A/N: Well, after constant encouragement and a bit of help from Shinoskunoichi, I'm writing her a giftfic. And so, this is it. A bit different than i usually write, but hey. This is how the request spun itself to my muse, and this is how it is.
Also, sorry...
Untitled
Bellmaker
He was silent. Emotionless. Strong.
The perfect ninja. No attachments, no mercy.
They tell him so, in the missions office. In briefings.
If he was never given a Genin team, well, certainly that's because they want one of the best available for dangerous missions.
It couldn't be his personality, for he was as they constantly claimed the ninja should be.
Silent. Merciless. Devoid of feeling, concerned only with his mission and the best way to complete it.
And if he'd never gone two days between missions since hitting Jounin, well, he's dedicated to his village.
As a Genin, he had been a tracking specialist. It almost seemed natural that he was an assassination specialist, now.
Find the target, and eliminate them.
He didn't bother counting his kills. Their kills. There were simply too many.
The Hive was always well-fed. His targets were always very generous like that.
This was surely no different. Just another target.
If the mission had come from the Village Hidden in the Mist, well, Konoha was fine with that.
His target surely wouldn't concern him. That was why he was chosen.
Because despite the strength and skill of his comrades, they might not be able to bring themselves to kill a young girl, hardly even a ninja.
But he was the perfect shinobi. They assured him so.
And they thought he didn't see them edge away when his back was turned. Or that he couldn't scent their nervousness through the Hive.
He was fine with that. He told himself so, and you can't lie to yourself. Right?
When he posed the question to Kiba, there was no answer. Eventually he turned away from the stone, when it became clear no answer was forthcoming.
But this mission was the same as all the others. Even if the target was just a Genin. Even if she was just his target for her blood.
Even if his first kunai missed.
Even though hers didn't.
A/N: A bit deeper and darker than I usually write. And shorter. A drabble? I guess.
There's a lot of things here I don't come out and say. Some of them are easier to miss than others.
And I blame Rebel music for the entire fic. The Irish are masters of a good, thought provoking, cheery song of death. Marti's Last Stand, I'm looking at you.
