I know nothing about the military nor do I have any knowledge of weapons. Basically, I'm just making up a lotta crap. Hope readers like it!
Naruto belongs to Kishimoto. The excerpts from Sun Tzu's Art of War came from the English translation by Lionel Giles. And any deviation from his translation is the bit of alteration done by yours truly. I would translate the writings myself but I can't read old Chinese LOL. Even if I could, I don't know enough to translate. So all hail good translators.
I know nothing about guns so I asked my brother and he told me some stuff but I'm still basically confused so I'm just going to make up my own guns. Hope no one here is a real stickler about accurate writing about firearms. #sweatdrops# My bro is already suspicious about why I'm all of a sudden curious about guns. Hell no am I about to tell him my secret fanfic writing hobby!
Once again, this fic is completely AU and totally made up. Don't go all crazy on me when whatever term I use isn't accurate to the way it's used now. Think of this fic as a blend of many worlds.
WARNING: THIS FIC IS RATED R AND HAS A LOT OF VIOLENT CONTENT, FOUL LANGUAGE, QUESTIONABLE MORALITY AND DEATH! LITTLE CHILDREN TURN AWAY NOW! DITTO FOR THOSE WHO PREFER FUZZY FICS! ESPECIALLY SINCE I HAD A HARD TIME WRITING CERTAIN PARTS OF THIS FIC MYSELF! (Excuse me for having a soul)
Intro:
Human rights and personal freedom are things of the past that live in only the vaguest parts of the collective memory of humankind. These liberties that people have long held for granted started to decline at the beginning of 2001, due to the continuous corrosion of rights that came in the form of a series of radical laws. Such sweeping changes in public policy rationalized the use martial law in the interest of national security. Citizens, who were full of fear, readily gave in to the increasingly controlling regime without protest, except for the brave few who ended up incarcerated for un-patriotic behavior.
In companion to the attrition of the Bill of Rights, the democratic spirit gave way to the rise of the autocratic government that became established in year 2014, and continues to prevail to modern day. Now it is year 2094, an era when military might is all that matters when it concerns the affairs of international relations. Totalitarianism is the prevailing political concept that the countries around the world model their government after. For each country, mining their own populations for the gifted became the primary goal, second only to sabotaging the interest of other countries.
Children are evaluated at a young age for military potential. Those that show a glimmer of promise, whether it came in the form of physical or mental genius, are recruited by specialized branches of the government for personalized training. In a world that has forgotten the pursuit of life, liberty, and justice, the future is bleak and bloodshed is often. In a world that has forgotten how to love the fellow man, it is hard to imagine that anyone can rise above their time and with helping hands, fan the fire of hope in the hearts of the people into a passionate flame.
Prequel: Death of a Soldier
"Agent Seraph?" The one who spoke looked over from the end of the hallway; the shaded goggles that were a part of the uniform reflected the hint of light that was available in the darkness.
"Yea?" Seraph replied and sounded to be in somewhat of a bad mood. The belt that went around the hips with two loops that went around each leg was causing the pants to dig uncomfortably into the thighs.
"Here is where we split up, am I right?" The young soldier asked hesitantly. It was his first day on the job and he feared to venture the rest of the mission on his own.
Seraph patted the pockets of the vest that protected the body from certain bullets until hands felt enough bullet clips to be satisfied. "Yes. You won't have my protection from now on. So don't get killed boy." Came the cool reply from the dispassionate soldier.
"Y-Y-Yes, M-M-M-Ma" The boy stuttered. Although a trainee and quite young, the "boy" was actually a few years older than the veteran agent.
"Just go." Seraph was still wondering how in the world a greenhorn was assigned to the elite squad of A.N.B.U. Maybe the superiors were planning on increasing the turnover rate. Whatever the reason, the bungling novice somehow knew the identity of everyone on this particular specialized squad. It was all very suspicious. Hopefully, the kid would get himself killed and no one would have to worry about identities being compromised when the enemies gets their hands on him. He seemed like the cowardly kind that would squeal under torture.
