood runs as red as yours? It just makes no sense. All this hate that is not really hate, but a lack of understanding and an abundance of fear. I have seen the way America treats its people. Its own Black citizens and it disgusts me to a great extent. And I have seen the way we treat other minority groups that live in our country, such as the Chinese and Korean. Why create a war with others if we have not defeated the one with ourselves?"

Linda nodded at the ideology.

"You, American woman, do not have a reason or right to apologize. And it is not said to be rude. But you cannot apologize for my burdens or your friend's. Those are what we will deal with on our own. And although I see a good heart in you, these things you will never understand, no matter your sympathy."

Another nod and they grew quiet once more. She'd always been a sympathetic woman, but she could not apologize again. Because then she would sound like a record player. So instead, she whispered.

"Linda. That's my name. Linda."

And Maso nodded as if he would accept this. And he smiled a little. "Maso. It means twin."

She wanted to ask more. About his name and origin and why he was called that, but sure knew that staying in his test any longer would incite questions in her soldiers.

She crossed her arms in embarrassment. "Ah should go now. But first thing tomorrow, ah promise to be here."


0900 hours

"It's mighty dark in here." She smiled and pointed to a tent wall as Maso leaned up. "I'll ask the general about putting a window here if you take a while to heal."

Maso smiled sheepishly at the suggestion, resting his torso on both his arms. "Thank you, but no. I enjoy my privacy in this camp. Enemy, no?"

Instead of pondering and extending that unwanted conversation of what the world ought to be versus what it currently was, Linda raised her arms goofily in the air.

"You need sunlight to heal!"

And he smiled in amusement at her childlike mannerisms. "It is alright. I get just enough when you come in." And she almost blushed, but…. "When you open the flap just for a second, I can see the sun, and then I know that I am healing well." Yeah….

Instead of shuffling awkwardly, the 23 year old rested her hands on her hips. "Ain't no lyin in that. Well, how you feelin this mornin, Maso?"

For a moment, his eyes fleeted away, and his smile faltered.

"Uh uh uh. Ah spect you to be honest with me cause ah'm only here to help you."

He hesitated, but spoke in a whisper of shame. "My back has begun to burn more than my legs and my eye…" he touched the corner of the hole that was once his eye and raised his fingers toward her, showing some kind of light grey liquid. "It has been leaking a lot. Very irritable in my sleep."

Linda nodded, taking in his words for her study. "Alright. Let's get that Ah fixed up first thing."

She began searching through her supplies when she heard a small chortle from Maso. A muffled laugh. A laugh that should not have been heard. But a laugh no less.

She turned with an amused grin, her blue eyes shining like the world was at peace. "Whut's funny, Mr. Maso?"

The "u" was thick in what and he giggled again. "I have never heard American accent like yours. It's funny, no?"

Linda got her supplies and stood with a joking huff. "That's a good ole Texan accent for ya."

"Texan?" He questioned with a raised brow.

"Put your head back please. Ah'm gonna clean it." Maso did as told and Linda began to observe his small bony orbit. And to loosen the mood, she began to talk about things a lot more lighter and bearing than why this eye was missing.

"Texas, my home town where ah grew up. Ah'd reckon you want to learn more about me to trust me."

Maso smiled slightly and saw her plan; to focus on happier times so that he would not fall to pieces. "Yes."

"Well, ah was born June 27, 1924. That's what momma called the roaring twenties. Except, they whatn't really roaring for us. Momma was a housewife and daddy was a cotton farmer.

The year ah was born, the boll weevil started messin with the cotton. And daddy had to sell the farm and buy a new one in Western Texas."

"Boll weevil?" Maso asked, clearly confused on what it was.

Linda smiled and twisted her body so that she could closely observe the short eyelids. "Small brown beetle that feeds on cotton. Fed on our cotton and ran us away. I don't 'member much cause I was only an infant, but momma says it was a troubled time with empty stomachs and dry mouths. Didn't have much money to live off after that.

But I always found somethin to smile about as a child. I was an only child, momma cleaned all day, and daddy worked on that farm, but I found a way to entertain myself. Climbed trees, played by the creek." She giggled. "Collected bugs in jars."

A memory called upon her and the woman cleared her throat. "All clean. Let's get these bandages wrapped around that head of yours."

She laid out a few bandages, trying to find the right length that would go around his head three times. It took some time with moving between wrapping his head and adding more cloth, but eventually his head was wrapped.

She ordered him to turn around and when he did, her throat clumped at the sight of the pink sores on his back.

"Wait just a minute. Ah'm gonna have to look deep in my supplies for the right ointment."

She did just that, searching through her box as she continued her tale. "Daddy didn't make me start doing anything serious until the Dust bowl. Now of course, the great depression didn't bother us much. We were already poor as poor could be. But we had moved to Western Texas and that was right in the middle of the Dust bowl.

We had a big drought and I didn't know until ah went to the creek one day and it was gone. We had severe dust storms like nothing Ah saw before. High winds and choking dust drove us away. Killed our neighbors. We went on to California and it ain't get no better there."

