Disclaimer: You know the drill. I don't own Naruto, but I did create the woman and any deviations from the main story line.

Note: I know that most people don't like OCs, so I'm unsure if people will even be reading this.

I'm not sure how this story will be received, and depending on the response I will decide how much time I'm going to spend on it. So please review and let me know what you think. If people aren't receptive, I'm not going to waste my or your time on a flop. This doesn't really make sense now but it will in later on. I have a plan, but I don't know how regularly I'll be able to update, I rather do quality over quantity.

Please review!

Chapter 1: Green Eyed Doll

The hum of industrial florescent lights sounded overhead. The dim glow illuminated a slouched, beaten form. The inside of the concrete cell was absolutely still, and at first glance the figure would appear to be dead, but in the absence of all other movement, the body seemed to shift ever so slightly.

In that desolate space, time appeared to be non-existent. Nothing changed. The only variation was when an arm twitched against its restraints, causing a pop to resound, before the body returned to its previous state of near motionlessness.

Time slowly dripped by and the lights hummed on.

The monotony was broken by the groan of the thick, blast proof steel door as it was thrown open. Heavy, imposing thuds were heard over the sound of the lights as they made their way toward the figure in the middle of the room, stopping at the opposite end of the table from where the body was attached. The newcomer paused for a short amount of time before slamming his fists on the unforgiving metal table.

A deep, scorning voice boomed, "Rise and shine scum."

The figure slowly raised its head, the dark pool of hair on the table twisting upwards towards the intruder in one agonizing mass. The knotted and tangled hair hung over the figure's face and concealed its features like a curtain of snakes, but the dull light from cold green eyes slithered through. "It took you long enough," the figure flatly stated, voice scratchy from lack of use. "A full 69 minutes and 22 seconds, but whose counting," the figure mocked.

A glint passed through the hard black eyes of the hulking man and he retracted his curled, vein-popping fists from the table, leaving softball sized dents behind. The dark man drew himself to full height towering over his captive, and his midnight black clothes complained against the strain of their load as he expanded his cavernous chest. He cut a brute figure. He intimidated the air with his mere presence.

The captive stared on unaffected.

The man's eyes narrowed as he boomed, "We can do this the easy way."There was a pause and the man flicked out an odd, triangle shaped knife, twirling it twice before settling in a ready position. "Or we can do this the hard way. I'm sure you know my preference." A lone finger darted out to stroke the dark weapon.

"Spare me the dramatics, I'll get right to the point," a quiet, commanding voice returned. "Kill me now."

The man displayed no outward sign of being thrown off balance by the disturbing, detached comment: he calmly threw back the taunt, "I intend to."

"No, no," the figure drawled, "I'm done playing the Game." The lank hair was flung back, to reveal the world-weary face of a woman under its dark tresses. "I'm tired."

"I'm afraid that I cannot accommodate you," he sneered. "Enemies are not afforded luxuries."

The woman arched a brow and stated, "Is that so. Now that's interesting, I've yet to come across a Japanese so indoctrinated in these beliefs."

There was a flash and then the strange weapon thudded into the concrete wall, buried halfway into a newly formed hole with a withered lock of hair wrapped around it. The woman flicked out her tongue to catch some of the blood exiting the fresh slash on her cheek.

"Really, is that necessary? I've been perfectly amiable this whole time." The voice changed from bored and teasing to ice cold, "I'm done playing the Game, kill me now."

The man drew out six overgrown silver needles between his fingers. "I'm done playing too."

The man issued the standard questions" Why were you trespassing? What's your purpose? Who are you working for? Who are you working with? Who are you?" The stoic woman spoke not a word, nor made a sound even as the endless stream of the long needles poured into her motionless body.

After an imperceptible amount of time the questions and needles came to a halt. A rough hand painfully buried itself into the hair on the top of the woman's scalp wrenching it back and voiced, "Still no answer?" The only sound to be heard was the hum of the lights. "Well then, it appears we'll have to up the ante."

The man carelessly wrenched his hand away and retracted it with more than a few strands of hair still attached. Without bothering to dispose of the wispy strands that clung to his hand, he reached inside of his black leather coat and pulled out a worn, black case. Smoothly, he placed the case on the table and opened it up to reveal a collection of shiny silver knives, scalpels, and picks of varying sizes and sharpness in pristine condition inside.

All the while the man observed the doll-like woman in front of him, watching for a tell tale sign of fear at the sight. The woman did not move. She stared straight ahead, unaffected even as he selected one of the small sharp picks from amongst its brethren.

"What is your name?"

Silence.

The man positioned the pick at the tip of her thumb, pressing it into the sensitive skin just enough so that it pricked the skin and released a drop of blood.

"What is this Japanese?"

Silence prevailed, but this time the woman's eyes widened a fraction at the question. It was hardly perceptible, but this was just what the man was waiting for.

He thrust the pick forward and up in a practiced move uprooting the nail and brutalizing the raw skin underneath while repeating his question. "What is this Japanese?"

The woman let out a repressed gasp, and reflexively jerked her injured hand back only for the motion to be stopped before it began, not only by the chain binding her wrist but the man's iron grip. The woman's even breathing turned to slight panting. A thin grin crept upon the man's hardened face for finally making progress. Still gripping the woman's targeted hand he used his other hand to peruse his case in order to select the tool that he would use next. His gaze diverted from the woman in front of him as he considered his next move.

There was a sickening pop. The man's gaze flickered back to the woman before him, but instead of finding her with two hands chained to the table, he registered that one was now free of its restraints and was hurtling towards him with the second and third finger extended and glowing at the tips. He attempted to move back out of her range, but the woman held him in place with a viper-like grip around the hand that was previously crushing hers.

The glowing fingers slammed into the top right of his chest near his shoulder. Blood exited from the wound thick and fast and his right arm now hung useless at his side.

Leaning forward he brought up his right leg. Making contact with her side, he was met with the sound of ribs cracking and the sharp pressure of something against the back of his neck. Briefly, he realized his mistake when he registered the pressure as a chop to the back of his neck before slumping forward in unconsciousness.

The woman backhanded the man's weight off her, cringing inwardly at the strain the action placed on her newly broken ribs. Making the same hand formation that she had before against the man; she reactivated the glow.

The woman aimed the focused light at the lock that held the other hand, the light slicing through the unforgiving metal until it fell away. She expertly flicked open the iron manacle, releasing her wrist from its unrelenting grasp.

Harshly rubbing her wrist, her gazed lingered to her brutalized thumb, the frenzied rubbing increased, before she jerked herself away from her reverie, eyes falling upon the slumped figure before her. Lithely, she glided over to the body, skillfully stripping it from its weathered jacket. Slipping it on, she searched the pockets, pulling out a set of clunking keys. She then patted down the rest of the man, pocketing the various pointed weapons that had been concealed, and pulled out a wallet containing a form of identification.

The man before her glared up at her in a sea of lines and characters, tsking she slipped the ID into a small hidden pocket on the inside of her pants, and stashed the currency in another pocket, before discarding the beaten wallet. The woman made a move to rise, before swooping forward to grab the black bandana with an odd decoration adorning the man's head. She secured it to her own head, sheathing her hair as she stood; a flash of silver was produced from it as the harsh lights shined down.

Silently sliding to the side of the door she simply opened it, and kept cover behind steel door. No movement was made, the only sound came from the incessant buzz of the lights. After a tense moment, the girl stepped away from her cover, and exited the room. A resounding thud sounded behind her and the clink of keys in the lock.

The inside of the cell was absolutely still, except for the slight even movements of the figures chest, and all that could be heard was a monotonous hum.