"One machine can do the work of fifty ordinary men. No machine can do the work of one extraordinary man."

Elbert Hubbard.

Kikaigakure; The village hidden in the machine.

The ox driver gave a snort, the wheat between his lips bouncing as he raised an eyebrow back at the shinobi, sitting placidly in the hay in his cart. "Never heard of it."

Azuma Yamato grinned pearly white teeth, and chuckled. Brown hair, a shade darker than fresh earth, was swept back on his head, set against a headband. The plate caught the light every now and then, the six-toothed gear glimmering innocently, as violet eyes below shone happily with a sunbeam gaze. There were few remarkable things about Azuma in the back. He wore an aged mechanic's jumpsuit; faded blue with stains a few shades too dark to be blood, and a brilliant robins-egg cobalt bandana around his neck. The sleeves were sliced at the shoulder, leaving him with a worn vest.

It was his arm that made people stare at him, Azuma supposed. Something like that was bound to make him seem remarkable. One arm was wrapped in white tape and bandages almost entirely, save for a leather glove on the hand. And then there was the other arm. And it was barely an arm at all. Azuma's left arm may have been regular, with a light sprinkling of fantastic, but the other was what stood out beyond all others. He had to have been only just over five feet tall, and well muscled, and, if it hadn't been for his right arm, he likely could've passed for just another ninja.

It was metal. The entire thing was a colossal metal contraption. To most who met him, Azuma assumed they thought it matched his personality: Big. Some sort of synthetic, hexagonal plating made an upper arm., tucked behind a sode, a saumrai pauldron of five-fold layered steel. A hose of some kind connected into the sode, latching onto the massive forearm attachment. The forearm itself seemed to be a titanic gauntlet, almost the size of a man's torso. The fingers were thick as kunai, but each moved as fluidly and naturally as a true finger. The forearm was a cylinder, but in parts. Between those, a small, deep blue light, the same color as abyssal water, shone dimly, and at every space between synthetic muscle and metallic bone.

To others, it was a startling sight. To the ox driver, it was probably another story worth telling. To Azuma, it was as much a badge of pride as it was a mark of shame.

Azuma's chuckle subsided as his violet eyes smiled at the aging driver. "I'm not surprised. We're new. Sort of bordering the Land of Iron."

Now, that made the driver grin with amusement. "'Sort of'."

"Yeah," Azuma said with a chuckle, leaning forward over the wall of the cart, teeth shining brilliantly in the midday sun, the gear on his headband doing the same, "Sort of."

"Define 'sort of'."

Azuma pursed his lips in thought. Fifteen years old, but he acted like a child when cornered in a secret. "Sort of, but not quite?" The ox driver chuckled. Azuma feigned a deadpan look. "There's a reason they're called 'Hidden Villages', you know."

"Makes you wonder why the exams are always held in the same darn town," The driver chortled, placing his eyes back on the road as the ox gave a huff. "So, where's the rest of your squad?"

"I'm sorry?"

The driver took his eyes off the road, and looked back, looking honestly surprised. "Your squad? You know, your team. Your fellow genin and your teacher."

"Oh, I'm it."

The driver blinked. "Come again?"

Azuma smiled. "I'm it. We're new, remember? I'm the first genin to come out of Kikaikagure. Everyone else is Chunin-level or higher, or has something better to do."

Again, the driver was honestly surprised. "Wait, what's more important than the Chunin exams?"

"Defending the village?" Azuma replied with a smirk, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and the driver was a fool for not seeing it, "Like I said, we're new. But, we're not going anywhere." He leaned back into the hay, hands connected under his head, feet resting on the head of the cart. Weight-bearing boots rested next to the driver, as lazy violet eyes gazed up at the heavens, watching birds circle overhead in the cloudless sky.

It was a while before Azuma spoke, the hum of buzzards calling to one another the only other sound, save for the squeaking wheels on the axis. "Speaking of going places…"

"Won't be long now, son. Maybe another fifteen minutes, and we'll be at the gates."

