Disclaimer: Oh noes! You mean Naruto doesn't belong to me? They belong to some guy named Masashi Kishimoto? Oh well…at least Hyun-su is my intellectual property.

Also, this story takes place in a slight AU. Since I don't know the ending to Naruto, I can only make educated guesses on how the Naruto world will be in the future. Any inaccuracies will be fixed as more of the manga is published and translated.

Altered Carbon-chapter ten

In the distant recesses of her mind, Mifune Hyun-su had felt the scalpel. A jackhammer of a migraine was boring a hole through her head. Somewhere nearby, people were talking.

"The extent of the injury is surprisingly minimal…"

Hyun-su drifted again. More voices. Movement. A icy chill shot through her as the surgeon's blade cut through her like a roasted chicken being prepared for supper.

Out of nowhere, the smell of disinfectant stung her nose like a shot of tequila in the morning, bringing her sharply to her wits. Slowly, cautiously, she opened her eyes to the tiniest of slits. She scanned the narrow room and settled on the obvious spot of honor: her own chest, torn open in preparation for surgery. Her blood went cold.

Hosp-hospital… she tried to think clearly, but a resounding headache thwarted her efforts. Am I…hallucinating? Dreaming?

The pain certainly felt real enough and she was suddenly struck with a grisly revelation.

They don't know I'm awake! she thought as she saw the blurry outline of a man towering over her. Letting her eyes close, Hyun-su forced herself not to flinch as the man began to poke a needle through her innards and skin. She wanted so badly to scream, to alert the doctor that he was operating on a conscious person, but what if he was an enemy?

No. She needed to keep the element of surprise on her side. Her attack had to be silent. With a single mental command, the miniscule veins beneath her nails began to excrete a foul poison.

A dull sensation caught her attention as the man finished stitching her chest. She heard metal objects being fiddled with and a distinct shuffling noise as he moved away.

NOW!

Bursting off of the table, yanking her arms free from the IV needles in both her wrists, Hyun-su pounced towards her target ruthlessly. Like a tiger, she burrowed her nails into the vulnerable skin of his face and plowed them downwards towards his nose. An agonizing wail exploded into the operating room, telling Hyun-su that she had hit her mark.

For a moment, the young girl thought she had found her window of escape. Her vision was on the mend, and her healer and victim was out of commission, writhing on the ground as the toxin from her fingernails pulsated through him. In a matter of minutes it would reach his heart and then it would all be over. She flashed a triumphant smile.

Her eyes riveted on the closest door, Hyun-su balance suddenly wavered.

A balled hand dealt a crushing blow to the head, knocking her to her knees. As she fell, she thought for a moment she saw a girl who couldn't be a day older than herself.

Then everything went black.

His back arched dramatically, the top of his head crushing into his pillows. Dry lips parting, he sucked in whatever air could slip past his clenched teeth, making a loud hissing noise that he hoped wouldn't be heard through the floorboards. All of the muscles in his lower body were tensing and relaxing in time with one another, a sensual rhythm coursing through every fiber and limb. There were goosebumps lining the insides of his thigh, arms, and even his naked chest, but his mind was in no state to recognize or be embarrassed by them.

To the innocent and naïve, Kankuro appeared to be trapped in a nightmare. A glistening veil covered his entire face, his forehead creased into a thick network of furrowed, wet skin. But the experienced would have seen the suggestive smirk crossing his lips every so often in between labored gasps. They would have undoubtedly also noticed a rigid object making a small tent with his sheets, and his hands, although not visible, hard at work.

He opened his mouth to groan huskily as fat tears of sweat darkened the mattress-cover beneath him. Nearly breathless, the young man's lips involuntarily flexed, wordlessly mouthing out incomplete sweet-nothings. Suddenly, the pace of his right hand heightened, a familiar burning growing in the pit of his stomach. All at once his hips bucked and he grunted in a fit of acute pleasure, abandoning reason. It was then that his voice found him again, releasing several rasping cries into the empty air of his apartment bedroom.

