Displaced

Act I— A Complicated Truth

But in the end I'll be all right—

Just not today and not tonight.

It's me you haunt; it's you I'll hunt.

In which there are unnerving revelations, and our protagonist resolves to get to the bottom of things.

There are things in life that I would be happier not knowing.

I'll learn them anyway; knowledge is power.

The soft hum of kikaichuu wings, the feeling of their tiny forms scuttling throughout his body. Contrary to what some of his comrades might think, both are a comfort. He is theirs, they are his.

He hosts three colonies now, with several distinct sub-populations of kikaichuu present in each due to meticulous breeding programs. There is even a small sub-population that is exceptionally venomous, more so than their nest mates. Best of all, according to preliminary tests, they are resistant to the virulent poison of rinkaichuu— the tiny, poisonous cousins of kikaichuu that so rarely find a compatible host in the Aburame. Were he to face an enemy shinobi that favors poisons he is not yet resistant to, or even a rogue rinkaichuu user, he has better than average odds of living through the encounter.

A total of three full-sized colonies is the upper limit that his body can contain. Reaching that goal required a significant amount of physical discomfort, as his body had to adjust not only to his allies' chakra needs, but also the increased space requirements and greater level of activity. Still, he had considered the challenge worthwhile when he started, and still does. After all, he can scout the entirety of what was once the Uchiha Clan complex with relative ease. He can control a swarm that can drain a human of Jounin-level chakra reserves in under a minute. Granted, landing that many kikaichuu on said hypothetical ninja quickly would be...

Still, theirs is a formidable partnership.

At his silent request, kikaichuu scurry from his sleeves and from underneath the hem of his jacket, a familiar hum filling the air as they lift away. They linger nearby until a veritable swarm surrounds him. With a thought from him, they enter through the square hatch that leads into the bunker-like structure beneath their feet. Suspected ties to Orochimaru. A summoner— ensure there are no substantial non-human chakra signatures. Test for low-level chakra-drainage that indicates active seals. He ensures the latter two concepts are transmitted to his allies, and then glances to the side at his partner, Four.

Four is a sensor— well, Four is Sasuke, but he is technically not supposed to be aware of that fact.

All that enter ANBU training are stripped bare, metaphorically speaking. First, their names and faces are taken away. Whether clan heir or first-generation ninja, everyone starts at the same level. Why? Taken at face value, the anonymity is an attempt to remove prejudices and preconceptions. What it really means is a prohibition on easily identified techniques until the later stages of testing, eliminating those that choose to over-specialize from the recruitment pool. ANBU are supposed to be anonymous to the outside world.

Survival quickly becomes the recruits' priority, and pride falls by the wayside. Skilled with strategy? Plan defenses against merciless teachers and wildlife alike. Attacks from either can come at any time— the only ones they can trust are their teammates, their fellow recruits. A skilled tracker? Hunt for food, keep your eyes open for signs of our enemies' passage. Medic? Patch up the wounded in the aftermath. Sleep and food quickly become luxuries.

Some would argue that by the end of training, even their humanity has been stripped away, and all that remains is a weapon, honed to perfection. In truth, this is a facade that ANBU work to maintain. Cold, aloof, inhuman— Konoha's best are to be nightmares made flesh for those that would oppose them.

Vengeful shadows that are without hesitation, without mercy, without fear.

At the end of training, they will be given a new identity and join a new, if eccentric, family.

And they are all weapons to be wielded by their Hokage— together.

Referring to his masked partner as Four, and himself as Eleven, even in his head, helps separate the then from the now.

Four wordlessly signals that he senses no humans within his range. None but the senior ANBU currently observing them.

Likewise, his scouts report neither foreign chakra signatures, nor chakra-based traps of any kind. So far so good. Eleven relays the intel to his partner. It is likely that Nineteen and Six, the other two trainees participating in this mission, have begun their infiltration. He and Four are to enter from what appears to be the front door, Nineteen and Six will use what may be an escape route that leads to... somewhere in the bowels of the structure.

Their shared task is to investigate the apparently abandoned complex, map it, and retrieve any potentially useful information.

Four indicates his willingness to enter first before reaching for the hatch leading inside. They've already checked thoroughly for standard traps, and found none. He descends the ladder after Four, letting the door shut behind them, a torturous groan of metal against metal.

When they finally reach the end of the ladder, light steps barely audible on the rusted metal, they stand in a long, empty hallway. Fuuinjutsu-powered fluorescent lights flicker above their heads— likelihood of shinobi involvement in the construction increased– illuminating their surroundings. Slate gray walls, the monotony interrupted only by once-sturdy metal doors, several are left open— whoever was here left in a hurry, and likely some time ago— and one on the right is completely encased in what appears to be rust, or perhaps a very large quantity of dried blood. The floor is cement, almost entirely intact, and lacking any significant stains. Rust is more likely than blood.