Linda shook her head in shame of her past and grabbed an ointment. She walked back the man. "Might sting a little, but bear with me. But yeah. Moved on to California and it ain't get no better. They called daddy and us 'okies.' Guess there was something wrong with migratin and bein poor. We all worked. Momma, daddy, and me. Trying to make a livin for ourselves. I hated it. I hated every minute of it. I ain't care what they thought or didn't think of me. But daddy did and he made us work to make us rich. To make us not Okies."

Maso flinched slightly as the ointment that rested on his scars finally sunk in, maneuvering around to make things better.

"What did you do?" He whispered. "Because you don't like the way you lived? What did you do, Linda?"

The woman smiled softly, but there was a sadness even she couldn't detect. "I ran. I turned seventeen and I asked a recruiter to make me a nurse in the United States Marine corps. I left my home, believin that problems would be gone and I was gonna be happier.

But ah done learned more about the world in war than ah done back home. And the world just don't seem like it's the way it should be."

Maso lifted his arms above his head as Linda began to wrap his torso. He nodded in agreement.

"The war has shown our true colors. My own twin brother was an active foot soldier and he died two years after the war started. He urged me to enlist and I did, but I chose non-combat because I did not want to hurt a man. I did not feel offended by these people. This war was not mine to fight. Those were my thoughts, but I wanted my brother to be safe. I wanted to ensure his life because he was my soulmate. My other half. From womb to windup." The man sighed. "Alas it was to no escape. He was killed two years after enlisting and I stayed because by then, there was no way out."

"Ah'm sorry for that." Linda whispered. She couldn't imagine losing a twin. But she knew it must have hurt to lose someone that close.

Maso laughed. "I told you that you do not have to apologize, Linda. Although I will always mourn, it was my brother who enlisted and I followed."

"Well, ah never thought about that. Well, ah am happy you got that choice. My parents wanted me to be all kinds of things while I only wanted to be Linda. Bet your parents never gave you none of that."

And then there is a silence that told Linda she brought back a memory that had just ended. Opened a wound that had just been stitched. Something bad happened to his parents and he was not yet ready to speak upon it.

The shift from life to death had been so sudden. The heart beat so beautifully, and then it was gone.

Maso did not say anything again for the day, and Linda left the tent with guilt heavy in the heart she wondered if she had anymore.


June 1947

Linda believed she pushed Maso into a hole of mourning. He did not speak for a month, only to tell her what hurt and bid her farewell.

He usually sat up on his bed, staring at a book and not reading. It was like watching a living corpse- one that had survived the Bombing of Hiroshima.

The woman bit her lip as she cleaned up her medical supplies and dusted her apron.

"Goodnight, Maso." She whispered. Just as a hand explored part of the tent's opening, there was a faint whisper. A mournful one. That one that started a conversation no one wanted to speak on, but everyone needed to speak about sooner or later.

"I could not save them."

Her eyes opened a lot wider and she turned to the man. Nothing was said or heard and that was enough for him to continue.

"The base on Hiroshima, where I was housed, was a very major army base. Not only was it a communications center and major port, the surrounding mountains made it the best target for the extra destruction.

August 6 was a normal day for both citizens and soldiers alike. We did our codes, talked about the war ending, went to work, took our children to school.

The weather was ideal, as it always was in Japan. Not a cloud in the sky. 75 beautiful degrees. The day didn't give us the warning that the world would end.

I was in a heavily reinforced building with concrete walls and I remember being on the radio at the time. I had just gotten off the phone with my parents.

An hour before, the American planes were detected by our radar. In fact, there were air raid warnings in several cities. However, when we found out there were only three bombers, we suspected it to just be a reconnaissance mission. And I told my parents, who lived in the civilian part of Hiroshima, that the alarms were lifted. Initially I called them so they could stay in their home, but I ended the conversation with my parents leaving the house to go shopping and a love you from them.

I hung up the phone and just sat there, feeling a relief in my stomach that shouldn't have been there. Of course we knew about America's project of the atomic bomb. We knew better than most and it scared us. If I could go back, I would. I would tell my parents that the alarm was not false. So that they can be with me. But it has happened already. And I cannot go back. I cannot change my feelings that lay in my stomach the moment I told them I loved them and goodbye.

There was relief where there should have not been. But I had no knowledge of that. Shima Surgical center was only two blocks away from me and four from my parents. And was visible to my eyes.

I heard another soldier yell outside as I looked out the window. He yelled 'supply drop,' but there were no drops scheduled for August 6. I looked out the window in confusion. And I believe God wanted to tell me something because my eyes caught it immediately. There was no searching. No squinting. I saw it as soon as I looked.

It was just coming down right above that surgical center. And all I could do was get up, turn my body halfway away from the window and try to yell.

'Bakudan!'

The sun exploded. And I flew away as the window and concrete shattered. Our surroundings had changed so quickly. I thought for a moment it had nothing to do with the war. I thought it was the collapse of Earth which was said to take place when the world ended.