"Big event, right?"

"The biggest!"

Azuma sat up from the hay, pieces sticking to his hair before the mammoth metal gauntlet brushed them out. "And you've been here, how many times?"

The driver thought for a moment. "This'll be my twentieth trip. Why?"

"Well," Azuma said, and his violet eyes cast to the deserted road around them, "One of the biggest events in the known world, hundreds in attendance at the most populous village on the continent, and it doesn't bother you that we're the only people on the road?"

The driver froze. Azuma felt his stomach drop: he was right. There had to be usually whole caravans of people flocking to Konohagakure to see the exams, civilians and ninjas alike. But this year, the road was bare, save for their cart. He'd been thankful for the lack of traffic, but it hadn't occurred to him how odd it was to see the road bare as a dead tree.

The shinobi shuffled in the back, and then the massive hand grabbed the ox driver's shoulder. "Stop here."

The childish tone was gone from the young ninja's voice, replaced by a steely, calm tone, and what was unmistakably caution. He didn't have to ask twice. The driver tugged on the reigns, and the ox came to a stop, casting a large eye at the driver in an odd look of confusion.

Azuma vaulted the wall of the cart, landing on the dusty road. "You said it's only fifteen minutes, right?"

"S'long as you stick to the road, yeah."

Azuma smiled up at him, the driver was surprised to see a mature certainty and calm brightness in his violet eyes. "Then I'll manage it from here. Thanks for the help."

The driver blinked as Azuma began down the road, boots leaving large prints as the metal arm caught the light and shimmered. "Hold up!" He called, coming to a realization, "You never paid me!"

Azuma stopped, and clapped his hands, rubbing the palms. "That's right!" He turned, and grinned a toothy smile. "When you get back to town, speak to the bartender." He raised the mammoth mechanized hand, giving the driver a bulky thumb up. "Tell him Azuma Yamato sent you."

The driver blinked, and nodded, face wrapped in confusion. With that, Azuma set off down the road again, whistling a merry tune to himself. The driver shrugged, and turned his ox around, which, under duress, finally started back the way they came. The second their gaze was turned, Azuma slipped quietly into the woods.

Azuma wasn't an idiot. He was far smarter than he looked. There was a taste in the air, like copper, and humidity hung thick in the confined space. A haze was filling the woods, and Azuma scowled. Raising his arms, both real sinew and synthetic muscle, he made a hand gesture and closed his eyes. "Release."

The genjutsu was expelled in a burst of wind, and Azuma opened his violet eyes to find himself staring at bodies, piled in the woods. Blood wept from some with more recent wounds, maggots and crows already were feasting on the others. Even under a genjutsu, a vulture can still smell a tantalizing carcass, and the circling buzzards overhead had given this body dump away. Man, animal, and cart lay over one another, and Azuma scowled at the atrocious sight. He wasn't sure what was worse, the sight or the tepid stench of decaying flesh. He raised the bandana around his neck to cover his nose and mouth with his flesh hand, as purple eyes looked over the bodies.

Cloud. Mist. Rain. Moon. Star. Lightning. Stone. Even a few Leaf ninja were scattered in the pile, likely a security detachment that came across the dump. Most numerous in the dump were civilians. Regular people, men, women, and children, who were just on the road for whatever reason it called them there, on this sunny, gorgeous day in the Land of Fire.

So, that's how things were out here in the wild. His father had been right about the world; it was no place for children to play in.

Azuma sighed, and clapped his hands together in a short prayer, before raising his gauntlet. Chakra gathered in the fingertips, and, with a whisper, a blaze of fire burst from the tips of the mammoth digits. It took some time, but soon, the bodies were given a full impromptu cremation. The flames swallowed man, woman, animal, and child all; everything from clothing to bone was rendered into ash. Carrion feeders sped in panic from the sight, and those that remained were, too, consumed by the blaze.

