Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto. Boondock Saints belongs to Franchise Pictures.

The Prisoner

Sai paced around the bar anxiously, observing the scene. Three dead; two known Sound Mafia men, and a bartender. The bodies had been moved hours ago, and the regular body chalk outlines covered a booth and the floor behind the bar. Sai turned abruptly back to the pictures on the table next to the booth outlined in chalk. The crime scene photos had been taken before the bodies had been dragged away, but they were not up to the standards Sai needed. In a fit of rage, he smacked a salt shaker across the deli, shattering a small mirror that hung on the wall.

Why were these men targeted? Why was it done so recklessly? Why was the bartender, who had no criminal associations on record, killed? Why had more effort been put into the death of the bartender? Nothing made sense here and nothing had made sense at Baki's Sin Bin. Sai rubbed his temples in frustration as he continued to scan the photos.

Over time, he noticed certain oddities in particular photos, and began pulling them out of the pile. One was of the bandaged man's face lying in his food, which still had a look of shock on it. Another was of the same man's hands, which rested over the silverware beside the plate of food.

Sai nodded slightly, and stood up from the table, stretching his back in the process. He glanced over toward the bar, where his three little followers sat, watching him in anticipation. Sai smirked a little. 'Still can't think for themselves, can they. Three little lost sheep without a shepherd. Fucking pathetic.'

"So," Sai said, walking over to the bar and tossing the photos on the table. "The shooter knew these guys, right?"

The three detectives leaned over the bar and studied the photos, trying to decide how Sai had reached this conclusion. Looks of confusion covered their faces as the seconds ticked by, before Kakashi braved mockery and looked up at Sai. "How do you figure?"

"Friends, gentlemen," Sai said smugly. "They were friends." He pointed toward the photos, the one of the man's hands in particular. "We know that these guys were packing. However, when their corpses were studied, not one of their hands was near a kunai or shuriken. It's simple human behavior. If someone you don't know approaches you, you put your hand on any artillery you have on your person, right? This guy's got his hands on the table. He's eating his food, for Christ sakes. Thus, we can tell they knew each other, and since the victim wasn't threatened enough to keep his hands near a weapon, we assume that he wasn't particularly intimidated or threatened by the killer. They were friends."

Sai watched as the three men nodded in understanding and approval of the conclusion, and continued, pacing behind the bar. "Now, these two fucking scenes are related. There are too many coincidences for them not to be. Same day, five hours apart, dead mobsters on both scenes; pick your poison." Sai turned to the three and stared at them intently. "Now, the question of the day is, why did he kill the bartender?"

"Crime of passion," Asuma ventured. "He just went nuts. He would have killed everyone in here. He just ran out of shuriken."

Sai rolled his eyes at Asuma. "Asuma. Does this look like a fucking post office to you? This guy came in here with intent. Maybe he didn't know exactly what he was gonna do but he had a pretty good idea. If he'd done this for kicks, he'd have brought more ammunition with him, not just six shuriken. And why waste four shuriken on one man if you're going after everybody? The bartender wasn't a fucking accident."

"Well, we didn't get any help on that," Asuma sighed in fatigue. "A lot of people saw it, but nobody's talking."

"Fucking figures," Sai muttered. He waved his hands in frustration as he talked, "Look, are you guys seeing the pattern here? We got big questions at both of these crime scenes, with no answers. Why did they kill the guys in the other two booths? Why did he do the bartender, and with four shuriken? It would seem unnecessary, even stupid."

The three detectives shook their heads dumbly. Sai fumed in anger at the… nothingness left at the three crime scenes, at the incompetence of the men he worked with, at his OWN incompetence. He slammed his fists onto the counter. "FUCK! I hate cold crime scenes!"

"I'm fucking leaving now," he said angrily, walking out from behind the bar and grabbing his coat. "And do me a favor, tell me when the next guy dies, cause these guys are not done yet!"

"Would you care for more wine, sir?"

