Disclaimer:

Naruto is the creative property of Masashi Kishimoto, who created this wonderful anime/manga series. Anything not attributed to Kishimoto-san belongs to their respective owners, such as other series, references to, for example, "Have Fun Figuring 'Em Out!", and vice-versa. This story is written purely just for fun, guys; please for God's sake, don't sue me! I'm just a college student with too much free time on his hands! On the other hand, any specific author created characters I created for this fic (despite how unoriginal they may be at times) are mine. So without further adieu, let's get on with the show!

The Surgeon General's Warning:

Read at your own risk.

The Idiot's Guide to Nindo

Moetagiru HAATO wo omae to --- makka YUUKI aru chikai wo!/ Kazama Arashi

This blazing heart, together with you --- a blood-red oath, sworn by COURAGE/ Arashi Kazama

Chapter 37:

Heavy

A Naruto AU fanfic by James "Ray" Edwards

Precia smirked, her violet eyes gleaming with a newborn joy.

"Well, well, it seems I no longer have a use for you, daughter of mine. Fufufu, begone, you cur; for my spite has found something new to prey upon."

With a single thought, the world around crumbled away like a collapsing deck of cards, and Fate disappeared as well. Darkness was abound, the resonating hum of air being funneled in through ducts and vents filling the ambience, and so they had arrived to one of her favorite chambers. The air was sterilized with a faint lemony disinfectant, giving off the impression more so of an operating room, which it was to her: with its many silvery surgical implements, precise or invasive, sitting on lit workstations. An array of tanks filled with glowing bubbling fluids in a prism of colors stood by along the perimeter, while front and center, illuminated by an overhead lamp, was the iconic set piece that defined this sanctuary:

The Rack.

"Now then, let us get started --- shall we? Time to learn more about what makes the doll tick..."

It was hard to say just exactly when the cyborg "awakened." Much like his initial reactivation, the on-board geospatial chronometer had again malfunctioned, leaving yet another gap in his memory banks' time index. Granted, the newest gap in particular was fairly recent, but without a reference he would not be able to establish a reliable time frame. Of course, not that any of those concerns mattered anymore, thanks to succession by the personality layer.

What did that mean? Simple, the cyborg was thinking less and less like "machine" and more like a "human." Oh, joy...and to think such a dramatic change in behavior was actually benefiting his efficiency to an extent: that is, his direct "consciousness" was no longer split between elementary processes and monitoring systems, and instead, could focus its full "might" on the evolving dynamic situations the cyborg was experiencing firsthand. Granted, with his near limitless processing power, such a measure should not even be necessary.

But the reality remains...I am a defect, the cyborg surmised in his hazy thoughts. Sub-standard transplanted parts. Missing files. Unreliable data stacks. Fragments. "Ghosts" in the system. Inoperable functions. I am nowhere near as powerful as I should be...

But so what if he were to attain that power once more? What was he supposed to do with himself? He was a weapon made in the image of his masters, a laughable caricature doomed to a life of servitude and bloodshed. There was no reason to do anything at all, not even to remain "awake", for he simply needed to wait until the next "mission."

Alas, he was now lying to himself with such fatalistic dreams. The cyborg would like to believe that his existence was a clear blank slate made to be written upon by others, but that could not be true for why else would he have followed those --- abnormalities in his "consciousness" --- and saved the girl? Indeed, he was not a "thing", just a program that would follow whatever inputs to produce its inherent preset outputs, much to his growing horror for the cyborg feared there was something terribly wrong with him --- worse than a mere "defect."

He was a machine first and foremost: thus, all illogical possibilities of those "Voices," the broken fragments of "Memory" that did not exist in his system, could not be traced... Ugh, those absurdities could not be of supernatural origin! Hell, he was not even "alive" by organic standards.

So what could they be then? What was their motive? Was it some kind of hidden ulterior program running beneath his notice? Inaccessible, immaterial, yet everything, everywhere, and nowhere at once? What was the true nature of the Contract they hinted at? What did it have to do with...

Suddenly, his "senses" blared to life and he was thrust back into the real world with a sharp spike of pain, hammering into the base of a neck. A gurgling cry rasped out from his throat, as a electric pitched whine invaded his ears. Something was forcefully bringing back to full consciousness, systems rebooting, and then...

...Numb.

He literally had no feeling from his neck down, like somebody had ripped his head clean off from his own shoulders. Knowing Precia, however, that possibility was not zero, and considering his less than human vitality, it would not be impossible to survive the ordeal either. At this time, the cyborg had no comprehensive sensory input at all save for his singular operational photoreceptor could bring in, focusing slowly --- colors, shapes, lighting --- and his auditory pick-ups.