My eye stung and I could not move, but it could not compare to the burning of my body. The people who were killed immediately had no idea what happened. The blood in their brains evaporated before they could even feel a thing. They were the lucky ones.

We who survived the initial flash suffered greatly. The flash lasted only a fraction of a second and we were severely burned.

I remember being able to stand and I recall crawling out of the communications center. I watched my people wander around aimlessly for hours. Some were so severely burned, they looked like walking pieces of charcoal, mindlessly escaping, until some collapsed and died.

I was one of many miraculously saved by concrete walls. I did not get exposed to the gamma rays and fireballs, not enough to kill me at least. I watched some of my friends fall to the ground and violently throw up their insides as they died from radiation poisoning.

And I was determined to see if my parents were okay. But it took me time. Days even to find the strength to move. To look away from the bright light of the flash that still hovered over our city with the mushroom cloud. I knew it took a few days, even if I could not see the sun, because my hair started falling out completely and I suffered unstoppable nosebleeds. It was hard to relocate my parent's home because there were none on the street.

But God has a way of showing me things even before I was looking for them. I knew my parents when I saw them.

They died right in the front of the house. My father lay atop my mother. Although, both their bodies were burned and unrecognizable, I knew because his body was larger. My mother was on the ground. Her mouth frozen open, despite the extreme temperature of her coallike skin. Her eyelids were gone and she lay on the ground with her face planted to the side. She looked alive, but she wasn't. I knew this because it was my father who was alive.

He looked like an animal as he lay atop her, only his head bobbing and his eyes trying to blink. And they stopped on me and immediately his head rested atop my mother's dead body and he just stared at me. Stared at me with the most tired face I'd seen. Tears left his unblinking eyes and evaporated immediately. My father was severely burned to coal. His hair was gone from radiation. His back was open and he was going to die.

But he was in peace and he could not speak, but moved his skeletal hand to my foot as he lay dying. His eyes did not close when he died, but I knew he was gone because he was staring pass me and not at me.

I knew my father wanted to protect us. Because when the dust cleared and the sun came out once more, their shadows were in the ground. And father was hugging mother from behind, her eyes away from the flash.

And he stared at me with great relief because he knew I would go on to live; tell stories of it; have another chance at life.

And all I could think of was how I could not save them."

Tears gushed from Maso's eyes like a great flood and Linda stood listening in shock. She knew it was wrong to speak, so she did not open her mouth. This was something she would never understand so she would not apologize.

Instead she sat next to Maso on the bed and placed an arm around his shoulders, letting him weep for the lives he could not save


Camp Zama, US Military Base

Kanagawa prefecture, Japan

Summer 1956

She fell in love with him, just like she knew she always would. It was inevitable. It was fate. And it was forbidden. Her loyalty was to her country, but her heart was to a former linguist of the Japanese imperial army.

It wasn't so much a love at first sight thing. There was no tripping over anything and staring into the eyes of someone she felt she should have known for years. No. Love wasn't like that. Love took time and patience. Love was climbing the stairs to heaven as your sins stared you down.

Love was slow and it came in stages. And that happened to Linda Patterson when she fell in love with Maso Namikaze.

The first time she saw Maso, it was like he saw right through her. As if she were water that he simply used and took for granted everyday. But she remembered she'd made him laugh. And she remembered going to sleep that night on that camp thinking about how his eye strayed to her for a single moment too long before breaking away. And he shuffled quietly back into himself because he was embarrassed about himself. Embarrassed by the bombings.

When they got to know each other; when the story of her past sunk in and he was ready to speak on his, she watched him crumble. She watched him speak of losing his brother in the war and stare into the eyes of his dying father. As he spoke of the bombings and the confused state it left Hiroshima in, Linda watched him try to lift a mountain from his back. But it collapsed back on him and he cried out heavily; for help and for death. And she'd sat on the bed and let him cry in her arms, let him crumble much like the world did when no one was looking.

Linda began to play with fire. Maso could get hurt because he was the enemy. He was Japanese and she was the American woman that could be "easily manipulated." But still, she played with the fire. Still she snuck to his tent in the night just to speak with him. She played with fire so dangerously when it was he who was made of paper.

Sometimes, she would run her fingers down his arms. Sometimes, she would lean forward and kiss the bandages that protected an eye that was not there. It made him shudder because she should have been doing it someone else. Someone that looked like her, but she didn't want to. But it made him shudder even more when she did it just to make him see that he was something. Despite the cancer and radiation and burns and balding head and missing eye, he was beautiful.

And it is only after a year Linda says "I love you." she whispered it quickly after General Smith grants him freedom when Linda is done healing him. And she looked from side to side before finally planting a kiss on his scarred chin. As if the tent walls that have been his home for a year can hear them.

When Linda became pregnant in 1954, there was a silent tension around the camp. Because they knew she has been around no one else, but what more could they have done that the bomb didn't do? Maso was a broken man, which made her pregnancy all the more confusing.

