Prologue

Come on child run run run. Breathe in; out. Try not to trip over your own feet. Be careful, one mistake and you're dead, or as close to it as they dared. Pray for someone to come along and save you, preferably the Old Man. Forget the tiredness of your body and the pain in your legs and RUN.

"Get him!"

"Don't let the demon get away!"

The cries of the angry crowd echoed in the dark, lonely alleys of the village hidden in the leaves also known as Konoha. It was October 10th, the child's birthday. For some reason he couldn't understand the villagers were always angrier with him on his birthday. Maybe because it was also the day that the Kyuubi had been defeated by the Yondaime five years ago? The child failed to understand. Wouldn't the fact that he was born on the day of the Kyuubi's defeat make him special? Apparently the villagers didn't like people who were special.

"Come back here you little monster!"

The boy barely ducked under the bottle pelted at his head but didn't stop running. It crashed somewhere behind him into thousands of tiny pieces. The mob chasing him sounded even angrier now. Perspiration trickled down his forehead into his left eye. He could not stop now, to pause could mean death.

He looked in all directions hoping to see somewhere he could hide but could found nothing. Normally when things got too bad with the villagers he would run and hide at Ichiraku's ramen stall as the old man who owned the stall was protective of the little outcast. Ichiraku threatened anyone who followed him into the stall with a heavy metal baseball bat and two M60s (the child was quite in awe of the loud, slim and long things that could kill a person with a small single metal ball). Unfortunately today was the annual festival for the defeat of the Kyuubi so the stall was closed.

The mob sounded closer now. The child was quickly tiring.

'I need to hide need to hide need to hide'.

As he rounded the corner he saw it. There! Right there! That crack in the wall was large enough for him to crawl through but too small for the villagers. The child didn't need to think twice. Through the crack to the other side; sit still, that's right. Just. Like. That. Knees bunched up to chin, eyes squeezed shut, breath held. The little hand tightened around a small gold star shaped locket around his neck that he had had for as long as he could remember. The sounds of feet approached and passed the hiding spot. The child sighed in relief.

He stayed like this for some time until he was sure that his pursuers were not coming back. As quietly as when he entered, he left through the crack in the wall noting it for similar future occasions. It was dusk now and the alleys and streets were painted in shadows. As he walked home slowly, ducking and avoiding anyone he came across he continued to cry silently, his little hand still clasped tightly around the locket.

He didn't notice three shadows detached themselves from a wall and followed him.