Haku

From atop the weather-beaten parapet, the fifth ANBU stood and stared down at the young, dark-haired fugitive like an eagle from her aerie. The kunoichi's white-masked face, haloed by black, breeze-blown hair, shifted for a moment from her recalcitrant prey towards her fallen team-mate, Yukimasa, before it returned then locked on with fresh, raptorial determination. The woman shifted slightly as she worked nervous tension from her limbs then clutched her reel of wire tighter in her gloved hands.

Haku, having defeated two of the mist-ninja's brethren, drew a restful breath but was careful to keep ready. From the winding, well-traveled hallways of his mind, Zabuza Momochi's snarling, predatory voice urged him to attack. 'Be first, Haku!' it cried then coached, 'explode and overwhelm, let your movements flow! Let those who fall before you testify to the power of a true shinobi!'

The young ninja's late master's words resonated in harmony with that innate portion of himself he'd inherited – a clan ancestry that reached back deep into unknown history, but Haku remained still, preferring to keep his own council.

Out of the clear summer sky, snow continued to fall as nature itself responded to the power of the renegade ninja's flowering chakra and his genetic influence over the elements of water and air – his kekkei-genkai.

Against the pure white billows, a drift of soggy ashes from Juri's ongoing battle with the ANBU captain drifted over the street, painting it with thin brushstrokes of black. The sounds of their conflict echoed through the air in harsh, percussive chords that made the ground shake and the windows rattle in their frames.

The Demon's Apprentice narrowed his impassive gaze as a chant began to rise from his adversary – a low, guttural growl.

The ANBU's zodiac mask hid the look of concentration on her face, her snarling expression as she gathered her energy. The fugitive's sweat and snowmelt-moistened brow rose then as he felt the flash of her chakra, almost visible, as it coalesced in her hands and surged down the wire of her weapon: the sparrow-dart.

With his eyes, Haku followed the monofilament along where it wrapped and twisted around the columns and furniture on the porch behind him, arriving at last at its end where the steel, razor-edged bird still floated in mid-air, pointed at him as resolutely as a compass arrow's pointing north. Slowly, bit by bit and inch by inch, it started to strain forward. The furniture, bound and snared by the wire, jerked under the force of its swelling pressure then jumped. Tables and chairs hung suspended in space for a moment before the thin, tensed cable snapped and cut through their legs and backs like a guillotine blade through dry kindling.

The sparrow-dark leaped forward, speeding toward Haku's heart, but again stopped short – its passage snagged by the heavier timber columns its trailing coils had previously encircled.

The young ninja flinched guardedly then looked back at the ANBU who roared as she sent forth another huge wave of chakra into her weapon. The sparrow-dart quivered furiously as the porch began to creak; the sharp wire biting deep into the weathered timbers.

In a flash, the columns gave way, sliced through like grass before the scythe. Haku's eyes widened; he whirled as the steel bird shot past him, cutting easily through his t-shirt and leaving a red streak across his chest.

The porch remained in place for a moment before the sundered supports gave way and the overhang crashed down, filling the air with the sounds of snapping wood and shrieking metal.

The sparrow-dart, sensing victory, swooped back then abruptly stalled as its master lost site of her prey for a moment amidst the swirling snow mingled with the cloud of dust kicked up from the porches collapse.

There! The weapon wheeled, rising like an incensed cobra, then pierced at Haku's black-haired head when it appeared again through the chaos.

Up above, the mist-ninja thrilled as her sparrow-dart's razor beak struck home, embedding deeply into the fugitive's eyeball with a sharp crack. The end was at hand. She could feel it quite literally through the vibrations passed back along the long length of wire to her sensitive hands like a spider sensing through its web.

Not wishing to waste a critical moment or give the hunted ninja too little credit, the masked woman commanded her sparrow-dart into action.

The weapon's cord whipped around Haku's body, snared his arms and legs, and coiled tightly around his neck and trunk. In the blink of an eye, the monofilament constricted sharply and sliced clean through its trapped victim whose head topped from his shoulders while his body fell into heaps of bloodless, cylindrical parts.

