Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Naruto

Summary: In the Hachiman Institute, we think we know the world. The sun only shines for its own gain. Secrets are a plague that must survive to kill. Emotions are a burden. Nothing is more irrelevant to us than beautiful summer days or linking arm in arm with friends, or falling in love or throwing snowballs. We learn, we train, we hunt, and we kill. That is the way we are. We were built for one purpose; to be tools. I thought that was everything, because when you trusted, you hurt. When you trusted, you cried. When you trusted, the world turned on you. I figured that when I was transferred, or "accepted" into the Akatsuki as their pupils that I would only be proven right. And after I got there…I was so, so wrong.

Chapter 1—The Potentiated

Kasumi

Foreigners.

Eleven foreigners.

They seek audience with Umbra.

They'll have to settle for Frenetica.

Lists, I think, are second nature for me.

They gather in the foyer. Frenetica speaks quietly with them.

I lean over the rail, two stories far above, seeing red clouds, straw hats dangling in multiple hands beside black robes. I search their features hungrily, taking in all I can. I see few people in this hell hole of an institute. Some of us are so ambitious to reach the top that I can't hold a conversation without them challenging me to a spar in the combat ring. Maybe these people aren't any different. Maybe they're just…more students. They look too old, though. New mentors? Too many. Unless we are doing individual ones…not even close to enough.

My spiky black hair falls forward. I know my face would be scarier if I didn't have a big blue bow in my hair. But I love that bow. It's all I have left of my past. I've probably worn it for seven years now. Seven years…is a long time, if you're me. I have a fear that the House of Grey was going to suck all the life out of me, until I was wholly devoid of emotion and the years went by in a flurry. I'd be out on a mission and I would be bleeding my life out with a completely neutral expression. I would lie in cold, soft snow, red staining its purity as I looked up at the only thing that had ever stayed loyal to me—the stars. When I died, lying there, alone but for the stars, I would see them, and only them, and I would think of no one and nothing else, because nobody cared, and so neither did I.

I watch. Dull brown eyes meet my grey ones. I glower for a moment; my challenger is unflinching. I resolve to paint an empty sneer across my milky face, inner mentality languid. I then turn to move along the one gloomy corridor, oblivious to the charcoal gaze that has turned on me, sensed my unhidden chakra signature. Down the hall, with scattered, barred windows exposing the monotone scenery, and then down the great unshielded exterior steps, where I would feel the whip of the cold wind, to the mess hall. It is lunch and I am hungry and there is nothing for me. So I will continue.

For what else am I to do with myself?

…

Sasori

I could already tell, just by looking at that desolate girl, that we were doing the select few students we would choose here a monumental favor. Frenetica, as we'd come to know her as, gestured jerkily to an imposing door behind her granite desk. Her fiery orange hair flared about her heart-shaped face like a crooked halo. A strip of pale freckles dusted her nose, but her large, electric-blue eyes more than made up for it. Her cheeks were slightly round but soft-looking, curvaceous lips the color of a budding rose. She wasn't what any of us expected to see in a place like this; she assumed the position of a red rose in a desert wasteland.

She unhooked a key from the lanyard hanging around her neck, inserting it into a contrasting-sized lock set into the marble gates. They creaked with protest, and a cold, winter breeze bit into my cheeks. A long, concrete path traveled about two hundred feet to the next door, only slightly smaller. Above, another pathway, though roofed with walls, was set in a bunk style above the walk. The sides of the path, being alone as an opening to the exterior, displayed the landscape surrounding the academy. Pale green grass stretched for hardly fifty meters before the tips of the flora began to disappear in the form of a hill. From above, it would seem as though the front flared out, narrow until the second section of the building (connected to the first by the enclosed hallway above) opposite the concrete path, where I'd been told by Pein resided the great stone steps leading into the final heart of the Hachiman Institute.

I ever-so-gracefully stepped in sync with my partner, Deidara, although I maintained a small yet notable lead on him. It was not a pretense that I was his elder and the wiser. Pein led us, following Frenetica obediently, despite the fact that he radiated dominance over the pent-up girl. I heard the great stone doors slam shut, but did not look back as we traveled over the flat walk. Wind tore at my robe, and I scowled at the weather's ferocity. Winter had begun to sink its cold teeth into the land, sparing the academy no mercy.