After a short time, Azuma cut the chakra flow, and the fire vanished from the fingertips of the hand. The metal was glowing white with heat, but didn't melt or buckle as the young Machine ninja curled the sausage-sized fingers into a fist.

"Alright," He whispered to no one, "So, that's how it is? Fine. Game on."

There was hardly a great reception for the lone shinobi as Azuma entered the village. There were, of course, stares and murmurs. You don't walk into a town with a forearm and fist the size of your torso, cast in shining metal, and not draw a few stares. But, Azuma knew those looks. At home, people had been around him long enough to hardly care about his arm, but here? He might as well have been wearing a banana Sunday over his crotch as he streaked down the main street.

Waving the massive hand at a few scattered looks of total shock and awe (though a few were clearly fearful), Azuma continued down the road, both of his arms swinging at his sides as he moved along. From his lips whistled a merry, jaunty tune, and he found the steel-toed boots moving in beat with the joyous rhythm. He passed by plenty of fascinating sights; Teams squabbling amongst each other in the name of national and personal pride, food carts and stalls with aromas that beckoned his taste buds and made him drool, and, occasionally, civilians or school children moving about the crowd.

Kikaigakure was nothing like this place. Sure, it was lively, but it was humble, and, in Azuma's recent memory, he couldn't recall ever being somewhere with such pure life. The hustle and bustle of the daily grind was suddenly rushed and excited, a thrill settling over the villagers as they prepared their fine city to welcome a host of outsiders for the grand event.

Still, the purple-eyed boy with brown swept-back hair and the titanic arm drew plenty of stares and whispers. The deeper he went into the village, the more he heard.

"My god, look at that boy's arm!"

"Do you think he lost it, or…?"

"It's bad enough to have Uzumaki in town, but now we've got this runt."

"Do you think there are other parts of him that are machine? You know, important bits."

"I'll be facing a guy with that tomorrow? What a drag."

A month or so ago, Azuma would've felt abashed, and hidden himself under some cloak. Now, though, he was proud of who he was. He fashioned it into a wall, through which no insult or heckling could penetrate.

But looks could. And one did.

He felt a tingle of watching eyes, and this time, Azuma turned to face just who it was that was peeking. It was a girl, at the mouth of her compound. Pale, milky white eyes were watching, veins straining against her skin, but the moment he turned, she blinked, and the veins receded.

So this was the home of the Hyuga clan and their Byakugan, Azuma realized. His father had worked (under duress) with a member of their house before. Azuma himself was well aware of their near-sacred bloodline, and the little girl clearly was as well. She couldn't have been more than ten, with ebon black hair, and simple, plain robes. Her face was calm, and unapologetic. There was a look in the empty eyes that said, 'I dare you to say something, stranger. I double dog dare you. Do it.'

Azuma just smiled, and waved the massive arm. "Hey, kiddo."

'Hey, kiddo' was clearly the last thing the girl expected. Her eyes widened, and she made a sound of surprise. After that, her tongue seemed to fail, and she settled for a down-the-nose glare. Granted, it must have hard to pull off, Azuma mused, since she was so young and short.

In reply, he winked. This seemed to confound the small Hyuga child further, who made that same sound of surprise, her face devolving from control into utter confusion.

Azuma chuckled and turned, resuming his tune as he walked along the street. The girl watched him go, and, for a moment, Azuma was sure he heard her murmur something along the lines of, "Weirdo."

"I'm sorry, would you mind repeating that?"

The Third Hokage wasn't the only one who seemed confused at Azuma's statement. Hands on his hips, legs apart, Azuma grinned at the room. Dumbstruck Jounin and one very bemused Hokage watched him. The aged, lined face turned upwards as a smile pulled at the old man's mouth, and the pipe loosed a cloud of smoke. Azuma had heard the man was an authority, but he wasn't expecting The Third Hokage to be easily amused.

"I'm it," Azuma said with a shrug of his shoulders, "I'm the delegation from Kikaigakure."

