I think I should take the time to mention that this story is a songfic PURELY about one of my OCs, Fye Kurokawa. After reading MakotoUchiha's fanfiction equally called Remember the Name, I believe, I though that Fye's story just fit with the song too well. Which is why I wrote her story to it!

Remember the Name belongs to Fort Minor.
Naruto obviously belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.

This is 10 percent luck

It's never just been a coincidence. There was always a reason for everything that heppened, whether it had been good or bad. There was meaning behind the hateful actions, a deeper understanding to those caring gestures. She had never understood them, and had never cared. She had executed everything flawlessly and never said a word against whomever told her what to do.

It had never been just that. There was always something beyond. The house on fire, the willingness of Akira, the missions, the kidnappings, the blood and the fights and the wars and the love.

20 percent skill

Since she was young, almost still in a crib, she had been forced to train with the sharpest things a babe should never even know the name of. She was three and already throwing knives, wooden and real, at her brother and trees. She was pushed to her limits, every day, every week every month every year. She had nearly died on her fifth birthday.

She had become the best in her family, the prodigy of her belittled clan. She had risen above the laughter, the mockery. She'd become everything her father had never been able to be. She'd become something of an idol in her clan, almost in her village. Younger and older children looked up to her. But that wasn't enough for the father, no.

He wanted her to be more.

15 percent concentrated power of will

But enough was enough. The beatings had started lightly at first. When she was only six. Beaten into submission. Beaten into silence and resignation. She never said anything to her father, she was never allowed. She never cried to her mother, not even in front of her brother, who shared her pain. She never cried, never whined, never let out a single sound of pain or protest. She wrote it out on her walls, in her book and in her mind. She left scars in her arms, covered them in bandages. She was young, and already she had understood what pain, true pain, was.

She was eight. Two years of increasing pain and torture. Boiling fear and desire to get away, escape or even die. No child, she knew, should ever have to bear such a disgusting burden in their life. Two years, she built up hatred and will, two years she'd spent meticulously planning her grand escape. Every detail was thought of, her military strategies were put to use. Her father's lessons would finally be put to good use.

5 percent pleasure

She'd taken her weapons—katana, shuriken, kunai, everything—before going to find her father in their grand estate. It was the last day she would see him, she knew, and she would make the best of it. Eight year old prodigy of her clan, she stepped up to her father and let down the bag slung over her shoulder. Her mother was crying, sobbing on the tile kitchen floor. There was a cut, deep and gushing blood, in her perfect little angelic face. That porcelain angel had been defiled.

She hadn't meant for it to be the way it had been. She hadn't wanted to be as violent, she didn't want to get that feeling of boiling blood in her veins. But he had crossed the line, he'd destroyed everything she had once wanted to stand for. He'd destroyed her family, their name, her very being.

He told her to kick her mother. Oh Lord God, she refused with so much animosity, her father double taked, making sure his daughter was the one talking. His face grew red, and she recognised that pulging vein on his right temple. She laughed at him, openly, not even daring hiding the euphoric laughter, letting his ridiculous face inspire jokes in her head.

She took the fists at her once.

Twice.

Not thrice.

She struck back, hard, jumping and shoving her foot in his face, yelling, screaming, crying for the first time in a long time. She cried in frustration, sorrow, pure loathing a child should never have to feel.

50 percent pain

She cried and cried, not because her father was out cold on the kitchen floor--she really couldn't care any less--but because she would leave her family behind that night. She would leave her angered father to beat them all. To death, perhaps. And she would get far, as far as her little legs would carry her. She would go to the safest place, to Konoha.

She kissed her brother goodbye on the cheek, promising him to return when she was stronger, sufficiently so, to fight her father to regain her own freedom, and theirs. He promised he would take care of her as every elder brother should.

And then she left.

And 100 percent reason to remember the name

She was a walking, living, breathing weapon. She had tried to best her father's teachings, but had found it harder than she had anticipated. Those night and weeks of beatings had gotten to her, as much as she had told herself she was immune to them. She hadn't smiled since she got to Konoha. She hadn't laughed, played and ran around like every other academy student. She had cried only on the afternoon she had gotten to the gates. Cried out of relief, happiness.

She was made a genin a few days after her tenth birthday(which no one but the Third knew about), after only one year at the academy. She hadn't said anything, hadn't laughed or rejoiced.

Training until the latest hours, she was a chuunin by the age of twelve. She loathed the Jounin title—it was what her father had been when she had gone from Rain. Though she slacked purposefully, she was still highly enouraged to try out at the jounin exams when she was fifteen, and successfully entered the ANBU two years later.

In took mere months for her to make herself a title; DaemonSpeed. Dae, she would be called. Her mask depicted some god frosaken animal resembling a lion, though not unlike a giant hound, or perhaps even a panther. She killed swiftly, oftentimes fulfilling mission a day ahead of time.

She went back for her brother ten years after her runnaway escapade.

Her father was dead.

Her mother was dead.

The family had gone from the estate.

Only her brother remained.

And the minute she walked into the village,

Crossed those gates,

They whispered her name:

Kurokawa Fye.