As Frenetica brought us beyond the next door, bare arms red from the intense wind, she gestured to the next, across the room; the stone steps, I knew, were behind it. I wondered briefly of her ease in letting us past without a chaperone. As we approached, I noticed two black-clad guards standing rigidly, unmoving as Pein pushed the door open. To my surprise, all along the edge of the stonework, more sentinels bordered the stairs. I now understood Frenetica's leniency in letting us through.

I silently swept down the stairs, which, in their great size, traveled for an entire seventy yards down the hill, each step six inches deep, two feet long, and twenty wide. Deidara muttered something incoherent about the colossal size, but was otherwise mute. I knew for a fact that the atmosphere of the Hachiman Institute unnerved him, and that he was unconfident within its domain. The entire structure felt haunted with the scars of hushed voices and silent feet on stone. I'd feared that perhaps the potential students we were searching for would be so depraved and led astray that they would be considered unstable by Pein, and therefore depriving us of the highest-ranked illegal organization indoctrinating ameliorated shinobi training.

However, as we came face to face with the titanic stone gate embossed with rune-like carvings, I saw the first hint of sanity in the pale eyes of a black-haired woman. A dark gown befitted her, and with a snap of her fingers, the doors began to open. I expected a loud groan or even a slight rumble in the earth; instead all I felt was surprise as they glided open noiselessly. Pein, retaining his neutral expression, stepped into the light, Konan at his side. This building was far larger, the room two hundred feet across and built of pale, flat quartz, with spiral stairs leading from the hallway above to the ground. Numerous torches in the area acted as a beacon. Not a single shadow, oddly, fell across the room—not even from us. I narrowed my eyes at the phenomenon, but before I could inquire to our grim escort, she turned with a twirl of her skirts to face us.

"Welcome to the Hachiman Institute. My name is Morioka Kazue, and I will be your guide from this point on, until you choose the students you deem worthy to join your organization. I will warn you now that what you see may exert feelings of awe, disinterest, or even disgust. The students here are each extremely unique and extremely different from those around them. Whomever you choose, as well, you keep, so I advise you pick wisely. We have set aside our strongest selection, as well, to further narrow your choice. These particular students we refer to as the Divine. I feel you will be more impressed with them than with that of the others. For today, however, I will provide you with a tour, so you may become acquainted with our halls; it would be to everyone's benefit if you were capable of scouting for your possible apprentices without need of a perpetual escort. Now, without further ado, I will show you to the mess hall. You may find an interest in observing the potential we have to offer."

She spun and glided towards the opening on the far side of the room, where faint but audible clamor could be heard. As we approached, Kazue swept to the side, standing stiffly beside the stone pillar bordering the opening. Pein gestured for us to step in, and we spread outward in a line as we came face-to-face with our possibilities.

The mess hall was hardly any different than the initial section, beside the running counter serving as a food stand and the multiple tables scattered about. Every single last one was occupied by at least one resident, all of them strikingly different. I saw one girl with black markings painted along her forehead and cheeks, and a young boy with two miniature horns protruding from his hairline. Deidara was rigid beside me as he took in the sight of a teenage redhead with peeling purple skin, his face pale. I wanted to smirk at his weak stomach.

I felt the rough collision of another body, my teeth rattling from the impact. Deidara, who'd been shifted as well, glared dangerously at the source—a young blonde who'd recklessly shoved past us to get into the room. She glowered venomously back at him, stopping to snap irritably, "Don't block the door way, you flat-chested bitch."

Deidara's face burned as bright as a tomato with a mixture of fury and humiliation. "I am a male, you pesky brat, un!" he spat.

The girl's eyes widened, and for a moment she stared, looking faintly amused. Then she grinned devilishly. "I don't believe you. Can I check?"

Deidara flinched. Pein's gaze flickered over to us, but I waved him off. Hidan, however, was not so willing.

"Ha! Go ahead, you won't find much!" he jeered.

The girl rolled her head to look at him. She raised her eyebrows and said, somewhat sarcastically, "Ooh…a Jashinist!"

"Manami!" Kazue's voice boomed loudly, but did not draw the attention of the students eating. "You will cease this instant or suffer the severe consequences!"

Manami looked ready to argue, but seemingly thought better of it. She winked suggestively at Deidara and said, "Talk to you later, okay, Blondie?" She then spun with a noticeable shake to her hips and strode away.