The amateur had just inched out of view by turning a corner when the faint echoes of feminine crying floated from the other end of the corridor. With a tilt of the head, Seraph listened intently to the kitten-like keening. The urge to investigate was getting stronger with each detectable sound of wailing. 'No, I can't go. I have a mission.' The dutiful agent mentally repeated. And yet, it seemed like a shred of human decency had survived the years of indoctrination and training. Because soon, the experienced agent was carried closer and closer to the distant sound of woeful cries by legs that refused to listen to the brain's command.
Slightly bent at the knees, Seraph pushed open a resistant set of doors and strode into a new section of the enemy headquarter. The building was departmentalized and this sector was oddly abandoned. With the area void of enemies, the silent atmosphere allowed the wails of human anguish to resonate with heart wrenching clarity.
Looking through the goggles, Seraph could see the area sharply as it was basked in the faded green light of night-vision electronic radiation. And the computerized goggles was good for more things than just seeing in the dark. Glancing to the left side of the monitor, the flickering bars of the lighted gauge that measured sound waves indicated which door, of the rows of them set against white walls, was the one that the cries originated.
"Nooo! Nooo! Stop!" The sobbing sounded distinctly youthful; like that of a child no older than ten.
Seraph went to the door that muffled the screams and nudged it open with the tip of a boot-clad foot. Peering in from the crack from which light poured out, the agent saw a scene that would horrify the most battle-hardened of soldiers; indeed anyone who still had anything human left in them.
A young girl of barely five feet was crushed to the grimy concrete by the writhing body of a man in military garb. Grunting and gyrating, the soldier whose pants hung low at the hips was violating the petrified child while she clawed helplessly at his shoulders.
As if a capsule had broke within the veins and released a liquid that had an exothermic reaction with the blood, the heat of rage flowed in burning lines throughout the agent who had stumbled upon one of the worst crimes against all that was good. With a sideward swing of the arm, the door snapped open and shuddered nosily when the hinges had reached its limit. "Get off her!" Seraph barely recognized the shaky voice that implied blinding rage had a hold on the speaker. "I SAID GET OFF!"
Surprised by the fury of the falsetto voice, the enemy soldier who was enjoying himself looked up alarmed; the whites of his eyes almost submerged the dark pupils in the center. Gawking at the person who had interrupted his session, he saw a skinny boy that was about five-six in height, clothed in the uniform of Fire Country soldiers. He wasn't able to see the boy's visage because he had a cloth mask that went over the lower half of his face and over the top to conceal his hair. The color of his eyes was buried behind the high-tech goggles he had over his face. But the rapist soldier did know the color of hair the intruder had judging by the blond tufts of bangs that peaked out from the edges of his mask. Despite the harshness of the voice, he could tell it sounded feminine, like that of a prepubescent boy. Sizing up the small stature of the self-nominated hero, the soldier started to laugh. "You think you can take me on, little boy?" He mocked disdainfully.
Seraph slipped the goggles off to reveal blue eyes filled with the grayness of thunderclouds before tossing the heavy item carelessly to the side. The goggles fell with a dull thud and rocked weakly on the spot it landed. "You're beyond help. I'm going to send you to hell where you belong." Seraph said while reaching to the belt to pull out a long-muzzled gun that was as dark as coal, and shone like smoky obsidian glass. Emblazoned on the sides of the gun was the shimmering gold letters that wrote: Sanchuu .50
Seeing the tunnel of the barrel leveled with his eyes, the man quickly lifted himself from the young girl and scampered to the other end of the room while tugging up his pants like the wretched being he was. As for the girl, the moment his deadweight was relieved from her body, she crawled painfully to a near wall where she curled her bloodied self and waited; desperately trying to disappear within the folds of her soiled dress.
Seraph lifted the bulky gun with ease and a shot rang out like an explosion of dynamite. At the same moment, a spray of red misted the air from the side of the man as he lurched to the ground. When he hit the hard floor on his good shoulder, the spinning limb that was airborne dropped also; the hand of the flaccid arm twitched as the severed nerves sent broken signals.