The adrenaline rush ebbed away as quickly as it had come, leaving Kankuro not invigorated, but drained. He dropped one of his hands to the floor beside his bed and searched with his fingers until he touched a wrinkled black shirt. Picking up it lazily, he shoved it down the front of bed sheets, cleaning himself blindly and unenthusiastically. Wiping his fingers on the wrinkled piece of cloth, Kankuro closed his eyes, disgusted in himself. Not because he had just masturbated, but because of the naked body he'd imagined up.

In the beginning, before he'd even removed his black pants, Kankuro had eagerly visualized deep brown, practically black, locks of hair and milky skin. Tenten would saunter up to him, embrace him seductively with those slender arms of hers, her touch sending shivers up his spine. Unable to resist, the puppeteer would caress one of her breasts, twirling a finger around the hardened nipple, drinking in the lusty moans she would make.

It was a fairly vanilla fantasy of his, straightforward but immensely effective in producing an erection.

However, this time was a little different.

Just as Kankuro, in his mind's eye, was leaning over to plant a scorching kiss on Tenten's nape, she had flashed him a stifling glare over her shoulder that lasted only an instant. Gone was the lustrous peridot color in her eyes that he'd expected to see, replaced with an intense garnet blaze that sent his body into overload. Kisses that were supposed to be careful and slow were instead heated and passionate, lips traveling all over each other's bodies, his tongue fearlessly diving into her mouth and elsewhere.

Though he knew it was wrong, Kankuro had refused to allow the image of Hyun-su to evaporate from his mind as he started to stroke himself fervently. She felt perfect in his arms, nipping his lower lip, grinding her pelvis into his, making each and every inch of his body hers. Never before had he envisioned and felt such unbridled hunger and need.

But now as he lay still on his bed, the heat leaving his body, the speed of his breaths returning to normal, the puppet master could not help but feel ashamed and dirty. It was pitiful enough that he was still using his memories of Tenten to fuel his lonely sexual endeavors, but to suddenly see Hyun-su…it was despicable.

Everything about her screamed "danger!" but perhaps that increased her allure, bringing to mind the age-old saying, "What we cannot have, we desire the most." Unlike the prudes of the Sand village and the almost cookie-cutter women in Konoha, Hyun-su was unique with an unembellished charisma that radiated a striking personal confidence. She was as untamable as she was unattainable, a wild animal that belonged to no one except the forest.

Kankuro swung his legs to one side, bringing himself into a seated position, his bare feet brushing against the carpeted floor. He had to suppress and purge this bizarre longing as if his life depended upon it; in only a few hours, he, along with Gaara and Temari, would be making a trip to Konoha to meet with Tsunade. Seeing Hyun-su at some point was inevitable; avoiding Tenten was no longer going to be the puppet master's primary concern.

He impulsively reached for the carton of cigarettes on the untidy bedside table; a single object rattled when he shook the box. Scrambling to find a working lighter, Kankuro had to eventually resort to using an old matchbook that was lying under his bed. The smoke crawled into his lungs, and Kankuro greedily breathed in the smoldering tobacco fumes, ignoring the rattle in his bronchi as he concentrated on the future.

Since he'd delivered Hyun-su to Konoha three weeks ago, Kankuro's world had changed drastically. Now, all of his missions dealt with finding information about Iwagakure and their more clandestine military operations. And even though Gaara was running his older brother so ragged that he actually missed his Genin days of picking weeds and walking dogs, their efforts were not without results. Together with Tsunade, they had uncovered quite a few skeletons in he Rock village's closet.

Most of their facts had come from the mouth's of dying men, so its credibility was somewhat compromised. However, putting together the collected information formed a lattice that made it easy to separate the desperate lies from the truth. All of the shinobi Kankuro had…questioned had mentioned Hyun-su's name, as well as her abilities and how she'd acquired them. The most important snippet that he'd gleaned from an unfortunate man fate was that the Tsuchikage and his scientists had been unsuccessful in recreating a killer like Hyun-su. This adequately explained why the Rock village was so keen on finding Hyun-su alive, as well as why they had neglected to inform them of her status as a missing nin. Casting Hyun-su as a hostage ensured her safety, as hunter shinobi were usually deployed to exterminate - not save - renegades and traitors.

It was obvious why they'd chosen the Sand trio to find their ruby-eyed guinea pig; Kankuro's success rate alone was barely under 100. Matched with his brother and sister, they were one of the most successful shinobi teams in the continent. And using Gaara's desire to strengthen the political bonds between their countries had also been a clever trick. But the Sand shinobi were clever as well.

