Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of its characters
A/N: I've always loved reading Naruto fics, and I've written a few drabbles (mainly about Sasuke) that I may or may not post later... So this one is basically an all-mortal AU where Itachi still killed Sasuke and his family- and he's a wanted criminal for that- but where he took Sasuke with him when he did that. So he let Sasuke away enough to go to college, where he met Naruto and company (Sakura, Ino, Kiba, etc.), but Itachi's still keeping an eye on him. This is one of their 'meetings.' I'll probably write parts to cover that, because that's a large gap of time, but they're not done yet and I wanted to upload this and see if any of you like it and if I should continue it. If so, let me know! I'll continue.
Chapter One
The hands lift me off the shoulder and deposit me roughly down on something soft—a bed, maybe, or a sofa? I don't bother to struggle, even though the ropes around my wrists are too tight and the blindfold is pulling my hair. I don't try to scream for help, either. I know it will do me no good at all. The fact that I'm not completely trussed, like a pig, and that I'm not gagged shows that the person who took me feels they are in complete control.
To pass the time, I make like the old days and assess the situation as best I can. Let's see, I'm tied at my wrists and blindfolded. I wiggle my hands experimentally, holding back a wince with ease. They tied them tight enough that I couldn't escape, but loose enough to enable the blood flow and prevent any real damage. My fingers twist painfully around to nudge the knots. I don't have nearly enough leverage to undo them, but maybe I can get an idea as to what type of knots the men used.
Interesting—they're designed to tighten the more you pull on them. I was taught to do ones like these. I was also taught how to undo them, but the men apparently know just enough that they're right at the spot I can't reach. I half-heartedly reach up and try to pull down my blindfold but can't get my fingers under the fabric.
I grunt in annoyance before going completely still and quieting my breathing to take in the sounds of the room. I'm not alone—the men are still hovering in front of me. There are five people across the room, if my hearing is correct, and the person responsible for all this is standing behind me.
"I know who you are," I say calmly, standing.
In the silence that follows, I hear the unspoken question. I know he'll want me to explain myself; he always makes me explain myself. Perhaps he also wants a performance for the audience of five that are huddled against the wall. Hostages, I believe, judging by their terrified breathing.
The first man who comes at me grabs me by my shoulders from behind and lifts me into the air. He gives me perfect leverage to deliver a two-footed kick to the solar plexus of the second man approaching me. When he falters, I deliver a series of short, sharp kicks to his groin, middle, and chin, thrusting my heels out for maximum effect. With the last blows to his chin, his breathing slows—he's passed out—and his body hits the ground.
I begin my story. "There were six men who kidnapped me—all tall, strong, and expertly trained. They each had weapons—a holstered gun, among various others—and appeared to be in some sort of uniform. At least, all of them were wearing the same form-fitting fabric, along with bulletproof vests. Whoever they work for knows his stuff."
The first man releases me abruptly when I slam my head back into his nose. I vault myself over his shoulder when he lunges forward and stomp down on his instep with all my might (and weight). He falls to his knees with a cry. I straddle his back and bring my elbows down on the back of his head twice to make sure he's down for the count before turning to face the third man, all the while continuing my story.
"Though they had the weapons, they preferred to use a unique style of martial arts that did little damage to myself, despite my struggles. I only know of three people who would utilize that sort of careful fighting in a kidnapping."
The third man tries to deliver a blow to the crook of my knee. I bend with it, ducking under his sweeping arm and jabbing at a pressure point at the space where neck meets shoulder. He shudders and falls like a deadweight.
"They seemed to know my fighting styles well enough to anticipate them," I carry on nonchalantly. "They also knew my weak spots. Whoever hired them had to have enough experience with me to know just what sort of fighting I would resort to in a situation like that. They knew my schedule as well, despite the fact that I try to keep it varied—they were waiting for me."
The fourth man is proving to be a little more trouble than I anticipated—I've delivered two blows already and he hasn't been incapacitated yet. However, his movements are sluggish, so I leap forward and dig my thumbs into his eyes, gritting my teeth at the disgusting feel and the grating of his screams on my ears.
"Down to two people," I continue. I take a moment to regain my balance before head-butting the fifth man. As he stumbles back, I step forward, slamming my hands up into his now-broken nose. He screams as the shards of bone are propelled up into his brain. As his body hits the floor, I continue, turning to face the last man.
"Add in the fact that they took great care not to harm myself, and there's only one person who could have done this." Straddling the last man, I bring my bound hands down onto his temple, carefully regulating my force, and he goes limp.
I can practically hear him smiling.
Standing and turning to face the direction of his breathing, I allow myself a smile. "Hello, Itachi."