the orange suitcase
"So, tell me something…," she paused delicately, lacing her fingers around the spiraling cord of the office telephone. "I hear that you're the next heir of the company; is that right, or is what my sources are telling me wrong?"
Exactly three long, pain-staking breaths passed on the other end of the line while he stared out of his office windows through the breaks in the blinds. Streaks of light danced across his icy features, sharpening strong cheekbones and a defined jaw further. His fingers thrummed melodiously against the glass of his desk.
He ran his obsidian eyes across the skyline of the early morning city, considering his answer for a moment longer. "I hear that you aren't to be trusted with any sort of information; am I right, or is what all the tabloids are saying wrong?"
She smiled, stained red lips separating to reveal a brilliant grin, "You are smart."
It was barely three in the morning when Haruno Sakura was rudely awakened by her television flashing on, the obnoxious theme of Channel7 News reaching her ears through cotton balls, at first. After reluctantly blinking her eyes open, lifting her body up with her arms, and flipping over to face the small cube, she could finally make sense of the words exiting the overly made up newscaster's mouth.
She rubbed her bright viridian eyes clear, snorting with irrepressible indignity when an unfortunately familiar face zoomed onto the screen.
"Good morning Downtown, I'm Ami Watanabe here with today's headlining news," Sakura tried to hide her repulsed shock that that was 'headline'. People really were running out of things to talk about if it was not violence or some D-List celebrity forgetting to check for underwear before exiting the limousine. "Konoha's infamous Uchiha Corporations are looking to hire, always in a rarity itself, yes, but they are looking for amateurs—people who have no idea what they're doing."
Sakura repressed a yawn, stretching. A loud crack resounded from her back before she grumbled, "You have no idea what you're doing."
"Reasons as to why the sudden want for workers outside of the prestigious family have been cited by Mr. Fugaku Uchiha himself, caught exiting a local clothing store with his wife." The camera cut to the beginning of a scene, an obviously powerful and rich man about center on the screen, with a pretty woman latched to his side like a doll. Another newsperson was next to him, practically shoving the microphone into the dark-haired man's face.
The blond newscaster questioned in the stereotyped voice, "Well, Uchiha-san, there has been quite a controversy with your choice of deciding to take such a risk, volleying for an all new round of recruits for your corporation. Why put such a pivotal choice on your and your company's shoulders?"
Fugaku smiled, however it was fake, plastic and in all terms civil for the sake of coming off as personable.
Planting a hand on his heart, or where the organ was supposed to be, he tilted his head, answering. "It was not my sole individualized decision in any way; my sons had a huge partaking in the process. You see, I believe that businesses must bend and grow and change with the way the people bend and grow and change—my sons believe so as well, but in a different light as I do. How would I look, Steven," to which the blond grinned at being remarked toward with his first name, "if I constantly shot down my own children's suggestions to bring in a younger slew of workers to make a younger company, and ultimately appeal more to the younger generation, of that which will lead the future world within the next few years?"
Steven started to answer the question, mislead, though, by the short pause Fugaku allowed himself for breathing.
"I would look as if I were a terrible father. I can't always lead the company; I will one day die, and the last thing I want is for my company and its legacy to die along with myself." He shrugged, partially aloof. "Besides, we've been going back and forth with the Hyuuga Enterprises; I think bringing in a card that they can in no way obtain will give us the upper hand, don't you think?"
A swooshing sound blared as Sakura exited her bathroom, a pink toothbrush popped into her mouth and a damp towel snaked around her neck. Steam exited the door behind her, dampness sticking to the glass mirror within.
Ami, on the screen again, smiled, "And what is that upper hand Mr. Uchiha speaks of, reporters from all ranges of expertise wonder? Moreover, what do a slew of amateurs have to do with trumping the Hyuuga Enterprises?"
Sakura plopped onto her bed watching the television.
"We'll find out seconds before you do," the purple-headed girl chirped out the slogan, "Giving you news as soon as we get it, Konoha Channel 7 morning News at three, five and nine. I'll see you right after this commercial break, and until then, I'm Ami Watanabe. As always, have a fabulous day, Downtown!"
I. Aмat∂uЯ ђΟµr
Inside a very luxurious house, past the array of bustling maids and nannies, servants and butlers, zooming down the twisting and maze-like halls, ignoring extravagantly painted custom family portraits, nearly knocking over marble busts, was a family.