"Oh.....Gooooood!" He cried when he felt his own blood warm his body in a pool that bathed him.
"Did you remember God when you were raping her?" Seraph asked callously; the thick-soiled boots squeaked ominously with each heavy step.
The man rose defiantly. "I only did what everyone else does!" He clutched at the flowing wound of his shoulder. But the crimson blood continued to flow out from between his fingers.
"Self-righteous to the end. You're not worthy of my Sanchuu." Seraph growled and slipped the gun back into the holster.
"What do you care?! You can't judge me! You're a soldier also!"
Silently, Seraph reached an arm behind and pulled out a lustrous blade of a scythe, and not stopping there, continued to pull until all of the chain attached to it was revealed. That was when the patch of red sewn to the right shoulder of the uniform flashed briefly at the man who was about to die.
His eyes widened; mouth frothing like a rabid animal. "Y-You're" He was choking on his own tongue, "You're part of A.N.B.U., YOU'RE THE BLOODY PAINTER SERAPH!"
Seraph smiled behind the black cloth mask. Uncovered blue eyes were unreadable as they stared into the man's betrayed and dirtied soul. The scythe suddenly flew out and soared to the man, dragging the links of chain behind it. In a flurry of movements, the blade danced like a gleaming metal fan. Each flash of metallic light represented a fresh wound on the flesh of the enemy soldier. With each graceful arc of the seemingly autonomous chained weapon, a streak of blood would fly to the walls and splash like rain. Showing no signs of tiring, Seraph continued the attack; painting the walls with bold streaks of cherry, like a modern artist with his passionate strokes of paint.
"DAMN YOU! DAMN K.O.N.O.H.A.! DAMN YOUR SMUG HOLIER-THAN-THOU-ATTITUDE! VENGENCE ISN'T FOR YOU TO TAKE!"
The onslaught of attacks halted, and the scythe obediently flew back into the hand of the wielder. Clutching the weapon, Seraph shook it a few times and the blood slipped off the stainless steel surface, leaving the blade clean again. Sliding the weapon back to the strap that went across the back, Seraph gave the half-dead enemy a thoughtful look. "You're right" Seraph said after a moment's pause, "Vengeance isn't for me to take."
The soldier rocked weakly on his back. The blade had left him without any limbs. He was now only a torso and the mad glint in his eyes explained why he was still alive. He was living off the natural high that came with insanity. "Do you want to know why killing me wouldn't change a thing?" He asked with a crazed grin. "Because there's plenty more like me out there. We're soldiers. We kill. And each time we kill someone, more will rise to take the place of the fallen. Lets just say I kill a soldier from Fire Country today. I kill that soldier and that soldier's family, mad with grief, will probably end up in the army too, so they can come and kill more of me. Then I get killed and my friends and family takes my place to kill more of you! And when all the adults of a family are killed off, what happens to the little orphans? We soldiers go pick them up. I DESERVE A LITTLE HAPPINESS IN MY PUTRID LITTLE LIFE! NO ONE WANTS THESE KIDS ANYWAYS! BUT I DO! I DO!"
Not paying attention to the man's tirade, Seraph walked to the trembling child and extended a hand gently. "Come here darling. I won't hurt you."
The dirt-covered hands of the little girl went to her face to brush back her stringy brown hair. Lifting up her chin, the luminosity of her green eyes caught Seraph off guard.
"It's ok. Come here, sweetheart." Seraph crooned delicately.
Visibly relaxing, the trusting girl scooted closer with a growing smile and started to speak in her sweet childish voice. "You sound really nice," The brilliance of her cherubic smile was overwhelming, "Your voice is not like the other soldiers. Its softer...kinder....Thank you for saving me."
An invisible force was tugging at the corners of Seraph's mouth. It might actually be a smile. "Listen to me little girl. For today's crime, vengeance isn't mine to take. But it is yours. Do you want it?"
"What's vengeance?" The green-eyed child asked innocently.
Patiently, Seraph started to explain. "Vengeance is what allows you to sleep at night. Vengeance is what takes the weight off your chest. But that's only after you've had your vengeance."