Orochimaru looked up indifferently at the waitress that had approached his table. 'Brown hair, young, some muscle, nice and lithe… she'd make a good replacement for Anko…' The pale man smiled seductively and nodded slightly, causing the waitress to blush slightly as she refilled his glass.

"Please let me know if there's anything else you need, sir," she said, flustered, before bowing and walking away quickly.

Orochimaru smiled. He still had it, despite his age. He'd taken many effort to hide his signs of age, of course, some that probably weren't legal anymore. He didn't really care if they were or not; the man he saw made him look young, no matter the price offered, no questions asked, and Orochimaru had plenty of money to spend.

As for Anko… Orochimaru sighed. She really needed to be gotten rid of. They'd already been married for five years. He'd managed to seduce her and marry her, mainly for the sake of acquiring the company her father owned, and Orochimaru couldn't seem to acquire otherwise. Orochimaru had to admit, she'd been good fun to have around for awhile, when she still adored him. She'd been courteous around his guests, no matter how unseemly or untrustworthy, and always was supportive of his work.

However, she'd begun growing increasingly rebellious of the decisions he made for her, meaning she probably was becoming more and more certain of his flaunts with other, younger women, and less approving of his less legal workings. It'd be better to remove her from his life. Besides, it wasn't as if he hadn't learned about those late night "confessions" with that Father Iruka fellow she'd been having on a regular basis now.

But decisions about Anko would have to wait until later. He attention turned as he watched an aging man walk wobbly from the restaurant's kitchen toward the bathroom. The man had mostly grey hair with some stray streaks of dirty red through it. He stood tall as he walked, despite both his eyes being halfway shut and looking blankly at nothing. Orochimaru smirked as the man ran into a cart traveling past and apologized profusely.

He knew his target was blind, and that the old fart was too proud a man to use a cane. He more preferred to give people the impression that he knew everything that was going on around him, despite his vision problems. Orochimaru chuckled slightly. The man's annoying pride was probably the only reason Orochimaru had decided to pay that waiter to stand there with the cart five minutes ago.

As the old man quickly hobbled into the restroom, Orochimaru stood up and strode quickly over to the bathroom himself. As he opened the door, he quietly slid into the restroom and locked the door behind him, before turning toward the sink. He saw the old man standing over the sink, hands feeling around a large leather case filled with cleaning supplies and accessories. With a slight grunt, the man grabbed a urinal cake and began tossing them toward each urinal on the opposing wall. Orochimaru raised an eyebrow, impressed, as every one of the cakes landed in their intended place.

Orochimaru stepped forward slowly, approaching the man from behind as he turned back to the leather case. Orochimaru inched closer, hoping to catch the man off guard, proving that he was in control. However, the man's head perked up and began sniffing the air. Orochimaru swore silently to himself as the man turned abruptly toward the Orochimaru and glare in his general direction. He knew he shouldn't have worn his Ode de Hebi tonight; the man had always known that Orochimaru preferred that brand.

"Fuck you, brat," the man snarled silently, turning back to the case.

Orochimaru frowned in anger at the man, treating him with such disrespect. He calmed himself though. He was here for a reason, and lashing out at the man would not help him accomplish anything. "I need your help, Sasori," he said quietly. "I've got a serious problem here, and I'm not screwing around."

Sasori scoffed as he dug through the case, pulling out fine china and placing on the sink. He began pulling out assorted colognes, cigars, and gum and placing them neatly on the plate. "I bounced you on my knee at family reunions, you damn brat," Sasori growled. "Your dad and me ran the whole east coast syndicate you snot-nosed little prick. After he and your mother died, who took care of you, raised you and taught you how to run things? And when you took the wheel, who was beside you?"

"Sasori, calm down. I just..."

"Don't start with your shit," Sasori hissed, turning on Orochimaru. "Don't you talk to me. 'Oh, hey Uncle Sasori, thanks for years of service. Here's a gold watch and a job sniffing other guys' shit eight hours a day.' What am I, a retired bus driver?"