The ANBU startled, knowing now something was wrong. In an instant she realized that what her sparrow-dart had cut to pieces was only a water-clone, but frozen into ice to distract her.

High up on the parapet, with the rest of the building's corrugated, metal roof sloping down to a distant gutter, the Demon's Apprentice materialized beside the kunoichi; the edge of his hand thudded against her temple. The startled ANBU rocked back adroitly and spun into a one-handed cartwheel, kicking at her assailant's head with both feet in blindingly-fast succession.

The fugitive blocked hard then lashed out with his leg, sweeping her supporting arm out from under her before she could finish her move. Continuing its upward arc, Haku's heel shot straight up then vectored down hard into the kunoichi's midsection before she'd even landed.

The lady ANBU, stunned and breathless, dropped off the parapet to the building's angled roof and started to roll down, powerless to stop or slow her descent as she picked up speed then vanished off the edge.

Knowing she would recover quickly enough, Haku declined to follow her.

A quick mental inventory suggested to him that, assuming it was a standard five-man team that harried him, all the ANBU had been accounted for. It was time to go, to disappear.

Where are you going to go? the young ninja asked himself, and for a moment thought of Mari. With a sweeping glance he looked for her, but she and Jimon had gone. Forget her, common sense advised him. Shinobi have no loyalty except to their codes, they have no families, no friends…they do not --, Haku paused and grit his teeth, unable for a time to complete the thought, -- love.

As he composed himself for a jutsu and raised his left palm to his chest, edge out, the young ninja looked out from his elevated vantage and couldn't help but stare at the swath of destruction Juri and the ANBU leader had carved through the fabric of the city, leaving in their wake a foreboding landscape of craters and ruined buildings that had been, paradoxically, both burned and drowned.

From the outskirts of their battlefield, the poor citizens of Wave Country looked on with a mixture of emotions playing over their distressed and anxious faces: fear, awe and wonder.

Somehow it all seemed so familiar.

Haku gulped, moved by the sight, and once again found himself at Zabuza's side as together they flowed inexorably, like messengers from hell itself, up the steps of the blood-drenched, body and wreckage-littered portico of the Mizukage's canal-bounded palazzo in the Village Hidden in the Mist.

The recollection lasted no more than an instant, a glimpse, a single snapshot, and in many ways a culmination, of the last half of his young life. It was a moment he'd never dwelled on before but it resonated powerfully within him now, haunting his thoughts.

'More war…more bloodbaths,' the ANBU, Yukimasa's accusations gonged unbidden in his mind. Following behind it rose Mari's father's caustic observations: There ain't one of them ninjas that's any damn good, the man had stated in his blunt, sure voice. 'If they're not killin' somebody, they're not happy. That's just how it is.'

Haku shuddered, his hands coming up along the smooth features of his face. Is that really all the last eight years of his life had been for, all the tortuous training, the dangerous missions? Is that all those lost generations of his ancestors amounted to?

'…heartless killers,' Mr. Tezuka's voice continued, answering him, 'you wouldn't find a decent human being among them.'

"He's right," the ninja despaired, giving way to doubt. "He was…right all along."

Everything had been so clear with Zabuza at the center of his universe, commanding it, giving it order. To draw his master's hard-earned praise, to help him fulfill his dreams, that alone had been enough for so long.

Only toward the very end, those last few weeks of Zabuza's life, did the cracks begin to show. For no matter how the Demon of the Hidden Mist had explained it, there was no way to make assassinating Tazuna seem like anything more than what it was: the contemptible murder of a spirited but otherwise helpless old man, a grandfather, an engineer with dreams of his own, and for nothing more than a handful of coins.

What sort of task was this for the man who'd almost seized control of the Land of Water and held it in his hands, the Demon of the Hidden Mist who people only dared to speak of in whispers, one of the Seven Legendary Swordsmen?