"Vengeance sounds like a nice thing....I guess I would like to have some..."
"Good."
The man was rolling in his pool of red liquid. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU K.O.N.O.H.A. SOLDIERS DID TO MY WIFE?!" He screamed shrilly, with bits of spit flying and strings of sticky saliva clinging to his chin. "YOU PEOPLE KILLED HER YOU BASTARDS! I WOULDN'T HAVE HAD TO RESORT TO THIS IF YOU PEOPLE DIDN'T KILL HER!"
"Obviously we did her a favor by freeing her from you. I'm sure she's in a happier place and grateful to us." Seraph replied calmly.
A tug on the sleeve made Seraph look back down at the girl child.
"You freed the woman by killing her?" The innocence in the girl's eyes was heartbreaking.
"Yes."
"With a gun?"
"Probably."
"WHY WON'T YOU PEOPLE JUST DIE?! IF FIRE COUNTRY FALLS, ALL OF US WOULD BE HAPPIER!" The dying soldier continued with his random outbursts. He was trapped in a fit of madness.
"Little girl. Take this." Seraph took out a Kunai 9mmx19 and held it out. The gun was a standard issue that all soldiers had. Its caliber was enough for an easy kill-shot but not so much that the recoil would be too much for the child to handle. "Take this and go to him. Aim and press on the trigger." Seraph instructed.
Obediently, the girl took the gun and slowly walked to where the man was lying with unsure steps. She turned around with a nervous look and Seraph gave her a reassuring nod. Turning back to the soldier, she took aim with hands that were unsteady with inexperience."No no." Seraph stopped her. "Put one leg behind the other for support or the recoil might send you flying."
The girl nodded and slid her right foot behind the left and took aim again.
"Hey kid...don't tell me you didn't enjoy it." The man leered.
"You're a bad man and I hate you." The girl pressed the trigger and then the soldier was gone.
#####
Ch. 1 Educate The Mind
Smelling of disinfectant and glowing like a chamber from an asylum, the sterile looking classroom with its four slabs of whitewashed walls felt as oppressive as ever. The room bereft of decorations only had items of necessity: rows of metallic desks with laptop computers, an impressive rectangular monstrosity that was the lecturer's desk, and a green chalkboard that proved people had the tendency to cling to archaic times.
It was strange for a top-notch facility to have something like a chalkboard as one of its tools of teaching. The students never did figure out why the teacher insisted on using it for writing notes when it was the age of technology, seeing as using the chalkboard was both cumbersome and messy with its powdery calcium carbonate. They were sure that the janitors also wished the teacher would use something more conventional—such as the computerized holographic projectors that delivered everything from notes to movies with precise clarity, because it would spare them the extra duty of wiping up the chalky leftover.
Sighing, Nara Shikamaru of Team 10, 1st squadron, leaned back in his uncomfortable chair and kicked his legs on top of his desk. His heavy black boots of the issued uniform clunked nosily against the tabletop, causing the softly carried conversations around him to go temporarily silent, and a few glances from curious classmates to go his way.
The classroom was abuzz with the voices of quiet muttering from students. The soldiers who were usually stoic statues of perfect composure were getting restless with the wait. Most of them were probably worrying that the teacher's tardiness was a sign that a major mission was going their way. Frankly, Shikamaru didn't give a damn that they might be handed an important mission. There were always missions, and whether or not a particular assignment was vital to the strategic planning of their superiors made no difference to the fact that their lives were always on the line.
Feeling bored and sleepy, Shikamaru had just closed his eyes when he heard one of the wheeled chairs rolling towards him. The sound was steadily nearing him until he finally felt a tap on his shoulder. Slowly opening his eyes, he turned his head and saw a teenage boy who had a crimson streak of paint on each of his cheeks.
"Oi, Shikamaru? How late is the teacher?" He asked, looking a bit anxious.
Shikamaru shrugged. "About thirty minutes I guess. Why? You already missing your boyfriend, Kiba?" He replied with a smirk.