However, this was not just any normal family; the Hyuuga main household—of the most honorable in the family—waited tiredly at the entrance of the dining area, eyeing the busied cooks with identical milky, pupil-lacking irises as they ran to and fro, gathering eggs for the omelets, or arranging the silver utensils on the indigo silk of the napkins. A handful dedicated their morning to cooking at the huge kitchen, little beads of sweat threatening to drop off the tips of noses with the heat of the top-of-the-line stainless steel stoves, flipping buttermilk pancakes, some with chocolate chips, others with touches of vanilla, slices of strawberry and banana, though most contained a dash of cinnamon. Bacon sizzled on a pan, biscuits rose in the oven, slowly affected by natural chemical reactions and yeast while a row of coffee machines worked on grinding black and flavored coffee.
Particularly cold lavender eyes narrowed as he exhaled sharply, calculatingly peering at a larger than life modern black and white wall clock perched on a wall directly across from him. The hands crept closer to the seven, and as the speed of the second hand neared closer to the hour of breakfast, the man's early morning patience before coffee deteriorated.
Feeling the intensely aggravated emotion rolling off her father's shoulders made the small, meek girl beside him tense slightly, her fingers fiddling behind her back in a nervous fit she had secretly not yet broken. She hesitantly glanced at her father, and then bit her lip. It would only be a moment until he decided to explode.
A cold hand covered her own, pausing her fiddling. Glancing upward, she saw the permanently impassive face of her cousin, eyes locked ahead of him, seemingly looking through the walls themselves.
"Calm down," He whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear. She would have, in fact, missed it, if he had not caught her attention previously.
She released the breath unaware she was holding. "A-Arigatou," she breathed, almost silently.
Just as the words slipped past her lips, a woman skittered to the front of the archway, she stopping at the trio and painting a smile onto her face. Her hands crossed behind her back, which was straight as a board, head held high, confidently, but respectfully. She greeted the three, crossing one leg behind the other and bending at the knee in a curtsy.
"Ohayo gozaimasu, Hyuuga-san, Lady Hinata-san, Neji-san. Breakfast will be served momentarily," she rose from her curtsy. "If I am not intruding, may I ask where the Lady Hanabi-san is?"
Hiashi sucked in a breath of air, tightening his jaw. "That would be crossing your line as worker," he glared at her openly, into her identical pearly orbs, "and, more importantly, your position as a Branch member in my clan. You are already late in your preoccupation of preparing our breakfast; one would find it wise of you to stray away from making conversation, and instead getting my meal on the table."
From behind his uncle, Neji swallowed thickly, taking an obvious and blatant hit toward his pride without faltering. Hinata dipped her head away from the older man, suddenly feeling ashamed for wanting to remove herself and Neji from the situation.
The woman cleared her throat, nodding. "I apologize, then." She glanced at Neji, grinning, "Sayonara, Neji-san."
He tilted his head slightly. "I'll be seeing you around, Baa-chan."
Hinata sniffled, restraining the tears that begged to flow from her eyes.
Sakura's hair floated behind her as she ran the short distance from her dresser and closet for the seventh time. Her mind was in more flurry than the sinking of fabric, clothes ripped out from their respective positions and into the air. She was in search of one of her only nice dress shirts—a white silken blouse with tailored stitching, cinched inward at her slim waist. Pinstripes colored silver, rose, and gray ran vertically, lengthening her body. Moreover, it cost over sixty dollars.
She pulled out the last drawer of her dresser dramatically, flipping it upside down before desperately sifting through the clothing. When finally she found the silken shirt, a hoot of self-satisfaction exited her lips and she hopped onto her feet, sliding each of her ivory arms into their respective slots. Freshly manicured nails struggled with miniscule buttons as she stepped over piles of clothes, hangers thrown astray, and a newly broken drawer.
A voice in the back of her mind told her that she would not only have to clean all of this crap up later, but she would have to tell a hell of a story to her roommate whenever she decided to return to the apartment after her Super Sexy Sunday of partying. With that thought in mind, the rosette let her green eyes slide over to an old-fashion digital clock, block red numbers flashing every so often with exertion. 4: 28 AM it read, and Sakura moaned throatily, kicking the leg of her bed.
