Risk.

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I watch the moonlight stream. Oh, it flows. I gaze down at my hands; broad planes of smooth clear skin, neither blemished nor tarnished by work or sun, or experience. With too-pale pearl skin and slender, weightless fingers they are a child's hands- entirely too new to this hard, delivering earth. I feel myself fill, slow, slow, slowly at first until reaching a bursting crescendo over my hollow ready vessel,

It is time.

Time to let go.

Let flow.

I take a deep breath in, and out.

And so I shudder an earthquake that splinters the dam of my expectations for my life into a million unobtrusive boulders of stolid skill. These only time will erode- with the steady flow of power now coursing through my body I glow, I radiate this pure lifeblood into the air surrounding me, hidden in this quiet place with only this new, rushing raw power as witness.

Oh, sweet release.

I gasp, moan inside, and grip my knees.

The power surge ebbs slightly, allowing me to crack my eyes open, focusing slowly and desperately through parted lashes, I shiver as to my vision.

I see it.

Everything.

It flows.

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1:

I close my tired eyes. Somewhere in the small pack next to me, my phone begins vibrating again. Damn, what is it, the thirteenth call? I reach a numb hand into the depths of my rucksack and pull out the shining, brand-new, top of the line, worthless piece of shit.

The name on the screen gives me shivers. Itachi. So the search was on then.

Sooner than expected. I check my watch. Less than twelve hours after my little disappearing act. Last time they had started more than ten hours later. Now they know better. I wasn't going back, not of my own volition, no way in hell. I turn the thing off: that's another thing I learned quickly. My brother was not afraid to track me.

Throwing the near-priceless junk against the most merciless cement wall I can see, along with my immaculate Rolex, I pick up my sack, pull out a protein bar, and stalk away from the alley. I can already hear the sirens wail after me as I slip between sinister, cavernous buildings along the maze of alleys. I am no child this time. They thought I had been broken, last time. They thought I was just going to take whatever they gave me silently and gratefully. Not this bitch.

As I walk I pull the liquid silk button-down I'd been forced into over my head, adding it to the piles of litter already crowding the narrow alley.

Tearing a bite from the bar, I let my mind slow as I munch through the cardboard. What now?

After significantly losing myself among the winding inner city streets, I pick a nice, quiet place to hunch over and think of my next move.

Honestly, I'd never gotten this far before. Usually, I'd made some lethal mistake or another, walking into too-public places, keeping any sort of technology with me, or going to 'friends' houses. That was another hard lesson learned young; there is no such thing as a true friend. At least, not when you have money. Not in this penniless city. I rub my blurring eyes before remembering how dirty my hands are. Ugh. Pulling out hand-sanitizer, I look into the brightening sky.

If I could say I loved anything, anything at all, it is the dawn. Today's is a brilliant union of the warmest orange color, dashed in purple-blue. Oh, luscious meaning of life.

But dawn also means greater visibility. So what to do? Where to go? I need cover, and fast.

I bite my lip, finding it painfully chapped. If I'm going to survive, no, thrive as an 18 year old runaway with a brother of endless resources chasing me, I have to do the unexpected. Not only that, but I have to get out of Konoha. I can't do anything when big brother could have the entire police force after me at once.

There is no room to breathe with two Uchiha men in the same area. We weren't meant to live all together; for fear that we'll suffocate each other. That's why I have to leave. It's either leave or die stunted and small under the enormous shadow of Sharingan Co and all its implications.

Somewhere in the distance, dogs howl. My eyes, unknowingly closed, shoot open. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. I get up from my temporary rest, hastily gathering my bag and my composure. I have to run, now. Picking up speed, I silently thank my dead father for the only good thing he'd ever really given me: long ass legs.

I pray for rain, or anything that would help me fly far, far away from the choir of pursuit hot on my hind. I also keep to the stagnant puddles, instantly freezing as the dirty water leaks into my handcrafted Italian shoes- but I have to keep running. Even though there is no escape, the howling increasingly closer, I have to run. Before I realize it, my feet are sprinting, breath coming in ragged gasps, desperate for air, or face explosion. I run until I can't run anymore, then just keep going. I run until I swear I feel the alveoli pop one by one in my chest. I run until the stitch in my side devours my entire torso.

