If there was one thing hated more than anything in the world, it was getting hit by mind attacks. Sure, she had built up resistance and was able to counterattack them but that didn't make her like them any less. Her mind felt heavy from having another person in her mind as she woke up, but Jamila was an assassin trained from birth. It didn't take long for her to push through the pain.

Which brought on another set of problems as the weight of her injuries made themselves known. An involuntary groaned passed her lips as she did a mental assessment of her body.

Bruised but not broken ribs. Mm, but they were tender so maybe previously broken. She could something tight around her left ankle and right wrist. Maybe sprained? She could feel the stitches in her skin and that had always been uncomfortable. Though it matters not, she could feel her accelerated healing fixing her up.

Jamila slowly opened her eyes and the world was tinted green. She turned affection inwards towards her own Jiminy Cricket. It was always refreshing to know that Lazarus would come to her aid when she had no one else.

Her eyes took in the room around her and it seemed like a standard hospital room. Well it was until she realized she had no idea where she was or why the hell she was handcuffed to the bed. She snarled before bringing her uninjured hand up to her hair to reach for one of the lockpicks she keeps hidden in it.

But she just grabbed air.

Jamila froze.

Her hair had always been a rich chocolate color that extended more than halfway down her back. It was one of her favorite features on her body. Having long hair had always shown how good of a warrior she was. She had worked hard on her hair. Even on long stake missions, she made sure that her hair was always up to her standards. Hell, even the handmaidens at the compound took to using a precise routine when it came to even be near her hair.

There was also to mention that as long as her hair was long, she looked very much like her beloved aunt. She had hated missions that required her to wear wigs of shorter hair. Then she looked too much like her mother.

She could feel the tears rolling down her face. Shakily, she reached for the top of her head and slowly brought her hand down. She choked on a sob when she realized that her hair stopped right at her neck.

Jamila felt sick.

She took a deep breath. She would grieve later. She recalled the last of her memories and remembered she had been transported into some strange dimension. Jamila remembered fighting shinobi and kunoichi with red eyes, teleportation, and could breathe fire.

It wasn't the strangest fight she ever had but she could admit that she had been a disadvantage with her injuries and not having proper intelligence on her enemies.

Still, she felt proud on taking more than half of her enemies down with her.

Jamila looked down at the cuffs on her wrist and wondered if breaking her bone would be "too dramatic" just to get out of her bonds. Her lips twitched as she thought about what her aunt and cousin would say.

"Just because you have accelerated healing over did not mean you should deliberately injure yourself!"

She trailed her eyes once more across the room when her eyes fell on her clothes sitting on a chair not too far away. The utility belt Jason had granted her had been opened in some places, but she could see that some of the more special pockets were still closed.

Jamila breathed in letting her enhanced senses expand around the room. Thank you, Father.

She could feel four guards in the immediate area around her. Two were outside the door and another two were outside of her window. Jamila felt a little offended. Injuries or not, four is way too low to even be considered decent enough to hold her. She was the Demon Head's heiress (a title that she cannot wait to throw away). She was the daughter of Nyssa Raatko and Slade Wilson. She was the Demon of Death. She deserved some damn respect.

Licking her lips, she reached for her hair suppressing a cringe at the shorten length. She moved around the thickened locks until she came across one of the smaller lock picks.

Making quick work of the two cuffs around her wrist and ankles, she slowly sat up making sure to not draw any attention to herself. She stood up shakily and made her way towards her clothing. She glared down at the hospital gown she was wearing before removing it and putting on her own clothes.

Her hands froze over them as she realized something.

They had been cleaned.

And stitched with some unholy kind of thread. Seriously, what the hell is that shit? It was itchy and it clashed horribly with the other threads.

Jamila can admit that she may be a little overpowered but look at who her parents were and who she was raised by. She was created (not born) to be the greatest warrior. She had to be so perfect that she wasn't. With a small sigh, she took great care to carefully look over her clothes and she could feel something powering the threads. Snorting lightly, she reached for her utility belt and open one of the compartments. She grabbed a knife after making sure the poison inside of it wouldn't activate. She cut the sleeves off the shirt and did the same thing to the bottom half. She turned towards her pants and changed them into shorts.

She reached for the small needle and thread that she usually kept for applying stitches and fixed the clothes up. While she focused on the task in front of her, her eyes stayed tinted green as Lazarus played lookout. Once that was all fixed up, she pulled on her clothes and her shoes. Her guns were nowhere to be seen, but the holsters were still there.