Her hands immediately snapped to her big toe, seething. "Ouch," she muttered, hopping out of the doorway.
Stupid bed. Stupid wooden bed leg. Stupid high school soccer making her legs all super strong—and gorgeous. The word crackled like a wild fire in her mind, marring the most hidden and locked parts of herself. The last time she had been called gorgeous—pretty, beautiful, attractive—was a time she didn't know if she wanted to forget, or go back to, running with open arms. The in between of unknowing was the farthest feeling from comfortable to Sakura.
A shiver ripped through her spine as she bent down and picked up a pair of mauve five-inch Mary Jane heels. She shouldn't be thinking of things like that. Of people like that. She was fine minding her own business and no one else's expect those that mattered, or paid her. Honestly, she thought, looking around at her humbly shared apartment, there was no other way she would want to have it. Most people her age could hardly afford to live on their own with stability and a steady income for as long as she has. Of course, it wasn't big bucks or anything, but she was happy either way. Fresh out of college and knowing what she wanted to do and what she was doing was a huge accomplishment in her mind.
Why was it that she felt so incomplete, then?
Sakura spooned more colorful rings into her mouth, quietly slurping ice-cold milk. Her emerald eyes reflected the screen of the small eight by ten inch television. Yet another news tone rang throughout the scarcely decorated apartment, only a few pictures hanging here and there. A rug covered badly laid hardwood flooring. Cheap curtains let in orange stripes of light. Sakura glanced at the rising sun, and with a fleeting thought, she saw the brick buildings disappear, leaving ghastly graffiti to dissipate with them. A beautiful morning sunrise against an extravagant city skyline sparkled in her eyes, leaving quickly with a blink, ugly townhouses returning.
The voice of the usual morning host to the Channel9 news ripped her from her reverie. She aptly turned back to the television, slurping more fruity cereal.
"If I may say so myself, Bunko, I believe that the crisis in business is surmounting," a man deemed Yuri Tomio by a caption said. Sakura scrambled for the television remote, refusing to remove her eyes from the set. When her small palm grasped the thin rectangular prism, she proceeded to turn up the volume four notches. He continued, "My belief is that Uchiha-sama is not only trying to breathe life into the long dying Uchiha Corporation, but also attempting to prolong its life and shorten that of its main rival, Hyuuga Enterprises."
The rosette tipped her bowl back along with her head, sipping the last of the milk from the Hello Kitty bowl. She wiped her mouth with the palm of her hand and went back to the newscast, though she knew what was most likely going to occur. They would compare Uchiha to Hyuuga. She shook her head as she rose from her seat, spoon and bowl in hand, when Tomio finished his banter with a predictable, "All that said, and all that has happened, I seriously quarry what the Hyuugas are going to do. They are new to the game of surviving hardships, much unlike that of the Uchihas. I only now wonder what Hiashi-sama has to say about—breaking news!"
Sakura whipped around, shocked at the urgency in the man's voice and the timing of the breaking news. She hurriedly tossed the plastic bowl into her sink and scuttled back to the table, slipping back into her seat. Tomio removed his finger from his ear, where his communication device looped. His voice was gravely surprised. "Hotaru is with Hyuuga Hiashi-sama, outside of his city-side mansion. To you," he gulped, reviewing the words he said, so obviously demeaning the Hyuuga Enterprises, seeing his job slipping out his hold, "Hotaru-san."
The graphics swished to a fancy screen before fading to the milky skin of Hyuuga Hiashi that contrasted starkly with the tanned color of Hotaru-san was on screen. She gingerly extended her hand, a content smile on her face. It widened considerably when the business mogul returned the gesture. "It is a pleasure to meet you Hiashi-sama," she greeted.
His upper lip twitched upward—Sakura assumed this the equivalent of a smile. "As it is as great to meet you, also, Hotaru-san. Your father and I once associated together, correct? Noriko-sama, if my memory does do me well?"
Unable to contain herself the woman giggled girlishly nodding, "Yeah."
The rosette rolled her eyes, seeing that this would not be as interesting and worthwhile as she thought it would be. When the girl contained her laughter, the show rolled on with nothing but an awkward glance shared between two young adults, forever in the shadow of the executive. Rumor had it that they both were in the running for winning the company next, the boy being the more likely to have it if it weren't for the fact he weren't main family blood.