It was Betsy, the African American nurse that was very close to Linda, that delivered the children. Three boys. One looks exactly like Linda. But Maso hears an American soldier walk by his tent saying that all three boys "got Jap in them that can't go unnoticed." It disturbed him. Betsy is the one that helped nurture the children until they are ready to leave camp with him. Because Linda is "gone," and Betsy is the only one who does not judge their forbidden relationship.

Love took time, but rewarded itself in the end. At least, it was supposed to. But it doesn't. Linda should have, like Maso, looked to God and told him that if loving Maso was a sin, she refused her place in heaven. But she couldn't. Her loyalty was to her country.

And when America felt like it had done all it could in imperializing Japan, camp Kinser was no longer needed. And Linda left with her troops. And it was miraculous because she left for home the day Betsy gave the infants to Maso, who could then leave for another camp.

A small patter of feet broke Maso out of his stupor and he turned as they grew louder.

There was no one else in the tent, but the small streak of sunlight that peeked with interest through the window. He grunted and gave the attention back to his book before he heard it.

A faint whisper, that of a child's, that commanded some kind of authority.

"Shh. Be quiet or he'll hear us." This was their leader. The most powerful of the group and a soul so demanding, it seemed evil. This is who Maso feared the most of anyone in the entire camp.

"I'm hungwy." And then there was the one no one really wanted, but somehow everyone needed. Maso did not fear this man as much as the other two, but there was something about him that made the man quiver. Something that made Maso look away from him when he could stare in the eyes of their leader for days. The dead last.

The Hiroshima survivor sighed heavily, placing his book on the nightstand, and he heard a loud smack outside the tent. The sound of flesh hitting flesh with an intent to injure.

"Yakunitatanai baka. Look what you did." The middle ringer. The enforcer that followed the leader with all his might and managed to remind Maso of a mutt. He was vicious, angry, and all the more dangerous. Maso could never reason with him.

A small whimper broke out. Sniffles muffled by hand. And the dead last spoke in a cries. "Daddy said not to hit me."

Maso grunted, and made silent motions with his hands to tell God that he was very tired and they woke from their nap too soon. As if to say 'oh come on!' with might. But before he could stand and confront his forsaken enemies, Betsy's southern voice rung through the camp.

"What'd I tell you boys about playing by your father's tent when he workin'?"

It grew quiet and Maso sighed because the screamed that followed thereafter said, at last, they had found a new target, and he could rest with peace.

"Oba!" They screamed and Betsy screamed too because he was sure they had tackled the nurse to the ground.

There was a scuffling before the flap opened and Betsy walked in with two small Japanese boys hanging from her brown legs and a very small one clinging to her neck, tears in his eyes.

She smiled sheepishly at him. "I know you wanted me to let you know when they woke from their nap, but...here we are."

The leader was the first to jump off. Minato Namikaze, named after Maso's father for his bravery, was Linda's first son. And while Minato was the ringleader and commander of Maso's forsaken enemies, he was also a brutal protector of his younger brothers and their walking wisdom. And when Minato had come out first as the leader of the pack, Minato Namikaze II sounded just right for him.

He raised a fist in the air as if to make a battle cry. "I didn't need to take a nap because I'm a big boy." His voice was smug and his brother's stared, one in disbelief and the other in amusement.

The disbeliever, the naysayer, growled and crossed his arms. "You lie. I heard you snoring."

Minato's face grew a pretty red and his blue eyes scurried from Betsy to Maso and then to his little brother. "You're just jealous, Misaji-nii."

Misaji just stuck out his tongue, obviously in no mood to argue with the older boy. Misaji was an enforcer, the boy who didn't make orders, but executed them with a science. He knew exactly what was best and he carried out orders better then Maso had when he was a soldier. And although, he was a inspirer. He said and did things that made people want to be better, just like the man and twin he was named after. And when his younger brother had come out as silent as he, looking exactly like he, Misaji Namikaze II sounded perfect for him.

Madoka was the youngest of the triplets. He often cried a lot and carried a small stuffed toad in his hands. And he clung to Betsy's leg when she worked around camp. He was a silent boy and very sensitive like his mother was when she was around. Madoka wasn't named after a protector or an inspirer because he just wasn't those things. But he was something; if there was anything Maso knew, the sensitive boy was something great.

Betsy sighed at the two year olds, who should not have been having such conversations at such an age. "Quiet, the lot of you. Now, I got some real important news from the Lieutenant Colonel you might like to hear."

Maso looked up in interest as Minato came to sit upon his lap. Betsy smiled at him. It was a happy smile, but there was an ending sadness as if to say 'You did good, Maso.'

"Would ja like me to read it out loud?"

Misaji tried climbing on his father's bed, but his small tan legs could not reach up. So Maso leaned down, resting his hand on the boy's small bottom and pushing him up. He bit his lip to hide his amusement as the boy face planted into the mattress and raised himself as if nothing happened.

"Yes. Arigato, Betsy-nii." Maso muttered.