"Really now." It wasn't a question, just a factual statement. The old eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scanned the paperwork in front of him, the brim of the Hokage's headdress tilting down. "Kikaigakure," The old man mused under his breath, though all present could hear him, "The village hidden in the machine?"

He was curious, Azuma could tell. It made Azuma grin even wider. "That's us!"

"I see," His voice trailed off in thought, before sharp eyes suddenly looked up at Azuma, "I haven't heard more than a whisper from your father since I first took this office. I wasn't aware your family had aspirations of becoming shinobi, let alone founding their own hidden village."

Azuma nodded. "Us, and a few like-minded individuals. You should've gotten the information from one of my father's couriers by now."

"I did," The Hokage nodded, leaning back in his chair, removing the pipe from his lips, "The Yamato, a legendary clan of blacksmiths and tinkerers, making a hidden village. Is it true what they say? Your inventions run on—"

"Chakra, yes sir."

Sarutobi grinned even wider, if possible, at that. "Well, that explains how your arm functions." Out of all present, the Hokage had stared the least at the appendage. Some were still having a hard time taking their eyes off of his prosthetic. Azuma, ever the humble one, just smiled. "Tell me, how do you channel Chakra through it?"

Azuma shook his head, one of the metal digits tapping his nose. "Top Secret, sir. Sorry."

The Hokage hardly seemed to mind as he flipped through two more pages, before reaching one on the bottom, looking up at Azuma. "I have the greatest respect for your father, and your clan's history. I recognize Kikaigakure as a village of honorable repute, but I will tell you this; my respect won't be able to help you in these exams.

"You will be completely alone," He continued, offering the paper to Azuma, whose flesh hand took it, "Without allies or assistance. Your father seems to think it wise that you do this. I disagree, but I will respect his wishes out of deference to the good he's done. However," He spoke with a tone of finality, eyes narrowing to a steely cold glare, "You will be facing genin who work in teams, as well as challenges meant to be faced by those with comrades. Most genin don't pass the first time, even in teams, let alone by themselves."

"I know, lord Third."

That caught the Third Hokage by surprise. Granted, it wasn't a reeling reaction, but his eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. "Oh?"

Azuma nodded, the smile gone from his face, a look of cold determination in his gaze. "Yes, sir. I've got faith in me."

"Faith that you will survive?"

"Nope," Azuma grinned, signing the permission form and handing it back to the Hokage, "Faith that I'll thrive."

The surrounding jounin looked with uncertainty to one another. Were the exams really so terrifying? Were they truly such an ordeal, Azuma was expected to fail, or worse, be killed? For one moment, he felt doubt creep a tendril up his heart, but, with a practiced ease, he dismissed it. No use worrying about the maybes or the rampant what ifs. Azuma was best to be concerned with what is, and what will be.

The Hokage, again, reacted in opposite to those surrounding, and took the paper, looking for a small moment at the signature before back up at Azuma. A grin split his face from ear to ear, and for a moment, Azuma saw the Third as he had in a picture on his father's shelf: Young, and lethal. Age hadn't dulled the blade. It had refined it. "I'll be holding you to that, Yamato Azuma. Good luck."

Azuma bowed politely, and took his leave, the titanic hand pulling the door shut behind him.

He stood alone in the hall, and, for the first time since leaving home, he felt completely isolated. Running the giant fingers of his synthetic gauntlet through his earthy-brown hair, he gave a long, hard sigh. Now wasn't the time for him to homesick, or to feel the cold grip of lonesomeness. Now was the time to prepare. The exams were to begin the next day, and Yamato Azuma wasn't about to fail the expectations of his village, and his father.

But the Third Hokage's voice echoed in his head: 'You will be completely alone.'

"Maybe," Azuma whispered in reply, turning on his heel and making his way towards the exit, "But that's never stopped me before, now, has it?"

There was no reply, and when the six-toothed gear met sunlight, Azuma was grinning wide as ever, confidence in every step, a bright façade to hide the waking unease in his stomach.