Our home was drafty, the breezes that creep in through the little holes in the walls chill the air. No matter the season my feet remain cold, always feeling like ice. I could wear shoes but because each step you took let out a different sound, and shoes muffled it I preferred to go without. Some spots had long drawn out groans and others a softer squeak. I enjoyed discovering each new noise as I did my chores. I could almost play a song by dancing over the spots, it was a fun game. I had many games I liked to play, most had to be done outside though. Our house was too small to play many games inside. But I preferred being outside anyway.

Outside we had a big fenced-in yard with a garden next to our home. In our garden, I would find small bugs and give them names. Most of the real names I didn't know but I was always sure mine were better. From the wiggling noodles that burrowed in the earth, to the buzzers who sometimes stung me. Caring for our garden was one of my responsibilities, it was my favorite chore. I tended to it, watered it, and pulled the weeds. I loved the textures and smells that I encountered, a soft, waxy leaf, a fuzzy stem, and the feeling of earth between my fingertips. A squishy tomato and the soft lavender, the smell of wet earth, it all brought me such joy.

Mother fenced the yard in so that I didn't wander too far. The grass was soft and cushioned my falls. I ran without hesitation, I played cartwheels and somersaults. I did handstands, and when I felt bold, flips. I sometimes ran into the fence, not noticing how close I was getting, but it kept me from going into the forest. Just beyond the fence's barrier was a strange world I rarely entered. I could hear the summer breeze rustle the leaves, and I felt the crunch of the fall season, just fragments of this mysterious outside world I couldn't be a part of.

Mother left for long hours nearly every day, coming home after the sun's warmth left the air. She was a seamstress and worked in a shop in a small village beyond the forest that lay behind the fence. A long walk down a hidden path in the forest leads to a road that goes to the village. When she would get home, she would call for me, and greet me with a warm hug. Her voice was always cheerful, full of life even when she was exhausted. We depend on each other; she goes to the village to earn money for things we cannot grow. I stay home and keep the house in order. I cleaned and did the laundry, or anything else mother needed from me. I was too small to cook; I couldn't reach the shelves or counter without a stool. Mother said because of the knives she wants me to stay away from climbing on the counter. But the knives on the shelf were the least of our worries.

I am blind in a shinobi world. A world of violence, anger, murder, and rape. A world where the odds stacked up against me. A shinobi world is unforgiving, ruthless, but in my yard, in my home, it was safe. I was safe.

Mother tried to teach me that nothing lasts forever, and when this cold cruel world took my mother from me, I finally understood this hard lesson.

My sanctuary had been lost and I had very few options. My blind eyes made me vulnerable, but I can hear the voices of people and know who they are through their words, I can smell them well, the complex mix of elements that are unique to each person. I also have another ability, one that raises my chances for survival but takes away my freedom.

I am an Omoikane, A name passed to me from my father. A man I never met but have heard countless stories about. Mother always spoke so enthusiastically about him, and the joy in her voice told me he was a good person, someone whom she loved deeply. Mother also spoke of my clan; the story goes we were once a numerous clan that was prosperous and peaceful. However, the clan dwindled down to just me. I am the sole member of the Omoikane clan. I am a rare jewel, a treasure, a tool. I can be used for greatness or destruction. At the mercy of those around me. From my mother's words and the disdain she had for it, I knew that my ability is a curse.

I am cursed with the ability to foretell the future. The Omoikane has the future laid before them, giving them everything they need. We know where we must go, we know who we must speak to, and who we should fear. But we also pay a heavy price, our vision. Our ability to see the world in front of us is taken so that we can see the world only through our visions.

Precognition is not a perfect art, it shifts all the time, changing the fates of people in a snap. I cannot promise anything, I can only guide. I can only offer my foresight and my body. Whom should I turn to, where should I go?

Somehow, I found Orochimaru, and when I told Orochimaru who I was, he recognized the name. The name mother only spoke aloud once, a name she didn't repeat. But the man was happy to have me, foresight was a useful tool for his many ambitions. A unique edge against the enemy.

We made a deal. He would keep me safe, fed, and in good health, in exchange for my full cooperation in revealing my visions. I knew he had evil intentions for me, I could smell it on him. Anger, vengeance, greed. His voice was soaked in pride and power, being near him makes me feel uneasy. But if I am to live, I need to be safe, I need a strong wall between me and the world. I had no choice really, or that is what I tell myself anyway.