"Sucks for him," Sakura sighed, planting her head onto her hand, watching the newscast again.
Hiashi continued, another tight smile on his face. "I assume it that you prefer Hotaru-san to the correct Noriko-san—since that is your surname—because of the recent slaughter of your family's reputation, am I right?" While Sakura choked on her spit at the brashness of the man, Hotaru let her face convulse, then press into decided impassiveness. She played mute when the younger male chuckled quietly. Hiashi let a gleam flash in his eyes, "Yes, but, I did call you to meet me here today to talk about myself, not of your mistakes."
Sakura laughed dryly. This guy had low-blow jokes.
"As I was saying," he complacently crossed his arms across his chest. "Hyuuga Enterprises is going through a plateau of sorts, as many other big names. Be sure to account that a plateau is not a falling out of sorts, nor is it entering negatives in profit. At this point and time, I can say to with as much surety as the sky is blue that we are no lower than forty-five percent in net profit. In terms of comparing," he spat the word out, "ourselves to the Uchiha's, well…I think what Fugaku decided to announce and how he decided to announce it was completely juvenile. Honestly, he might as well have challenged me to a game of Solitaire—you never know what card it is that you're going to obtain until you receive that card, am I right?"
Hotaru nodded professionally, though no one could miss the way she swiped her microphone away from the vicinity of the Hyuuga's mouth. "Back to you, Tomio," she all but seethed, her face painted red with embarrassment.
Within her skirt pocket, Sakura's cell phone roared to life, vibrating against her thigh. A chorus of cello chords filled the air, short of a poppy beat and catchy singing.
"I go oh-oh| you go ah-ah—"
She snatched the phone away, unlocking the screen with a touch of her finger, answering it with haste, as if someone would hear the, admittedly, embarrassing ringtone. She sighed, placing the phone in between her shoulder and walking away from her tiny table, half glass of water in hand. Without taking a second glance about whatever banter was now going on between the two hosts of the Channel9 news—of which she would normally never fancy her attention to watch—she answered, "Hello, Haruno Sakura speaking. May I ask who this is?"
A loud array of bangs bombarded her ears, almost making her drop the glass into the sink with brashness. Luckily, she had better reflexes than she would account herself toward having. Nevertheless, she was still angry. "If this is some stupid prank call I swear to Ka—!"
"Sakura," The familiar voice of a drunken best friend of hers slurred. "I'm so scared."
Sakura's brow furrowed, though she let the crease between her eyebrows smooth. Knowing her friend, especially as drunk as she apparently was, she was doing either one of two things. Sakura flipped a mental coin and questioned, "Are your eyes closed?"
Ino paused. "Of course they are, you silly rabbit. A fight against hangovers is instantly lost when light is involved."
"Open them. You're afraid of the dark, remember?"
Her heart rate slowed considerably when giggles chorused. "Sorry, Forehead," Ino apologized. "I'm so wasted. Can you come get me?"
The girl crossed her arms and glanced toward a red-rimmed wall clock. She pursed her lips and tapped her fingers against the counter in melody. It wasn't as if she didn't care about her best friend and what happened to her during her obvious time of need and whatnot, but she had things to do without much time to do them. Sakura ran a hand through her hair. "Where're you at, Boar?"
An array of sirens followed by the undeniable popping of gunshots filled the telephone. Ino's shrilling scream followed shortly after. "Sakura-chan! I'm even more scared now than I was with my eyes closed!"
Sakura rushed to the window, looking out of it, eyes sporadically searching. For a quick second she saw the pointlessness of this act—she lived in a big city and her window allowed only so much—but she threw it away in haste. An ambulance sped down the city street, following the main road that leads to one of the busiest shopping districts in the city. She swallowed thickly and pressed her hand to her head, subconsciously massaging the area just above her hairline.
She could hear the tears streaming down her friend's face. Sakura tried to mask the concern in her voice with concentrated calm, "I'm going to need you to relax and tell me exactly where you are, okay?"
Ino sniveled, and Sakura could see her rocking back and forth on her heels. "I-I—I don't know. There's lots of people and they're, like—they have guns, Sakura-chan!"
The tears fell as waterfalls now, Sakura could hear. Before she knew it, she had thrown on her trench coat and swiped her brief case, a little orange bow tied onto the handle.
