They called her Sora, because she had fallen from the sky.

And she did remember falling, but not into a forested glen on the outskirts of a minor trading port, just down the two flights of stairs leading to her dorm. When she had come to, Jack had been standing over her, wrinkled face looking down at her in concern. He'd asked her something, and for a moment she didn't know what he was saying. The sounds coming from his mouth where unfamiliar, smooth rounded tones not unlike the foreign words she'd heard while walking though the language department on campus. He tried again, and this time, they were garbled, like hearing sound underwater. When she was still uncomprehending, he sighed, speaking again, only more slowly.

"Are you alright?"

The clarity of his question was like a rubber band snapping, as if her mind had scrambled for understanding, resisting it as it did so, before giving in with a sharp pain to her temple.

The first six months were terrifying; adjusting to this place. Everything was different; from what you wear, to how you address people, and even what you ate. If she had been from somewhere similar to it, acclimatizing probably wouldn't have been so hard. But her home was far from the Land of the Rising Sun, nearly halfway across the globe. Not that it mattered, seeing as this place was just as far from that island as it was from her homeland.

She'd adjusted though; she'd had too.

She'd lost weight, her pudgy form withering as she discovered that people here simply didn't eat as much as they had back home. Jack had been kind; finding her a place to stay and a job to help her survive. He didn't baby her, but he didn't leave her to rot like others would have.

Then came the Dreams.

Nearly a year after she'd appeared, she began having horribly realistic nightmares. Every time she closed her eyes, there was another image, another face staring back at her. Her dreams weren't all bad, some even ordinary, but she'd only really discovered their true potential one day in the back kitchen of the café.

The afternoon cook had come in drunk that day and the morning cook, who Jack usually called in when this happened, was away visiting family. The man was swinging at a haunch of meat with a cleaver, mauling it beyond recognition.

The knife slipped, cutting his hand. Blood rushed out, mixing with the rivers running down from the raw meat. By the time the physician arrived, it was already too late. The cut had been too deep, and the man had lost his hand. And with it, his job, his wife, and eventually, his life.

But Sora saw it all before it happened. And she stopped it.

It was then that she realized something.

Despite her awkwardness with the culture, she knew things about this world. Things she really had no business knowing. And wisely, she kept her mouth shut. Her knowledge was dangerous, more so for herself than anyone else.

Then there where her other 'quirks'.

Discovering that she couldn't die was nearly more than she could handle, the story of how she'd found this odd trait unpleasant to remember. Suffice to say, she did not die well. When she'd woken up that first time, she was confused and terrified. The second time it happened, she was furious. Every time after that, it was just irritating. It hurt and she definitely didn't like dying, but sometimes it just couldn't be helped, especially in this town.

She had known from the beginning that this little backwater was a cesspool, a haven for criminals and a hub for the Black Market, even before her first murder.

But it had been simple and it had been home.

So she stayed, working for Jack at his old but homey little diner off the corner of the busy main street, watching though the large floor length windows as people made their way through the port. It was the nearest restaurant to the gates of the city, attracting all sorts of customers, some of which were responsible for her deaths, the freaks.

The trick was making sure no one found out. Which is where her Dreams came in handy, along with the neat healing stunt her body pulled whenever her blood was spilt. Normal people didn't notice her ragged reappearances, too absorbed in their own shady business to care. But shinobi, she knew, were another matter entirely.

Sora counted herself lucky, having thus far only encountered them in passing, serving their orders and filling their drinks. It was something she was ridiculously grateful for, the fear of discovery not entirely unfounded. An undead waitress? No way that would fly. But of course, her luck had run out, just as her Dreams said it would.

Colored blood looked so much different from the real thing, she decided, the bland red of ink appearing flat when compared with the rich hues that dripped from her hand.

A peal of laughter broke the silence that had surrounded her, the man behind her leaning closer to take a long whiff of her hair, despite the shortness of its length.

Sora flinched away from his breath on her ear, vaguely noticing the way the skin of his arm turned black as he returned it to its place by her wounded hand.

She wasn't terrified so much because she could die; it was more what would happen to her before she died. Pain, torture and, though she was loathe to think it, rape, were all possibilities. She didn't want them touching her, but she wouldn't be able to do anything if they did. The café was proof of that.

Sora had seen them show up an instant before they had, but the speed of their violence had left her reeling. She hadn't realized human beings could move that fast, Kakuzu's strings tearing her heart from her flesh before she could turn from the door and run.

Then there was Hidan. The wretched, evil creature that had not only killed her, but had desecrated her body, taking pleasure in her pain, drawing it out in a way only written in horror stories. She never wanted to be on the receiving end of that again.

The young woman shuddered at the remembrance and she could hear the grin in his voice when he spoke.

"Just you wait, lovely. It only gets better."

"Hidan!" Kakuzu barked sharply from the couch, impatience clear in the spike of what Sora could only describe as Killing Intent.

"Yeah, yeah, ya bastard. Damn kill joy." Hidan snapped, the last part mumbled petulantly into her hair.

He moved closer, if that were at all possible, his unwelcome form pressed flush against hers. The hand that had covered her mouth moved to her throat, tightening teasingly, distractingly. A moment later and she was jerking, body spasuming in agony. She looked down, mouth open in a silent scream as she took in the sight of a long black rod sticking from her chest, the end of which was clenched tightly in his other hand. Hidan groaned behind her, blasphemous prayers falling from his lips and Sora realized that he had shoved the weapon though them both, black markings deepening in color as he preformed yet another abhorrent ritual on her.

Sora was gasping for breath, the world around her turning dark as she slumped forward, bleeding out all over her front door.

Someone sighed, air brushing past her left cheek as they breathed out slowly.

"Beautiful."

The girl woke to find her spine arching, instinctively pulling away from the man behind her as her chest burned.

The pike impaling her left hand to the wall was sizzling; long wisps of blood evaporating from the wound and everything it had touched, leaving the carpet and wall bare of the sticky substance. It disappeared from her clothing, fading like red smoke and the ebony rod in her ribs fell, clattering at her feet as her body burned the invasion from her body.

Her hand dropped to her lap as the young woman collapsed, the hole in it closing seamlessly. Her knees brushed against the instrument used to kill her, and she stared at it with dazed fascination, distantly noticing how one end seemed to have been corroded away, as if by some toxic acid.

Deep voices finally registered in her ringing ears and Sora turned her head down, wishing that something hid her face from view.

"See. What'd I tell you! Bitch can't die." Hidan snarled at her back, sandaled feet retreating from her peripheral vision. She was sure he would have kicked her, for all the venom in his voice.

There was a muffled grunt of agreement before her couch groaned in protest, and a brush of misplaced air rushed past her still form. The tensing of her tired muscles almost pulled a whimper from her throat, but she fought it, letting her body stiffen in anticipation. Kakuzu's voice was as raspy as she remembered it and the command was unmistakable.

"Stand up."

Sora bit her lip, closing her eyes. Threads of premonition fluttered across the dark lids until she sighed softly and grudgingly stood.

She pivoted to look at the Akatsuki member, forcing herself to meet his gaze, and nearly drew back at the frigidness of his green irises.

Her hands found the fabric of her satchel, miraculously unharmed and still hanging from her right shoulder. Fingers curled into whitened knuckles around her belongings, the hard inflection of his voice stripping her of confidence.

"You will come with us. You will not struggle, call out, or run. You will be silent and do as ordered." He didn't bother to pause. "Do you understand?"

There was no question.

Sora simply nodded.

AN: Huh. Another chapter. What did you think of it? Any mistakes?

The Land of the Rising Sun is another name for Japan.

Sora means sky.

Review Please!

~Delgodess