Haku was certain that Zabuza had sensed the incongruity from the start. And though the disciple remembered the fearsome jonin had no sympathy for men like Tazuna, or mankind in general, the swordsman could always distinguish between an act that proclaimed the presence of a great spirit from one that decried a lowly one.

With the very foundations of his soul undermined by fate and a bad choice made out of what seemed like necessity, Zabuza never stood a chance against the likes of Kakashi Hitake. The reoccurring thought that Zabuza had known that too, made Haku tremble where he stood and a sinking feeling settle in the pit of his stomach. Which was worse – death at the hands of a worthy adversary…or life as a petty tyrant's errand-boy? In the world of his late master, there was no need to ask…for the question answered itself.

And what about me? Haku wondered hollowly.

Ever since his master's death, he'd felt like he was floating somehow, expecting at any moment to waken and find everything again in its proper place though he knew it was impossible. At some level the young ninja understood that all men die in their time and the world continues on, fundamentally unchanged. How could it be then that his world seemed so different, with dangers he never recognized before looming at the fringes of his senses, materializing from nothingness, while all that once was solid and sure melting, failing and giving way?

Even in his deeply distracted state, Haku sensed what was coming and braced himself as something fast and huge struck from behind and sent him flying from the rooftop.

Idiot! he cursed himself hotly, near to tears from frustration. Standing around all confused! The battlefield is no place for reflection! You know better then that! Focus!

Riding the force of the impact, the ninja righted himself in mid-air and landed in a crouch on the street below.

Up above him, a monstrous eel composed entirely of water swam through the air, its body as long and thick as a tree trunk. Like the creature it resembled, the glistening apparition darted at Haku with maw opened wide before he could rise.

Unable to move away in time the fugitive shot out his hand, concentrated his chakra and split the oncoming eel along the edge of his palm as it came. The jutsu-created beast rushed around him in two halves, then scattered, dividing spontaneously into a gnashing horde of smaller eels each the size of the young ninja's leg.

Haku grunted in surprise as he found himself overwhelmed. The eels swarmed him, knocked him to the ground and writhed over his back, gnawing, worrying, tugging and chewing like jackals on the cut Eiji's kunai had put in his back.

Crying out in pain, Haku thrashed and bucked as he tried to escape, but there were far too many of them – dozens of dozens. The ninja twisted sharply, clawing and kicking, then gasped at the sight: all those eels, all clear as the purest glass, but with thin crimson clouds now billowing through them.

The black-haired teen threw himself into a sideways roll, came to his feet and sprang away to gain some distance but the school of jutsu-monsters, packed too densely even to see through, sped effortlessly yet relentlessly after him. There seemed to be more now, with the scores multiplied into legions!

Haku flew, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, as the eels streamed behind him in close pursuit. Spinning away from their surges, the young ninja dropped down to the street but felt like he'd arrived at the bottom of the sea – with his slender body the only tasty and edible thing in it as the eels crested over him then crashed down in a great wave.

As they came, Haku flew through a series of one-handed seals and again summoned his demon wind which wrapped him in its whirling fury. The summed weight of his watery opponents almost overwhelmed him despite his jutsu's tornado-like strength.

Hundreds spent themselves against the fugitive's fortress of rushing wind, their essences broken apart and scattered into blasts of mist and spray. On and on they came until at last they'd slowed the spinning stream of air and it drifted apart, leaving the haggard Demon's Apprentice to contend with the rest by hand.

All around him, Haku struck and slashed savagely with bladed palms, gathered fingers, phoenix-eye punches, and the bony backs of his wrists, but the eels came on undaunted for they had no lives to lose.

At last, Haku's fist crashed through the last of the eels which exploded into a splash of water. Reeling and exhausted, he kept punching away, having been lured into rhythm by the rapid-fire movements until he fell to his hands and knees, breathing heavily as he rested.

Groggily, he looked up at the sound of oncoming footsteps.

Juri, herself scarred and soaked from her pitched battle with the ANBU captain, glared down at him in an expression of extreme vexation.