Deidara's eyes comically lost the pupil and expanded into a white circle in his anger, although a dark blush was visible along his neck.

Pein cast a warning gaze on Kazue. "I dearly hope that not all of your students act like that…?"

Kazue narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Most of them are exceptional at following directions," she drawled, "but if you are so willing to disregard them by their attitude, and not their prowess, then you will find little that interests you."

"The attitude," Pein replied, glancing not-so-secretively at Hidan, "definitely counts."

Kazue met his challenging glare for but a moment; it quickly melted into a sarcastic smile. "Very well. I will continue our tour and you may begin looking tomorrow," she said.

Pein glowered. "That I will."

Although clipped, I knew what he really meant; I'll start looking when I feel the need.

…

Kasumi

That morning I awoke with an astounding amount of energy, almost to the point where I wanted to leap from the bed. However, my conscience had taught me better, and I lay there in my cot for quite some time before finding the obligation to stand. The walls of the House of Grey were painted in an analogous scheme; the monotone simplicity had driven many to the brink of sanity upon arrival. However, strength to be gained from the middle house was dulling your emotions—and I assure you this is a pro, when you're being trained as an expert mercenary and assassin. Being in the House of Grey, in particular, sometimes deprived students completely of emotion and invariably of impulse, therefore ridding them of the potential to make stupid decisions from following their heart.

The House of White, on the other hand, was where students who did not have the heart to kill frequently without breaking down resided. Generally, they were taught to be crucial to a team, similar to a medic (and some of them practice this), in terms of hacking, break-ins, hunting, and other such things.

The House of Black was the most intense of all the cells in the Hachiman Institute. They weren't the best; they simply had more of a knack for killing than anyone else. While the House of Grey handled a variety of mission calls, killing only when needed, the House of Black specialized in murder. Nearly all of those in the House of Black were sadists and masochists, finding comfort in the screams of agony emitted by other people. I even knew a few religious followers in that group called Jashinists. Apparently their god, Jashin, was symbolic in slaughter, and the disciples were meant to be violent and unpredictable, murdering who they wish to murder. Personally, that was one of the only things I'd ever felt particularly disgusted with; it was one thing not to care, but finding enjoyment in it was a waste of effort.

A pair of feet swung out on the cot above me, large, muscled legs following. The interesting thing about the House of Grey was that the mentors had no problem incorporating the girls together with the boys, and there had never been any problems; they refrained from doing so in the other two houses because of issues such as distraction and strong feelings in the House of White, and rape in the House of Black. Truthfully, the teachers didn't really give a damn if you had sex as long as you weren't pregnant, fortunately for the boys. You get pregnant? You get out. They even supplied condoms in the west tower…

Yoshirou landed heavily on the floor from his jump off the bunk, turning to grin deviously at me. When I mentioned those in the House of Grey as being emotionless, I was really only referring to myself and a few others; students in this house simply did not mind the killing or violence, and killed or attacked when necessary; though they were not supportive of murder.

"Beautiful," he greeted me, winking.

I gazed blankly at him before sitting up, arms lying along the insides of my legs as I leaned forward. "Do we have acrobatics today? Or are we still on the chakra control unit?" I asked.

"Acrobatics," he replied bluntly, gazing around the room. Why, I'd no idea, as it was bare but for the bunk beds and one large chest containing our few treasures. Clothes were provided, so we didn't worry about those. The only things we were allowed to keep in the Hachiman Institute were stored away in that chest.

"Ah," I replied, swinging my feet off the bed. Even though it was still January, I slept without the covers, usually because when I had nightmares (which were often) I became ridiculously hot. I was also, unfortunately, prone to sickness; or rather it was easy for me to fall ill.

Yoshirou cringed, bending over to grip his leg tightly. His knuckled went white and he bit his lip, so hard that if he pushed any more he would break the skin. I frowned at his daily spasm, wondering why he hadn't remembered—and neither had I.