Once the deal was made, I was escorted to my room. In the Kusagakure Hideout, my room was small, it had a bed, a desk, a dresser, and a bookshelf. It was just like every other living space in the hideout, the air was stuffy from being underground. Orochimaru cared little for proper air circulation unless it was in one of the labs. It was a foreign place and it felt hostile, like the walls planned to eat me, or maybe more like the sensation of knowing you are being slowly digested. But this was a safe place for me. Even if I could still hear the screaming of those held captive, of those I threw into torment.

The rules were simple and easy to follow. A luxury I didn't expect was being allowed to go where I pleased, so long as I never interfered with Orochimaru's work. I suppose they knew I would never leave, not on my own at least. The hideout was big, with many halls that curved in all directions, like the body of a snake. The rooms were spaced out perfectly. It was complex and once I found all my necessities, I stopped exploring. I was sure that many rooms held things I didn't want to know about.

The prisoners were held far in the back of the snake's body, if the walls didn't echo so badly I wouldn't have to hear the prisoners. Although I quickly grew accustomed to their occasional outbursts, generally they were quiet. They knew they had to be quiet, if not, worse things would happen to them, worse than what was already the hell they lived.

This became my semi-permanent home. I moved around when Orochimaru needed me to, but this hideout was where I spent most of my downtime.

When I was summoned before Orochimaru, I always cried after, never in front of him of course, only when I was alone in my room. But as my work continued and my duties increased, I learned to stop crying, I learned to stop caring.

He used me for many purposes. I found locations he could make other hideouts at. I supplied him with many subordinates, those willing to follow Orochimaru to their deaths. Those desperate enough to do Orochimaru's bidding. But most importantly I found him his subjects. I located candidates for his experimentation, people he would find more resilient, those who would survive long enough to be of good use. These people were kidnapped and taken to be Orochimaru's lab rats. It was no secret among them either. They knew who I was, and they know I am the reason they are trapped and tortured, caged and toyed with like lab rats. I am the reason they were stripped of humanity.

Through my work, I foresaw Orochimaru's current body's rejection and was able to give a time frame in which he had to acquire a new host. Kabuto-san was informed of this as well. He began to study stronger medicine to help Orochimaru's body alive long enough to change into his new vessel. He was spending most of his time in his labs. He moved from his offshore lab to various labs in the scattered hideouts. Although Kabuto-san could have asked for a cure, it's possible to find I'm sure, but he never did. He would only come to me to find new subjects for testing. Perhaps he liked to solve such puzzles on his own, or maybe it was to keep himself close to the serpent man.

The name Uchiha was frequently whispered among Orochimaru's followers. The name of the boy with the Sharingan eyes. He was a major player in a timeline I monitored. I foresaw a few possibilities that varied, his fate ranging greatly. From early death to a later death to Death in battle or death by Orochimaru, even death by his own hand.

I worked quite hard for a while, Orochimaru had this big plan to get to the Third Hokage, as well as the Uchiha boy, in one huge convoluted scheme. One of which needed some thorough planning and calculation. I was used for checking details, probabilities, locations to be at, and when to be there. He wanted the mission to be as smooth as possible; it would be a headache for anything to get in his way. I told him who to send to retrieve the Uchiha boy. I warned him of their deaths as well. Of course, he didn't care about their fates, so long as his long-awaited prize was retrieved. I did my best to stay unfazed by the death tolls and loss of those near me. I had gotten good at it over the 4 years I had spent here. But still, a few people got under my skin and close to my heart, as that tends to be the folly of man.

After a few days of finalizing the details on his plans, Orochimaru decided that moving me to a different hideout, for the time being, would be the best idea. He wanted me under the watch of another trusted associate since he and Kabuto-san would be out. Of course, the associate's work couldn't be interrupted, so I was moved to the Eastern Hideout where he was.

In another strange twist of fate, one that prevents my independence, I can't look for my personal future directly. I cannot follow the path I currently walk on, due to my own choices being manipulated by the events I foresaw. I can only see myself in the background of others' lives. In a primal form of self-preservation, I have subconsciously controlled flashes, warning signs of my possible death, like a chill running up my spine, or a nauseating feeling overtaking me. So, what's going to happen while I'm in that damp moldy place is a mystery, as I suppose life was always intended to be.