Tinted Reality - Chapter 1
By Rociel
21 December 2005
It was over before it even began.
Every bullet hit its intended target. Thirty-two shots fired. Thirty-two bodies. It was not necessary to check for survivors. There were none. Folding his arms over his chest, the youth calmly leaned against the wall and waited for the clean-up crew to arrive. As on every other day, the slight youth was dressed entirely in black, long ebony haired pulled back in a low ponytail. Blessed with a fair complexion and androgynous features, no one would have thought the slender attractive youth was capable of such carnage. At seventeen, he was arguably one of the youngest and best assassins the organisation had. He was known for making clean kills. A quick clean shot to end it all, most of his victims never even saw death coming. Not a single drop of blood spilt had touched his personage. As his eyes travelled slowly over the bodies that littered the room, he found himself inexplicably drawn into a time long past.
---
A younger version of the youth, age thirteen, stood over the unmoving bodies of his parents. Their blood pooled around them, creating a macabre display in centre of the usually neat room. On every other day, nothing was out of place. Every piece of furniture, every ornamental display was where it should been, each having a place of its own, a reason and purpose to be there. Family pictures adorned the walls creating a very homely feel to the room. Loving parents hugged a widely grinning little boy and a slightly aloof sullen looking teen. They looked very bit like a normal family. The younger boy that just entered the room stared in mute horror that the sight before him. He had seen but had not wanted to acknowledge the truth before his eyes. Hands tighten their grip on the strap of the schoolbag slung over his shoulders. "Mom? Dad?" He called shakily, as he took another step forward, tears starting to fill his eyes, blurring his vision. He blinked and they spilled over, running down his flushed cheeks. He had raced all the way home from school. His elder brother had promised to take him to the park to play that afternoon.
At the slight rustle of clothing, the boy looked up and saw the youth stepping out of the shadows towards him. He moved back hesitantly when he saw the cold look on his face. "Brother…?" came the scared and confused voice from the opposite end of the room. He wanted to run into his brother's arms, to have him tell him that everything was a bad dream and all he needed to do was to go back to sleep and all would be well when he awoke. His brother seemed indifferent to the fact that their parents had been murdered. Then it dawned on him. "Why?" he asked, voice choking with emotions, fear, anger, hatred, confusion, betrayal, a deep sense of loss and grief warred within him.
His brother paused before him, as if contemplating a reply. Then leaning down to gently cup the boy's chin and tilt it up to face him, he answered, "You are not even worth killing. Foolish little brother... If you wish to kill me, hate me, detest me... And survive in an unsightly way. Run. Run and cling to life."
And the boy ran.
---
"Itachi?"
The voice shook him out of his reverie. He looked towards the door at the newcomer. The bespectacled young man in a navy blue pants and white shirt walked over to him, the first two buttons of his shirt were undone and his hair was combed back neatly in a short ponytail. Yakushi Kabuto, age nineteen, was part of the organisation's intelligence network team cum field medic. Itachi had not been aware of the other person's approach. A slight frown creased his forehead. That was extremely careless of him.
Kabuto examined that mess, one hand on the doorframe, the other rested lightly on the doorknob as he silently counted the victims. "Woman and children too? Tsk tsk."
"They were in the way," Itachi informed him coolly. His orders were absolute. There were to be no witnesses. He felt no remorse or regret. It was simply a job that needed to be done.
"Aren't you the mercenary one?" Kabuto teased lightly as he made his way cautiously through the bodies strewn about. "Kisame will be in soon with the rest of the crew. You are free to go." Kabuto leaned in towards Itachi as he spoke, his lips barely grazing Itachi's left ear lobe. "You got careless," he spoke right into Itachi's ear, before moving to lick a thin line of blood that had beaded on the left side of his cheek. Itachi did not so much as flinch.
"Are you done?" He asked coldly.
"Soon," Kabuto replied as he moved off to rifle through the contents of the some of the drawers in the room, pulling out some files and papers. He scanned through one quickly, kept it aside, looked at another one, decided to drop it and moved on to the next. Kabuto did not usually appear on site, preferring to rely on his hacking skills to extract whatever information he needed. Surely any information he required was highly classified material of utmost importance to the organisation, and therefore not readily available in drawers at dinner parties. It was strange that he should be looking for anything here at all. Nevertheless, Itachi did not ask what he was searching for. That was none of his concern and he did not care to know. He lifted a hand and gently touched the side of his cheek. The cut was starting to sting a little.
"Nothing a bit of band-aid wouldn't cure," Kabuto informed him cheerfully as he continued scanning the various documents he had in his hands. "It won't scar," he added comfortingly after some thought. He closed the file he was reading. "What happened?" He looked straight at Itachi, gaze unwavering, "It's not like you to get hurt, even if it is just a tiny scratch."
Itachi did not answer. He kept his eyes on the plush carpet that covered the floor, observing with dull interest as it greedily soaked up the blood, the darkened stains slowly spreading in areas where the bodies had fallen. Over in the far corner, a potted plant lay smashed where it was knocked over. They used to have a plant like that at home. It sat by the window next to their display cabinet. His mother would water it religiously every alternate day. His little brother made it a point to peer at it intently each day and ask him if there were going to be flowers any time soon. He would patiently explain to him that flowers would not spring up automatically just because he stared at the plant long and hard enough like he believed it would. And his father would laugh at them all while he pored over his work at the dinner table, a cup of coffee by his side.
Kabuto did not let the matter rest. "I will have to include that in the report to Orochimaru," he warned as he pushed his spectacles higher up the bridge of his nose. "You know I'd much rather have you tell me yourself than to have to recommend that you be sent for interrogation." Itachi stared at him coldly.
"I was distracted." Itachi would not admit that he was reminded of someone he once knew. He refused to look at that particular body, choosing instead to cast his eyes upon the huge mahogany table in the centre of the room. There was a huge cake in the centre of the table. Presents wrapped in pretty coloured paper and tied up in ribbons lay unopened on one end of it. Plates of party food filled the space at the other end. Candles were still burning brightly on the cake, the melted wax dripping onto its surface and forming mutated looking masses of wax. There were eight of them. His brother was eight when he last saw him. Had he gotten any stronger?
"So you hesitated?" Kabuto pressed on relentlessly. Itachi remained silent. He did not need to answer that. No matter what he said, that would be reported as a weakness on his part. Ignoring Kabuto totally, he walked out of the room.
An assassin should have no weaknesses.
But an assassin is only human.
End of Chapter 1.