"Hey!" the brawny girl barked; hands on her hips. "I could use some help, y'know!" She scowled, took a quick look behind her then grabbed Haku by the waistband of his pants and hauled him to his feet.

The fugitive lurched unsteadily, his vision starting to glaze, as he looked up in time to see the ANBU's giant captain alight not half a block away from them. The man loomed up, big, round and unshaven. Thick, black-framed glasses made his furious eyes seem huge and penetrating.

"Time to go!" Juri informed Haku anxiously then pulled him until he stood beside her in a thin puddle made from dispelled eels.

The large mist-ninja scowled fearsomely and pulled his huge, knobby fist back by his ear as he sprang high into the air with a trajectory plotted to come right down on top of them.

Juri made an expertly-woven sequence of hand signs, and suddenly the puddle in which she and Haku stood turned fathoms deep.

The world went blurry as Haku vanished beneath the water on a plunge straight to the bottom, wherever that might be. The girl beside him, Juri, with teeth flashing white, raised her hand high, middle finger stuck up straight and proud – the very last part of them to pass from the world above.

Casting a final upward glance, the young ninja reached toward that world. Though there was danger there it was the place where Mari lived, Chuuya, Maceo, and the rest, and he did not wish to leave it. Haku's fingers clawed towards it feebly; the departing bubbles of his gushing breath racing up through his fingers. As the streaming light began to fade, strange sounds gonging in his ears and water pressure crushing his sinuses and eardrums, he saw the ANBU pack-leader land and strike a blow against the rippling, transparent surface which blossomed with a thousand spider-web cracks.

Chuuya

From the dark, calm and blissful depths of unconsciousness, synapses suddenly started to spark and fire as the boy's eyes popped wide open at the horrible smell that assailed his nostrils, reaching way up his sinuses and penetrating deep into his young brain.

He gagged and flinched, then began to whine at the dull, throbbing pains he felt all over his body. His right hand burned with cold but was otherwise completely numb…and when the youngest of the Tezuka brothers looked over, he found it in a wide, shallow bowl, buried in layers of wet cloth and ice cubes.

"Chuuya!" his relieved uncle Maceo's calming, familiar, basso voice greeted him through the flood of competing memories. "Hey, you're back," the man reassured as he put the stopper back in a vial of smelling salts.

"Uncle?" the kid replied in a soft, dazed whisper, then tried to sit up on the worktable but Maceo's callused, paint-stained hand stayed him. "What…what happened?"

"Well," Uncle answered a little uncertainly. "They tell me you were in a fight with some bad men, Zori and Waraji." He shook his head, then fixed his nephew with a stern look. "I can't imagine how you could ever do anything so profoundly stupid, but --."

"What's wrong with my hand?" interrupted Chuuya who looked around his uncle's cluttered basement studio / Haku's de-facto bedroom as if for the very first time in his life.

"It's broken," the retired doctor informed him testily, "pretty badly too. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen --."

"How'd I get here?"

Maceo glowered at him, frowning deeply with building impatience. "If you let me finish one damn sentence, I'll tell you!" he bellowed then paused deliberately to make the child wait. "Thankfully some of the men who saw what happened know your father and brought you home after you got knocked out."

Chuuya pouted then blurted anxiously, "But what about --!"

"Hold on, hold on already!" his uncle again asserted himself. "The men grabbed Zori and Waraji, I guess they were pretty-well beaten up to begin with, and found out that they'd been sent to kidnap Inari. After that, they went off to tell Tazuna and turn over the two bad guys to those ANBU nin-jers."

The round-headed boy inhaled sharply. The ANBU! he thought with a shock then looked toward the window and saw the fading light. "Haku!" Chuuya yelped franticly. "Where's Haku; did he come home?!"

"Uh, well," Maceo, caught off guard, sputtered then started to answer, "no, not yet."

"Uncle!" his nephew cried, cheeks reddening and eyes wide with emotion. "They know! I know they know!"

