WEEEEEEEEEEEE!! It's done! This is my brain child. You don't know how glad I am that it's done. I've been obsessing over it for WEEKS. Enough of my babbling. READ THE FIC!!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
****
Deep, endless eyes surveyed the landscape with all the precision and pride of a king looking over his kingdom. A sprawling ant-hill city met his penetrating gaze, alive and thriving with life. The buildings, so tall and spindly in places that they looked as though they would collapse from the flap of a passing butterfly's wings, reached up to the azure sky. In some sections of the city, all that remained of once-proud structures were half-charred skeletons of thier former selves, blackened and twisted beyond recognition by some ferocious force of nature.
Thick walls (once thought to be impenatrable) surrounded the bustling metropolis. They stood, giant, imposing ramparts that sported gaping apertures being slowly repaired, framing the ever-moving civilazation within its broken walls. Faint murmurs of everyday life reached the sharp ears of the watcher, despite his elevated vantage point. The people of the city moved like insects, set in their tasks and focused on thier objectives to an almost alarming extent. An outsider would have been rather disconcerted in the midst of the orderly chaotic streets. Each individual knew their place, thier rank, their goals and their duties. No one faltered in the never-ending march of goal after goal. Not nessicsarily out of thier devotion to thier village, but because it was invariably more convienient to reach their own personal goals under the guise of dedication. All striving to complete their own unique dream.
In spite of the many people crowding the streets, there was only a vague undercurrent of chatter. The excess babble that most found so many hours of enjoyment in was neither welcome nor needed here among the dedicated. They spoke only what was nessascary, never more. To do so was taboo, a show of weakness to your enemies. Some would call the rule of this gargantuan village a dictatorship, opressing and contolling the people ruthlessly. And though it may seem that way at first, each person was respected as an individual and treated as such. The government forced no influence upon its citezens lives other than the merciless devotion that had become a mandatory trait to live among its numbers.
Between the hustle and bustle of poeple running errands and delivering massages, desolate structures ravaged by fire and war were being ever so slowly built from the ground up again. These were a reslient people. Where battle had wreaked death and destruction only a sparse few weeks ago, the flames had been quenched, the blood had been scrubbed from the streets, and broken windows boarded until the glass panes could be delivered. Reconstruction had been started almost immeadiately after the fighting had tapered off, the bodies of the dead removed within the day, thier loved ones and next of kin informed by the next, and life had resumed its normal humdrum buzz by the day after that.
The people of the village were not ones to idle, time almost constantly being of the essence. Now that they had established themselves as a legitimate village (and a powerful one at that), enemies and allies alike could be expected to attack at any moment. Openly, they were denounced as weak, their dream-like ideals unable to survive in the harsh reality of the world. But secretly, in the backs of everyone's minds, they were feared.
They were feared for their power and thier strength. Privately, the village leaders wondered. How could it be that such powerful people (no, not people, monsters) could have appeared out of nowhere and crushed thier strongest so easily? It wasn't natural, the powers they had. No one that strong could have slipped under the radars like they had. No one could have such a potent strength. No one human, anyway. But yet here they were. Alive, thriving, and staring them in the face. And so the other villages hid behind their facade of disbelieving friendliness and strength. They hid and they feared. The leaders of these cowardly villages had, for all their so-called glory and strength, forgotten the first rule of being a shinobi.
Never let them see you sweat.
They were so afraid that any normal park squirrel could smell their fear at fifty paces. To the ninjas of the village, the stench was so overpowering during the treaty negotiations that it threatened to overwhelm some of the more susceptible villagers near the building where the discussions were being held. Even those with stronger constitutions were effected, getting drunk again and again with each deep lung-full of fear drenched oxygen. It takes a special kind of person to enjoy someon else's dread that much. The same kind that had been collected and bred to produce the beautifully rounded results that occupied the broken walls today. . .
Eyes that were somehow as warm and bright as the sun and as dark and cold as a new moon closed languidly. A deep inhalation of breath and they snapped open again. Running a deeply tanned hand, liberly covered in scars and callouses, through hair, the man gave another sleepy look at his village. Turning sharply on his heel, all signs of fatigue gone now, he walked briskly away from the view that the mountain gave. The wind stirred a few stray leaves, sending them flying around the departing man and the now destroyed likenesses of the once great shinobi, carved painstakingly into the rockface.