Betsy nodded and opened a folded sheet of paper, smiling softly as Madoka laid his head on her shoulder. "Well, It says here…

Honorable Discharge

From the Armed forces of the United States of America

This is to certify that

Namikaze Maso, Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, Cryptologic Linguist

Was honorably discharged from the Army Specialized services

On the tenth day of June 1967

This certificate is awarded as a testimonial of honest and faithful service"

Betsy smiled as the room grew quiet and Maso's lips quivered and quivered until finally, he rested his head in his hands and smiled too.

Madoka did not understand what the letter meant, so he asked first "What does it mean?"

Betsy smiled. "It means you and your brothers will be able to leave camp. Get your own rooms. And run around and play outside and go to a real school when you grow. It means your lives will be as normal as the clear blue sky."

"Our own rooms?" Misaji asked in excitement.

Maso nodded. "Our own home." He confirmed. "A house for Maso, Minato, Misaji, and Madoka."

Minato stood on his own two legs. "How come we all got M in our names? And what do they even mean?"

Maso smiled, his eye squinted closed. "Well Minato is the name of a great protector, a leader amongst all people." Minato blushed heavily but smiled. Misaji came beside the boy and Maso laughed. "Misaji was the name of a great inspirer, one who could do anything and masses of people would follow him. He was a world changer, just like you."

"What about me, papa? What is my name great for?" He stared at Madoka's big brown eyes as he climbed down from Betsy's arms. There was no great person in Madoka because the boy was a great person all by himself.

He placed a large hand on the boy's head. "Well, Madoka. Sometimes, a name is all you need." The boy faltered slightly. "But the first of many great things must start somewhere, and why not in you?"

The boy giggled as his father poked his small belly.


Namikaze home residence

Kabukichō, Tokyo

June 2, 1994

The terror began in the Honshu islands. Because like great things, terror also needed to begin somewhere.

It came because of the poverty and hunger. It came because stomachs were growling and money was missing.

It came in a small home in the city of Kabukichō, Tokyo.

And in this home stood three men of the Yakuza crime syndicate. They silently spoke in the kitchen, not only trying to scrape for some money, but to find better lives for their children.

They weren't big in the Yakuza, more often labeled as shatei than anything. Little brothers of something much larger than them. But they got by doing the dirty work for people like the oyabun.

The three men, brothers, were currently webbed in a heated debate of who would carry out the job given to them by the family boss. Although any three could, the oyabun had requested one of their children execute the job as a proper initiation to crime; to working and scavenging for not what the poor wanted, but what they needed.

Madoka was the first to speak, and he rubbed his inked face as he spoke of his daughter, Karin. "Karin is not right for the job. She is too sensitive as I was as a child."

Minato nodded in agreement. "Which is why this is perfect for her. This will bring her out of her sensitive ways, otouto."

The man shook his head. "This one would be too extreme for her. For her, we will start small. Sore no owari."

The more quiet of the brothers, Misaji sighed. "Okay, Karin is out of question. What of Nagato?"

Immediately, the oldest and youngest shook their heads. And Misaji blinked before raising a finger to defend his son. "Okay, that was very offensive."

Minato smiled in amusement. "Nagato is almost 17. He is getting ready to graduate and this crime is too small for him. Something as simple as ransom will not do. Besides, he's already done his fair share of crimes. Remember the robbery."

Misaji nodded. "So all that is left is Naruto."

With the mention of Minato's own son, the man grimaced in slight pain. "He's too young. Only 11."

They were silent as they stared at him and then incredulously, he asked "Naruto?"

The sound of the small radio on the countertop finally gave way to the attention of the home that was still there. The man looked at it and then at each other as they heard the sound of rhythmic tapping in the dining area.

Minato wanted another way because the boy was so young and knew nothing of the world. But then again, Naruto rarely spoke around the house, often in his own world at the table, or listening to American music he knew no words of on that small scabby radio.

Misaji nodded. "Naruto." He whispered.

And one at a time, their eyes traveled to the wall, behind it sat a boy.

Naruto liked to sit at the dining room table when there was nothing to do and listen to the radio. Karin was taking a nap in the room and Nagato was at school.

His father and uncles were speaking of something that he could care less about and the only thing that mattered was the radio.

He could not understand who this man was on the song, much less what he was saying, but he knew something about the tone.

He knew little English from Maso-grandpa and Naruto tried deciphering the fast words. The man was looking for dead presidents to represent him. The boy knew, from his history class, that America enjoyed putting the fallen presidents on dollar bills. And Naruto liked that this man wanted those dollar bills.

While others spit that Wonderama shit, me and my conglomerate

Shall remain anonymous, caught up in the finest shit

Live out my dreams until my heart give out

Naruto smiled and laid his head upon the table. He liked American rap. He liked that people who came from nothing were able to still express the struggles that brought them to the highest point of their lives. This man had obviously gone through a lot of hardships. This song was not only about him wanting more power than he already had, but was also a way to tell the story of how he was once a young boy, still searching for the US banknotes.