The man looked at him curiously; brow knitted as he scratched his untrimmed beard. "Shh," Maceo prevailed soothingly with upraised palms. "Calm down now, just calm down. Who knows what? What are you talking about?"

"The ANBU!" shrieked Chuuya who threw up his hands in dismay, showering the room with cold water and sending ice cubes bouncing over the floor. "They know about Haku; Inari told them! I got to go. I got to tell him!"
"Whoa!" Maceo cried and took hold of the boy's left arm. "Even if it's true, Chuuya, there's nothing you can do. And you could really get hurt getting involved. You've already broken your hand; there's something else wrong with you too that I'm not sure yet what it is. Your vital signs are off, and there's no way you should have been unconscious for so long."

"But, Uncle!"

"No!" the man shouted harshly, at which his nephew shrank back. "I'm sorry," Maceo began again regretfully. "I like him too, but there are some troubles you can get into that no one else can help you with. This is something Haku's got to deal with on his own."

The boy sniffled, breathing hard, while the young features of his face wriggled with furious thought. "I have to help him!" Chuuya shouted forcefully at last, then flung himself off the table before Maceo could restrain him.

"Chuuya!" his uncle barked at him angrily. "Get back here!"

The boy jumped to the center of the room then stopped dead. Giving Maceo a serious look, he brought his left palm to the center of his chest and held it there, edge out. His face fixed with a look of concentration.

"What the hell's that supposed to be?" said his uncle when nothing happened.

"Dammit!" Chuuya cried in shrill frustration then pounded up the stairs.

Maceo heard the boy's galloping footfalls above him clatter a path all the way to the front door, the shriek of its hinges, and then the loud slam.

All he could do was close his eyes and shake his head.

Toru

The ANBU pack-leader walked with a scowl fearsome enough to clear people from his path half a block away. His kept his pace measured as he held the front end of the collapsible stretcher upon which the wounded and unconscious Eiji Tohei lay, clinging to life, while the battered but still ambulatory Yukimasa carried the back. Aya walked by her patient's side, huddled over to keep a careful eye on his condition.

Tension emanated from the mist-ninjas' battle-weary leader like heat from a kiln.

"Toru?" Orimi asked delicately after studying his face, "are you alright?"

The big ANBU's eye twitched as he considered a sour response but thought better of it. None of what had happened was her fault. "I've been better," he settled on with an enforced calm.

Orimi frowned sympathetically. "It happens sometimes," she ventured, "things go sour. You know that."

Toru's jaw tightened. He flashed a fierce look as he growled angrily, "Eiji…was…early."

The kunoichi nodded slightly. "Yes," she agreed, "yes, he was. But…maybe," the ANBU added weakly in her junior subordinate's defense, "he had a reason. Maybe it had something to do with that weird girl in the hat."

The Pack-Leader's eyes narrowed to slits. "Uh-huh, and maybe Eiji just had to test himself against Haku." His voice rang like a prosecutor addressing a courtroom. "Maybe he thought he could take him alone, or does that sound too unlikely? But, ok, I'll bite – let's say he had a reason, a real good reason. What should he have done?"

That last question was purely rhetorical. Every ANBU knew the answer; was supposed to know the answer.

"Delay and confuse the target until back-up can arrive," Orimi recited.

"Exactly right," the tired chief asserted brusquely. "'Delay and confuse', not challenge the target to a one-on-one duel to see whose dick is bigger. Isn't that right, Orimi, or did I miss something in the ANBU training manual and my thirty f-cking years of doing this sh-t?!"

Ugly silence filled the gap left in his remark's wake until Toru hissed a breath and shut his eyes. "'Sorry, Orimi. I understand you're trying to be helpful, but right now I'm beyond it."

"It's not your fault," the woman answered without recrimination.

The big ninja chuckled grumpily. "Of course it is. Who else's could it be…his?" asked Toru who cocked his head behind him toward the pale, prostrate, heavily-bandaged and medicated Eiji. "He's a stupid, punk kid who knows just enough to be dangerous, and I'm an ANBU Pack-Leader who's supposed to know better. I'm supposed to know who I can trust to do their assignments. Hell, I'm the one who recruited him in the first place. Now look at him. I'm responsible, if anybody is, and to top it off -- Haku still got away."