A blonde girl around the age of twenty-five threw herself into an abandoned store along that of a high-profile shopping district. Her heart pounded against her chest just as hard as the way she thudded to the tiled floor of the shop. Glass cracked underneath her and she gasped for air, looking toward the only window she knew the store had. The pieces were all in tact, a pretty FOR LEASE sign tacked onto the fragile material at an angle, a phone number underneath that.
She swallowed thickly, pulling a piece of glass out of her palm, inspecting it in the relative darkness. The piece was small, not even an inch on each side, and relatively square. She stood quietly, looking at the other reflective pieces on the ground. They were all about the same size as well. Out of sheer curiosity, she examining her palm. No blood exited from the entry point of the glass she pulled. Her eyebrows crunched closer together, looking at the perfect glass at the window ahead of her, and the glass on the floor.
Interesting, she mused, as she strode forward, placing her single square piece of shattered glass against that of the storefront glass. She narrowed her eyes, fighting against the blaring of a hangover headache and the darkness to see what she thought to be a pattern in the glass, identical in the both of them. The etched shapes almost looked like…clouds. Ino tilted her head and tried to derive a conclusion. Memories of an earlier glass blowing class played on a reel in her mind as she popped a hip.
"Toughened or strengthened glass," Kurenai-sensei lectured. She twirled her pointer in her hand before smacking it against an example sheet of glass with force. The class jumped back, flinching, fully expecting shards of glass to fly in complete disorder. Instead, the sheet moved in a wave reminiscent of gelatin. The dark haired woman smiled, "Happens every year." She laughed lightly and continued.
"Glass that has been treated with different chemical and or heat processes behaves differently than a normal sheet of glass would. As just demonstrated, the glass seemed to absorb the force of impact and send it back outward, reason for the jelly-like reaction," her brown eyes shone red in the fluorescent lights of the classroom as they scanned the class, "It's actually very much like bullet-proof glass."
The girl took the tiny piece of glass and placed it between her pointer finger and thumb. Her baby blue eyes crossed as she brought it up to her face, and flicked it with a finger of her opposite hand. The glass rebounded immediately and her headache grew in intensity. Why would a store yet to be leased need to have potentially bulletproof glass? Perhaps if this were a more dangerous part of the city she would understand, but in such a bustling and lively area?
Reflexively she backed away from the window, hairs standing up on the back of her neck. This didn't make any type of sense. Just hours ago she was partying, bouncing around with a margarita in hand, flirting with guys she'll probably never see again in her life, making a fool out of herself in drunken phone, knocking strippers off their poles and doing it herself. Her heart decided to thump, nerves thrumming underneath her skin.
Ino looked out the window, seeing nothing but the remains of a panicked rampage of people. Shoes were left behind without their pair like Cinderella, hats lying in rain puddles, cars exited in the middle of the street, cars stuck in the middle of an accident, toys and dolls left without their owners. The blonde girl pulled light hair behind her ear and stepped up again, adrenaline rushing. The sun penetrated into her eye sockets, causing immediate pain, but she ignored it. Something was wrong; she could feel it crawling up her bones. She touched the glass with her fingertips, a shock of electricity running through her.
Her breath hitched, before she released it, a smile gracing her face. False alarm, she laughed lightly.
Suddenly a form appeared before her, just across the window, dressed in a form-fitting full body leotard. A single red race stripe ran down the middle, breaking the otherwise all white fabric. The words power ranger flashed in Ino's mind before a handgun was pointed toward her, finger on the trigger. She let out an earsplitting scream, flinching as she covered her face with both hands, tears flowing out of her eyes.
Her eyes clamped shut, red with rushing emotions, all of which she couldn't name, as the resounding bang of a gunshot rang in the air.
Sakura pushed her way out of a heavy crowd, muttering sorry whenever someone sent her a particularly harsh glance. It didn't take long for her to determine how to find out where Ino could be, especially considering the night before was a Sunday. Ino always went shopping on Sunday night/Monday morning to buy the next weekend's party clothes. Looking up on the internet from her phone the newest and hottest clubs, she found that one had just opened around the shopping district that Friday.
However, the rosette didn't expect news crews and television trucks, police squads, ambulances and all of the above flooding the streets. She rolled her eyes and made a final push, jamming her elbow into the gut of a tall man. "Watch where you're walking, will you?"He sneered, glaring down at her.