With his ears to listen, his hands to create, and the table to use, Naruto started to hit the object with the same rhythm and tone of the beat.

Tousan had told him that rap was poetry, which was literary masterpieces given with an intense expression of feelings and emotions.

And rap was poetry with a touch of human. Rap was poetry with a struggle. Rap stood for rhythm and poetry.

This man on the radio, whoever he was and wherever he was, knew all about the grind; He knew how to work for what he wanted and would let no one stop him. He knew the struggle and the poverty and the hunger, but he also knew the hustle.

Naruto almost wanted to be like him. But there was something else there, hidden and unspoken. He almost wanted to be even better.

Because Naruto is sick of going to sleep hungry. He is sick of his stomach hurting when he lays on his small bed next to Nagato. He hates missing school because he is too weak to even move. He hates white rice because it's all they eat.

He wants better. He wants dead presidents too.

The song stops all of a sudden and the boy knew in his heart it wasn't over. Brought back into reality, he stared up as his father moved from the radio and walked in, smiling at him softly.

"Papa…" he murmured. "Who is that man on our radio?"

The man smiled at the eleven year old and it's a look that makes Naruto think he will ignore the question completely. Instead, Minato sat in a chair next to his.

"You like that song?"

Naruto nodded. "Hai. Do you know who the rapper is?"

A look of disappointment spread across his face when Minato shook his head. But the man leaned forward, grabbing Naruto's scrawny hands in his. "Sometimes, Naruto, you do not need to know the artist to enjoy the painting. Why do you like this song?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know." He whispered. But the shake gave off the impression that he doesn't want to give the reason rather than he doesn't know.

Minato let it slide. "Is it because the artist has power and authority? Or that they are pushing themselves to be great?"

Naruto's mouth opened and he gaped at the man. How could he have known all that? Was Minato so much like his son that he knew his every thought?

But still, he nodded in agreement.

"Naruto, these qualities are what make one a man. Do you want to be a man?"

It wasn't a thing he got asked everyday and it almost made him uncomfortable. But Naruto was so hungry for purpose that he nodded. He did. He wanted to be seen as a man in his father's eyes.

"Well we have a job that can make us a lot of money, son. This money may change our entire lifestyle, but it can only be ours if we do this job. And that can only be done by you."

After this was said, uncle Madoka and uncle Misaji walked in. Madoka was the first to speak as he crossed his arms and leaned against the table. "He is right, Oi. Otoko ni naritai?"

Naruto nodded, almost excitedly now. The job must have been very important if they wanted Naruto to do it. Naruto was younger then both Karin and Nagato, so he was almost overshadowed when business was the subject.

"Yes. I'll do the job."

Minato raised a brow at him. "No matter what it is?"

"Yes, tousan. I'll do it."

Minato smirked with pride. "Very well, when Nagato returns, we will all take a trip."


Nagato returned from school only an hour later and he found Naruto sitting at the table with Karin.

The two were eating Kyoho grapes and with a smirk, the teenager leaned over and stole a grape that almost went into Naruto's mouth. The blond boy caught his eye and growled.

"This is all we have. I'm hungry."

Nagato smiled at the scrawny boy and dropped his backpack upon the table. "Lucky for you two…."

He trailed off and opened his bag. Naruto stared at him with hope and he laughed when Karin's mouth, still stuffed with grapes, opened in anticipation.

"I have these." first he pulled out five glazed dango sticks wrapped delicately in plastic. And then came the onigiri balls.

Naruto jumped up and hugged the boy and he felt embarrassed that tears were in his eyes. But he was so hungry and had been for a while. "Arigatō. Arigatō. I love you so much."

Nagato smiled sadly and rubbed the boys back. "Karin looks like she will eat them all. You better hurry."

With that the boy turned around, ready to scuffle with his other cousin, but finding her mindlessly eating a dango stick.

She smiled. "How did you get these, cousin?"

Nagato smiled proudly. "I volunteered for work in the library and bought them. I would have gotten more, but tousan said we had business and needed me home early." he looked around as a matter of fact. "Where are they?"

Naruto licked his stick like a popsicle and smiled. "In the car outside."

Nagato eyed him and sat down. "Do you two know what's going on?" Both children shook their heads at their cousin. "Well, there is a man that owes the boss money. And he has been in debt for a while. He keeps pushing his pay dates back and the boss wants them sped up. So he's asked our family to kidnap the man's son and hold him until the money is wired."

Karin's head turned to the side. "So, a ransom?"

Nagato nodded. "Of course. But no one will get hurt, though. We are sure once he realizes his son is gone, he will wire the ¥327.7 million immediately."

Naruto choked. "¥327.7 million?!" A nod from his cousin. "That's like a billion yen!"

Nagato snorted at his cousin. And Karin hit the blond in his head. "You idiot!" She screamed.

Before they could start fighting and arguing, a knock on the door sounded and all three looked up, finding their parents standing in the doorway, their brows raised in amusement. Misaji smiled. "Are you three ready?"

Nagato nodded and stood.

"Then come."