****
Clipped, precise footsteps echoed off the walls of a deserted hallway. Generally, there would be a rather hurried stream of people running back and forth along this passage, going to get that file they needed to finish their report, delivering today's estimate of enemy casualties, running off to extract some information out of the one guy who wouldn't talk. . .
But it was empty today. They had been warned that He was coming to talk to Her. Nobody was allowed to so much as look funny at Her. Only a few really high-ranking jounin were even allowed to bring Her food. Nobody questioned His orders, even though She couldn't have been higher than a chounin by the new standards. Most people knew better. The people that didn't know better were too damn scared of Him to say anything. But either way was fine with Him. He didn't particularly care as long as everything He wanted was done. Very pragmatic, He was.
And so He walked. His clean, crisp steps that almost resembled a parade march, taking Him to a room he knew so well that He could let his feet do the walking while His mind dwelled on other matters. As the heavy steel door neared, His eyes snapped back into focus from whatever distant plane of thought they had been focusing, the barest twist of lips betrayed the smile He wouldn't let out.
It disappreared as soon as it had come, though, and the tall, broad-shouldered man who stepped out of the forbidden room missed the small display of mirth. The door slammed shut, echoing loud as thunder in the silence, seemingly amplified by His deep scowl. He somehow managed to look at the heavily scarred man in such a way that "What the hell were you doing in there?", "Shouldn't you have died by now?", and "You have two seconds to answer all of the above before I rip out your voice-box." were all transmitted without so much as the sound of breath disturbing the silence of the hallway.
Morino Ibiki didn't so much as blink, despite his sudden urge to run screaming from the compound and as far away from Him as possible.
Being the decisive person he was, Ibiki had chosen sides for the mini-war that had taken place within his village's walls rather quickly. He knew where his best interests (as well as his best chance for survival) lay, even if his motives were unclear to everyone else. Infact, he preferred it that way. So he stood casually, hands clasped behind his back, feet apart, and answered in a carefully neutral tone, "The prisoner refused to eat, sir, and I was asked to. . . persuade her, gently, seeing as you want her kept in good health."
"So good to see that my friend is being taken care of properly." He paused, eyes temporarily looking beyond Ibiki and out into the distance. "And please refrain from calling her a prisoners, Ibiki, such an ugly word." He said in a decievingly light voice, blinking for the first time since he had seen Ibiki. Eyes focusing on Ibiki again, he smiled.
Ibiki resisted the urge to shiver violently. That was the kind of smile someone wore when were still high on the adrenaline and blood of an exhilerating fight.
Ibiki nodded and stepped aside to allow Him entrance. He walked forward, slow, measured steps making the three seconds it took to get to the door seem like an eternity. As soon as the last echos of the slammed door faded into nothing, Ibiki leaned heavily against the wall, his eyes staring intently at the floor. It took alot to shake Ibiki, him being a vetran interragator and all, but those eyes. . . he had felt as though he was going to be eaten alive. . . no one should have eyes like that, he concluded silently.
After another moment or so, Ibiki straightened, grimacing slightly at his lack of control. That shouldn't have affected him like this. He hadn't broken out in a cold sweat, though. He had that much control, at least. Ibiki smoothed his jacket and stood up a little straighter so he wasn't leaning quite so heavily on the wall. He pushed off without a sound and began the walk toward his next assignment's room, the encounter already pushed to the back of his mind.
****
His pupils dialated, getting themselves used to the brightness that shone from the flourescent light attatched to the ceiling in Her holding cell, illuminating the comfortable room spread out before Him. Plain white walls, no windows to interrupt the monotony. A thick plush carpet covered the floor, a vague purplish color that alleviated the air of a mental institution just a little. A one-person cot that looked more like a couch than anything else for all the silken pillows stacked atop it sat against the wall farthest from the door. A small bedside table and dresser squeezed themselves against the wall to His left and last but most certainly not least, a frail figure with bubble-gum pink hair sat curled up in the corner farthest from Him, head and arms resting on Her bent knees.
