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The man named Orochimaru is both scientist and musician. In the depths of his laboratory, his world is reduced into dizzying arrays of DNA sequences and music.
Everything he does manages to become nothing but notes in the great song of life. In combat, the whistling A sharps of flying kunai and the staccato thuds they made when they plunged into a body never ceased to coax a smile out of the Sannin.
In the depths of his surgical rooms, Orochimaru creates. There is nothing in front of him besides a blank piece of paper in which he can dictate the music in his mind. Every downward slash and graceful cut have purpose. The cuts are not always perfect, but that is to be expected. In order to create a powerful piece of art, composers must reject countless subjects before creating something beautiful.
His newest work will be amazing. A simple lung transfusion immediately followed by a transfusion of Jugo's blood. According to the calculations he had made, Jugo's blood would heal the wounds the patient would suffer and immediately graft the new lung into the subject's body with no setbacks. And the hypnotic properties of the blood would also insure a deep loyalty into whoever it was injected to. But Orochimaru just had to make sure. A careful analysis would be needed before such a song could be released in mass quantites. Orochimaru licked his lips in preparation as he donned his surgical mask. The first thing he noticed as he entered the operating room was the subject in front of him.
The subject was male. A shaved head, a wild look, but beautiful and expressive eyes. About as perfect as a subject he could get just as he started. He took a moment to savor the silence before unsealing the vocal seal placed on the man's voicebox. To the subject's credit, he did not scream or yell. Instead, he just glared. Immediately Orochimaru's interest in the subject jumped up a few notches. For a moment, he wondered if he should offer the prisoner a chance to serve under him before disregarding the thought.
The scalpel seemed to flash out of nowhere and immediately blood began to seep out of the cut Orochimaru had made. There was no man in front of him anymore. Just a mix of sheet music and a waiting audience. His hands danced through the sterile air as a conductor would lead his orchestra. Quickly and deftly, the scalpels cut the meat in front of him.
As the operation continued, the musician grew increasingly annoyed with the subject in front of him. A quick look to the man's face revealed that the lump of flesh had passed out from blood loss. Intolerable! The audience had grown bored so quickly!? How? Had one of his notes dug too deep? A closer examination revealed that that was indeed the case.
'No, no, no, no, No, NO, NOO! This is useless. No, worse than useless. This thing is worthless!'
With an inner scream, Orochimaru quickly stabbed the heart of the subject in front of him with a look of great distaste. As easily as a composer might throw away a failed attempt at a song, Orochimaru rid himself of the body using less care than he would usually as his body trembled with rage. Inexcusable. A mistake like that would never be tolerated by him and there was no going back on his mistakes.
"Kabuto! Bring me a new one! Room 47! Now!" Orochimaru screamed into the intercom after pushing the button in the wall. "And send in a team to eliminate this useless thing in front of me."
Orochimaru took several calming breaths in an attempt to restore his usual grace. Once he managed to get back into something that resembled his usual manner, he quickly stripped off his bloodied surgical gown and mask before going into the decontamination room down the hallway.
Several minutes later, Orochimaru stepped into surgical room 47 pleased to see his tools placed on a table and the subject firmly strapped down. He ignored the horrified stare the subject gave along with the enraged roars that came from the man.
'B flat' thought Orochimaru as he allowed himself to take in a single scream before he began his operation.
The subject was clearly of common stock. A quick look at the file placed on the table next to his tools revealed that he was a simple Chunnin. From Iwa at that. Orochimaru mentally sneered at the thought of his great work being etched on such a vulgar audience and low quality paper before taking a closer look at the man. A sharp angular face, good bone structure, no truly offensive scars, all in all a tolerable subject and as good of a subject as could be expected from the barbarians in Stone Country.
"Well now. Let's get started shall we?"
This was it. The moment before the plunge. Orochimaru let himself savor the eager and hushed silence within the concert hall of his mindscape before he started with a slow cut that coaxed out a slight moan from the victim. Encouraged by the reaction from the audience, the song began to pick up pace. A slow stab followed by a quick upward cut forced the moan into a scream. Orochimaru then carefully peeled back the skin on the chest to examine the quivering muscles that bulged freely once they were removed from their fleshy prison.
Unsatisfied by the performance so far, Orochimaru began to oh so slowly work in earnest. The cuts grew more and more frenzied as the subject's cry began to grow higher and higher until the only thing that came out was a sort of gurgle. But like a good conductor, Orochimaru kept his mind calm as he forced his hands to slow down their frenzied pace and follow the beat of the music. Beneath his surgical mask, Orochimaru began to hum to the tune the scalpels cut and smiled when the subject's cries beat with a particularly impressive cut. The lung transfusion itself was nothing groundbreaking. The true song would begin as soon as he added Jugo's blood.
The results were immediate. The music took control now and began to pulsate on its own. Now the tables had turned and Orochimaru was now the audience and the subject the orchestra. Gentle cuts closed themselves with a hiss and old scar tissue began to fade away. The body began to harden and darken until it was a malevolent shade of purple. Meanwhile, the subject shook from his inexperience with the new power raging inside of him. When the music finally faded, the man in front of him was complete. The lung had integrated successfully and the body would have certainly regenerated completely if Orochimaru had injected a larger dose of blood.
Orochimaru suddenly felt an odd wetness running down his face. He first took it as merely a drop of blood that had splashed up in one of the body's spasms and was surprised to see a clear liquid after he wiped his eyes with his wrist.
'A tear,' thought Orochimaru before he looked upon the brutally damaged but still clearly alive specimen before him.
'Beautiful, just beautiful.'
But still, as beautiful as the song had seemed, something just seemed … off. Where it that he'd made a mistake? The experiment seemed flawless yes, but something still troubled his mind. Perhaps he shouldn't have cut there; instead he should have cut here instead? Ah well, no use worrying about it now. The song was over and there was no way he could just go back and revise it now. No. This little work would serve as a guide to the true masterpiece that would result later on.
A delicate finger then stabbed down into the harsh light of the room before a resonant voice rose between the cloth covered mouth.
"Kabuto, send me down a new body in one hour, and you come as well. I do believe I've managed to find a more efficient way to integrate new organs. In fact, it's quite possible that my new method would allow for a more efficient replantation method. And this way should finally allow my medics to reattach limbs without them resorting to such crude measures as sewing. And please … do bring me a more, how shall I put it, worthy specimen this time, would you my dear boy?"
With that little task done, Orochimaru spared one last glance at the figure before him before he sent a pulse of chakra to cut off blood flow to the brain and sealed him into one of his many storage seals. He then sat left the room idly waving his hands to a tune only he could hear as another part of his mind readied itself for another practice.
By the time he entered his shower, Orochimaru had already begun to think about his next subject and ways to smooth the process and let the music flow more naturally.
'That last one was truly marvelous, but this time perhaps I should add a … no, no. That wouldn't do, but maybe if I …?' Orochimaru thought as he pressed the button to his decontamination shower. 'Regardless of what I do, I'll need to repeat this little ditty a bit more. Practice does make perfect after all.'