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"Tell me everything."

This time, there's a table in front of the boy and his stomach is full from the breakfast the ANBU kid remembered to bring. Ibiki Morino sits across from him, and stares so intensely at the boy that there's no need for restraints.

The boy sighs, averting his gaze to the tiles. It's bright enough for him to distinguish the blood stains in the grout between the yellow porcelain if he looks closely enough.

There are some stains that just don't come out.

"Well, uh, this is a really long story. Don't - don't you have those guys who can search memories or something?"

"They're off on an assignment. Start talking, kid." By the last sentence, Ibiki's face darkens until the boy is sure the consequences will be grave if he doesn't start speaking as fast as humanly possible.

With a trembling voice and shaking hands, he outlines his entire existence for the interrogator. How they were kidnapped from tiny villages and trained starting as soon as they could walk. There had been a dozen in his age group, but by the time he was ten it dwindled down to eight, and then even lower as they were sent off on assignments. They were an old ghost town nobody bothered with, and it stayed like that for as long as he could remember.

His 'teachers' were more like sadistic slave drivers. Before being sent out on their first assignments, they were forced to kill somebody - anybody - in the village. It was only feasible for a ten-year-old to kill somebody younger than them or an elderly person, but both choices were just as traumatizing.

Ibiki surprised him by interrupting.

"Who did you decide to kill?"

His hands clench into tight fists, fingernails digging crescent shapes on his palms. Tears race down his cheeks at the memory.

"Caleb. His mother was on an assignment, and she wanted me to watch over him..."

His head hung in shame, tears dripping into his lap. Caleb was the easiest way out... And yet, when his mother came back, she hadn't said a thing. She was expecting it. There were plenty of babysitters and yet she asked him, completely out of the blue. He still doesn't really know what to think of it.

"How long ago was that?" Morino's voice loses it's hard edge, replaced by something that might be pity.

"Four years, give or take." He still saw Caleb's face every time somebody died at his hands. To think it had been so long ago, too.

"About how many people are in your village?"

"Uh - " he wrings his hands together, mentally calculating how many kids there were, as well as the adults he knew and then some. "No more than two hundred. There aren't any civilians."

"And did they ever mention a plan or tell you why you had to assassinate the Hokage?" If Morino's still angry about that, it doesn't show. In fact, he's so composed it has to be a facade, but the boy can't tell what's lurking underneath.

"No. They don't tell us anything and, uh, the last person who asked was executed." He gulps, flinching for a moment as the memory comes back full-force. She was only eight.

"But... But there's only five of them, I think, that know why we're killing all these people. The teachers."

"Do you remember what they look like?"

"I - I don't. Not really. They never show their faces but they wear these golden medals around their necks. That's all I know."

Morino stands up, chair scraping against the floor.

His voice is grave. "I'll see if I can get somebody to search your memories."

Suddenly the interrogator's gone, leaving the boy alone in the bloodstained interrogation room.

Morino probably thought the organization was some tiny terrorist cell, not a living, breathing town. But it's still his town, and he feels some stab of shame for betraying them.

The image of the girl rotting in the town square jerks him back to his senses. There's no other way to end the suffering of so many kids - they deserve so much more.

He wants to think that he does too, but he already resigned himself to the fact that his life ended the moment he entered the Hidden Leaf.

No matter where he goes, they'll find him. It doesn't matter if he's literally at the other end of the planet - he's betraying them and they'll know and come after him so they can hang his dead body in the center square.

No matter how hard he tries, he won't have a normal life. He never knew his real family and the only people he knows are murderers.

He yawns. All of this talking has made him exhausted. Hopefully, he can take a nap later or something.

A familiar voice interrupts his thoughts.

"I hope you like mashed potatoes and turkey. The cafeteria cooking is better than mine, I swear."

He looks up to see the ANBU kid from earlier, carrying two trays of food. Both his hands are full and yet he still opened the door somehow. He sounds like he's talking to a friend, not a prisoner who would be dead as soon as the Leaf got what they wanted.

Plopping down on the only empty chair in the room, he slides a tray across to the boy and removed off his mask, prodding the other tray.

"Eat. It's good for you."

The prisoner looks at the boy across from him, shocked that he brought him food and removed his mask like it was no big deal. Identity was everything here, right? So why would he not care that the prisoner knew what his face looked like?

When the boy doesn't respond, the other begins eating his own lunch ravenously, like he's never eaten a square meal in his life.

How could somebody possibly be so kind?

He starts eating slowly at first, then more quickly when he realizes that the food is delicious. The cafeteria staff definitely know how to make a good lunch.

After a while, the prisoner slides the now empty tray back into the center of the table. The ANBU stares at him, his mask still off. He finished eating at least five minutes ago.

He finally works up the nerve to ask, "What's your name?"

"Hm? I can't really tell you, but it's Michi. You never told Ibiki your name."

Well, he never really asked. Besides, they're more concerned now with the village and his memories.

"Well, I - I don't know my real name. I was given one, but it never really seemed right to me." Like they'd just put a label on a tool.

He nods. "I know the feeling. Well - I'm supposed to bring you back to your cell until they can find somebody that can read your mind."

He stands up, gathering the empty trays and utensils. "Come on."

When the boy finally gets back to the cell, he collapses on top of the mattress and lets sleep take him away.