He stepped forward, footsteps muffled the by the thick carpeting, and the girl looked up, startled by His presence. Unconciously, the pink-haired girl scrunched farther back into the wall, as though wanting to become part of it. In spite Her defensive posture, though, She glared venemously at Him out from under greasy bangs and purple ringed, sleep-deprived eyes.
"What the hell do you want?" She bit out, voice harsh and rusty from disuse. He smiled disarmingly.
"Why. . . can't I just enjoy a simple visit with one of my old friends without an ulterior motive?" He asked in condescending mock-hurt. A head covered in matted pink hair fell back in malicious, raspy laughter. When the laughter quieted and She regained her breath, She spoke darkly, as though remembering some horrible past experience.
"I've never known you to have anything but an ulterior motive in all the time I've known you." She hissed.
He tutted.
"Now, now. . . you know that's not true." His voice sung with thinly veiled mirth. "When you first met me, you didn't know that everything I did was a carefully planned ruse to fool you all. You only realized that. . . has it really been four years?" A small hint of nostalgia crept into his expression as he appeared to stare off into space, recalling years long past.
She snarled.
"I should have realized what a self-centered bastrad you were, even back then, and force fed you a few kunai!"
He smiled serenly.
"If you don't wipe that stupid, shit-eating smirk off your face I'll do it for you!" She half-yelled, tears now gathereing at the corners of her eyes. "Fuck you, you egomaniac, self-absorbed, back-stabbing traitor!" Voice now nearing hysteria, the tears were streaming down her face now, leaving wet streaks that glinted in the flourescent light. "You killed them all! All of our friends! Every last fucking one of them!"
"My, my, my. Such nasty language, Sakura." He chided. "You were much more polite when we were younger."
"You killed him, you heartless sonovabitch!" Haruno Sakura was beyond the point of hysteria. "He was your teammate for chrissake! Doesn't that mean anything to you?!" He was silent. "Answer me you worthless piece of shit!" She shrieked.
"He threatened my benefactor and hence, our agreement." He was all smooth glass, cold and placid save for the occasional flash light on the cool surface that belied the danger underneath the calm surface of control. "My benefactor did not like to be threatened and asked that he be dealt with."
"You betrayed us for that lying snake!" She yelled. Sakura was on her knees now. Leaning forward to screech at him, weight braced on her hands so that they were pressed into the sickly lilac carpet in front of her, tears still flowing freely. "You betrayed us for what?! Power? The Hokage name? Just so you could kill. . ." She trailed off, a desperate kind of hope flashing in her eyes. She drew a shuddering breath and plowed forward, unafraid. "That slimy snake in that grass would have killed you too if he had thought he would gain from it!"
A pleasant smile, the kind that orderlies wear when they listen to mental patients who have yet to take thier medication.
"You think you're so in control?!" Her face was red from the screaming and the tears, eyes blotchy and bloodshot. "You think that he's just going to let you do whatever you want?! He's wanted to have this village for longer than we've been alive and you think he'll let you have it just because you became his lapdog?! You're crazy! You're just his pawn! His puppet! He's controlling you and pulling your strings from the shadows! You can't even see it! You're just his tool! His puppet. . ."
She trailed off into a harsh, dry sob, finally ceasing to scream through her sore and ragged throat. He waited patiently for another moment or so to make sure she was finished with her outburst before speaking.
"I find it rather hard to believe that a dead man can run a village." He said, the epitome of calm despite the accusation is. Sakura looked up, emerald, tear-filled eyes wide with shock.
"You. . . You? Oh my god. . ." All signs of rage were gone, leaving only shock, horror, and disbelief in its wake. "You did. . .you really did it. . . you killed Orochimaru. . ."
She swallowed.
"My benefactor decided to. . . terminate our agreement, and I was only too happy to comply." He was still smiling.
Sakura swallowed again and her breath came in shorter, shallower pants. She managed to take another gulping swallow in a poor attempt to control her breathing. Brows drawing together almost imperceptibly, His face decided to show an actual emotion as a small amount of concern broke through His emotionless mask. The amount of concern that one showed for a dying insect on the sidewalk.