Karin's eyes widened. "What about the food?"

Her father sighed. "Bring them, Karin."

Naruto snorted and Karin pushed his shoulders when they were the last two in the house. "Now you're the idiot."

Karin just stuck out her tongue as they crowded into the backseat of Minato's small car.

Minato turned around. "We'll have to pile up just one of you. Madoka is coming back there."

Naruto crossed his arms obnoxiously, reminding Minato of the boy's mother. "I ain't putting Karin on my lap. She's too heavy."

Minato smirked. "Naruto…" he trailed off in reminder. "You're the smallest."

And the sudden realization had landed him a seat in Nagato's lap the entire car ride out of the city and into the mountains.

It took an entire two hours and Naruto made a very loud show of stretching when he got out of the car. He looked around the cliff they stood on, over the city they had just left.

"City looks great from here." He whispered.

"Naruto, come here." His father's voice broke the sky and again he turned, finding Minato and his brothers by the trunk.

Nagato and Karin were already standing to the side, waiting for their orders.

"You've all been taught how to properly use a gun and I expect those lessons to brought out while we go back down the mountain for something."

Naruto watched the guns get handed off with care. A M4 Carbine assault rifle for Nagato.

A FN Scar assault rifle to Karin.

His father turned to him. And to him a M1911A1 pistol, imported from the Americas.

Minato closed the trunk. "Don't use your bullets. Karin and Nagato, you two keep a look out. If anyone comes up here and they aren't us, shoot immediately. Naruto, you wait until we return."


When they did return, Naruto had already grown tired as did his cousins. Nagato sat with a book in his hand upon the ground, Karin kept running her hands over the metal of her rifle.

And Naruto… Naruto was watching the dying sky. He wondered how it could wake so vibrantly one day and then sleep. It had been a wonderful blue this morning, but right now, it was even more beautiful.

It was a purple with undertones of pink and orange. And the colors were so vibrant that they seemed like they were just introduced to the world. The color purple would tell the people that she meant power, royalty, extravagance, and rarity in the natural world. Pink wasn't only love, it was healthy, friendship, and for Naruto, a way to neutralize disorder. And finally orange. Orange came into the world and told them he would only bring enthusiasm, encouragement, and success. And Naruto believed it until he couldn't.

Suddenly, the sky was torn away. Yes it was still purple and orange and pink, but everything they had come into the world with; everything that they meant was torn away. And to replace the stability they brought into the world came the sound of a car engine, traveling and panting up that mountain side.

Naruto stood with curiosity, ready to choose fear if it weren't his father and uncles, and fear if it was. He watched Karin stand too, long done with tracing circles on the weapon. And he watched her load it up. And he watched her raise it in the direction of the mountain entrance.

Nagato did the same and Naruto blushed in embarrassment, because really, what could he do with a pistol?

The car was his father's and while his cousins sighed in relief, he did in anticipation. Minato stepped out first, his hard eyes already staring into Naruto's. Watching his son, he went around the car and opened the trunk. Naruto watched the entire time. And he watched small bare feet come out and the legs came around.

Whoever the child was with the cloth sack over their head, Naruto noted that their legs were grimed in dirt, but they were well fed, unlike his own. Minato brought the child over and forced them to kneel on the gravel.

"Come here, Naruto."

The boy walked over, the pistol low in his hand. He stopped before the child and Minato looked at him. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

The boy swallowed the lump in his throat. He looked to his uncles and his cousins, whose eyes flickered between the child and him. And he turned back to his father.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to do this."

Minato blinked, but there was no pride, almost concern. He looked down and slowly pulled the sack off the child's head.

Naruto knew this boy.

This boy came into school with lunch and a happy smile. This boy could buy anything from the school lunch line and even though everyone liked to say his parents had so much money, Kiba Inuzuka was the humble boy that liked to draw circles on the desks and smiled big at Naruto when he passed back papers.

Kiba didn't deserve this. That was the thought that ran through everyone's head. Yeah, Kiba didn't deserve this. But in Naruto's head, somehow he did. He had everything that Naruto didn't and Naruto wanted more than that before he grew even more.

His excitement was mistaken in his father's eyes as sadness and he spoke quietly. "Naruto, we will not kill him. This is only to instill fear in his father so that the money will be wired quickly."

But there was a secret no one else knew. Naruto wanted this. He couldn't make them understand what was happening inside him because he couldn't understand himself. The eleven year old nodded and put the pistol's front sight and recoil plug right on Kiba's head. Right between his eyebrows.

Kiba blinked, confused, bewildered, betrayed. "Naruto." He whispered. Because apparently, he knew this boy. And now that was realized between everyone on that mountain point.

Minato grimaced and squeezed Kiba's shoulder to the point the boy whimpered in pain. "Quiet." Another gaze to Naruto before he pulled out a small phone. He dialed a number and waited as he walked around.

"Did you wire the money?" he spoke. His tone was commanding and brutal, sinister as if he knew something the other man did not. "No? We have your son. We know where your wife works. We know your mother stays in your home by herself for hours. Wire the money, Inuzuka."