It appeared to be the medical bay: a homely clinic at first glance, filled with the lemony scent of disinfectant in the ambient humming air, and "warm" lighting so as to soften the harshness of grayish-white walls. The space was occupied in an orderly fashion with a small office here for the resident MD, two medical droids on stand-by at their maintenance racks, a sizeable medicine closet, two beds, and an operating table. Of course, there were also two giant bacta stasis tanks, empty at the moment, and large enough to accommodate an adult organism of most species.

As for himself, he was in some kind of high-tech medical "tub", submerged from the neck down in a jade green fluid that glowed intermittently. The green glow contrasted with the macro-joined nanites swimming in the "bath," making them visible as sparkles. Additional apparatus and sophisticated machinery was clustered around the tub too, with a plethora of cables and jacks, trailing out from himself to the machines that hummed, beeped, skittered, and squeaked ever so often.

Funny, I feel just like an insect caught in a spider's web, the cyborg mused to himself, with a dreary smirk. I survived...again. The Maestra, obviously, was not serious about killing me. After all, that's not the point of torture...

Though I wonder what she learned about me this time around?

Such thoughts, however, would have to wait as a familiar presence made itself known to him:

"You are awake."

If he had anymore personality, he might have choked, guffawed, or overreacted spectacularly in comedic fashion. But being disembodied, reduced to the rather pathetic situation of a talking head hooked up to "life support" did not really do well for his "good humor." Still, protocol dictated that the cyborg had to at least exercise some measure of civilty...

...even if Fate Testarossa was one of the last persons he wished to see right now. He was all kinds of messed up ever since meeting her, and quite frankly, he did not know if he wanted to be anywhere in her vicinity period because his string of unfortunate events had begun ever since their first meeting! By the stars, the cyborg would bet his remaining good "eye" that the girl was here to question him on his actions, making him feel even more miserable because he could not answer her accusations either.

Hell, he could not even trust himself right now! Who was he supposed to be anyway? That "Uzumaki Naruto" --- The Traitor? "Kazama Arashi" --- The Murderer? Just what? Why, oh, why did she have to appear before him now?

Well, at least she was looking a lot healthier than the last time he saw her. All traces of malnourishment gone in such a short amount of time, and the wonders of modern medicine had made certain there was not a scratch on her. She was perfect, good as new, with her long hair dolled up in two twin ponytails by black satin ribbons. Gone was the meager slip, instead the Magistra was adorned with a fashionable hooded cloak (as fitting of her profession), black felt boots with reds ties, and a modest longsleeved white mini-dress with red ornamental belts on the cuffs of her sleeves.

If he were human, the cyborg may have told her she was: adorable, cute, pretty... Alas, such words were not for him to say, and wholly inappropriate considering his existence as a mere possession, a thing to be owned, an object. But she was his superior, and the blood relation of his owner, so he had no choice but to oblige her a response:

"M-Ma...Ma-Gist-RA?" he croaked aloud.

...wait a second, he just croaked?! Were his vocal...ah, hell just recalibrate the damned thing already.

Now, he expected her to call him out, scream at him, or at least be very unpleasant with him. What the cyborg got instead, much to his chagrin, was a full blown mission briefing out of the blue. By the stars, he had just been forcefully woken up and already Precia had a mission for him? And what's with Fate? How could she just stand there in his presence without any sign of revulsion or emotion, period? Did not she feel anything at all about the recent revelations?

Ugh, at least he was not due to deploy for about a month. The Maestra had a lead on the Jewel Seeds location, thanks to her vast information assets, and they were due to arrive on a little known backward blue planet (miraculously inhabited by humans) in the Unknown Regions in some thirty odd days. The mishap where the Lost Logia were originally lost occurred in a hyperspace column and not in ordinary lightspeed travel; hence, the artifacts were immaterial and irretrievable until they rematerialize back in normal space. How her bed fellows had the technology to track such minute things in the vastness of space was beyond the cyborg's imagination at present, not that it particular mattered.

A mission was a mission, nothing more to it. The real sticking point came in the form that Precia had done the unthinkable yet again, by pairing both he and Fate together for the coming mission. In the next thirty days, they would familiarize themselves with each other, that is learning to live, work, and fight together as an efficient and uncompromising fighting force. Not to mention, they would also become fluent in the language, customs, and culture of a particular people on the planet they were about to set foot upon, and where they would also integrate themselves under fabricated identities --- their alter egos --- in society as perfectly "ordinary citizens."

Apparently, Mister Leonard Testarossa would be their instructor and advisor for the training period, as he was most familiar with the culture of they were about to be immersed in. He was also the master of arms, so if there was any particular requisitions of wargear and such they needed, they should report to him at once. Naturally, his weapons expertise will also make him one of their evaluators in combat exercises right next to Precia herself. Classes begin tomorrow at 0700 hours sharp, which is exactly when his --- the cyborg that is --- repair cycle will be finished.