Faster than could possibly be humanly possible, He had Sakura's throat pinned to the pale white wall with a small blade pricking her sallow flesh. His eyes locked with her's and they glinted darkly in the half-light.
"Breathe." A smiple, one-word command that somehow managed to convey more authority in its single syllable than a sixty-something war vetran's barked orders.
Sakura drew a shuddering gasp of oxygen into her lungs, providing them the air they had been sorely missing. As her breathing began to return to normal, He let the blade drop and retreated back to the far wall. As soon as her means of support were gone, Sakura collpased again onto the floor again, her knees making a soft 'thud' as they hit the mangy carpet.
"Go. . . to. . . hell, bastard. . ." She panted. After a moment's pause she managed to raise her eyes to meet His. "I hope you die and. . . and burn in hell, you fucking bastard. . ." Her voice gained a new strength as her tears began to flow anew. "I hope you fucking choke and die!" She screamed.
He stared back at her disspationately.
"I'll kill you!" She raved, and depite her claim, she remained motionless save for the burning in her eyes and the tears flowing down her cheeks. "I'll kill you, you murderous liar! I'll kill you for everyone you've ever hurt! Bastard! I'll kill you Naruto, I swear I will! I'll kill-"
Her outraged screams were cut short as Uzumaki Naruto, the Hidden Leaf's former #1 loudest rookie ninja, slammed the heavy steel door shut.
Children trained to become the best killing machine they could be. Merchants sold thier wares at unfair prices. Thieves stole and were caught. Prostitues were paid. And life in the Hidden Village of the Demon went on.
****
I hope you guys got the Sasuke vibe I tried to give it. Didn't want the whole thing coming out at once, now did I? And since my fics tend to lack clarity to everyone but myself, here is a minor explanation: Naruto betrayed everyone to Orochimaru. The deal was that he would help Orochimaru take over the Leaf if he got to be Hokage. But he knew that Orochimaru would stab him in the back first chance he got, so he offed Oro-chan first. That's pretty much it.
. . .
REVIEW MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
****
Deep, endless eyes surveyed the landscape with all the precision and pride of a king looking over his kingdom. A sprawling ant-hill city met his penetrating gaze, alive and thriving with life. The buildings, so tall and spindly in places that they looked as though they would collapse from the flap of a passing butterfly's wings, reached up to the azure sky. In some sections of the city, all that remained of once-proud structures were half-charred skeletons of thier former selves, blackened and twisted beyond recognition by some ferocious force of nature.
Thick walls (once thought to be impenatrable) surrounded the bustling metropolis. They stood, giant, imposing ramparts that sported gaping apertures being slowly repaired, framing the ever-moving civilazation within its broken walls. Faint murmurs of everyday life reached the sharp ears of the watcher, despite his elevated vantage point. The people of the city moved like insects, set in their tasks and focused on thier objectives to an almost alarming extent. An outsider would have been rather disconcerted in the midst of the orderly chaotic streets. Each individual knew their place, thier rank, their goals and their duties. No one faltered in the never-ending march of goal after goal. Not nessicsarily out of thier devotion to thier village, but because it was invariably more convienient to reach their own personal goals under the guise of dedication. All striving to complete their own unique dream.
In spite of the many people crowding the streets, there was only a vague undercurrent of chatter. The excess babble that most found so many hours of enjoyment in was neither welcome nor needed here among the dedicated. They spoke only what was nessascary, never more. To do so was taboo, a show of weakness to your enemies. Some would call the rule of this gargantuan village a dictatorship, opressing and contolling the people ruthlessly. And though it may seem that way at first, each person was respected as an individual and treated as such. The government forced no influence upon its citezens lives other than the merciless devotion that had become a mandatory trait to live among its numbers.