The Pack-Leader fell into a spell of solemn reverie, then pointed out: "All together we would have taken them. As it was, they called the shots – Haku and that girl. We divided ourselves and they were more than happy to conquer."

"Yeah, well," Orimi allowed, somewhat guiltily, as she flexed her sore shoulder, "our Demon's Apprentice didn't have much trouble 'conquering' me. I was a damn disgrace out there, so if there's blame to be had, I'll accept my fair share." The woman winced then cursed under her breath as she thought about it. "My sparrow-dart was a toy to that kid," she lamented bitterly. "He shrugged off 'Masa's jutsus and even Aya's Stalking Eels."

Toru nodded appreciatively. Her report came as no surprise. "That 'kid' was Zabuza Momochi's sole disciple student for eight years," he said, then added for emphasis, "eight years, Orimi! Few people in this world ever survived eight seconds in Momochi's presence under any circumstances, so that should tell you something."

Orimi frowned, not at all comforted by her boss' explanation. "Who do you think that girl was?"

"No clue," the mist-ninja replied bluntly. "If Momochi had had a second apprentice, I think we would have known about it before now. She's well-trained though, not a ninja as such, but familiar with our arts. She certainly knows how to fight and use chakra."

"The Tiger-Fist System, I noticed," Orimi agreed.

"She was plenty strong too," the big man attested, "and kept right up on me so I couldn't unload on her with any of my higher-powered jutsus. But a lot of the energy she was using wasn't hers; she'd been…augmented somehow. I could tell."

Orimi looked up at him, her professional interest peaked. "Augmented? How do you mean?"

"Well, you know," Toru reminded her, "like some of those weirdoes we come across once in a blue moon. Maybe she's a cheval for some powerful spirit, a ghost or demon, or maybe she's able to use a jutsu that expands her life-energy artificially like opening chakra gates."

The kunoichi nodded with understanding then fell silent.

Toru wet his dry lips then looked around warily at the low, shabby buildings and passers-by. Now would be the perfect time for Haku and his partner to attack. His ANBU team was beaten all to hell and walked in a group right down the middle of the street, almost begging to be killed.

"It could've been a lot worse," offered Orimi. "Eiji's still alive, we all are, and Aya's got him stabilized now."

Toru shook his head. "Just dumb luck -- fools and angels."

Beyond the tops of the little one-storied buildings and metal-gabled houses, the blue sky was beginning to deepen. Passing gulls and cormorants swooped and banked, offering their sporadic birdcalls to the ocean breeze. Toru looked toward the late afternoon sun to mark its descent, squinted then looked away as if the orange ball had become an eye, accusing him with its illuminating stare.

"I really messed up, sending everyone in to save him," the ANBU mused in a harsh voice as he pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Bad tactics."

Orimi shrugged. "Technically, yes," she allowed differentially, "but --."

"But, what?"

"Not everything's about tactics," she said with a faint smile, "even for us."

Toru blinked then grimaced. Storms gathered in his eyes at being let off the hook so easily. "We could have had them dead to rights if I'd have given up Eiji. Damn it, even a novice knows when to sacrifice a piece to win the game. It's basic!"

The kunoichi gave him a cross look, softened though by a familiarity that had taken years to build. "Toru…I know I speak for us all when I say that we prefer you as you are. We all know this is a contact sport. We knew that from the first day we joined the ANBU, but we also know no good can come from anyone who holds our lives as cheap."

"Orimi is right," Aya piped from behind them in an as assertive a tone as either had ever heard from her. "None of us could have expected what happened." The young kunoichi's brow knitted pensively. "I think that…I would rather accept our failure to kill Haku than trade any of our lives for him. As long as we're together, all of us, I'm confident we'll get him next time."