Sakura's lips tightened as he looked up toward him. He was tall, slightly built and narrow-eyed, with hair immaculately jelled into a high ponytail. She normally would have avoided such an obvious jerk, but decided flinging back a retort would suffice. "Only after you pull that wannabe a headline news reporter microphone out your ass and watch where you're standing," She spat back, hand twirling a piece of hair between her fingers.
The man let his lips split into a lazy grin. "Touché," a beat of silence passed between the two before he added, "I would ask if you had a boyfriend but I have a girlfriend and I only mess around with girls who have good taste in hair dye."
The mask covering Sakura's impatience faltered, revealing her honest mood. Venom laced her tone, "I'll let you know that my hair is naturally this shade. Redhead mother and a bleached blond father. I would expect you to understand Punnet Squares and dominant and recessive genes, but you're obviously a sleaze."
Sakura folded her arms with a huff, turning away from the brunet. She watched as police etched white chalk around motionless figures on the ground and picked up evidence with latex gloves on their hands, placing them into plastic bags. She went onto tiptoe in her heels, trying to see over the shoulders of those few people still in front of her.
When she could see nothing but faceless figures, she gave up, and reached into her pocket, checking her phone for any missed messages. No matter how many times she tried to shoo the feeling away, a cold breeze kept on hovering over her. It was unsettling. A huge zero on her telephone screen assured her that no one had called, texted, or left her a panicked message of their coming murder. The last words Ino spoke before her phone went dead made Sakura feel as if dozens of needles were poking into her with persistence. She needed to know if she was okay or not.
"I'm Shikamaru," the man beside her suddenly announced, folding the viewfinder screen of his camera closed before placing it in his pocket. He stuck out a hand, "I'll be calling you Pip."
Her face convulsed as she turned away from the crime scene, diverting her attention away from Ami, who was getting her make up retouched during the supposed commercial break. Something akin to jealousy bubbled up in Sakura's stomach, something she had to swallow. That should be her up there. She looked toward Shikamaru, a civil smile on her lips as she took his hand. "And may I ask why you'll be calling me Pip?"
The answer came as though it was as obvious as sun was necessary to light, "Because you're a pipsqueak." He replied.
Sakura's smile fell. "My name is Sakura. Haruno Sakura. Not so nice to meet you, but I'll have to make do, Shikamaru."
He smiled and they smoothed into another comfortable silence, Sakura crossing her arms and peering through whatever spaces allotted to try to see what exactly was going on. She could gather that some people had gotten shot, what with the bullets, stray guns, and chatter amongst the crowd surrounding her, but not knowing who it was that shot the guns and whom received the bullets was bothering her immensely. She wanted to know underneath all of the confusion of morning without coffee if her best friend was among the people lying on the asphalt street, life void from her blue eyes.
"Looking for somebody?" Shikamaru asked, pulling out his camera and switching on his small microphone once again, in time with the news crew. He glanced in Sakura's direction, put back by the sudden impassiveness replacing the obvious concern once on her face. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "Not that it's my business or anything—"
The rosette combed through her locks, then sighed, "It's really not, but I'm looking for my pig."
Shikamaru's eyebrow piqued, silently asking for more information.
"My best friend," she explained, "her name is Ino."
He nodded, categorizing the information naturally in a mental flow chart. "Ino, boar, pig—I'm on the same page. Is her hair naturally an unnatural shade as well?"
"She's blonde, blue eyes, about five five, she's probably wearing a ridiculously short party dress since she went clubbing last night."
Unaware that she had just given a basic police missing person description, Sakura looked toward Shikamaru with slight desperation in her eyes. He was on his camera, pushing buttons here and there to do processes that she could probably never dream of understanding. His lips pursed slightly before her handed her the device. "Press the play button," he ordered, pointing slightly toward it. "I might've gotten a peek of her earlier."
Sakura grinned. "Thanks," she said before doing as told, pushing lightly on the sideways turned triangle. A grainy image played on the viewfinder. Even in the early hours of morning, Sakura discovered that Konoha's Union Square was forever populated with shoppers. She wondered vaguely if any of the stores ever closed, but the thought dispersed as soon as the wobbly drunken gait of her friend, staggering on the sidewalk, an empty Styrofoam cup poised in her hand.