The air is motionless, stale. Breathing in brings the taste of dust to his tongue. A faint scent of blood and rot lingers, though the source is unknown for now. The place appears abandoned— is entirely abandoned by everything barring some local insects— according to the allies he has scouting the area.

Four heads towards the first available door, reaching for the doorknob without hesitation. His eyes are sharp enough to catch any physical traps, and Eleven's allies have already checked for chakra-based ones. He pulls carefully, but the metal door surrenders without any significant resistance, swinging open with a loud groan that echoes down the hallway. The pair stiffens for a second, before continuing inside the first room. Noisy and inconvenient, thinks Eleven, but unavoidable, considering the general state of the area.

The first room is empty of anything interesting— a broken-down wooden desk and chair, a handful of scattered scraps of paper, and some mold lingering in the corners. The trend continues for the majority of the first floor, with them finding little more than leftover junk. Near the end of the hall, they reach a series of rooms that had clearly once been sleeping quarters, as indicated by the bunk bed frames and rotten mattresses. There are also a handful of rusted kunai stuck in the walls and ceiling, though no indications of dried blood.

The next door on the right hides an abandoned dining area connected to a roomy kitchen, both gutted after the departure of whoever inhabited this place. A few doors down they find what had likely once been an armory, considering the empty weapon stands and occasional senbon scattered on the ground.

When they finally reach the end of the hallway, they are faced with a stairwell leading downward, into the heart of the complex. A singe kikaichuu lands on Shino's shoulder. Shino nods slightly, and signs to Four— his allies have found no signs of life on the next two floors below them.

The scent of blood strengthens as they descend. Unsettling. The atmosphere grows tenser and Shino finds himself fighting the urge to communicate verbally and recapture the easy banter he could have with Sasuke. Four is visibly unnerved when they reach the next floor. The space is immense: a single room appears to encompass the entirety of this floor. Unfortunately, what appears at first glance to be a makeshift hospital is instead a research laboratory. It is in disrepair, but clearly had seen use more recently than the first floor of the complex.

I suspect we now know what happened to the less useful of the former inhabitants.

The air is filled with the sickly-sweet stench of rotting flesh. Cadavers, some partially or completely dissected while others are intact but for the decay, are strapped onto plain metal gurneys— little more than metal tables with wheels— each with a steel cabinet placed beside the head of the table.

Eleven and Four separate to more thoroughly inspect the room, eyes lingering on the bodies, hoping for clues.

Is there useful information to be found in this hellscape? And if so, is it truly worth salvaging?

Perhaps ten minutes into their exploration of the room, Shino can see Four stiffen out of the corner of his eye. He glances to the side, body language indicating his concern. Four— no, Sasuke— stands still, fingers twitching slightly, belaying his agitation. He seems to be tempted to go for a blade.

I'm not certain if we should consider this a mission, or a test. Both, perhaps, like the assassinations that Anko-senpai shadowed me on.

The thought nags at me, even as I scan our surroundings, both with my sharingan eyes, and my sixth sense, the Eyes of the Raijuu. The bunker is cold, a little dank, and smells vaguely of blood, though there is no indication of a raid, just a hasty departure on the previous occupants' part. Likely, they thought their operation, whatever it was, compromised. But then, why the lack of traps?

...It's a little like walking through a ghost town.

A ghost town possibly inhabited by Orochimaru-spawned abominations, depending on what sort of stronghold this is or was. If, indeed, this was Orochimaru's hideaway as intel suggests.

There is little to see on the first floor, but Eleven and I investigate each room thoroughly nevertheless. The scent of blood lingers, and from the stairs, from below, comes a waft of colder air, carrying the stench of death, the sickly sweet-sour smell of putrefaction. Despite the smell, I avoid breathing through my mouth; the taste of death is something I'd prefer not to experience today. Or ever.

The smell makes me edgy, and I can see the same reaction in my partner's body language.

Predictably, the second floor we investigate is not nearly as benign as empty rooms.

Eleven and I split up, in order to speed up our investigation, hoping to find a desk or cabinet with records of some sort.

Whatever the reason, whoever orchestrated this... The room is a nightmarish landscape of human suffering. One that, knowing the rate of decomposition of human flesh in such an environment, has not been abandoned nearly as long as the floor above.

I shudder to think what lies further down this particular rabbit hole.