Yoshirou, as a young boy, had an abusive mother who'd managed to keep her temper in check, and even cared for her children before her husband died in the river saving a drowning Kichirou (his older brother, in the House of White). She'd been checked into a mental health institute five years before, and her husband had loved her regardless; after his death, she began to lose her sanity again, and became unpredictable, blaming the boys for her husband's death. The two were constantly beaten and neglected, Kichirou being the prominent victim of her fury. Yoshirou, from what he'd told me, had stood up for his brother at some point, and his mother had unleashed her rage on him, crippling his thigh for a time. He never told me quite what it was she did, and Kichirou claimed to be too young to remember, but he had barely regained his leg. Now he had to take medicine for it—although it didn't actually help him. He would never be rid of the attacks, and all the House of Grey could prescribe him were drugs to dull the pain and regulate them so that he knew when they would come, rather than stress over whether or not they would betray him in battle. I was surprised that he'd forgotten today, and even more that I had. Glancing at the clock, I realized that I'd slept longer than usual. It'd been a night spared of nightmares, thankfully, but not the strange dreams. All I remembered, but vaguely, were a pair of red, red eyes and black markings. I brushed it off as a usual, but they seemed to stick in my mind.

I waited for a moment as Yoshirou gingerly tested his leg, and finding that he was adequate to move, I sauntered from the room, into a large grey hall (surprise, surprise), passing other dorms as I headed for the girls' shower house. When I entered, I saw, with a twinge of irritation, that someone had gotten into my locker and thrown my clothes about the room. Nobody in the House of Grey was stupid enough to do that, so I immediately knew Manami had snuck in from the House of Black to wreak havoc on me. The sentinels here were good, but not good enough to catch Manami. She had a way with shadows.

Gracefully sweeping my scattered clothes into my arms, I trod over to my locker, spotting the broken lock. The least she could have done was pick it, not bend it, I thought mildly. But there were a few reasons she wasn't in the House of White. I opened the bleak, dented basket, dropping in what I had gathered. I kept a loose cropped sleeveless black shirt and pants, and undressed, finding myself once more the only girl up at the hour of five. I knew I would have dark rings under my eyes, but that was from my…dream.

Hot water seeped through my thick black hair and into my scalp, my tense muscles loosening. I sighed contentedly, musing over the irony of Manami's name. Mana, or "love" didn't particularly correspond to her personality. She was a cold-hearted, vicious, House of Black apostle, and the only thing in her name even slightly relative was the mi, "sea" part. She possessed the water element, although the "mi" was commonly thought of as "beautiful" by foreigners—which was probably what she wanted them to think. She was a seductive whore with an untamed thirst for sex. I pondered what I thought was the theoretical concept of love alongside this, and how she only further proved that true affection of the sort didn't exist.

When I finished my shower, a few other girls had dragged themselves out of bed. Unless you wanted to be punished, you got your ass out of bed and ready. If you weren't standing with your arms at your side and your back straight in the Delta Pit by seven sharp, you might as well throw yourself off a cliff for all the pain you'll experience.

When I stepped out of the shower in a long towel, I padded over to my basket around the corner and pulled on my undergarments, along with a tight mesh tank. I threw on the short, loose top and pants, and tugged my boots on. I then pulled my long hair back into a ponytail, adjusting the bow afterward, tossed my towel in the laundry chute, and left the shower house.

I went back to my room for the sole purpose of grabbing my elbow guards and fingerless gloves, and found Yoshirou sitting on the floor, gripping his thigh once more with a tight grip and a white face.

"Kasumi," he hissed, "I think something's—aaaaaah!"

I stared as he let out a sharp cry. He slammed his forehead into his knee, breathing heavily. I waited there for a moment, pulling on my gear as I watched him. He stayed like that for a good five minutes, and I began to get impatient, as well as curious. He'd never had a seizure this long before.

I light rap on the door pulled me away from Yoshirou's cringing form, but as I turned my head, Yuko had already opened the door. Yuko was an eighteen year-old white-haired boy with blue eyes, beige skin, high cheekbones, and a royal blue triangle below each outer eye apex, resembling petrified tears. He was what the Hachiman Institute referred to as a Swing; he worked in both the House of Grey and House of White, due to his undivided devotion to missions, as well as his acute tracking abilities. To top it off…he was blind.

Yuko frowned at Yoshirou's cries. "If he doesn't quiet it down," he said, "Kazue-sama is going to have him amputated."

I ignored the comment. "This is the second time today," I stated. "And this one's gone on for more than five minutes."

Yuko, furrowed his brow. "Did he take his medication last night?"

