"Why, you're quite pretty for a shinobi," Kisame said warmly through the bars of the dank, underground prison, lit only by blue-fire torches. "Maybe you could join the Akatsuki and we could have some…fun."

"Bite me!" the girl hissed. Her wrists were chained to her ankles behind her back. There was no way to escape.

"That could be aranged," Kisame shot sourly, baring his fangs. Rejected by a fifteen year old girl. "Guess blue skin's a turnoff, no matter how old you are," he thought miserably.

She had been tied up for way to long. The circulation in her hands was gone. "You truly are a bastard," she whispered to him. "You made so many people lose there lives, and made the survivors lose themselves."

"I lost a hand," Kisame offered.

"You're a creep," she said.

"You're pretty," he offered again, weekly. She sighed. She needed to get out of here fast. She had an idea. A disgusting, revolting idea, but an idea all the same.

"Let me go, and I'll do something for you," she offered. Kisame quirked his eyebrows.

"This favor better be worth my life, because I assure you my master would take mine if I ever excepted it."

"I assure you," she licked her lips tenderly, "my service is to die for."

Kisame blushed slightly. He felt a warm feeling in his crotch. "I…I…" he stuttered.

"Untie me," she moaned. Without thinking, Kisame undid everything. The lock to the cell, the lock on her wrists, his belt, and his pants.

"Well, let's get started," she giggled. "Just close your eyes…and take it all in." Kisame closed his eyes in glee; his toothy grin streched from gill to gill.

She stared at the shark-mans works. Impressive. Very large. Made it all the more depressing that she would have to destroy it. "Count down to the best time of your life," she whispered, stroking his thigh. "Three,"

"Two," Kisame moaned.

"ONE!" She landed a punch to his groin that sent him smashing throguh the metal bars of the cell and imprinted him into the stone wall behind it. Kisame was in too much pain to think.

"Who…you?" he muttered groggily, seeing stars. A thin, muscular sillhuete apperaed through the dust that had formed.

"Your end," she spat.

"Bitch!" he yelped weakly.

"Actually, my names Sakura, and 'bitch' doesn't even begin to describe me." Her fists began to glow with a turqoise light.

"What a way to go," Kisame sighed. "Murdered by a fifteen year old slut."

2