A/N: Ahaha. Yes, I'm alive. Sorry for disappearing!

And am a bit nervous to be posting this on due to…discontinued fics, and not having posted anything in ages. I hadn't planned on writing any fics anymore, nor do I still plan on it, I was simply having SasuNaru nostalgic-feels and…this was born. It'll be short, most likely 2-3 parts if I can help it.

So…all I ask is not to ask for updates for old fics. Most likely won't be happening. xD And as always, comments, constructive criticism, etc, are always welcomed and happily received.

Lyrics: Hurricane by 30 Seconds to Mars

The Hunter

There's a grunt that shatters the stillness of winter; a drop of red that taints the snow-blanketed earth. There's the whispered hiss of metal as it slides out of flesh; the crunch as the smooth surface of snow is disturbed, as the dead sinks heavily through, the warmth of life dissipating into the chill.

There's only the naked, gnarled trees and the muted, cold silence; only the hard, porcelain, hawk mask of the hunter.

Only the hushed life of the hunted.

There's a fire inside of this heart and a riot about to explode into flames.

The man grits his teeth and backs up, knees trembling, buckling. Hunt and kill: that is a hunter's life. Hunt. Kill. Hunt. Kill. Huntkillhuntkillkillkill—

Despite the coldness of the katana that presses beneath the man's chin, it burns.

"Where is he?"

The hunter's voice is empty, but there's the underlying threat of kill, kill, kill.

"I don't kno—"

He can't speak anymore because his throat is bared open.

He leaves a path of destruction paved in red. There's only a hunger to ruin, a desire to paint this white world into the same color of disorder that's inside of him, where pandemonium fosters.

The hunter remembers the next prey, remembers him like he remembered the others before him, because they came and took the blue from his red world.

He sees the recognition and fear in the hunted, smells the desperation, tastes the need for survival and relishes in it like the predator he is. It causes his blood to roar. The adrenaline rushes. Hunt. Kill.

Distress clouds the hunted's rationale. He's tearing through the little village, ignoring the startled cries of the other villagers, not knowing where to run to, only that he needs to keep moving. No one tries to help him. They know there's nothing civilians can do against an assassin. They know there's no saving the man.

There will be no saving. No chance of redemption. Only a chance to tell the hunter what he wants to know and then, perhaps, a merciful death.

The hunter doesn't see where he's going. He only follows the crashing sounds of the hunted. He sees the blue that was taken. He sees only summer skies and the sun, the rustling of green leaves as a small breeze eddies through the trees. A smile so vivid, a touch so burning – haunts him.

Inside a cold fire burns havoc.

He's not sure how long he chases after his prey. Five seconds. Five minutes. It's all the same to him. It all feels too long. Too much wasted time. Too much time taken from finding him. Time is cruel.

He runs across the shackled roof of a village home and leaps from the corner. He's used to the twist in his gut from the free fall. There's a moment where he lingers in the air, a graceful hawk, katana drawn: his talon. Then he's landing on his prey's back and the man falls from the force of the weight, screaming when the blade stabs through his hand and right into the iced earth. A knee is pressed to his back. An iron hand grips the back of his neck.

"W-we were hired," he babbles in an effort to save his life. He doesn't want to die. No one ever truly wants to die. The blade in his hand twists and he thinks he's going to black out. "I'm…I'm not sure by who…" The blade is removed. Before he can feel relief, a boot is stepping on it, applying pressure, twisting, grinding, and he's writhing in agony. "Oto-nin!" He's screaming.

Useless information. They're already in Oto Country. The hunter already knows those he hunts were hired and from where. He steps off of the man's hand and reaches up to his mask, pushing it up over his face. He grabs the man and forces him to his knees, forces him to look into the red eyes of his hunter. He recognizes the black colons in red and gulps. "U-Uchiha."

Sasuke's expression is apathetic, but the prey sees the wild storm raging in his eyes, beating fiercely beneath his mask. He suspects Sasuke doesn't realize the emotion he reflects. "Where are they keeping him?"

"It's tearing you up inside, isn't it?" the man asks instead. He knows he's going to die. He's still scared to, but the helplessness of his situation breaks something inside, drives him mad. It's satisfying to know his soon-to-be-murderer is suffering and will continue to do so. "He's probably dead. If not, he's probably being tortured. The things they said they'd do to hi—"

Sasuke wants to use Tsukuyomi on the man, but he doesn't have time, so he slashes him across the abdomen, deep and wide enough that the man has to hold his intestines in, and pulls his mask back over his face.

Hunt. Kill.

He resumes his hunt.

Tell me would you kill to save a life?