Kiba scowled and gave Shikamaru an irritated punch in the shoulder. "How many times do I gotta tell you to stop calling him that?!" He grumbled.
Inuzuka Kiba was a member of Team 4 and also in the 1st squadron like him. He was recruited at age six when his first grade teacher reported to the scouts the tales of his superior physical abilities. "Recruited" was a term that was loosely associated with the actual definition of the word. Dragged screaming and kicking away from his family was more accurate to what happened to Kiba.
His family was against his joining the military, not that they or Kiba himself had a choice in what happened to him. Deaf to the protests of the Inuzuka family, the army personnel showed up at their house in the dead of night and whisked Kiba to the facility where he joined the other kidnapped children.
The usual tests were immediately administered to him and Kiba's results proved him to be a sterling candidate for the program. But instead of cooperating and living up to his potential, Kiba refused to socialize or participate in training. The superiors didn't understand his rebellion because the military psychiatrist had classified him as someone who possessed a pack mentality. By all means, he should be the type that would thrive in an environment of his peers by readily incorporating himself among them to find a personal niche in the social hierarchy.
Eventually, the caretaker of his team recommended that he be given a pet to bring him out of his depression. And in an unprecedented decision, the superiors actually agreed and assigned him a working dog. Akamaru was what Kiba named the dog and they bonded immediately. They were inseparable since the day they met, which is why his friends jokingly refer to Akamaru as Kiba's boyfriend.
Shikamaru lifted his chin and looked around before noticing a vacant seat. "Hey, where's Sasuke?"
"I think he's still on his mission. He never did return to the barracks last night." Kiba said as he started to kick his legs to spin his swivel chair in circles. He had a thing against not moving for longer than five minutes.
"Good," Shikamaru replied, "That guy is so damn troublesome."
Kiba started to laugh vociferously, the corners of his eyes crinkled in mirth and his fangs gleamed from within his opened mouth. "You're just mad that he's as smart as you!"
"He's not 'as smart' as me." Shikamaru quipped, "and I don't get 'angry'. It's not in my nature."
"You don't get 'happy' either." Kiba said with a contemplative air.
Shikamaru snorted derisively. "What's there to be happy about? We get up, we train, we go to work, and then we come back and go to sleep. When we're not training or killing, we're forced to take classes. When we're not actually learning anything useful in class, we're forced to recite the brainwashing doctrines. When we're not reciting the mind-numbing doctrines, we're wowed with the stories of Seraph's success on the field. You know, sometimes I wonder if Seraph is even a real person. I honestly suspect it's an imaginary super soldier that the superiors concocted so that we'll all have a goal to work towards."
"Aw man...You know he's real. We've all seen videos and documents of his work. He's amazing."
"Then where is he now?" Shikamaru turned his head and looked intensely at his friend. "He's been missing from the spotlight for over a year. And do you recall anyone ever saying that they've actually met him? None of us that's for sure. The only ones that's ever claimed to have interacted with him and survived are the superiors."
"Hey man..." A tendril of worry crept into Kiba's expression. "You're starting to sound crazy. Like you're thinking counterrevolutionary thoughts.... Besides, Seraph's level is completely different from ours. Maybe his recent missions are all classified and kept secret even from us."
Shikamaru shook his head in frustration. "Sometimes I think I should just let myself get killed on a mission. I have no real purpose in life. None of us do."
Without warning, Kiba grabbed Shikamaru by the shoulders and shook him firmly—his claws dug painfully into his shoulders. "Don't say that." He hissed with conviction in his voice, "Of course we have a purpose. Our purpose is to protect the Fire Country. Our purpose is to protect national interest and kill anyone who opposes our belief. That is why K.O.N.O.H.A. was created. We're the only ones around who can protect our families and friends from savages and foreigners. One and the same I say. Or have you forgotten the teachings?"
"Have you even seen your family after you joined?"
"That's not the point and you know it."
Shikamaru lowered his head and breathed out slowly. "Yea...you're right. I'm sorry." He whispered, "I don't know what's gotten into me..." He tugged uncomfortably at his black bulletproof vest and put a hand to his head to adjust his high ponytail half-heartedly.