Just as Sakura calmed, happy to see that Ino was perfectly fine, probably just confused in some store at this very moment, she realized how immature that thought was, and a stampede of people came running down the sidewalk, knocking down the blonde drunkard immediately. Sakura's eyes widened at the hoots and calls of warning, all ranging but pretty much about the same thing—"We're all going to die!"—and in the same cries of desperation. The girl tried to keep her eyes trained on Ino, but was easily distracted by the actions occurring.
These…ninja people in ridiculous jumpsuits were revealing themselves from various locations, inside shopping stores, atop buildings, within the crowd, in bushes. Three gunshots from the persons clad in all white suits silence the screaming crowd. All is quiet and hushed, almost in a movie like surreal. Sakura took this pause to search for Ino once again, finding her quickly, since she was the only person moving, most likely on her cell phone.
The rosette felt a pang of parallelism. She was probably calling her, talking to her, screaming about—"They have guns, Sakura-chan!"
Ino's cry rose above the silence of all the other shoppers, and it was as if she were a jolt of electricity, sending the group back to life. The persons looked bewildered, for they positively could not have expected any sort of outburst like that, and within moments, they were on the run, shooting and knocking, killing and beating. There were dozens of them, like a snowstorm of crazed killers. Sakura felt her heart tighten. Of all the people that had to be injured in this mass chaos, there was only a handful lying on the asphalt right now. Were those the important people? Alternatively, were the important people in the hospital? Did she miss the bagging of the dead bodies, the crying of family, and the clinging toward life that was already lost?
She blinked twice, clearing her bustling mind, and focusing on the miniature screen once again. The camera zoomed in on Ino, watching her run into an abandoned building. The screen flashed blue and then black, analog letters forming words that asked Sakura if she wanted to watch the next clip.
She handed the camera over to Shikamaru, who was eyeing the coming clouds of the early day. Without looking, he took the small device, pocketing it slowly.
"Was that her?"
Sakura looked up as well, unknowingly gazing upon the same cloud as the young man beside her, watching it casually move across the sky with the breeze, not a care in the world. She released a breath she did not know she was holding. "How'd you get that?"
He looped his thumbs in his belt loops and shrugged, scratching his nose. "I'm, uh, a light sleeper," Shikamaru said.
Moments of silence passed. "That was her," Sakura answered, looking over him once again, from head to toe. Her eyebrow perched before she shook away a looming feeling. "Yep, that was her."
She decided watching the newscast from a live audience was better than sinking in the silence between herself and a basic stranger she felt volleyed with death.
Three knocks rapped at a larger than life door, quickly and almost with an air of impatience. Seconds later, the door swung open. All the lights in the office were switched off, only streams of light coming from the windows. "What is it?" A voice asks from behind a high backed chair, facing the city skyline.
The woman at the doorway answered promptly. "You have a call at line six, sir," she answered.
"I'm not available at the moment."
"They said that it had to do with some man named—"
Squeaks emanated from the vicinity of the chair as the man turned 180 degrees slowly, facing the girl fully. Ominous eyes glowed in the darkness, sending shivers up his secretary's back, causing bumps to jump onto her skin. She swallowed thickly, crossing her arms behind her and tugging on her long hair with her fingers.
He nodded toward the door. "You may leave now; I have a call to answer, do I not?"
She bowed at the waist quickly and turned on her heel, aptly clicking the large doors behind her.
The man scooted toward his office telephone in his chair, pressing the beeping red button with a six etched upon it, and the speaker button instantaneously.
His legs crossed as her perched the on his desk. "Is it done?"
"The pay should be multiplied considering the more I've done besides that you have ordered." The voice was obviously obscured, either by some freak accident or by impressive audio technology.
Red blood boiled in anger. "I'll be the one deciding if you get paid at all. Remember who you're talking to," the man in the office barked.
A pause proceeded before the second partaker in the conversation huffed. The phone could be heard shuffling in hands. "A girl got a good look at Red. Said he handled her. Otherwise, all other stakes were taken to kill the target. Minimal attacks, I would say."
"How much do you want?"
"Well," A smile split across a face, revealing perfectly straight teeth. "How much do you got?"
The man laughed, "Now that's what I like to hear."
T.B.C.