Between the hustle and bustle of poeple running errands and delivering massages, desolate structures ravaged by fire and war were being ever so slowly built from the ground up again. These were a reslient people. Where battle had wreaked death and destruction only a sparse few weeks ago, the flames had been quenched, the blood had been scrubbed from the streets, and broken windows boarded until the glass panes could be delivered. Reconstruction had been started almost immeadiately after the fighting had tapered off, the bodies of the dead removed within the day, thier loved ones and next of kin informed by the next, and life had resumed its normal humdrum buzz by the day after that.
The people of the village were not ones to idle, time almost constantly being of the essence. Now that they had established themselves as a legitimate village (and a powerful one at that), enemies and allies alike could be expected to attack at any moment. Openly, they were denounced as weak, their dream-like ideals unable to survive in the harsh reality of the world. But secretly, in the backs of everyone's minds, they were feared.
They were feared for their power and thier strength. Privately, the village leaders wondered. How could it be that such powerful people (no, not people, monsters) could have appeared out of nowhere and crushed thier strongest so easily? It wasn't natural, the powers they had. No one that strong could have slipped under the radars like they had. No one could have such a potent strength. No one human, anyway. But yet here they were. Alive, thriving, and staring them in the face. And so the other villages hid behind their facade of disbelieving friendliness and strength. They hid and they feared. The leaders of these cowardly villages had, for all their so-called glory and strength, forgotten the first rule of being a shinobi.
Never let them see you sweat.
They were so afraid that any normal park squirrel could smell their fear at fifty paces. To the ninjas of the village, the stench was so overpowering during the treaty negotiations that it threatened to overwhelm some of the more susceptible villagers near the building where the discussions were being held. Even those with stronger constitutions were effected, getting drunk again and again with each deep lung-full of fear drenched oxygen. It takes a special kind of person to enjoy someon else's dread that much. The same kind that had been collected and bred to produce the beautifully rounded results that occupied the broken walls today. . .
Eyes that were somehow as warm and bright as the sun and as dark and cold as a new moon closed languidly. A deep inhalation of breath and they snapped open again. Running a deeply tanned hand, liberly covered in scars and callouses, through hair, the man gave another sleepy look at his village. Turning sharply on his heel, all signs of fatigue gone now, he walked briskly away from the view that the mountain gave. The wind stirred a few stray leaves, sending them flying around the departing man and the now destroyed likenesses of the once great shinobi, carved painstakingly into the rockface.
****
Clipped, precise footsteps echoed off the walls of a deserted hallway. Generally, there would be a rather hurried stream of people running back and forth along this passage, going to get that file they needed to finish their report, delivering today's estimate of enemy casualties, running off to extract some information out of the one guy who wouldn't talk. . .
But it was empty today. They had been warned that He was coming to talk to Her. Nobody was allowed to so much as look funny at Her. Only a few really high-ranking jounin were even allowed to bring Her food. Nobody questioned His orders, even though She couldn't have been higher than a chounin by the new standards. Most people knew better. The people that didn't know better were too damn scared of Him to say anything. But either way was fine with Him. He didn't particularly care as long as everything He wanted was done. Very pragmatic, He was.
And so He walked. His clean, crisp steps that almost resembled a parade march, taking Him to a room he knew so well that He could let his feet do the walking while His mind dwelled on other matters. As the heavy steel door neared, His eyes snapped back into focus from whatever distant plane of thought they had been focusing, the barest twist of lips betrayed the smile He wouldn't let out.
It disappreared as soon as it had come, though, and the tall, broad-shouldered man who stepped out of the forbidden room missed the small display of mirth. The door slammed shut, echoing loud as thunder in the silence, seemingly amplified by His deep scowl. He somehow managed to look at the heavily scarred man in such a way that "What the hell were you doing in there?", "Shouldn't you have died by now?", and "You have two seconds to answer all of the above before I rip out your voice-box." were all transmitted without so much as the sound of breath disturbing the silence of the hallway.
Morino Ibiki didn't so much as blink, despite his sudden urge to run screaming from the compound and as far away from Him as possible.
Being the decisive person he was, Ibiki had chosen sides for the mini-war that had taken place within his village's walls rather quickly. He knew where his best interests (as well as his best chance for survival) lay, even if his motives were unclear to everyone else. Infact, he preferred it that way. So he stood casually, hands clasped behind his back, feet apart, and answered in a carefully neutral tone, "The prisoner refused to eat, sir, and I was asked to. . . persuade her, gently, seeing as you want her kept in good health."
