A/N So...about those longer chapters? I'm making a small uploading change for the next three chapters. They'll be uploaded every other day to bridge the gap between this and the next part. I think it makes more sense to upload them this way. Don't worry, we'll be back to more substantial chapters every five days soon enough.

Also I've written a bit on my profile about contrivance (a lot of you mentioned it) and explaining a little more about how I operate with it. Please PM responses for it as opposed to reviews (I want reviews to be reviews and not just commenting on other stuff!)


'Report update 59.

I saw the head of the chef bounce off the kitchen floor in a shower of blood, and cowered away with the rest of the cooking staff.

"That...that is what happens to anyone else who feeds the Uchiha substandard food. Has Lord Orchimaru made himself entirely clear?"

I mumbled my apologies with the rest of the staff, imitating their tone and posture as best I could. It was the talking of men who want no attention.

"He spent a few hours vomiting yesterday, missing out on important training. You realise, of course, how important that boy is? How his nutrition must be perfectly balanced? How his health must be perfect? And then," he gestured to the headless corpse on the ground, "someone decides not to check on the meat they were cooking and just declared it ready. Do not make the same mistake. Lord Orochimaru will not hesitate to clean house entirely."

Another mumbled round of apologies was offered.

"Excellent. Now, back to work before the Uchiha's nutrient balance degenerates further. Even a day of sub-optimal nutrition will cause Lord Orochimaru grief."

The white haired man wiped the sword clean on the dead chef's apron before leaving the room as if nothing had happened.

The chefs all moved back to work. I helped stir some things before disappearing quietly from sight. I ponder the poor mens' plight. Each of them had once owned a restaurant somewhere in the Land of Rice before its takeover. Each had been a master to many lower chefs, in charge. Proud of what they did. They occasionally talk of it with sadness in their eyes.

Then the Daimyo requested they help the national cause. Some had answered; some had had to be persuaded by more forcible means. In the end, none of them could say no. Those that did stopped breathing.

Now they helped feed the small army of Sound shinobi, and prepared food for Orchimaru and his Elite. It is a thankless task, as the smallest infringement leads to severe punishment. The number of replacement legs are testament to that.

I slipped into a storage cupboard and undid the henge I'd been wearing for the days. At least I've eaten better these last days. The other chefs will assume I've made a mistake and been given a private visit in the night. That I'd been 'taken care of'. I know now that means that I have been killed.

A lucky glance at a calendar had told me I've been in the base for some time. A substantial length of time. This report, written on pad four of the report, involved an update on the previously mentioned test for the catalyst I have been cultivating within the target.

The test, involving a small quantity of uncooked meat I slipped into the dish whilst serving it, caused the desired affects. The uncooked protein strands interacted with the catalyst which was in his intestinal system extremely well, causing him sickness and vomiting comparable to normal food poisoning. This is a clear sign that the catalyst has formed within him. It also confirms that Kabuto does not suspect this was anything but a bout of poor cooking.

Step three of the poison plan is now complete. Snakes are renowned for their cunning and schemes, yet I feel my plan is working. I am scheming to beat another schemer; it is like a literal game of Shogi. There is still work to do.

The rush the chefs carry about their daily business with is astounding, yet they are very much singular. They do not notice, or if they do they do not speak of it, if their number changes day by day, mentally uniformed by the regime operated by Orochimaru.

It is a strong regime, one that allows no contact with others. Infringement is punished immediately, and thus no rebellion can grow. His wide array of sensors and spies, which I believe to include specialists and summons, make sure nothing escapes his notice within his bases.

But it has a flaw. The security is watertight, but there is one problem. He does not expect or suspect that a shinobi could infiltrate his base. He does not know of my presence.

I must be careful. The drum of feet on the floors around me is constant. The whir of the air ventilation dull and monotonous. I have not seen the sun. I am the ghost in the dark.

The faces remain with me.'