The drumming of the downpour against her skin felt ridiculously illusory as she entered through the familiar Konoha gates. The air was frigid, but clotted, and no matter how fresh the rain made it smell, the stench of blood was strong in her nostrils—clinging to her senses, overwhelming her.

The wounds on her had not once stopped to cause pain, the trail of blood that tailed her making it easy for anyone to trace; but since she killed all her enemies, those problems should not arise. As her vaporous and fatigued mind registered that she was in front of her apartment, she found her hands fumbling to her pocket to grope for her keys.

There was a chime of clatter, as her kunai dropped to the ground in her slowing hands, and she never saw the key. In fact, she didn't see anything after the gory kunai on the ground. Before she knew it, her knees had crumpled beneath her, sending her body collapsing on the ground gracelessly.

The last things she knew were the cold bullets of precipitation stinging her face, and her own blood seeping out of her to pool and mingle with the groggy rainwater on the ground, inches before her apartment. Lazily, she closed her eyes in capitulation to the augmenting darkness in her mentality.

------------------------------------

Glassy green eyes opened to bright sunshine that filtered through the thick curtains hanging from the window; the room was vivid, white colors grazing most of the objects occupying the space. White sheets, white cover, white pillow, white walls, white table stands—on which a small branch of Sakura flower stood peacefully—the only difference in color.

Groggily, Sakura dragged her lazy upper body up into a sitting position, her brain still trying to register her surroundings as well as her condition. Upon changing postures however, a dull but severe throb shot through her brain and bounced off of the inside of her eyeballs to settle all the way down her spine.

Ignoring the urge to wince, Sakura looked around. The room was strange, she thought. She knew it was a hospital, but didn't recall looking quite this way. With a hand on her head to suppress the headache, she stepped out of bed carefully, straightening up her wrinkly gown on her way down.

A few seconds later, Sakura was walking down the hall in a dazed manner, passing doors and doors, not entirely sure what she was doing—she only knew she needed to get somewhere.

Everything here was alienated to her, and her intestines were twisting in unreasoned fear. Fear for everything—she felt so vulnerable.

Then down the other end of the corridor came footsteps and noises. Startled, Sakura spun around to see three men. Two were her own age, the other—the masked one—seemed much older. One of the two her own age had whisker lines as a mass of blonde hair. Somehow, she registered from his vest that he was a jounin. Strangely enough though, he was grinning enthusiastically and waving to her. The one next to him was more calm, cool and collected, being coldly handsome, his dark features bored into Sakura, and a sickening streak of heart thumps rumbled through her chest.

Everything seemed too nostalgic.

Then there was the masked man, who was reading an orange book, and paying seemingly no attention to his surroundings.

When they were closer, the blonde reached out to pat her shoulder, but Sakura withdrew, as if he was holding a gun.

"Sakura-chan, should you be out?" He asked, his voice rattling her brains. When he stepped closer, Sakura found herself wincing back. "What's wrong?" He asked, more concerned.

Sakura swallowed hard to find her breath. "Wh-who are you? Where am I?"