Orochimaru sighed in frustration as Sasori slowly turned back to the sink and began neatly folding heated washcloths and placing them gently next to the sink. Orochimaru took several deep breaths to calm himself before speaking again. "I need the Gama Sennin."

Orochimaru flinched as he heard Sasori gasp and turn toward him, a look of fear blankly staring at the wall. "The Toad Sage? What did you do?"

"This kid," Orochimaru said quietly, "this package boy. He turned on us. Not just that, but he knows things. Lots of things, about the Sound. He could bring down the whole east coast, for God sakes. If he decides to go to the cops, he could dismantle us… totally."

Sasori stared quietly at Orochimaru for a moment before turning back to the sink, huffing in anger. "But the thing is," Orochimaru continued, anger in his voice rising, "it looks like for now, he's content with just killing us one by one. And even worse, the kid is good at it. I mean, I had a prodigy on my hands the whole time and didn't even know it."

Sasori snorted humorously. "Why should I care about some fucking kid that's wasting you? You brats abandoned me in my age, why should I do you any favors?"

Orochimaru sighed. He had hoped to win the man's favor by using the man's sentimentality of his old syndicate to get his information. However, it seemed after his… enforced retirement, he had no such sentimentality left. Reaching into his coat pocket, Orochimaru pulled out a small envelope and opened it, revealing several thousands of dollars worth of money. He riffled through the money with his thumb, letting the old man hear it, before letting it fall on the plate with a soft thump.

Sasori was silent for a moment, before sighing wearily. "Listen kid," he said quietly, "I think you better understand who you're dealing with here."

"Yeah…" Orochimaru persisted. "I was only twelve or thirteen when you guys used to talk about him, like he was a ghost or something."

Sasori chuckled slightly at the memory, before it darkened. "Your dad and I used him three times over twenty years, and only when everything was falling apart, when we were totally fucked. But believe me kid, you don't want this guy unless you are absolutely certain you need him. He is… a fucking monster." Orochimaru's eye's narrowed as the old man shivered in fear.

"I've had this guy right in front of me," Sasori continued, voice rasping in dread, "and I couldn't tell you what he looks like, sounds like. He is the Picasso of assassins, kid. He plants hair samples, blood, puts skin under fingernails. He is a fucking genius. He's got a couple of stipulations for using him as well. He won't kill any women or children at all, no matter the circumstances."

Orochimaru blinked in confusion as Sasori suddenly chuckled. "Only one problem for you, though. He's been rotting in prison for twenty-five or thirty years. Don't even know if he's still alive. Or if he's even up to it."

Orochimaru was silent for a moment, before speaking just above a whisper. "There's ways around that."

Sasori glared for a moment, before pulling a notepad from his case a scribbling the name of the man on the paper, as well as the name of Konoha's highest-security prison. He tossed the paper carelessly at Orochimaru, who caught it and grinned. "Go find one."

In a small, but highest-security prison in the far reaches of Konoha, several klaxons began blaring. Over a hundred guards marched quickly through the main doors of the deepest, most secure section of the prison. The room was an enormous concrete box, with three thick, blank concrete walls adjacent to one single wall with twelve small cells placed a great distance from each other. Four cells spread across three tiered levels, with thick metal doors covering each separate cell.

The army of guards marched loudly into the room as the klaxon continued. Their ranks quickly broke off as dozens of them began filing onto the other tiers, while a majority of them remained on the ground floor. The most elite of the troops began surrounding the lower right cell. The swarm of guards surrounding the room collectively pulled out their preferred projectile weapons of choice and focused their aim at the single cell.

At the quiet urging from the captain of the guards, one of the younger guards was shoved forward toward the metal door, with much reluctance from the younger guard. The young guard nervously approached the door, and began typing in the code given to him by the captain into the aging digital keypad. In his nervousness, he mistyped the code and jumped in fright at the buzzer that went off at the mistake, earning him a reprimand from the captain. He fidgeted as he began to retype the code.

