Uchiha Mikoto, named after the honorable wife of the noble Clan Head in a transparent attempt to curry favor, went to bed without great expectations.

When she woke, somewhere in the fuzzy part of night that was both too late and too early, it was only because this was typical behavior for her. She slept best in four hour stretches with a thirty minute break between them, which she usually spent enjoying a cup of tea.

Mikoto was organized by nature and her parents had been delighted to encourage this trait. Her kitty slippers and fluffy robe were always in the same place so she was able to don both without opening her eyes.

Shuffling towards the door, she yawned and rubbed drool from the corner of her mouth.

"Think chamomile tonight," she hummed. Mint had been the tea of choice last time and she had to be in a certain mood for mint anyways. Chamomile, she loved unconditionally.

In the corner of her peripheral vision, a metallic blur raised subconscious concerns.

Faster than she could process, the blade swept down. Seconds later, crumpled on the floor like an abandoned doll, gasping silently — somebody help me — she remembered.

.

.

.

Murdered in her jammies by Itachi fucking Uchiha, Jesus wept.

.

.

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"Rob."

"Nice to see you again so soon, Candidate 673."

"Can't say the same. What happened? I thought we had a deal."

"We did. It's not my fault you have the attention span of a goldfish."

"I do not!"

"The evidence begs to differ."

"What evidence."

A screen snapped open in midair. Against a black background, flashing white letters read, BUFFERING. PLEASE HOLD.

"I have... so many regrets."

"You're about to have one more, quite shortly."

The screen changed to show a high definition shot of Candidate 673, wearing an unflattering hospital gown, handcuffs hanging from one wrist. He was pacing, gesturing wildly, uncaring of his bare feet and the swinging cuffs that narrowly missed hitting him in the face.

Pause. Zoom in on the exposed ass. Observe the tattoo in the small of his back, quite possibly the least tasteful tramp stamp in the world. A moment of silence. Respectful, yet pointed. Resume.

"And another thing! You said any power I wanted and this is the power I want, so what, may I ask, is the big problem?"

"Any power on the list."

"You didn't say any power on the list. You said any power."

"After first providing you with a literal list of powers to choose from."

"If it wasn't implicitly stated then it doesn't count, obviously. Everybody knows that. You're telling me that a being with infinite unholy abilities can't manage this one teeny tiny thing?"

"It isn't a matter of what I can manage, but what a stable universe will allow."

"Sounds like some, uh, fresh bullshit to me."

"I am being honest."

"Uh huh. So tell me again why you can't just -"

The screen changed to show a picturesque beach with gleaming water and glittering sand. A narrator with a bland voice drolled, "Ten. Hours. Later."

Back to Candidate 673, looking significantly more manic.

"Okay. So. So. What if you just fuck all that other stuff? Then could you make it happen?"

"What if I just…? Actually. You know what? Fine. Fine. You can have the power, I don't care. Just be aware that this is going to cause integration difficulties."

"Sweet! Let's get this show on the road then!"

"Do you want to know what problems this might cause you?"

"Nah, I'm sure I can handle it."

"Have it your way. Good luck."

"Who needs luck when I've got ultimate power?!"

The screen went black. A shiny gold plaque appeared beneath it reading, Exhibit A.

"..."

"Nothing to say for yourself? No?"

"..."

"I'll be seeing you."

.

Uchiha Mikoto opened her eyes to the terrifying sight of a scalpel directly in front of her pupil.

Two voices screamed in unison.