"Yes," I replied.

Now Yuko looked worried. I remained blank, feeling only the usual stir, which I'd always figured was my perpetual hunger—I was always hungry, and that was by no means a lie. At the time, I don't know how I connected an emotional feeling with a physical one, but that's irrelevant.

"Do I need…to get someone?" Yuko offered.

I raised my eyebrows. "If it doesn't pass in another few minutes, I'll come get you."

He nodded and disappeared, closing the door behind him. Meanwhile, Yoshirou continued to groan, so I resolved to shove a pillow between his face and his knee in an effort to quiet him. It was somewhat cruel, but I had little choice. I could still hear him faintly, but those outside would lack that ability. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was almost six, but I needed breakfast; I gave Yoshirou a cursory stare just as he tangibly relaxed, jerking his head back from the pillow.

"Holy fucking shit," he snapped, eyes closed.

"Please, don't emulate Manami," I requested.

He glowered at me. "I don't see the relation. She's a dick-happy ditz with fake boobs who likes to scream her lungs out at the teachers. I'm insanely talented, collected, and one of the best swordsmen you'll ever see. And I don't judge by the size of someone's balls."

I blinked. "You're explicit," I said bluntly.

He grinned. "I know."

…

Today wasn't the average day.

I could feel it. The way Kazue looked at us…she was inspecting us; separating the strong from the weak during ring brawls, lengthening the time limit in the Delta Pit, and quizzing us thoroughly on the subjects we'd covered.

When we lined up for our daily test in the Delta Pit, some students eyeing the elongated set time nervously, my gaze snapped to Kazue's unexpected appearance before us. In the Delta Pit, it was a test of your evasive skills, the entire arena made of steel that, at a given time, which was seven in the morning, would come alive in what was usually seen as a beautiful display of unearthly lightning.

But the thing is, the Delta Pit is charged with bolts of electricity that flare out wildly. The ground is completely flat, and the only safe place to be is in the watch tower, as we call it. The room of steel is surrounded by lead on its outer side so as to contain the electric currents, while set into the top of the wall at the north end some sort of clear material was used to view the arena below. To my surprise, I saw eleven figures taking up that space—the same eleven people I'd seen the day before, and it suddenly rained down on me, the realization.

We were being scouted.

My anger surged upward as Kazue approached us, superior as she gazed down at our perfectly formed line, her wicked eyes challenging me. They didn't stray as she slowly began, "You may have noticed a considerable time edit on the usual course today. You see, we have a few guests who will be visiting for a short period of time, and they are interested in your abilities. It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, as many of you might say." She grinned devilishly. "Thus I expect you to demonstrate your full power—we wouldn't want the revered Akatsuki thinking our Prefect class was showing meager skills comparable to our average classes, now would we?"

It was true. I was in the highest class in the Hachiman Institute, or the most promising, along with five other acquaintances that I tended to drift with; in a way, we were looked at as the top of the school, despite not being the most powerful in the Prefect class, because we evidently "put off that vibe," as Yoshirou said. He was one of them, as well as his brother, Kichirou, Yuko, Manami (who had a love for harassing me), and an extremely talented cleric in the House of White known as Ume. We were around each other nearly every second of the day, and while I rarely declared them my friends orally, they were the people I knew best in this place.

Around me, eyes widened and feet shuffled. I kept myself rooted to the spot. I could not be taken by surprise or it would be the end of my stature as a Prefect. The girl next to me, only recently inducted, failed to repress the sharp inhalation from whistling on her lips. Kazue, who sent venomous glares at anyone who displayed a reaction, hardly turned on her before she was silent once again.

"Now, now, I know you must be very excited—" she hissed, grinning at me, "but remaining stoic is of the utmost importance in these matters. I have told you before; an enemy can find your weakness in emotions. Do not give them that advantage."

The class, composed of fourteen students, was silent.

"Good," she purred. "Everyone report to your station. The test will begin in a moment."

We turned and marched, lifelessly, to fourteen of the twenty small, circular lead platforms at the edge of the arena. The lightning, of course, couldn't reach the students there; but it was forbidden to step back onto the platform after the Delta Pit has charged. When the test begins, the platforms will be enveloped in a wall of invisible substance called chakra—but hardly anyone knew anything about it here, because Hachiman students didn't use chakra like normal shinobi. I didn't really think that we should be considered shinobi; out of the seven hundred students in the academy, not a single one utilized jutsu. It was true that we derive our powers of the adoptive "chakra nature release", and while we channel our elemental power like chakra, it wasn't quite the same thing. Jutsu was physically and mentally impossible to perform for the students in the Hachiman Institute. It was the whole reason we were here.

