Suggested Listening:
Old Friend-Akira Yamaoka
or
Hero-Nickelback
The city was sleeping roughly, twisting and turning like it was in the middle of a bad dream. It whispered silently, screamed silently. No one heard, no one listened, and no one bothered. A car alarm goes off and the people shove a pillow over their ears. Robbers, the bedbugs of the city, crept in and out of houses, sucking the life blood out of the innocent and not so innocent. Mercenaries and hitmen do their work quickly and quietly as the city slept on, never noticing the horrors around her til she awoke in a puddle of blood and tears.
Whitehound leaped powerfully from the Baxter building to the top of Konoha Bank, the darkness hiding all of him except for his wild white mane of hair and a bright red spark of an eye. He was handsome, with a muscled build and a pleasing face, or what you could see of it, as he hid his lips and unshaven chin with a black mask.
Whitehound was heading home after a long night of good Samaritanism. He was tired as hell and needed a nice cup of strong black coffee, or if he could get it, sleep. He hadn't slept in almost two days after a sighting of Orochimaru in West Konoha, or as the locals called it, Rotten Leaf, or sometimes the Gutter. The sighting had been false, as far as Whitehound could tell. He'd searched all the usual and unusual haunts, questioned the usual stoolpigeons… No dice. False alarms generally irritated him. Wasting his time, his valuable time, with nonsense was a good way to get on his shit list, and he already had a beef with Kabuto Yui. If he wasn't a comrade and fellow employee of Shinobi, Kabuto's smug little mug would already have been bashed in a long time ago.
Maybe that was the sleep deprivation talking. Maybe he should do it before his common sense talked him out of it. Frankly, he wouldn't mind the demotion one bit if Kabuto's nose went inside out and penetrated his brain. That would be quite nice. Yeah…
Whitehound stopped to spit, his mouth dry. Gods, he wanted some coffee.
He paused and sniffed the air. Blood. He could smell blood. But his nose was so sensitive it could be a woman having her time of the month or someone with a big papercut.
If he was so lucky.
Sighing, he scratched his head and debated. Should he check it out like a good little hero, or go home to his cozy little apartment and catch some Zs? But, his gut told him to check it out, and he always listened to his gut, no matter how stupid it seemed at the time. Maybe that was why he had so many little illegitimate kids running around and such a long prison record. Hm.
He jumped to next building, a rundown apartment complex, and the scent almost overwhelmed his nose to the point of retching.
This had better be something serious and not a dead dog or a butcher's garbage, or he was going to hurt Kabuto. Even though he had nothing to do with this, it would be fun to blame it on someone other than his merciful heart. His black, merciful heart that was five sizes too small. Hmph.
He dropped down into the alley.
At first he saw nothing. The alley was pitch black, made even more so by the fact that Whitehound was colour blind in his original eye. An asset in the fact he was never asked to diffuse a bomb, but a rather large disadvantage in the dark. He had to depend solely on his Sharingan.
He blinked his Sharingan a couple of times, getting used to the complete black, his other senses on high alert.
There was something pink as Pepto-Bismol sticking out of the trashcan. It was mewling and shaking, and the smell of salt and metal was coming from it. Either a large rat or…
He approached it carefully; hand on his knife's sheath. He drew it and poked the garbage bag with the hilt.
It screamed and thrashed harder. Whitehound could see a small, human face behind long, pink hair now, smeared with blood.
"Hey." He said, reaching out. The child stilled, it's sobs stopped.
"I'm going to cut you out. Don't move." He commanded.
He flicked is knife around and the child shrieked and resumed it's epileptic shaking.
"Damn it," He cursed. He grabbed the Hefty bag and pulled it out of the garbage single handedly. Luckily it was on top, and it didn't rip. Cursing merrily, Whitehound dropped the bag a gently as he could unto the ground. It had stopped moving now and was panting heavily. He took this chance to slash open the bag delicately. Careful as a surgeon, he pulled the bag away from the body. It was sticky with blood and other bodily fluids, namely sweat.
She-for it was a she-was stark naked, but was young enough for it to be acceptable, around two or three. Her pink hair stuck to her face, her back, and her stomach. Something oddly coloured was also on her body, not blood but…a chemical. A thick, green chemical.
This stunk of Orochimaru.
She stared at him listlessly, her green eyes clouded and sleepy looking. She had ceased all movement now, sitting shock still as if at attention.
Whatever had happened to this kid, it wasn't pretty. She was obviously malnourished, her hair brittle like twigs, her skin pallid. There were bruises around her neck, wrists, and possibly her ankles, her left leg appeared to broken, and she was probably either mentally challenged or mad due to what happened to her. Her behavior had been nothing short of odd.
Whitehound placed his hand on her shoulder slowly, and she continued to stare at him. Her blank eyes told a story of expected abuse and hardship.
Whitehound sighed. He was a sucker for kids, and this kid made him remember why he had lost his cool when he saw the mayor of Suna hit his child. Punching him in the jaw had made sweet satisfaction course though his body. His children had cheered like it was Christmas morning. He couldn't believe they allowed dicks like him to reproduce. his kids were all right, he supposed, but there was something off about the youngest.
He picked her up carefully, her wet body making a sound like a jar being opened when he tried to adjust her against his body awkwardly. He wasn't used to carrying people her size, and the green goo didn't make it any easier.
He hefted her like a ham from the super market, backed up towards the trashcan, and ran up the wall of the apartment building faster than you could say "I saw Elvis at Caesar's."
She didn't make a peep. Dashing across the roof towards Konoha's Shinobi HQ, he had a feeling this was going to be an important day. His gut told him so.
And he always listened to his gut.
In a town hungry for the lonely,
lost innocent child,
forbidden life taken in a moment,
life too late for saving… or just in time.
A/N: This was half inspired by me watching The Spirit over again, CAT by Twinings and BiteMeTechie, and a conversation with Vesperchan.
Whitehound/Kakashi= inspired by The Spirit and Rorschach, who both kick ass. Also a bit of Azrael.
If you like this, you might want to check out Bubblegum Sun.
(I feel a series coming on...)