The room is filled with corpses in various stages of decomposition, strapped down on metal gurneys. Some were clearly dissected after their death— some are little more than strips of rotting flesh and yellowing bone. Others are nearly untouched. Men and women, a wide range of ages. Some look barely human— I scowl behind my mask at a woman with deformed, bat like wings, though they are clearly broken.

Medical experiments, perhaps? Experiments on people with bloodlines? Some kind of genetic mutation trial in an attempt to create bloodlines?

Any of the three certainly sound up Orochimaru's alley.

And then, there are the children.

The one closest to me was likely a boy-child, considering what remains of the clothes. The child's short hair had been dark and spiky—vaguely reminiscent of Naruto's, barring the color. Empty eye sockets. The child's face is permanently frozen in a rictus of agony, as if he had been screaming and the horror and pain of whatever he experienced was so intense that the expression stayed even after death. And there are layers of scarring at the corners of his eye sockets, as if his eyes had been removed and replaced more than once— I repress the shudder of horror working its way down my spine, hands clenching into fists. This isn't the only corpse that's missing eyes, with signs that they had been removed intentionally and not just rotted away.

For someone that holds a doujutsu, such a fate— What were they trying to do? Transplantation, or just... a perversion of medical experimentation? There is a jar on the cabinet behind the corpse. A single, empty eye—either brown or black— stares accusingly at the world. Forever.

Once, before the desensitization training with Anko-sensei and again during the hell ANBU call basic training, a sight such as this would have been enough to incapacitate me temporarily, to make me want to stagger into a corner and vomit. Now, there is only a vague sense of surprise when I recognize the feeling of nausea after my eyes alight on the boy's figure, and then on the jar.

True, in an isolated corner of my mind, disgust and anger war for my attention. But I compress the feelings, shaping them into a cold rage, a weapon for my future use. Motivation. Remember your objective. Be more meticulous in your search for answers, and we will find the bastards that did this, cut them to pieces, and burn them to less than ash, until even the memory of them is lost to the void. If I didn't know any better, I would think this test was specifically designed to unnerve me.

I breathe, ignoring the cloying smell that clings to everything in the room.

Slow, even breaths.

Because even though I am a weapon, behind the weapon and the mask lives a person with morals, even if they would be considered barely scraps of scraps or morals in the eyes of civilians.

These people did not have an easy death.

I turn my attention from the scene— as of yet, there are no signs of paperwork of any kind, no journals detailing these grisly experiments or their purpose. Disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. This room looks— staged to shock and horrify an unlucky audience.

Catching Eleven's attention, I signal my intent to search for hidden doors, and that a thorough search by his allies may be warranted, receiving a nod in acknowledgement.

I do not sense any genjutsu, but when genjutsu are mixed with other arts they become more difficult to detect. Orochimaru, though not a master like Jiraiya, dabbles heavily in fuuinjutsu. Could that be hiding our elusive stockpile of information? Or is there nothing to find after all? The base has been stripped down. This looks like either a very elaborate trap, or... No, I think Orochimaru—if this was indeed his base — would leave something to mock Konoha. Something besides just bodies. The snake seems to be the sort to stir up trouble. For his own benefit, of course.

Backtracking to the stairwell, I step close to the wall, hand hovering an inch above the surface as a guide for my chakra, and focus. Eyes sharp, tomoe of my sharingan no doubt rotating lazily as I search for the tiniest change in the wall's appearance/texture/sensation.

There is nothing for me to sense until I am about a quarter of the way around the room. Here. A slight irregularity, little more than a discreet tingling at the back of my mind. A trio of kikaichuu land on the suspicious area immediately after I arrive, their humming noticeably loud. One lifts off, heading back to the hive—I assume, to report.

Hn. I could take a risk and try to disrupt the illusion... But a safer approach is to allow the kikaichuu to drain the chakra from this wall. A glance to the side, and I can see Eleven approach. The number of his allies on the wall grows exponentially. Interesting. That much chakra? A complicated genjutsu-fuuinjutsu hybrid, maybe? Using the quick gestures of ANBU sign language, drilled into our heads by merciless instructors and made even more effective by our familiarity with each other, I explain my theory.

The illusion drains away, into the bellies of hungry insects, revealing a pristine metal door. With this sort of security measure... Hn.

There is a vaguely familiar pattern on the metal, the smudged remnants of an explosive seal. Unfortunately, Eleven's kikaichuu seem unable to penetrate into the next room. Unsettled, I reach for the doorknob, turning it carefully. The room is empty—no, there is a small, metal stool at the center of the small room, a leather-bound notebook laying on top. And there is a second door, directly across from us.

It opens, and I meet the surprised eyes of Nineteen, visible behind their blank mask.

