A/N: This story may or may not continue. Honestly, I wrote this one evening while listening to some music late at night. ANBU life intrigues me, especially because I can't seem to find much written on it in depth; this will not be a love story.

This Fan Fiction or collection of drabbles is very mature in violence. It's rated M for a reason.

Feedback is appreciated, as always, and I would love to receive any questions or curiosities on the subject of ANBU to elaborate in later chapters.

Edited by Orion's Prodigy

Ah…Finally… Peace and quiet…

The wind caressed her flushed cheeks and fingered through her hair, making stray violet locks dance and tangle; with the breeze came the smell of musky dirt and forest, of pine and rain. It rustled through the trees, familiar and wonderful on the woman's abused ears.

However, when the cool gust brought the smell of rust and salt, she was reminded of her leg, and returned to tending the glistening gash; it didn't hurt, but then, nothing ever did. Hana never felt pain, and that was what made her the best of the best.

I need to be more observant… If Hokage-samahadn't pointed out the blood…

A sigh escaped her pale lips, and she tied off some bandages, stuffing the extra away in her pouch; she should have been home, resting, cleaning out her fridge. But she didn't want to, not now.

Another sigh, fingers brushing the slick, black tattoo on her arm, and then she was gone; blurring through the trees, so fast that no untrained eye could see, the natural speed for the woman.

No, nota woman… Amachine; cold, hard, mechanicalsteel…

Hana slipped through her window, dropping silently on her feet and closed the window.

I should still have instant ramen in the cupboards…

Slowly, she moved around the house habitually; kick shoes off by door, hang mask and armor, let hair down, shuffle to kitchen. Open the cupboard above the sink, boil some water, pour into ramen, consume after precisely two minutes.

With this routine, she slowly regained her emotions, and knew it was coming; she had just enough time to eat before the dam broke and water flooded from her eyes, guilt and remorse coursing through her veins as the family she'd destroyed played behind her eyes.

"Mama, can I go play outside?" a beautiful girl, age five, freckles dusting her cheeks with sparking blue eyes,squeaked, tugging on the older version of herself.

"In the back, Kiki. Be careful," the woman smiled gently, stroking the girl's hair gently. "Daddy will be home soon, and then we're leaving."

"Okay!"

All of this,shewatched from her perch; an oak tree this time, hidden in dense leaves,a lightrushing gentlythrough them.Shecould seeNobugundawalking down the road, almost home; he was jittery, watchful. He knew he was going to die.

But not before his family; orders were orders.

Tensing, waiting, her eyes zeroed in on the child as she twirled around the yard, giggling, heading for the base of the old oak. But now, the child was not a human; it was a baby bird, so weak and fragile, andAzarawasastarvingpredator.

A quick glance was all it took to make sure it was clear; she jackknifed out of the foliage just as the chick stepped on the transparent 'x'. One hand covered her mouth, stuffing the scream back down her throat, the other wrapping around a blonde crown, grabbing hold, and jerk sharply to the right. Only two seconds passed.

The body went limp, andAzarablurred to the rooftop, prowling along the edge, waiting for the mother hen to walk out.

She did, smiling gently at the dead bird, thinking it was in a deep slumber, and walked towards her; she made it no more than five steps before a hand covered her maw. A flash of silver, slicing deep and quick, tore open her throat, a beautiful spray of red spurting forth as her lips parted in a voiceless cry.

Moving fast now, she leaped up onto the roof once more, and weightlessly glided up to the baby's window; it was so innocent.

Sky blue and bubble-gum pink covered the walls, a plush white carpet, toy chests off to one side, and a changing station on the other; a pristine, white crib was nestled in the middle of the room, a canopy of silk hanging over head.

A newborn lay nestled in pink blankets, smiling and gurgling up atAzara'smask, clutching a small bear; the smile on its face was rather ironic. Her hand flashed out at the small cub, driving a dagger right through its chest; the light slowly faded from milky blue eyes, breath wheezing softly, the body going cold.

Again,Azaramoved quickly, prowling down the stairs and slipping into the eldest son's room; he was snoring, a porn magazine resting on his face;Azaraeasily killed him, noting vaguely that her human side was thankful for not seeing his face.

"Wh-what-You!"

She felt pressure on the back of her thigh, and saw thedaggertip sticking out the top of her trousers, blood welling up and then darkening the surrounding fabric.

Her eyesnarrowedas she stood, turning around and pulling the dagger free.

"Nobugunda."Her voice was like ice, frigid and steely, uncaring, unfeeling, inhuman.

With satisfaction, she watched as fear and pain welled up in the man's eyes, just like the crimson blood welling up from his dagger, protruding from his chest, perfectly through the heart.

As he fell, she caught him, making him fall to his knees and wrapping his hand around the hilt, and then let him drop forward limply.

"You just killed your family,Nobugunda. And now you killed yourself."

Azaraadded a few touches before leaving; a suicide note, a bloody katana that had been on display in the living room.

And then she did what she does best; disappear.

She gasped, forcing her eyes wide open as she fell to her knees, clutching herself tightly; shame, guilt, self-hatred, and many more emotions ripped through her, a tornado in her skin and bones, breaking the woman from the inside out. A heart-wrenching sob left her lips, and she collapsed utterly, just crying, feeling, until finally, thankfully, mercifully, the numbness drilled into her bones took over.

Even machines break down.