Red.
It was red everywhere. The sand, his clothes, the limbs of his puppets. No matter where he looked, blood stained every piece his eyes lay themselves upon.
Akasuna no Sasori.
He wanted to laugh at the moniker, but where irony was supposed to rise, only self-satisfaction came. He deserved that title, had earned it and painted the sand's color in it; to reject it was to reject his work and accomplishments. His fingers twitched in the reprieve of his battle. Alone, because no other would work with him. Abandoned by this team, because they all feared him. Sasori stood up from his perch, a decomposing carcass courtesy of one of his poisons, and walked towards one of his puppets. While many bodies littered the sand, only a few were his creations; his puppets survived what most shinobi could not. That in itself aided in his defense for needing no one else at his station by the border.
His fingers, his human ones, glazed over the smooth expanse of Hiruko's back. He had toiled to earn this particular puppet; tracked the shinobi and discretely poisoned him until he had noticed that the drinks which his favorite bar served were much too caustic. After his hand had been discovered, Sasori only made it a matter of time to finish the ninja. Silent, quick, but tedious his assasination was. Such were the problems that arose when he desired a specific person to be a puppet; the likeness and the abilities were only as good as the body he could preserve.
Tilting his head up at the sky, Sasori allowed the dimming sunlight to push his eyelids shut as he reflected on his first few puppets: mother and father. He hadn't thought of them in a while, had never really even wanted to remember those abominations.
Mother and father.
Recalling the feel of wood against skin, cold against warmth, he wondered how exactly his grandmother ever approved of their creation. They were horrible, ugly - nothing like the people they were modeled after; he felt a ghostly chill run down his back despite the heat of Sunagakure. He could not even tolerate the idea that his younger self had entertained. His parents died to a thrown cause, a futile mission - his younger self should have accepted that, should have spurned his grandmother's encouragements, and buried himself in a similar grave. Maybe then -
Sasori's eyes snapped open and latched onto the blank expression of Hiruko. Maybe then I wouldn't be here, he thought soberly. His ties to the village had been weak since his parents' death, and little happened from then to now to restrengthen his loyalty. And how could it have ever been repaired? After his expedited graduation, he had only experienced being cannon fodder, a low liability spy, a kin-killer, and now - efficient cannon fodder. Because Sasori would not fool himself: his solitary position in the hot zone was maintained not just because he worked best alone, but also because he was a village risk that needed to be disposed of.
The Kazekage was observant, recognizing Sasori's wayward tendencies as attempts to sever the village's leash on him. He knew that he could knock two birds off with one stone with Sasori's new placement. Sasori had no doubt that the man with the wide hat was waiting with bated breath to hear that he had been killed in action. Unfortunately for his leader, he still needed to uncover one more secret and accumulate a bit more money before he could desert the village.
He sighed and sent out a probing scan of the vicinity. While his sensory capabilities were not vast enough to be considered a reliable asset, he could detect as far as he could see, and each puppet that remained functionable responded easily to his scan. Having tagged a miniscule seal on each creation. Sasori was able to do a quick tally of how many he had left at his disposal. He counted the word 'enough.' before he saw the rising dust of approaching shinobi.
Sunagakure's terrain was a blessing in some ways. Despite being so desolate, it aided him greatly in preparing for a new wave of opponents. Without a partner or sensory ninja to alert him of new arrivals, he had to rely solely on what his eyes could tell him. He estimated he had about three dozen incoming shinobi - just about a platoon of enemy to get rid of. Quickly creating a copy of himself, Sasori placed a minor genjutsu on himself to avoid visual detection as he retreated into Hiruko's shell. He felt his doppelganger die before he sensed the platoon arrive.
Collectively, the whole group let out a chorus of terror and shock at the wasteland greeting them. Bodies. Some intact, most in pieces, scattered the splotched sand. Popping in a chakra pill, Sasori braced himself for the subsequent action as the grief was replaced by anger. "Who did this?!" he heard one of them spout.
His fingers twitched; the bodies of their comrades rose up first.
Relying on the vision attained through Hiruko's eyeholes and his senses, he watched as the dreaded silence inhibited the quick reaction instilled in all shinobi. "A - Asuka?" he watched one of them approach the relatively intact but greying body of one of his human puppets. Sasori allowed the man to reach out a hand to the dead girl - watched as he grasped the corpse's shoulder - before he acted.
In his brief battle with the girl, he had discovered that she had an affinity for paper bombs. Sasori took advantage of that and trapped the unassuming shinobi in an embrace as separate strings activated those within her holster. . "A - Asuka?"
No, Sasori thought grimly as he braced himself against the ensuing heat from the blast. He ignored the red rain and cajoled his other strings to life. With terrifying speed, they all acted as one and turned on their still-breathing comrades.
Sasori did not relish in their hesitance or screams, but a mission was a mission and it mandated that they all die.
Carefully orchestrating the macabre play from the confines of Hiruko, Sasori watched as most of the platoon met their demise with their refusal to fight against their dead comrades. Easily, they went down - but then the others, the ones with steel in their eyes and thick calluses on their hands, overcame the initial shock and retaliated. Sasori threw the human puppets at them, let the fresh carcasses be demolished by friendly weapons, so he could transfer his control to his real puppets - his war-worn creations.
Unlike the dead, they elicited no horror or disgust.
Unlike the dead, they were vicious and more precise.
Unlike the dead, they survived the haphazardly thrown blades and cast jutsu. They pushed on and on and on until the enemy was overwhelmed and Sasori was awarded new bodies to reanimate. As hard as the enemy counterattacked, Sasori would have a never-ending supply of bodies to use and control. This fight would never end, not with the other side being the victor.
"Let me g - g - go," the plea was a whisper, but Sasori caught it. His puppets', both of skin and wood, stopped in their movements. One. Only one shinobi remained of the platoon.
Sasori let him tremble before he let his strings go slack. The bodies and dolls fell and the sole ninja ran away.
Akasuna no Sasori.
Yes, that was his name.