"Questions?" Fate asked him blandly.

By the Stars... That was a lot to swallow. Hell, it was unreal! If it was just him, he would be ready to deploy in forty-eight hours or less, but the Maestra expected them --- together --- to accomplish all of that in just one month? To put aside recent revelations and festering ill-will just like that? This was absurd!

"If not, then I shall ratify our contract as 'Master and Familiar'. Mother has informed me I have been registered in your system, and all that remains is my..."

The girl never finished the rest, but the cyborg had a pretty good idea where she was going with this; he would have to be a fool to mistake her intentions at this point, as Fate stepped against the "tub" and leaned over, her hands reaching out for his dead face. Two trains of thought hit him with the force of a fifty-caliber armor piercing bullet, neatly taking his breath away: 1. Terror. 2. Glee. Something --- inside had been waiting for this moment for a long time, and now, its wish was about to come true. It drowned out all other protests, except for his own.

This was wrong.

Closer and closer she came...and for a moment, he panicked, eyes darting about frantically, upon realizing just how helpless he was to stop her. A miracle; what the cyborg needed was a miracle to stop this perverse mockery of ceremony from happening. If only he had the strength to speak...!

And then, it happened: the cyborg found himself possessed by a voice not of his own yet like him. He sounded young, the warmth of a man who had not lost sight of his ideals, kind and passionate, but even so, the bittersweet taste of sorrow had poisoned his heart and there was much regret in his voice. It spoke to her impossibly so, articulate and unimpeded by his own technical shortcomings:

"How much longer are you going to keep lying to yourself, Fate?"

The reaction was instantaneous. The young girl froze on the spot, her hands clasping his cheeks growing dreadful cold, as the shock registered in her burgundy red eyes. She knew --- recognized this voice, this tone, this pitch...

"A contract formed on false pretenses like this, is hollow, empty --- meaningless. What you really want to do right now is kill me, isn't that right? After all, I took away your only happiness..."

"Sh-Shut up, you-!" Fate hissed at him, her head hung low so that her bangs would mask her broiling emotions. The words of "that man" had robbed her of her cool apathy, doing as she was told when she was told. "What, what would you know --- how I-! No, no! You're wrong; Mama is all I need..."

"Linith's gone, and not only that, I robbed you of your vengean-!"

Rage.

"Shut up."

Her nails sank in like claws to the flesh, drawing crimson, and still the bastard continued to speak!

"I don't believe your mother is the kind of woman who would..."

With a howling shriek, she gouged into his face, ripping away at the synthetic flesh and tissues. Blood and fluids spurted out of the terrible gashes, but still the monster before her did not flinch the slightest bit in pain, and with its only good eye, it stared right back at her. Hollow, empty, meaningless --- the same words it had used moments ago perfectly described its condition.

"See, I'm monster. Go ahead, do it. If you're a human being, and not a doll, then..."

It was pleading for death.

"No. NO. I won't be used by you!"

And the monster flinched! Yes, the monster flinched. She had caught on to its game. If Mother could see her now, she would be so proud of her, surely. No doubt, she had found out, the leverage she needed to control this --- abomination --- from the Age of Dreams!

"You, you monster; I am going to make you live with what you have done. I'll never forgive you. I'll make you suffer for the rest of your days with the bloodstains on your hands. You'll pay. You'll pay, you hear me!? I'll make you KILL, again, and again, and again! And make the world revile you, monster! I'll make sure you will never be loved! I, I --- I hate you, Arashi Kazama!"

With those words said, Fate withdrew her bloodied hands, and shoved his disembodied head back into green conductive fluid. The violent motion yanked out several of the cables and jacks hooked up to him, throwing the cyborg back suddenly into the oblivion of darkness. Just like that, he was alone again with his worst enemy: himself.

Wonderful...

She hates me.

Not as if I had a choice about anything to begin with...follow her, serve her, kill for her...

Because I deserve it...

Because I am just a doll, a program designed to behave inherently so with no will of my own and to obey...

Because she has decided I will become "Kazama Arashi" --- The Murderer.

While a troubled man-machine thing slumbered in nightmares, elsewhere across the galaxy, seated at a desk by lamp light in his humble private quarters, an old man was dealing with his own demons, pen and paper in hand. In his hey-days Grand Admiral Gil Graham had been hailed many things: a war hero, a hero, and one of the legendary Three Admirals whom lead the Bureau to glory unsurpassed in its first forays into the galaxy. But as with all mortal men, he had suffered the wrath of time, grown old and grey, so much that he had been forced to become a pencil pusher and retire behind a desk wherefore he helped to shape the delicate peace of the galaxy from the shadows. Indeed, the gentleman never imagined he would be reduced to a codgy old spider, sitting in his web, and weaving out threads into an ever grander pattern.