Immediately, there is a soft, nearly imperceptible hiss. Eyes, widening in surprise, I am the first to break the silence we'd maintained during the operation. "Trap! Everyone out!" But it's not a snake summons that spurs me to speak— it's an explosive note. The entire room is layered with explosive seals, cloaked under a genjutsu that failed as soon as both doors were opened— enough to blow the room sky high, and us with it. And possibly level the entire bunker and the area surrounding it.

A litany of curses flashes through my mind in that instant, before logic reasserts itself. A flare of lightning-natured chakra, the instantaneous switch from using the energy to enhance my reflexes and speed from a low to high setting nearly causing my hands to tremble, and I veritably flash to the stool, retrieving the book— the bait— probably nothing but possibly everything, before fleeing the room, Eleven— no, Shino, on my heels.

An explosion rocks the area as soon as the hatch leading down to the bunker laboratory slams shut behind us, causing all six of us— four trainees, two watchers— to stumble. The earth crumbles behind us as we rapidly escape into the trees, but there are no further explosions. We're over a mile away before we stop running through the trees and regroup. I breathe out a soundless sigh of relief; all six of us are accounted for and unharmed.

That was close.

We all make it home safely, if a little shaken. We rookies ride the adrenaline high from our close escape, our minders keeping a close eye on us for any worrying habits, no doubt. I steal a moment to flip through the book I retrieved before I offer it up to my superiors. My sharingan ensures I'll remember every mark, every page. If anything, curiosity is my cardinal sin.

It is a compilation of research notes, as expected. Specifically, it contains descriptions of kekkei-genkai transfer experiments. Hidden within the text are some suspicious statements made about the limits of transferring a sharingan from a native host, and a lack thereof on other known ocular-based kekkei-genkai. I choose not to comment after I hand the documents over to my superiors.

Soon enough, I am home again. Safe. Secure. As secure as possible in a village full of ninja, anyway.

The late hour assures that no one is likely to disturb me.

I lock the bathroom, turn on the shower, and set the water temperature as close to scalding as I can handle. It isn't long before steam wafts from the shower stall and begins to fill the room, blurring my view of the surroundings. It is only now that I can afford for my expression to reflect my emotional state.

I regulate my breathing as I strip, otherwise I will end up panting like an enraged beast, given the hatred swirling in my belly. It's not the fact we walked into what amounts to a mass grave that bothers me— I wouldn't be in this career if death bothered me. It's the very obvious amount of pain they went through. And for what? For science? Thing is, high levels of stress and trauma sustained over an extended period of time would skew the results of any sort of experiment. People are not so different from animals; we don't respond well to trauma, from a physiological standpoint. So, really, they suffered because whoever carried out the experiments on them was a sadist.

Damn. Can't reality cut me a fucking break once in a while? Or does my very existence necessitate a constant parade of nightmare fuel?

No.

...Stop being so self-centered Sasuke. Admit it; you're angry at what Orochimaru did to those people. Because it could have as easily been Naruto, Shino, or Ino in his clutches. And you're ANBU now. You'll see worse. You might even have to do worse to Konoha's enemies.

My control over chakra slips at that thought, and the room snaps back into sharp focus as my pupils split into three swirling tomoe— I suspect the tenuous grasp I have on my temper is the only thing that keeps me from releasing the mangekyou and burning the entire building to ashes in frustration. If I start setting things on fire now, I'm not sure I would stop, not until someone jammed a kunai into my skull to stop me. The loss of control scares me. Temper, Sasuke. Temper.

I punch the wall instead, taking care to reinforce my hand with chakra to avoid broken bones. The stinging pain— just scraped skin, I note idly as I heal the damage— and the large hole I leave in the wall makes me feel a little better.

"Tsk." You're not a child anymore. You chose this path. Control yourself.

Having vented a fraction of the fear and rage I'd nurtured at the senselessness cruelty Orochimaru and his ilk are capable of, I climb into the shower, biting back a yelp over the heat, and begin to scrub myself clean of the smell of rotting corpses.

Afterwards, finally clean, if a little tender from both the intense heat and scrubbing, and having forced down some instant noodles filched from Naruto's emergency ramen stock, I finally consider what I'd found in that small, leather-bound book. Those notes.

I think, and then I laugh—a sharp, sinister sound, painful to the ears.

I laugh because I cannot allow myself to cry. Not anymore.

There's really only one conclusion.

The likelihood Orochimaru learned the drawbacks of a Non-Uchiha using a transplanted sharingan eye from Kakashi or his team— because such a weakness would have been kept secret during wartime, and afterwards as well— is infinitesimal. Considering that after the war, Namikaze Minato had become Hokage, and Orochimaru had begun isolating himself from the village...