Once again carefree and relaxed, Kiba released his hands from Shikamaru's shoulders and slumped backwards in his chair. He scratched at his head of ruffled brown hair and flashed his friend a grin. "I guess that's why we still have to attend class even though it's a pain in the gluteus maximus. Just in case we ever forget our reason for existence."
Shikamaru quirked an eyebrow. "Gluteus maximus? Big words we're using today."
Kiba's grin only grew, showing the perfect large teeth that were the envy of many. "Doncha know? I'm trying to up my vocab!"
The whoosh of the powered door sliding open stopped their banter and Kiba frantically rolled his chair back to his seat. In hurried a frazzled looking man who seemed to be in his late twenties, carrying an armload of badly organized papers that threatened to spill from the stack.
The class stood to attention as did Shikamaru and they saluted in exact conformity. "IRUKA-SENSEI SIR!"
The teacher hastily dropped the papers onto his desk and waved a hand at them dismissively. "Just sit down." He replied in a semi-loud voice.
"SIR, YES SIR!" As if they were all trained in the art of sitting down by the same instructor, the class pulled out their chair in unison and sat down, without deviation, at the same moment. The atmosphere would have remained respectful if it weren't for the blond teen that suddenly stood and slapped his hands down on his desk. "IRUKA-SENSEI! YOU WERE OVER THIRTY MINUTES LATE!!" He yelled angrily.
Iruka-sensei looked at the boy and sighed. "Naruto-kun, please sit back down."
The boy named Naruto didn't heed the teacher's kind form of command and continued to speak impetuously. "How am I supposed to become a soldier as great as Seraph if you don't even show up to teach class?!" He bellowed at his superior.
The teacher started to laugh before he masked it by faking a cough behind a fist. "A-hem...Naruto-kun." Iruka gave him an amused look. "You couldn't even hack past the simulated security system on the last test. Trust me, you're a long way from even being close to Seraph's level. Besides, I'm here now am I not? So you better sit down and try to actually listen to my lecture for once."
Naruto started to look embarrassed—the whisker-like black marks on his face contrasted sharply with his coloring cheeks. "W-Well, how am I supposed to learn when you show up late for your own class!" He retorted in an effort to blame his low test scores on the teacher. "You need to start class on time so I can learn and someday, become a soldier greater than Seraph."
From somewhere at the far end of the room, someone laughed pejoratively before saying: "Stupid! You can't ever be as great as him! You're only a foreigner! Go back to where you came from!"
"That's enough." Iruka interrupted. "Naruto may have immigrated to this country but that doesn't mean he isn't loyal to us."
The room hummed with indistinct comments that expressed disbelief, but no one said anything more to contradict the teacher.
Naruto, who had a stricken look on his face, smiled gratefully at Iruka-sensei before sitting down in a subdued manner. No matter how many times people questioned his allegiance, he never got used to the accusatory stares and caustic insults from those he considered his own people.
Iruka wasn't ignorant of the fact that Naruto was the exile of the regiment. His colleagues didn't trust him and he never received missions of any value because he wasn't born on Fire Country land. Sometimes, when the boys his age were playing around in the mess hall, Iruka would see Naruto sitting isolated with the aura of piteousness hanging over him. The sight of the young foreign-born who forever had the faraway look of loneliness in his blue eyes always roused the feeling of compassionate pity without fail. Uzumaki Naruto was a good kid—always gregarious and eager to please. He was continuously trying to prove his worth to the comrades that wouldn't watch his back, and to the superiors who had his file tagged in red, a color of suspicion.
Iruka scratched at the scar across his nose and shuffled through his papers before finally finding the sheet he was looking for. "Ok men, before I start today's lecture, I want to go over a few crucial matters." He lifted his head and was raking his eyes around the classroom until his point of focus stopped at a specific spot. "By the way, does anyone know where Sasuke-kun is?" He glanced down at the paper he held in his hand. "Oh never mind. He's still on the field." The youthful teacher cleared his throat authoritatively before talking again. "Kiba-kun."
