I tried to maintain my dignity and keep sure footing as I focused on an iron double door across the room. The feeling of being five and in the dark was back at the top of the roster. The air was cold, malicious and heavy, as if it were displeased at being stirred up after so many years. This thought tipped the scale out of pride's reach as I held my breath and practically skipped to the doorway.

I burst onto the other side of the double doors and clung to a counter top, the first solid thing I came into contact with. Calming down, feeling embarrassed again and catching my breath, I blinked in the light.

Was there light? I glanced around. I appeared to be in a large industrial kitchen lit by a lone bare bulb hanging pitifully from the darkness. It was quite the dystopian mess but I could make out a stove and a large empty hole in the counter. They stole the sink? They stole the sink. The rusted appliances hung open like the mouths of dead oxen trapped in the mire. The cupboards, if not torn down, were all bare. This kitchen must have fed the entire base, snakes and servants alike. It made sense that it be hit hardest. With the surrounding area impoverished, all the food in a freshly abandoned kitchen would have been a gold mine.

There was a low humming noise resonating in the air. I assumed that meant there was a generator around here somewhere. There were only generators in the shops back in town, as the neighborhoods couldn't afford anything as luxurious as electricity. They made a very specific noise with which my father was fascinated. I made my way through the kitchen. I could see another dilapidated set of double doors in the back.

Before creeping through the doors in search of what I hoped was a generator I noticed a space that looked different. It wasn't clean by any stretch of the imagination but everything else in the godforsaken kitchen was rusted beyond recognition. It was a pantry that was laden with padlocks but now stood ajar. I squinted inside at dusty shapes of cans and bags of rice remaining. There were footprints in the dirt and rubble.

I followed the path of the scuffled footprints out the door I was standing in front of. It took a minute to sink in. Someone must still be living in here. Of course, someone had to be running the generator. My mind erupted into panic mode. "It must just be a squatter. Maybe he's seen your father. Maybe your father is with him admiring the generator!" The logical half of my brain made a valiant effort in persuading my adrenaline down. But the terrified five-year-old persisted, stating only:

"It's probably a renegade mutated experiment that has already killed your father and is eating him with a side of rice. No worries, though."

I frowned down to my collar bone. As a boy my parents used to say I was lucky to be both smart and imaginative. In reality this resulted just in my logically determining everything as dangerous and terrifying. I liked to think I was the voice of reason to all the destitute and worn workers. They probably didn't think of me as highly. Now it was either helping or hindering and I had no way of knowing which way it was going.

I snatched a half rusted knife off a rack as I passed through the doors pretending to be brave. I had never had any idea in my life how loud my footsteps were or how loud my breathing was. Good lord, have I always been so loud? I tried to be as quiet as humanly possible. Up a couple of stairs I came back into a hallway.

It was much like the previous hallway but tighter. The walls were carved in a lulling curved pattern. I clung to these walls and tried to channel my inner mouse, peering into once-decent rooms for any sign of my old man. I could never tell how near or far the humming of the generator was. I glanced into a large open laboratory. Broken glass and upended benches made it impossible to enter. Like hell I would have anyway.

I was so distracted by my racing thoughts that I almost fell into a doorway against my safety wall. I steadied myself and my gaze fell to the ground to be sure of my footing. I saw that my sandals had scuffed through a dark, flaky iodized stain. I squinted at it a little longer despite what it had to be. I slowly turned on my heels. The stain splashed out of this doorway turned out to be an ocean covering the room I had nearly tumbled into.

Dumbfounded by the sheer amount of dark staining, I stepped into the middle of the room. It was like wading into a frozen lake that smelled of metal. There had been blood everywhere. It had puddled on most of the floor, sprayed across walls, slung across the ceiling. I found myself more horrified that no one had cleaned it up. That indicated to me that this must have been a scene of finality in the function of this base.

Any furniture was upended and empty like someone had searched them in a hurry or in a rage, or perhaps both. I backed away from the destroyed desk and dressers. A sharp hiss sounded from behind me. I squealed like a wounded doe as I spun, bringing the knife to my chest but tripping over my own feet. I landed on my ass, bringing the knife up in the direction of the noise. I was wedged between a wall, a broken nightstand and a bed splintered in half. I shuddered to think of how that bed, clearly once very grand, became so destroyed. I only lowered the knife glimpsing the source of the noise in the center of wood and mottled silk.

I squinted at this pile of something that I had only seen because it moved. Holding the lantern up in my other hand I saw it was a coiled snake. A large tan python curled around what I hoped at first was decaying mattress. I only realized it was a clutch of eggs when the animal turned its thick head my way, with a probing forked tongue and lidless cold eyes. My upper lip recoiled as far as I did as I scrambled backwards up against the nightstand.

If I never saw another snake in my life I would keep a watchful eye on my father for the rest of his days. I looked down to make sure I still had my would-be defense weapon and had a time tucking the knife in my belt without hurting myself. My elbow knocked the drawer of the forsaken nightstand out. It fell to the floor with a sound loud enough to startle me and the wretched reptile nesting near, as we both made similar startled noises.

I scooped up the contents before they could fall and make any more noise for whatever other miserable entity about to hear. I froze and waited to make sure nothing heard me being clumsy. Eventually I looked down at the only two things in my hands: a shinobi's headband and a crumbled piece of paper. These must have been left out of contempt, as I'd seen all of the other dressers and chests so empty that even entire drawers were taken.

Turning the headband over I recognized the insignia of the fire country ninjas behind the massive gash etched across it in the metal. It was old and worn to the point of antiquity. Konohagakure had the most premier force of shinobi in the world so their headbands were easily recognized. But what was this poor jilted thing doing in a place like this? A victim of the Giant Snake, perhaps, that demon spawned from-

I dropped the thing like it was on fire. The metal plate made a small chime as it hit the stone. I remember Lord Orochimaru always proclaimed as a legend gone bad by the older folks. He had originally been a Konoha shinobi. What if that headband had been his? I had held it. What if this room had been his, bathed in blood? What if the Giant Snake was murdered in this room?

The cold that I waded into when I entered this room suddenly became cloying as if the air was trying to keep my lungs from inflating. I clambered to my feet and pressed against the wall, stuffing the ball of paper from the drawer in my pocket without a thought. I tried not to look at the room again. I hurriedly grabbed the doorjamb. The wretched creature in the rotting bedding huffed and puffed at me being so much of a disturbance. "Shove off." I barked at it in a hushed whisper before I practically flung myself into the hallway far away from the doorway.

Looking back it seemed positively black as if it were a doorway into nothing. The shadows spilling out of it in the form of long dry blood spray acted as an open invitation. The space behind me felt like it now had a purpose, like it had intent to spread anger and pain. It succeeded. I turned back to the hallway and took a deep cleansing breath. I shuffled down the hall at a quicker pace than before.

/Hey nerds. OH SNAP normal people touching my shit. Stay tuned. One or two installments left~ -Orochimartyr