"So good to see that my friend is being taken care of properly." He paused, eyes temporarily looking beyond Ibiki and out into the distance. "And please refrain from calling her a prisoners, Ibiki, such an ugly word." He said in a decievingly light voice, blinking for the first time since he had seen Ibiki. Eyes focusing on Ibiki again, he smiled.
Ibiki resisted the urge to shiver violently. That was the kind of smile someone wore when were still high on the adrenaline and blood of an exhilerating fight.
Ibiki nodded and stepped aside to allow Him entrance. He walked forward, slow, measured steps making the three seconds it took to get to the door seem like an eternity. As soon as the last echos of the slammed door faded into nothing, Ibiki leaned heavily against the wall, his eyes staring intently at the floor. It took alot to shake Ibiki, him being a vetran interragator and all, but those eyes. . . he had felt as though he was going to be eaten alive. . . no one should have eyes like that, he concluded silently.
After another moment or so, Ibiki straightened, grimacing slightly at his lack of control. That shouldn't have affected him like this. He hadn't broken out in a cold sweat, though. He had that much control, at least. Ibiki smoothed his jacket and stood up a little straighter so he wasn't leaning quite so heavily on the wall. He pushed off without a sound and began the walk toward his next assignment's room, the encounter already pushed to the back of his mind.
****
His pupils dialated, getting themselves used to the brightness that shone from the flourescent light attatched to the ceiling in Her holding cell, illuminating the comfortable room spread out before Him. Plain white walls, no windows to interrupt the monotony. A thick plush carpet covered the floor, a vague purplish color that alleviated the air of a mental institution just a little. A one-person cot that looked more like a couch than anything else for all the silken pillows stacked atop it sat against the wall farthest from the door. A small bedside table and dresser squeezed themselves against the wall to His left and last but most certainly not least, a frail figure with bubble-gum pink hair sat curled up in the corner farthest from Him, head and arms resting on Her bent knees.
He stepped forward, footsteps muffled the by the thick carpeting, and the girl looked up, startled by His presence. Unconciously, the pink-haired girl scrunched farther back into the wall, as though wanting to become part of it. In spite Her defensive posture, though, She glared venemously at Him out from under greasy bangs and purple ringed, sleep-deprived eyes.
"What the hell do you want?" She bit out, voice harsh and rusty from disuse. He smiled disarmingly.
"Why. . . can't I just enjoy a simple visit with one of my old friends without an ulterior motive?" He asked in condescending mock-hurt. A head covered in matted pink hair fell back in malicious, raspy laughter. When the laughter quieted and She regained her breath, She spoke darkly, as though remembering some horrible past experience.
"I've never known you to have anything but an ulterior motive in all the time I've known you." She hissed.
He tutted.
"Now, now. . . you know that's not true." His voice sung with thinly veiled mirth. "When you first met me, you didn't know that everything I did was a carefully planned ruse to fool you all. You only realized that. . . has it really been four years?" A small hint of nostalgia crept into his expression as he appeared to stare off into space, recalling years long past.
She snarled.
"I should have realized what a self-centered bastrad you were, even back then, and force fed you a few kunai!"
He smiled serenly.
"If you don't wipe that stupid, shit-eating smirk off your face I'll do it for you!" She half-yelled, tears now gathereing at the corners of her eyes. "Fuck you, you egomaniac, self-absorbed, back-stabbing traitor!" Voice now nearing hysteria, the tears were streaming down her face now, leaving wet streaks that glinted in the flourescent light. "You killed them all! All of our friends! Every last fucking one of them!"
"My, my, my. Such nasty language, Sakura." He chided. "You were much more polite when we were younger."
"You killed him, you heartless sonovabitch!" Haruno Sakura was beyond the point of hysteria. "He was your teammate for chrissake! Doesn't that mean anything to you?!" He was silent. "Answer me you worthless piece of shit!" She shrieked.