Hearing his name, Kiba bolted upright from his chair and puffed out his chest. "SIR, YES SIR!"
"In chapter five, titled Energy from The Art of War, what did Sun Tzu say about simulations and what they actually represent?"
Taking a deep breath, Kiba started to recite the work in a loud and precise manner. "SUN TZU SAID: SIMULATED DISORDER POSTULATES PERFECT DISCIPLINE; SIMULATED FEAR POSTULATES COURAGE; SIMULATED WEAKNESS POSTULATES STRENGTH!"
"Very good Kiba." Iruka looked impressed. "I'm surprised you actually memorized it."
"THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENT, SIR!" The teenager was the perfect soldier to the end.
"You may sit now."
"SIR, YES SIR!" Kiba smoothly sat back down and slid the chair until he was sitting right behind his desk again. His abdomen was a perfect seven inches apart from the edge of the luminous table that reflected silvery light from its metallic surface.
"And Naruto-kun."
Upon hearing his name, the boy who wasn't paying attention jolted upwards in alarm. "Um...yes?"
Iruka fixed a disapproving glare at the lackadaisical student before asking his question. " Chapter thirteen on the use of spies, what did Sun Tzu say in paragraph eighteen?"
Naruto hastily rose and almost tripped over his own chair before he straightened his back and gave the educator an energized salute. "SIR, YES SIR! SUN TZU SAID: BE A SUB! BE A SUB! AND USE YOUR PIES FOR KIND BUSINESS!"
The class looked around, utterly confused by his recitation. Meanwhile, Iruka was trembling quietly with his head bent low to his chest. The frustrated teacher was caught between the overwhelming urges to either laugh or throw his chalk at the blond idiot. "Naaaaaruuuutooooo!" Iruka growled lowly from between his clenched teeth.
"Yes sir?" The seventeen year old replied innocently.
Coughing a few times, Umino Iruka lifted his head to continue when he decided that he had recovered his equanimity. "Shikamaru-kun, teach Naruto-kun the actual wording."
Very slowly, Shikamaru slid his chair back. And equally slowly, he lifted himself from his seat to stand listlessly before he delivered a haphazard salute. "Sir, Yes Sir. Sun Tzu said: Be subtle! Be subtle! And use your spies for every kind of business."
Quiet laughter started up among the soldiers as most of them took quick looks at the reddening face of Naruto. Most of the guys were satisfied with hushed jeering except for the one who felt the need draw attention to himself. "Oi Naruto! I bet you're such a shitty spy for your country that your people abandoned you here!" The unidentified soldier called out obnoxiously.
"That's enough, Fujiyama!" Iruka snapped. "Step out of line again and I'll see to it that you serve a week in the kitchens! Naruto! Shikamaru! You may both sit down."
Without responding, Shikamaru dropped to his seat like a sack of weights. He was too busy being irritated with everything and everyone in the room to even care for etiquette.
As for Naruto, he was busily turning his head to every direction possible, searching for the man who made the snide comment. "DAMMIT! I'M PART OF K.O.N.O.H.A. AND I'M LOYAL! WHOEVER THE HELL SAID THAT I DARE YOU TO SAY IT TO MY FACE!"
"Naruto, SIT DOWN!" Iruka shouted, and in a moment of weakness, threw his chalk at the rowdy teenager.
(TBC: if ya like it. take the time to review will ya?Jeez pplz)
Argh My bro is so annoying! He kept asking me why I'm asking him about guns and I keep telling him its NONE OF HIS BUSINESS!
Bro: WHY WHY WHY TELL ME!
Me: ARGH! ITS CUZ I'M WRITING A STORY!
Actually, my bro brought up a good point. If it's in the future, why don't they just use laser guns? Well....because I like it this way? Shooting lasers all over the place gives me horrible Star Trek flashbacks.
And writing this chapter was sooooo damn exhausting. I really should try writing shorter chapters because long chapters are so mind-numbing and really hard to edit. BTW, Ino shows up in next chapter.