Somehow, somewhere in the not-so-distant past, Orochimaru had access to the sharingan. Or, if I'm wrong— please let me be wrong— to some rather private information regarding my sensei. Orochimaru, who appears to be a completely amoral mad scientist stereotype. Orochimaru, who according to my hazy memories of a possible (if now thoroughly negated) future, may have been allied with Danzou in the past. Danzou, who has an army of emotionless drones, very specific ideas as to what Konoha should become in the future, and likely the will to see it through.

I need to... If this is what I suspect it is, I need to do some very careful digging. Maybe sensei can help.

And then— I will need to speak with Itachi.

Surprisingly, all four of the potential rookies that survived the hellish training, as well as that exceptionally unpleasant information gathering mission, were inducted into the ANBU. Four and Eleven into Division Ro. Six into Division Sham— unsurprising, Six was a stealth and tracking specialist, and demonstrated the temperament of a typical Inuzuka. Nineteen into Division Bo.

We are gathered in that same austere meeting room where twenty possible recruits once stood. At the center of the room, stand the three white-cloaked ANBU commanders. The room is full of masked ANBU, likely everyone not away on mission or guard duty at the moment.

"Four, Six, Eleven, Nineteen... Trainees. Remove your masks, and forget your former designations," the one in the middle commands. There is a speech, about duty, about brotherhood, about— there is a speech, and I only catch the gist of it. I have no doubt this is true for all four of us ANBU rookies.

I am presented with a new mask, and a new name. The mask is vaguely canine— it could just as easily be a jackal as a fox, though the latter is implied by the blood red lines emphasizing the eyes. "Uchiha Sasuke, you are Mugen." I accept the mask with a wry twist of the lips. Shino, standing beside me snorts softly at that proclamation. Mugen. 'Infinity' or 'Dream'. Really? Someone has an interesting sense of humor.

"Aburame Shino, you are Kou." Shino's mask is definitely feline, with a playful smile etched on, blue markings on the cheeks.

"Inuzuka Keiko, you are Ookami." The brown-haired girl—pretty, but with vaguely feral features— whoops in joy after accepting the canine mask with purple stripes on its porcelain-white cheeks. And now I know they're mocking us.

"Hisui, you are Tengu." The green-haired boy bows politely, and eyes the bird-featured mask he is handed with an expression of immense satisfaction.

The commander nods, and as one the ANBU in the room pull their masks to the side. He does so as well, revealing familiar spiky silver hair and mask-covered face. Interestingly enough, Kakashi-sensei doesn't cover his eye when in ANBU uniform, just keeps it shut, the pale scar from the injury that led to the replacement of his original eye all the more noticeable. "Welcome to the family— Mugen, Kou, Ookami, Tengu." His body language mirrors the words, both welcoming and relaxed.

What follows is a flurry of introductions, though many of the shinobi are individuals I know by name and reputation if not by face. The atmosphere is relatively light, despite the seriousness of the event. We are introduced to everyone present, and then the ANBU split off into separate divisions, ostensibly so we can get better acquainted with our new teammates and receive our ANBU tattoos.

The tattoo, interestingly enough, is a series of layered fuuinjutsu that only the ANBU commanders and the people tapped to be their replacements are taught to apply. The thought of ANBU Inu, of Kakashi-sensei, secretly being a tattoo artist, makes me laugh internally.

Soon enough, it is approaching noon, and we are given leave for the rest of the day— told to take the afternoon off, go celebrate our accomplishment. We'll be contacted tomorrow regarding any necessary paperwork, more specialized training, and assignments.

Shino and I linger in the meeting room for some time, catching up with Kakashi-sensei, who'd been increasingly busy over the past year— although now we had confirmation as to why. Soon enough, it is well past lunchtime, and all three of us depart in separate directions. Shino heads to his family compound, Sensei to Kami only know where, and I back to my home, to continue my search for information on Orochimaru and Danzou in the clan records.

Sasuke has successfully joined ANBU, and deeper into the rabbit hole we go... So, dear readers, what do you think? (I think Sasuke is trying hard to find an excuse, any excuse, to investigate Danzou. Despite his initial plans to leave that mess alone until he had legitimate proof of misdeeds.)

Next update is scheduled for mid-April.

Finally, to the anonymous Guest who asked "Are you going to explain a bit more about Itachi and Sasuke's relationship? And how that changed?" Likely I will, as things evolve. Changes to their relationship during the timeskip, however, are covered in Chasing Shadows.

*Lyrics quoted at the top of the chapter are from "Something To Lose" by Phedora.