Then I stop. Under me, my knees buckle and I find myself staring at the street, mere inches under my nose. My heartbeat's so loud I can't hear the dogs anymore. After an eternity, more time than I can afford, I wake up to my surroundings.

I am disgracefully out in the open, at a dead-end intersection. Subtly looking down both streets for possible witnesses, I stalk into the store directly in front of me, not seeing or caring what it is.

Only an empty foyer. If it's an abandoned building, I'm set. It looks dilapidated enough, empty of any furniture, trash everywhere and torn wallpaper. A perfect hideout until sundown. I lock the door behind me, dropping my bag, by now a sack of rocks, and set about searching every inch of the room for anything potentially dangerous or occupied.

Something else I learned, people are everywhere in this city. There is no such thing as being completely free of them. Even now, at what must be close to five in the morning I can hear them beginning to mill about in the street outside. I repress a shudder. I have at least a few hours now, before they catch up to me. I look at my naked wrist for a long, hard second before remembering the fate of all my gadgetry.

So the room seems empty: a miracle, by anyone's standards around these parts. I would be just fine here, at least for a little while, maybe I could scrape a couple hours sleep… Burrowing myself deep into the corner of a crevice in the wall, a corner not visible from the entrance, I sleep violently.

I wake to rustling. My heart instantly takes the excuse to slam into my throat- carefully, oh so carefully, I peek around the corner. Nothing. Must be rats. I chuckle softly at my own paranoia.

Then the door magically unlocks.

Then a man comes in.

I am so screwed.

I pull out my pocketknife with fingers I'll never admit are trembling. Running a thumb over the pearly white 'U' in its heart for luck, I prepare for the ambush. At least I know how to fight. The man in the doorway sighs heavily. I take the opportunity to take in precious oxygen, realizing I had stopped breathing.

This is my chance. The figure is turned around, checking the locks on the door; I make ready to pounce.

"Don't you even think of coming at me with that little knife, kid."

My heart stops beating. I reveal myself: really the only thing to do in this situation.

The man is not one of my father's hunters. His eyes are bright, lit from deep inside with something I haven't been exposed to in a very long time: kindness. In truth it makes me a bit nauseated.

My eyes, once he steps out of the extreme silhouette, are instantly drawn to the brutal scar slashed across the man's face, cutting it lengthwise across the nose. I immediately size him up. He doesn't seem such a big threat, a several inches shorter than my 6'2 height, tan skin with similarly colored eyes and pulled-up coffee hair. He gives me a blinding smile. I scowl.

"Get out of here." My voice sounds like a grunt.

His is nearly musical, "I'd rather not, seeing as this is my shop."

I snort, unable to help myself, "Shop? This place is a shithole." His resounding laugh surprises me; I hate how he enjoys the expression on my face.

I make sure to deadpan as he speaks, "Aha! Now I know for sure that it works." Grinning like a fool, he walks fearlessly past me, to the niche opposite mine. There, he knocks on the wall three times, pauses, and knocks again once. Before my eyes, the wall splits along some invisible seam, opening wide for its owner. To my even greater surprise, a round child's face peeks out.

"Ah! Iruka! Its good you're here, that old-ass scarecrow's freaking the crap out of us. Moegi's already almost started crying, I almost threw up my dinner!" The little boy, a tattered blue scarf around his neck, turns hateful brown eyes onto me. I glare back full strength, not about to take shit from a kid, and he, little fuck, sticks his tongue out.

My glare has never been rebuked before. With eyes as black and cold as polar winters, a familial trait, most grown men find themselves unconsciously or otherwise backing away at my angry gaze. I intensify the abhorrence in my eyes; a tendril of frustration leaking out as he only rolls his eyes at me.

I hate kids.

"Who's this asshole?"

"Konohamaru!" The man called Iruka smacks the kid hard, "That's two for the swear jar, and I'll eat that candy I'd saved for you myself!" Iruka ignores the yowls of protest from the boy and turns towards me, "You wanna come in?"

I stare him down, thinking hard. I look away from his level, and kind, stare.

Ah, fuck me.

"You don't really have much of a choice, do you?" He smiles at me. I hear, fainter than the wind, the barking of dogs. How could he have known?

Grunting ungracefully, I follow him into the darkness, knife still clutched tightly in my hand.

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