There was nothing she could do for the mess of her hair, but she placed her utility belt around her waist. She reached into the compartments again while this time she brought out one of her tranquilizer darts. How about they take a nap for a change?

She switched her gaze between the door and the window. Neither was the better option. She was in a hospital and though she could probably take hostage, she didn't want to put any of the patients at risk.

The window meant freedom though. She was one of the best at escapology and stealth. She had no doubt that they had a way to track her, but she knew how to blend in easily. Smiling wickedly, she stood up and stretched lightly. Her ankle and her wrist were feeling better now that she was awake, and her blood was pumping.

She made her way to the window and immediately plunged the darts into the guard's necks. Her eyes snapped towards the weapons that each of them was carrying. A couple of kunai and shuriken; there was a tanto and a wakizashi and a katana. She took them all while being extra careful with the katana. It reminded her of her younger cousin. It reminded her of home.

She also took the ryo that they were using, and she rose a brow at the such old-fashioned currency they were using. She wondered just what part of Japan that she was transported to or if she was thrown backwards in time. Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if she thrown into another dimension.

Jamila made her way down the roof of the building and then climb down the side. Once she landed near the ground, she hid in a nearby ally. Her eyes traced over the people around her until she was confident that she would be able to replicate their actions. It made it easier for her to blend in if she knew what normal consisted of.

She followed at a safe distance to not look like she was stalking and to not draw attention to herself. Wherever she was. Whoever had taken her were playing a dangerous game and Jamila excelled at games.

Hiruzen watched as the young lady walked around the village as if she lived there her whole life. He had already set Itachi and Shisui to retrieve the other jounin guards that she had knocked out. And he definitely wanted to know how she did that and how she gotten out of her cuffs.

He listened as she went through a least ten different languages before settling on the common spoken Japanese. She bought different clothing and, to his displeasure, weapons also. She blended in well. He was sure that she had chakra that even the best of his guards wouldn't be able to find her.

He moved to turn away from the crystal ball in his hand. He was confident that the others wouldn't let him out of her sight. But a blonde blur caught his attention and he noticed how the girl reacted.

He gave up all pretense of doing paperwork and turned his attention fully to the scene he just knew was about to happen.

Jamila had been looking for a place to eat that would also give her cover as she collected information on her whereabouts. It was then she saw it.

Some old bitch was distastefully yelling at what was obviously a child. A fucking child. And none of the other adults around her were doing anything. From what she could gather from their expressions was that they approved.

Bastards.

Her fist clenched tightly around the pocket knife when she saw the rock sailing through the air. A growl bubbled in her throat and before she knew it, she was already storming forwards. Her hand gripped the woman's wrist painfully as she moved to hit the child before she was roughly throwing her to the grown.

"If you even think about touching this kid like that again, I will rip your heart out with my teeth," she snarled, and it took everything in her to keep Lazarus under control. She didn't want to frighten the kid anymore after all.

The lady on the ground blinked her shock away before rage and disgust danced across her features, "That's not a child. It's a demon."

A bark of laughter echoed through the now quiet market place, and Jamila crouched to look the woman in the eye. She let the powers of the pit pool into her pupils as Lazarus screamed and demand her blood in the recesses of her mind. "Lady, I'll show you a real demon. And aint no other like me."

Jamila absently wondered if it was the eyes or the promise of death that made the woman pale and faint so suddenly. She pressed her fingers to the woman's neck and noted that she was still breathing so she didn't care.

Standing slowly, she turned her gaze onto the people in the crowd. All of them watched her warily and with suspicion. "I do give a damn who you are. Touch the kid again and I will end you."

She could see some of them ready to protest, but with a quick look at the unconscious woman behind her and the power of Lazarus that was slowly pushing out of her, they all looked another way. Jamila huffed. Cowards.

She took a few steps back towards the kid who was looking up at her with wide eyes. Jamila crouched down until the two were somewhat at eye level before giving him a small smile. "Hey, Kid. What's your name?"

The boy nibbled his lip, "The Old Man says I'm not supposed to talk to strangers, b-but you were the girl that was sleeping outside of Hokage Tower. Jiji said you were in the hospital."

Jamila inwardly rolled her eyes. That was not what she asked him. Though he was good at redirecting the conversation managing to offer distractive information with none of the importance. If she was lesser skilled, she would've fell for it.

Instead, she smiled goofily at him like she saw her cousin do before, "Well, that's a really long name for such a tiny person."

"I'm not tiny," he immediately protested. Wait for it. "And my name is Naruto Uzumaki."

Kids were so easy to manipulate.

Another small smile and she tilted her head to the side, "Hello, Naruto. I'm Jamila."