When he'd retraced his steps back to Karasu, Kankuro had wisely salvaged the kunai that had impaled Hyun-su's chest. After wiping away his own fingerprints, it had been given to the Rock villager's as proof of their kunoichi's death. Analysis would identify that the blood on the blade was indeed hers.

It was a perfect scheme, and it left Gaara free to conduct his investigation without a hitch. Unfortunately for the Rock village, they had not calculated into their equations the slim possibility that Hyun-su would willingly work alongside her attackers in bringing them down.

Now, weeks later, Gaara had enough sufficient data, along with Hyun-su's testimony to implicate the Rock village for unethical experimentation, as well as conspiring to assassinate one, if not all, of the shinobi leaders. To say that this was a simple crime would be a vast understatement; it was an unfathomable sin.

A large ember fell from the tip of Kankuro's cigarette, falling on his bare legs and burning him.

"Ouch! Mother fucker!" he frantically brushed it away, as he was pulled from his faraway thoughts. He licked his thumb and pressed it against the painful mark on his skin.

Kankuro angrily smashed his cancer-stick into an ashtray before getting off of his bed to wash. On his way up, he hastily ripped off the sheets, shoving them into his dirty clothes hamper; he did not need that white, liquid reminder glaring at him.

He left the light off as he entered the bathroom; it was already eight in the morning and as such, there was enough natural light filling the apartment. As he waited for the water in his standing shower to warm, Kankuro gazed into his mirror, standing a few feet away so that he could see most of himself in the looking glass.

The change was subtle, but not entirely unnoticeable. Pinching his sides, Kankuro was pleased to feel hard, taut muscles instead of love-handles, and was equally satisfied with how his belly, once plush and soft, was becoming a sculpted stomach. Though it had taken a lot of time and even more determination, Kankuro was glad with his progress so far. Temari, always the perceptive one, had been quick to detect his slimming figure, going so far as to joke that he would have to use Sanshouo to defend himself from the ladies. He had laughed at that one.

Tracing a finger around his developing six-pack absentmindedly, Kankuro wasn't sure if he wanted anymore attention from the other side of the gender-spectrum. Having two girls on the brain was difficult enough.

A billow of steam fogged the mirror, as if to silently signal that his shower was ready for him. Stepping inside, he let the powerful jets massage his shoulders, the water pounding away the tender ache in his back. Instead of the hurried shower he normally took, Kankuro languidly smoothed the bar of soap along the rigid surfaces of his body.

When he casually touched the scar above his left eye, her parting gift to him, Kankuro realized that getting Hyun-su off his mind was going to be harder than he could ever image. The disfigurement on his face burned with nostalgia.

His craving was obvious. I saw her boobs twice, that doesn't mean she's your girlfriend, for fuck's sake! Kankuro scolded himself, trying to focus on some random, chaste thought.

Grabbing a bottle of shampoo, the puppet master scrubbed his unruly brown hair, agitated by this morbid fascination in a girl who'd nearly killed him. Growling, Kankuro washed the soap and shampoo away, reaching for a towel before he'd even shut off the water.

This visit to Konoha was going to be the death of him.

Reaching for his face paint, Kankuro stopped short, remembering Gaara's precise directions.

"We'll be going as civilians this time. There's a chance that the Rock village might be privy to our motives by now; we have to seem as inoffensive as possible."

That meant no black hat, no paint, no weapons…at least none in plain sight.

Kankuro scowled fiercely as he put the jar of purple ink back into his bathroom cabinet. He hated being without his mask, that barrier that kept his innermost thoughts safely hidden. Drying his back and arms brusquely, the young shinobi knew that he had no choice but to respect Gaara's demands to the bitter end. Sometimes he hated the fact that his brother was also his commanding leader.

Taking Temari's comments about the "Kanku-fro" to heart, he shook the water from his hair rigorously. If his sister made another snarky jab about his appearance, Kankuro was almost certain a part of him would snap and he'd probably end up kicking her in the shins.