A loud clatter rattled through the Konoha prison as the old door, unopened in years, slowly slid open, despite the years of rust and decay. As the sliding door clanged against the far wall, the young guard opening it quickly leapt away from the door, allowing several dozen more experienced guards to rush forward into the cell and surround the prisoner inside the cell. The man was standing warily inside the cell, his head down and staring at the floor. At a motion from the captain, the prisoner slowly lifted his hands, allowing them to be shackled. Several heavy chains were looped around the man's body, securing him in what appeared to be a metal straight jacket.

A tug from one of the chains leading out of the cell caused the man to trip slightly, before catching himself and allowing himself to be led into the prison hallway. As he slowly walked out of the room, more chains were looped around him, tugging on various limbs in all directions. As he was led away from the cell, the remaining eleven men in the cells approached their own doors, and gazed through the small cracks in their cells at the man. The men near the other cells shifted nervously at the appearance of the other prisoners, but none of them made any motions, but continued to stare silently at the man being led from his cell.

After being led several meters from his cell, the man was ordered to stop. In the light, the entire swarm of guards could see the man clearly. The old man had long white hair, which seemed more natural than from age. He also had two red tattoos creating lines from his eyes to his chin. His prison outfit was old and tattered, showing the prisons miniscule attempts to keep the man in any sort of comfort.

A small metal cart was pushed up toward the man, and the man slowly stepped on top of it after being barked an order from the captain. As the man settled on the cart, the guards surrounding the room tensed up as a small group of guards approached the man and began placing countless explosive tags all over his body, covering his rotting prison clothes and the chains around him in paper.

Ibiki watched cautiously with a glare as all this occurred from the large door leading into the room. He growled in anger as several more chains were attached to the cart and the man was slowly and cautiously pulled toward the doorway. In Ibiki's opinion, this man should never have been allowed to leave his cell. The very fact that the prison jury was even considering allowing this man to go on parole with twenty consecutive life sentences was appalling.

The very fact that the man was allowed for consideration could only be possible for one reason, one that gave Ibiki murderous impulses of his own: Most likely, the entire prison judicial system had been bribed by some unknown man, desirous of this man's abilities. The very thought of allowing a threat to society out into the world again simply for the sake of money made Ibiki's blood boil.

Ibiki glared in rage at the man as the procession of guards slowly led the man through the doorway, and into another secured room. This one was a much smaller room, painted pure white, with a long table at the opposite side of the room. At the table sat the four-man prison jury, and to the right of the table was a young woman sitting behind a small table with a stenograph on top of it. Ibiki shot another death glare at the four at the long table, especially the two in the center, Homura and Koharu. If it weren't for the connections that those two had, this action would never have been considered.

The cart was stopped two meters from the long table, and the guards stepped back as a large metal cage was lowered over the man and the cart. As the cage thumped against the ground, another squad of guard approached and covered the bars of the cage with even more explosive tags. Ibiki growled as Homura leaned forward.

"Do you feel you have been rehabilitated?"

Ibiki smirked as the room sat in silence for several minutes. However, his smile disappeared and was once again replaced with anger as Koharu nodded toward the stenographer, who began typing rapidly, despite the silence. Homura called forward one of the guards, who was carrying a stack of release papers. With a quick motion, the papers were stamped with the word, "PAROLE."

Ibiki gritted his teeth in barely suppressed fury as the man was led out another door toward the exit. He pitied the poor bastards that were the target of this man's rescuer from this hellhole.

"Goddamn, this is the best fucking meal I've ever had," Kiba sighed happily, diving into his plate of pancakes. The three of them were sitting in a small booth at a coffee shop eating breakfast. Kiba glared at his two friends as they chuckled at his enthusiasm toward his meal.

