Summary: Through absence, Uchiha Sasuke begins to grasp the true value of Haruno Sakura. Post-562. Drabble series.
Disclaimer: Naruto is (c) Masashi Kishimoto and Shueisha, Inc.
IN ABSENTIA
The Interrogator
"Awake, eh?"
Whilst his demeanor did not reflect it, Ibiki was quite pleased. The prisoners had awakened earlier than predicted, increasing the chances of locating Haruno Sakura alive even if not well.
"Yes, sir," the junior officer answered. "As ordered, the prisoners were placed in different examination areas when unconscious. They're drained from the mental stressors inflicted by Yamanaka-san, and the posted guards aren't allowing them to fall asleep. The disorientation will be conducive to our interrogation stratagem."
A nod of approval was offered as Ibiki strode past the underling, his destination being the prisoner in closest proximity. Once he reached the appropriate door, Ibiki stopped to remove the bandana which cloaked an assortment of burn marks, screw punctures and other torturous scarring that adorned his scalp. First impressions were everything, after all. A cigarette and matchbox were then withdrawn from the pocket of his longcoat. He lit and took a protracted draw of the nicotine stick in advance of walking into the designated room.
The interior guards were dismissed with a frigid look. When two remained, interrogator and perpetrator, an anticipatory silence stretched.
"I'm not going to talk," the prisoner, a man of slender build and in his mid-twenties, volunteered when the quiet turned unendurable. To speak before spoken to was a strong indicator that the prisoner was not an expert in the art of being interrogated; another point in their favor. Ibiki guessed that the prisoner was little more than an errand boy considering he had been tasked to deliver a half-dead captive to a bounty station. A grunt, if you will.
"That's alright," Ibiki bluffed. "Your pal's done plenty of talking for the both of you."
"I don't believe you." The prisoner's denial was accompanied by a dazed comport, resultant from Yamanaka's mind manipulation. He restlessly shifted in the wooden chair that he was awkwardly restrained.
"That's too bad," Ibiki admitted with a malicious glint. "And, seeing as I don't have the luxury of pussyfooting around, that was your first and last opportunity to take the easy way out."
The examiner took a drag of his cigarette as he came within a hair's breadth of the prisoner. When they were nose to nose, the toxic fumes were discharged in the prisoner's ashen face. Ibiki tendered his condolences with a menacing sneer, the view of his mutilated visage a form of torment in and of itself. "The clock's ticking so, sadly, we can't get stuck on pleasantries. We're going to have to employ the direct approach to secure the information sought."
There was no hesitation when the lit butt was viciously buried in the center of the prisoner's already perspiring forehead.
It was time to get to work.
TO BE CONTINUED