"He threatened my benefactor and hence, our agreement." He was all smooth glass, cold and placid save for the occasional flash light on the cool surface that belied the danger underneath the calm surface of control. "My benefactor did not like to be threatened and asked that he be dealt with."
"You betrayed us for that lying snake!" She yelled. Sakura was on her knees now. Leaning forward to screech at him, weight braced on her hands so that they were pressed into the sickly lilac carpet in front of her, tears still flowing freely. "You betrayed us for what?! Power? The Hokage name? Just so you could kill. . ." She trailed off, a desperate kind of hope flashing in her eyes. She drew a shuddering breath and plowed forward, unafraid. "That slimy snake in that grass would have killed you too if he had thought he would gain from it!"
A pleasant smile, the kind that orderlies wear when they listen to mental patients who have yet to take thier medication.
"You think you're so in control?!" Her face was red from the screaming and the tears, eyes blotchy and bloodshot. "You think that he's just going to let you do whatever you want?! He's wanted to have this village for longer than we've been alive and you think he'll let you have it just because you became his lapdog?! You're crazy! You're just his pawn! His puppet! He's controlling you and pulling your strings from the shadows! You can't even see it! You're just his tool! His puppet. . ."
She trailed off into a harsh, dry sob, finally ceasing to scream through her sore and ragged throat. He waited patiently for another moment or so to make sure she was finished with her outburst before speaking.
"I find it rather hard to believe that a dead man can run a village." He said, the epitome of calm despite the accusation is. Sakura looked up, emerald, tear-filled eyes wide with shock.
"You. . . You? Oh my god. . ." All signs of rage were gone, leaving only shock, horror, and disbelief in its wake. "You did. . .you really did it. . . you killed Orochimaru. . ."
She swallowed.
"My benefactor decided to. . . terminate our agreement, and I was only too happy to comply." He was still smiling.
Sakura swallowed again and her breath came in shorter, shallower pants. She managed to take another gulping swallow in a poor attempt to control her breathing. Brows drawing together almost imperceptibly, His face decided to show an actual emotion as a small amount of concern broke through His emotionless mask. The amount of concern that one showed for a dying insect on the sidewalk.
Faster than could possibly be humanly possible, He had Sakura's throat pinned to the pale white wall with a small blade pricking her sallow flesh. His eyes locked with her's and they glinted darkly in the half-light.
"Breathe." A smiple, one-word command that somehow managed to convey more authority in its single syllable than a sixty-something war vetran's barked orders.
Sakura drew a shuddering gasp of oxygen into her lungs, providing them the air they had been sorely missing. As her breathing began to return to normal, He let the blade drop and retreated back to the far wall. As soon as her means of support were gone, Sakura collpased again onto the floor again, her knees making a soft 'thud' as they hit the mangy carpet.
"Go. . . to. . . hell, bastard. . ." She panted. After a moment's pause she managed to raise her eyes to meet His. "I hope you die and. . . and burn in hell, you fucking bastard. . ." Her voice gained a new strength as her tears began to flow anew. "I hope you fucking choke and die!" She screamed.
He stared back at her disspationately.
"I'll kill you!" She raved, and depite her claim, she remained motionless save for the burning in her eyes and the tears flowing down her cheeks. "I'll kill you, you murderous liar! I'll kill you for everyone you've ever hurt! Bastard! I'll kill you Naruto, I swear I will! I'll kill-"
Her outraged screams were cut short as Uzumaki Naruto, the Hidden Leaf's former #1 loudest rookie ninja, slammed the heavy steel door shut.
Children trained to become the best killing machine they could be. Merchants sold thier wares at unfair prices. Thieves stole and were caught. Prostitues were paid. And life in the Hidden Village of the Demon went on.
****
I hope you guys got the Sasuke vibe I tried to give it. Didn't want the whole thing coming out at once, now did I? And since my fics tend to lack clarity to everyone but myself, here is a minor explanation: Naruto betrayed everyone to Orochimaru. The deal was that he would help Orochimaru take over the Leaf if he got to be Hokage. But he knew that Orochimaru would stab him in the back first chance he got, so he offed Oro-chan first. That's pretty much it.
. . .
REVIEW MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!