"Hey, fuck you both," he said, pointing at the two of them. He looked around the shop, making sure no one was listening, before speaking quietly, "Yesterday was the craziest fucking day of my life. After getting set up into fighting nine men by myself, wiping out those bastards at the deli, then wasting that ass-wipe Kabuto and those scumbags at the parlor? This is the best fucking meal in my whole fucking life. So, laugh all you bastards want, if a dozen Sound come through those doors right now and mow me down, I want to have a full stomach when it happens."

"You're siphoning the spirit of Chouji and he's not even dead yet," Sasuke said, and Naruto barked in laughter. The three of them continued to eat and joke with each other until the waitress came and took their plates away. As the girl walked away, Naruto leaned forward in his seat toward Kiba.

"Hey, Kiba," he whispered, "I was wondering, you got any ideas on a target we can go after? I mean, to show Orochimaru we mean business. We don't want to go after the big guy right away, or all the other guys'll scramble to get away, right? So, I was thinking we need to go after the baddest fucker in the ranks, but not one of the top dogs, you know? What do you think, you got anybody?"

Kiba stared at Naruto for a moment in surprise. He knew that Naruto had some decent brains in him, but Sasuke was usually the guy that thought stuff like this up. He supposed that Naruto could have thought this up with Sasuke helping, but Sasuke had the same look of surprise that Kiba did. 'Guess heavy shit like what we're doing know brings out peoples' real potential. I wonder if I'll get badass doing this shit?'

Kiba shook his head to collect his thought, before leaning forward as well, and crossing his fingers. "Okay, guys, since you guys are so eager to move on so quick, let's talk some business here. I do know this one sick fuck. He makes the ones we been doing look like altar boys."

Naruto and Sasuke both exchanged looks of worry. Kiba shivered slightly as the memories of the night came flooding back to him. He'd tried to forget what had happened that night, but in the line of work he was doing now, he supposed he'd have a lot more bad memories by the time he died.

"Worst night of my life when I met this guy…"

(Kiba's POV)

One of the guys under Orochimaru that passed orders around to me and Zaku and Dosu, Kodomaru, he came by once and tells me to give a ride to this guy, then help him with anything he needs after he's done with his job. Now I don't know what he means by job at this point, right? Could mean a lot of things in the Sound, you know, pay off a cop, remove evidence, smuggle shit into or out of the city, or the obvious one, kill somebody. So I'm like, whatever, sure, cause I want the climb the ladder and get power, right?

So I drive up to this house. The epitome of suburbia, this place. White painted house, perfectly cut grass, little white picket fence, all the shit like that. Guy's got a minivan, for fucks sake. I'm thinking, what is this guy, am I driving his kid to soccer practice or something. The guy comes out of the house and holy shit, man. I get chills down my spine just looking at the guy.

He's got just this messy mop of orange hair, and all sorts of fucking piercings. I don't even want to know how many piercings he had in places I couldn't even see. He's got the weird fucking coat on, this long jacket or some shit with really tall collars, and red clouds sewed on it, if you believe it. He's just got this blank look on his face, like he's not thinking about anything at all, he's just gonna fucking do his job and then wait for the next one and do nothing else.

But the thing that totally fucked with my head first time I see him, is his fucking eyes, man. Creepy as shit, just a pupil with a bunch of circles around it, like a chameleon or some shit like that. And he comes out of the house and he looks at me, and it's like, he could kill me without a second thought, dispose of my body, and no one would ever know what fucking happened ever. And it was like he knew it, but just didn't care, like he could do it to fucking anybody.

So he just walks over to the car, and get in, and I start driving, you know? I'm like totally fucking freaking out about this guy in my car, so I try to talk to him once, but he just stares ahead into nothing like I'm not even there and the car's just fucking driving itself. 25 fucking minute drive and it's just fucking absolute silence. This guy doesn't sigh, cough, sneeze. Shit if I wasn't driving, I would have looked to make sure he was fucking blinking.