Trailing behind the stretcher, Yukimasa nodded in agreement. His jaw was broken, so he didn't feel much like talking. Not that he ever did that much anyway.

"There, you see?" said Orimi with a wry grin, then waxed philosophically, "And here it is -- the end of the day and we all get to go home, even if we are a little worse for wear. That's important too; I remember you saying so."

The woman's ramblings pried a faint, fleeting smile from the ANBU Captain as they continued their journey.

"I'm running out of time," Toru admitted quietly – a rasping whisper.

"You're worried about Rahaman."

"That wild goose chase Aya sent him on won't delay him long. The big bastard must've figured it out by now."

Orimi glanced away. "Do you really think the Mizukage sent him with a warrant for your execution?"

"I don't know what the hell else it could be. He ain't delivering me a pizza, that's for sure."

"Well, I mean, then we really don't know…," the brunette began half-heartedly, trying to sound hopeful.

"Orimi, you know our Mizukage as well as I do. What else do you think he's going to do with a big-mouth malcontent like me, especially in the wake of Zabuza's revolt?"

The big ninja blew out a breath then, oddly, started to chuckle, but subsided after only a moment.

"What was that all about?" Orimi inquired.

Toru gave her a weary smile. "Just thinking…about how close we came to having to bend our knees to 'Lord' Momochi. I guess Haku'd be a viceroy, magistrate or something, maybe even counselor." His expression turned sour. "Shoot, we might be better off under new leadership."

"You know that's not true! Would you stop being so bitchy," she blurted as she looked back at him, then felt compelled to ask: "Did Zabuza really get that close?"

"I wasn't in the Mizukage's palazzo that night, but people I've known for years were. They told me it came down to a moment of time and a little, itty-bitty bit of space." Toru held up his hand with the thumb and forefinger almost touching then squinted through the tiny gap. "That was all there was between our dear leader's neck and the Demon of the Hidden Mist's zanbato."

"No!"

"Yeah," Toru continued with a dismissive wave, "I know. That's a little different from the 'official' version of what happened, but what the hell. A win's a win and a loss is a loss, and history is written by the winner."

Orimi shook her head and shivered, preferring not to think about it. "Are we going back to The Junk?"

"Yup, unless you've got a better idea," said Toru with a sigh. "There isn't a proper hospital in the whole damn country, let alone any medical nin besides Aya."

"True. Good point," said Orimi who started to grin, happy to change the subject. "You know, I'm almost beginning to think of that place as home. We hardly ever get to stay anywhere for very long. I hate to say it but I'm looking forward to seeing that seedy, run-down dive again."

"Me too," Toru confessed, "I could use a drink."

"That's the spirit," Orimi bolstered, "you need to appreciate the simple things in life sometimes. A drink, yes, and a good night's rest too!"

By the time the ANBU team from the Village Hidden in the Mist turned down the last block that lead to the docks they were in slightly better spirits, considering the circumstances. All at once though, they fell silent then drew gradually to a stop.

"What is it?" asked Aya who'd been busy tending to the injured Eiji, and hadn't paid attention to much else. The young ninja craned her head to peer around Orimi and Toru then squeaked a gasp as she brought both hands to her face.

Up ahead, packed in and around The Junk's open air patio, a mob of impatient, stern-faced men awaited them. All carried weapons of some sort, an improvised collection of axes, pipes, sickles, sledgehammers, bats and harpoons…even a spear-gun or two.

With a practiced glance, Toru judged their number at around two-hundred.

Yukimasa yelped incoherently.

Orimi's mouth widened with shock. "G-d dammit!" she objected stridently as she raised a fist. "Just what the hell do these a—holes want?!"

Toru's chest rose and fell with a great, all-encompassing breath. "And to think my momma wanted me to be an actuary," he remarked off-handedly, glanced back at his team with eyes his glasses made look big and bulgy, then nodded as he acknowledged, "She was right."

Hi, I hope you liked that. Here's a quick note to thank everybody who added my story to their favorites and C2s. I appreciate cha',

--Jono'