Once he'd finished, Kankuro peered back into the mirror, displeased with the way he resembled his late father and Kazekage. There was so much about his face that connected the two of them; his slightly bulging nose, the peculiar slant to his eyes, even the way his hair shot every which-way. All of it was the same with his father, and he was infinitely thankful that at least the color of their hair differed. Anything to separate them.

Though he'd never speak of it, Kankuro despised his father, even in death. He had been a merciless Kazekage, had corrupted his youngest son and inevitably killed his own wife. Even if his tactics had put the Sand village on the radar, his wake of destruction had also condemned those closest to him, his children.

Kankuro regretted not being able to see his father being killed, his existence being destroyed. It would have been a treat; not a single cell in his body missed him.

Biting back the urge to smash his mirror, Kankuro stepped back into his bedroom, huffing. There was nothing about this excursion to Konoha that he was looking forward to. If only he was allowed to wear his ceremonial paint, then at least his dread could be concealed.

On the other hand, Temari had spent the better part of the week preparing for their trip, which she was apparently excited about. It was easy to see why; from the clothes she'd picked out for the trip to the way she'd been preening herself, Kankuro suspected she was planning on spending more than a few nights alone with Shikamaru.

Kankuro's selection of civilian's wardrobe was meager, and he wasn't the kind of guy who enjoyed shopping for himself or anyone else for that matter. So, as expected, his older sibling had taken it upon herself to gleefully choose an outfit for him, which left him with one less thing to fuss about. He'd merely stated his color preference, and the rest had been taken care of by Temari.

Opening his disorganized closet, which was filled with more tools and puppet parts than it was clothing, Kankuro slid a plastic garment-bag off of one of the wooden hangers. Unzipping the bag, the puppet master lifted out a men's kimono jacket, much like the one he already owned. The dark purple fabric would have matched the color of his face paint perfectly, had he been granted permission to wear it. Holding it in front of him, Kankuro found himself smiling Temari's recurrent fashion sense. In the bottom pocket of the garment bag was a new pair of straw-sandals and split-toe socks.

"You really went all the way, didn't you?" Kankuro chuckled slightly at his sister's enthusiasm to play dress-up. It was clear that she did not want to be seen around him if he wasn't clothed properly. For a second, the jokester in him considered showing up in a soy-sauce stained tee-shirt and ripped jeans, just to see Temari's fury-filled reaction.

Wondering what pants he was supposed to wear, Kankuro realized that the pleated hakama Temari had given him before would complement the new jacket. "Two birds with one stone, eh?" he whispered as he gathered his gray trousers from the still-open closet. Tugging on a pair of gray boxer-briefs first, Kankuro put the hakama on one leg at a time.

They were not as snug around his waist this time, a good sign for Kankuro as he hurried to get dressed, slipping into his socks and sandals while at the same time whipping his jacket over his head, making sure to tuck it inside his pants.

Twenty minutes later, and Kankuro was walking down the familiar road towards the Sand village's entrance, a small draw-string bag flung over his one shoulder. The sun was now hanging solidly in the air. Though the morning's activities had left him disoriented, his mind was now oddly lucid, forced to think only pure thoughts as he drew closer to the source of his distractions. He had promised himself he would stop at a convenience store on the way out for a pack of smokes, but instead his legs carried him directly to the stone-lined tunnel that led out of the village.

Moving east past the markets, Kankuro felt a budding nervousness, and for more than just the obvious reasons. In one of Tsunade's first reports, she'd angrily detailed in hasty brush strokes Hyun-su's attack on one of her medical nins. It was very likely that Kankuro was going to have an ear-full waiting for him from the immensely powerful Hokage.

Another thing to worry about… he thought with a ponderous sigh. Rounding the next corner quickly, Kankuro hoped that the red-eyed, fiery kunoichi hadn't caused any more trouble since her first offense.

He turned due north as balmy wind picked up Kankuro's bangs, sashaying them over his brow. A few strands that were not heavy with sweat danced wildly, and he pushed them back out of the way of his eyes. He paused as his fingertips made contact with the patch of smooth, pale skin on his forehead.

Wincing, Kankuro could tell that the next few days were going to take years off his life.

((A/N: I know it's a short chapter, but I really thought this was a good stopping point. The next chapter will definitely be longer. As always, please spare a moment to review with some constructive criticism!))