Indeed, the Englishman never dreamed he would have come so far away from his native home, Earth.

Though not to be vain, Gil thought himself to quite the handsome "galactic civil servant" at sixty something: his close cropped grey hair, beard, and mustache smartly trimmed. He had managed to keep down the weight and away from his belly with daily exercise, even if his routine would only add more paperwork on his desk by the time he got back from the gym. His blue eyes were still clear and lucid, and though he was not strong as he used to be, he could still give the young stallions a run for their money in sorcery, and the immaculate pressed dress blue uniform certainly helped.

Alas, that does not change the fact I really ought to find me a successor soon, thought the old man with an inward sigh. I am getting on a bit in years now, and I need some smart youth I can trust to entrust the fate of the galaxy itself to... With the Jedi gone, and the Galactic Senate running the show back on Coruscant unopposed. It is only a matter of time before somebody ambitious rises to the --- occasion --- and then, we will truly see the birth of a new terror, a Tyrant.

He was sorely regretting not settling down and starting a family of his own. Always too busy, and the women he cared enough for --- well, that was a story for another time. Technically, he had adopted a girl way back home, but her --- destiny --- lay elsewhere. He could only hope she could live happily until the dreadful day of reckoning came.

In the meantime, while he was still able, Gil had bigger fish to fry. Being the policemen of the known galaxy was no easy feat, and presently, he was very much so concerned over the practices of his own organization. A report from his private --- Mandalorian commandos, had revealed some rather disturbing facts: to think they would go as far as to bend convention in their favor to torture a nine-year-old girl for information was barbaric and distasteful...! The time of war had long passed, and his officers could not just do whatever they pleased. Thanks to them, they had made another enemy in the shadows (whom his boys had luckily managed to survive encounter with, thank God), and another dangerous artifact from the Dawn Age was likely falling into the wrong hands.

The Jewel Seeds, a powerful talisman created by the masters of Al-Hazard, separated into twenty-one pieces. Its powers were beyond understanding, shrouded in mystery and wonder for it was said to be capable of reproducing miracles; the highest of which was the power to grant a single wish, any wish, and make it --- reality.

Now, his only lead in tracking down the damnable thing was gone, not to mention he may have lost another soul he could have saved. On top of all that, he had also lost his best friend's son over this bloody fiasco too! What a fool Clyde Leo Haraoun must think him, if the great man could see him today: an old man past his time wrestling desperately with the maelstrom that is the galaxy's fate. Hah, and just to rub some more salt into his wounds, that man's wife refused to take leave or anything because she was absolutely, blooming confident that her son was still alive; hence, there was no reason for her to call off her mission, that is charting and exploring the Unknown Regions where his native Earth resided. It was such a fascinating region of the galaxy that she honestly could not resist the opportunity to get away from the paperwork back at headquarters.

Besides, Admiral Lindy Sieglinde Haraoun Le Fay admonished him that she was already on vacation anyways!

Ugh, the exuberance of youth... They were all going to be the death of him some day, Gil swore to himself. He still could not believe he had married those two off together in the middle of a firefight on a sinking base star just some twenty odd years ago, and was asked yet again, to be the best man at the official wedding after the war was over. But, the youth were too the only ones capable of carrying the burden of responsibility he was about to leave at the table.

"Retirement" was seriously looking better and better, but first things first he had to care of this case and a few more other --- loose ends --- before he could officially leave the stage of history and become yet another power...in the land of shadows.

To be continued...

Author's Notes:

Well, there you have it. Chapter 37 in all of its glory. Thoughts, feelings, questions: hey, fire away, fellas.

Thank you all for tuning in and remember, I always encourage each and everyone of you to feel free to comment, review, and/or discuss the story. Your comments can really make a difference, I assure you, and if you're up to it, feel free to ring me up on AIM, or even send me an e-mail (although you really don't need to boost my ego too often). You know how to get in touch with the maestro here.

Oh yeah, time again for a small advertising service announcement thingie here: if y'all get bored in between waiting for new episodes, be it anime, manga, or fanfiction and whatnot, but you're still dying for a fresh/unique AU Naruto fic go read Kara no Kyokai: The Borderline to Emptiness by Tempest Dynasty. He just got chappie 12 out as of this posting. I guarantee, he is the only fella who has the guts to fuse Naruto with a magical girl show and the infamous Warhammer 40K gothic-scifi military tabletop game series. Give it a shot; you won't regret it.

Also, just to be sure here: next episode we are going to Earth and the Jewel Seed Arc/Magical Lyrical Nanoha storyline kicks into high gear. Hope ya look forward to it.

Tsudzuku!