Now, we get to this place I'm supposed to take him to and it's this house. It's bigger than his, but more run down. He just gets out of the car, no or words at all, just gets out and walks into the house. Now, I can't see inside the fucking house at all, so I get out of the car to eat some pocky, and I'm not standing there for like ten seconds and the guy walks out. He like motions for me to come inside the house with him and help him out with some shit. Now, I'm not about to get on this guy's bad side, so I'm acting like I'm all for it. With how fast he's in and out I'm thinking I just need to help him carry some kilos of weed out into the car, right?

So, I go in the house, and it's like, World War III in there. There's bodies piled everywhere. It's like that shit you guys took care of, some meeting or something like that of bad guys, all discussing business, and this guy went in there and cleaned house by himself. But there were more guys than what you guys took care of, there were like twelve dudes in there, all piled up across this living room. He even killed the family dog and cat, for fucks sake. And the freakiest thing is, I look over at the guy and he doesn't have a fucking scratch on him, he looks just like he did when he walked in, just a fucking blank look on his face. I mean, I could see him getting out of there without a hitch with like five or six guys, but this is just one dude. Fucking unbelievable, right?

So, then he pulls out this knife and I'm thinking he's about to waste me too, right then and there. But he just leans down and starts cutting the fuck out of the carpet, and rolls up one of the dead guys in it. So he gets me helping and next thing I know, the bodies are all piled up in a pyramid or some shit. Then he's all like, we need to get rid of the bodies, and I'm telling him, there's no fucking way all those bodies are gonna fit in my car, and he says everything's arranged.

So he picks up a body, and just walks out the back door, and I'm like rushing to follow him. And we get out there, and he leads me to this alley behind the house and there's this huge fucking dumpster or something in the alley, and he just tosses in the body in. So I do the same, right, and we go in and out and pile them all in the dumpster, including the dog and cat.

Then he like Houdini's this gas can out of nowhere and starts coating the bodies with it. He sets all the shit on fire and just leans back and fucking watches them burn. So by now, I'm like just keeping the fuck to myself, cause I know that if I screw with him, I'll be next one in the dumpster. He's probably standing there to make sure they're all gone. And we're just watching all the stuff burn, and man there's nothing in hell that sucks as much as watching a dozen bodies burn up into nothing, and just standing there and not being able to walk away.

So, after all the shit's done burning and he's happy with it or whatever, he just turns to me and invites me to his house for fucking poker. Tells me he gets a game on with some guys he knows, and his wife cooks them barbeque, and they just hang out and shit. Acts like we're just hanging out in a bar or something, not like the fucking blank face he had earlier, just a total change in everything about him. So, I'm agreeing and shit, and I ask what his buddies do, and he tells me he doesn't have a fucking clue himself. Just a bunch of killers or rapists or some shit just get together once a week for poker and burgers.

After that, we both head out to leave, and we go through the house, and it's like we weren't even fucking there. The only change was the room the guys were in now had like hardwood floors instead of carpet. This was like the finisher for my total freak-out over this guy. He wastes this army of guys by himself, without a scratch, removes all evidence that anything even fucking happened, then goes and hangs with a bunch of other fucking monsters like him.

I fucking had nightmares for weeks after that night.

Kiba stared blankly at the table as the three sat in silence. "Worst day of my life, man," he said quietly.

"Well, I'm sold," he heard Naruto say.

"Yeah, sure," Sasuke agreed.

Kiba looked up and stared at the two in shock. 'Just like that? No questions, no second thoughts, just let's go in and kill the guy? Are these two nuts?'

"Don't worry, Kiba," Sasuke said, leaning over and patting him on the shoulder. "We'll do this guy right and you'll feel a lot better."

A/N

Only 4 chapters left. Yay.

I have to admit, writing for Kiba in first person was fun. It was a lot easier to just write what came naturally in my head then trying from third person. Can you guess who the mysterious man's poker buddies are?

So, I've decided, after this fic, I'm for sure doing a Naruto AU western fic. Trying to go for full originality points on it too, not this mimic a movie thing I did here.

By the by, if you think my writing has improved over the course of the story, please write a review telling me so. I'd like to think I'm getting better.

R&R, pleeeeeeze!