The world grew quiet then and Naruto stared at Kiba to search in the boy's eyes. He wanted to know what his thoughts were and he wanted to stop him from thinking. He knew the boy was afraid and he didn't want him to be afraid anymore.

"Just wire the money and you can have your son back. No harm will be done to him. You have three hours." Minato hung up harshly and looked to his family, who stood around waiting for there next move.

"What do we do now, uncle?" Nagato questioned.

Minato smirked. "We wait. Don't worry. It will be fine."

Naruto looked back to the pistol. He wasn't worried about himself.


Apparently, three hours was a very long time and a very long time to kneel and a very long one to stand. Everyone else had changed their positions.

But only four things did not change; Kiba still kneeled, pistol on his head. Naruto still stood before him, pistol in hand. The sun still shone, giving the world colors that didn't belong there. And fate showed the world that it would not be deterred. No matter the time, no matter the deadline.

The cell phone rang. Karin's eyes widened. Minato picked up immediately. "It's been four hours." Came his immediate growl. "Do you think this is a joke? That your sons life is a game? You spent the money? How, It's only been two months? What do you mean you can't come up with the final million yen? No. It's too late. There is no more time!"

Minato hung up and slammed the phone on the ground, smashing it with his foot, with might, and with anger.

It grew silent and the Namikaze family did not know what to say to another. It was Karin, the sensitive soul, who spoke first. "Are we going to take him back down the mountain now? Just leave him by a store?"

Naruto looked to Kiba who was already looking at him. He sighed. "Watashi ni wa ki o tsukawanakute ii kara raku ni shite ite." He whispered.

The sound of the pistol was exhilarating. It was such a concussive shot that Naruto didn't hear it. There was only a pressure like his ears had popped and it hurt so bad. All sound had been deafened, but when it was regained, he could hear Nagato gasp and he could hear Karin scream as Kiba's body fell backward with force.

The other boy's blood was a dark red. And it was all Naruto could see. The sky had no power of the blood as it ran from Kiba's face. As it sunk into the pores on Naruto's face and arms. Red signified strength, danger, and war. Red belonged to him because the sky could not take that away.


Japanese words used here: Yakunitatanai baka means "useless idiot."

Oba means "auntie."

Oyabun means "family boss"

Sore no owari translates to "the end of it." Or "end of discussion."

Oi. Otoko ni naritai? Translates to "nephew. Do you want to be a man?"

Watashi ni wa ki o tsukawanakute ii kara raku ni shite ite is a term Japanese people use when there is nothing left to say. It means "just relax and don't worry about me." I know it's a way to move out of the way of attention, but these words are a comfort to Kiba and a condolence from Naruto.

The title of this chapter is Paradise. It is a common street term for Cocaine and if you guessed that, yes, all my chapter titles will be drug related. They will have a drug term, but the word will be closely related to the chapters contents.

Paradise is what people call Cocaine solely for the effect it has on users. When people think of paradise, usually a beautiful natural place comes into mind. The title is ironic to the chapter because all scenes show that everyone is very far from paradise.

Beginning: Sasuke speaks on his dead husband

Middle: Linda comes to terms with racism and the Hiroshima Bombing.

Mid-end: Maso has three wonderful boys, but their mother has run off to America.

End: Naruto has to kill Kiba, a fellow school boy.

The irony: Sasuke is in a beautiful house and apparently, he is rich. Linda is a happy woman. Maso is rich with love. And Naruto enjoys the nature and how beautiful the sky is right before he kills Kiba.

From here on, the chapters will not start with Sasuke speaking with the interviewer. That was just to get into things and show the present where Naruto is dead. I don't want to do that because it seems too close to my other story "We Lived As Gods."

Colors signify a lot because Naruto sees them as new. And this signifies his initiation into crime. Into a brand new world. He notices that the sky introduces colors to them. But when he kills Kiba and watches the blood, the boy takes red for himself. He feels powerful and because the color is now tainted with blood, the sky doesn't take it, so Naruto takes the color for himself. It's almost like the sky believes colors should he introduced as something good, but Naruto takes it first, and the sky refuses it.

I know you're all wondering some things about missing people and stuff, but you'll have to wait and be patient.

One more thing, if the terms used in here bothered you, this story is not for you. I mentioned derogatory terms that Japanese people and African American people face because life is real. All fanfiction can't be paradise and a forewarning, my story is so far from it.

If the bombings bothered you; if the killing bothered you; if the racist terms bothered you, go now. There's so much more where that came from.

And please please, don't take offense to the words. As an African American teen myself, I know what it's like. But someone has to speak up on these things. Just like I spoke upon the mental stigma we face in "A Most Beautiful Mind," I won't steer away from this. It's my story. Thank you and goodnight. *Tips head like David Letterman.*

PS. I have a tumblr with the same name, and in a few weeks from now, I'll be postings my drawings of characters from this story. some scenes will be posted too, so you may have to read the story to understand.