As we took our places, moving like drones, the ten second countdown began. The voice was supposed to have a soothing, melodic effect, but it simply made me antsy, willing to jump right off the pedestal if I had to. The voice let out what could have been a slow nine, but was bellowing in my ears.

Eight.

I steal a forbidden glance towards Manami, my closest friend and worst enemy. She grins like a madman and bounces on her heels.

Seven.

Ume smiles encouragingly, but her anxiety is evident.

Six.

Yoshirou yawns, then winks at me.

Five.

Yuko does not look, obviously, but I see his acknowledgement in the twist of his hips and the clench of his fingers.

Four.

Midori frowns, green eyes determined.

Three.

Kai shoots Manami a dangerous glare.

Two.

Kichirou and I exchange a glance.

One.

We leap from the pedestals, and I don't even realize how far Kazue is pushing us until the first shot of lightning is immediate, and hisses by my ear as I flip mid-jump to avoid it. I use the trick that has always saved me, and that is my hands; I can flip and dodge and spring like the quickest insect, because I am lean, light, and fast. Speed is my forte.

But Manami's is brute strength, and her attempts at winning include playing dirty. As we sense the next ripple of energy, she runs, and, even though Kai sees her coming, the lightning distracts her, and Manami takes the shock, leaping and driving her legs into Kai's side. In a last-ditch effort she spins sideways, landing ungracefully milliseconds after the flash. A heavy blanket lies down on my shoulders. I see red eyes. And I know I am too deprived of sleep to do this properly.

Although I must try. This is easy, I have done it a million times before.

Kazue is relentless. After a while the lightning is so fast we can hardly track it. Manami again attacks Kai, managing to spin under a bolt while pushing Kai up into it. She falls, listless but far from dead. Manami whoops and makes a three-sixty circumference with her feet as the next one shoots by her waist.

I should not be distracted so easily, I think, because now I feel a sting and it hurts, burns, so I yelp. Immediately I clamp down, biting my lip so hard I taste blood. I cannot be weak, not when those ungodly jeers and snickers are amplified throughout the room. Akatsuki, please! They are low-life nothings! Worthless!

I am angry. Now I close my eyes and feel the bolts. I jump and twist, spinning horizontally, splitting my feet so that the incredibly fast lightning pulses between, whooshing past my shirt and heating my nose, rustling my bangs. This is easy. Child's play. Another comes, and I push my right leg out and spin on my bent left one, hands clasped, twirling upward as one flash is here and another there. A handstand to a one handed cartwheel, a somersault and a kick there. A run, a dive, a twist, a turn…

I throw open my eyes and see just me in the glass reflection of the tower, the way it reflects downward because of its incline. Twelve eyes stare back at me. I spit.

The only ones left are Yuko, Kichirou, and Yoshirou, excluding myself. I do not want to stoop to Manami's level, but Yuko will never know. He can hear anything, but he must have missed the sound of my lips, because the saliva moved his foot a fraction of an inch, and the electricity traveled through it and up his leg. He fell. Kichirou shot me a furious glare.

No time to feel guilty. Guilt kills oneself.

Kichirou, distracted, was hit. I was lucky that didn't happen to me, there was no skill involved.

I saw Yoshirou's eyes bug. I knew. And then I began to panic.

Pushing it down, I twisted around the flares, which were almost impossible to dodge. I caught glimpses of Yoshirou, who, in a consequence of great, great luck, had found a cold spot. I saw the final bolt, which seemed to travel in slow motion, agonizingly, and, temptingly, slow.

For once…

I didn't think.

In the next moment I stood in front of my friend, arms spread as I had reflected the lightning. We were unharmed, and he fell, clutching his leg. I had interfered with the arena, using my nature type, and I would likely be punished for that as well as my recklessness—not to mention letting my emotions get the best of me.

But I simply turned in my graceful way, not scowling. I looked up at my audience, and now there were thirteen, with Kazue in the front.

And then I smirked.