I sat, trembling, in my tiny apartment for longer than I care to admit after mother told me the news, mind a blank static haze as I struggled to process what it meant that the dread day had finally come.

I still visited Mother virtually every day I wasn't away on a mission; I am only a mediocre cook so I had a good excuse. We could have an enjoyable and relaxing lunch together while father was distracted by 'clan matters', which mother less than subtly hinted I might wish to involve myself in, while I dissembled with admiring comments on how lovely her orchids are this year.

But now is the hour of our judgement, and I don't believe I can possibly measure up.

I tie my forehead protector across my brow with hands steadied by despair and give my sleeping kitten a small stroke before I leap from the window; Kakashi should find my note soon enough. Fovea will be safe, at least.

I search, desperately, frantically, for Itachi, flitting over the terracotta roof tiles as my spiral takes me closer to the moonlit woods. There was no hope of besting him in combat, no possibility of escape, no chance of forgiveness. But maybe- maybe I had distanced myself enough from the clan? Maybe I had shown myself loyal to the village?

I… I had no impressive claims to my name, no grand gestures, no heart rending sacrifices, nothing solid that I could point to and say 'See? I'm not like them, I'm not that way, I don't have to die', but maybe I could- I could-

And then there he was, easy as winking, just standing in a little clearing in the woods surrounding the Uchiha compound, already dressed in his ANBU gear, mask conspicuous in its absence as the unreal brightness of the moon drew shadows sharp as knives.

I took a breath, trying to think of how to frame it, how to phrase the argument so that I didn't need to be exterminated, extol my few virtues and make the faults less obvious, show myself worthy, that I am strong, that I deserve to live-

He turned and his gaze locked with mine, the pinwheel of his mangekyou active and his face devoid of expression.

The breath whooshes from me like a physical blow and I fall to my knees. There is no argument. There is no debate. There is no supplication. Itachi is not something which can be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. He is not present, he has no substance, nothing to hold onto, no levers I can pull, no strings I can grasp at. He is the platonic representation of the cessation of consciousness, no more 'human' than gravity, or entropy itself. He might as well be a hologram, a projection, a discoloration of the air; arguments would not fall on deaf ears,there are no ears to hear me, I would have more luck bartering with a television screen, and would have as much impact on the newscaster solemnly announcing the dropping of the atomic bomb, utter annihilation so that not one stone stands upon another, not one bone is left unshattered-

I am babbling, babbling my life away, words like leaves falling into a pond, circling the drain to nothingness as I say anything, anything I can think of as my hands shake so hard I cannot feel my fingers and my breathing comes in desperate terrified gulps.

"Please, I'll do anything, I'll watch over Sasuke, I'll kill Danzo, I'll kill Madara, I'll give you my eyes, I'll never leave the village, please, I'll help you with-"

My throat clenches with a sudden gurgle and I cannot say the word 'massacre'. Mother's softly smiling face fills my mind, but instead of kind words and comfort she opens her mouth and blood pours out in a river, and I fall into prostration before him, before death, before god, the scales of judgment, mene mene tekel-

"Please- anything- scared- please- please- for the village- sorry- please- not weak- tried- sorry- so hard- please- please- please-"

I am cowering, huddled into a ball of despair with my hands on my head and the litany of my inadequacy stuttering forth in quavers between ever more frantic gasps for the air which will not come. I cannot hear anything but for the sound of my own terror, as even my mumbling fades to borderline inaudibility and the black spots at the edges of my vision began to grow.

"Go."

I am moving before I even fully process his word, leaves and branches rushing past in a blur of tears and panic, moving as fast as I possibly can, to get as much distance from Itachi as possible heedless of any obstacles in my path as I throw myself headlong into the trees, pounding chakra searing in my lungs and legs as I push for yet greater speed. The air is cold against clammy skin, and where once I trusted the foliage of my home to keep me safe from any enemy, now the bleached grey towers are hiding places for every terror.

I do not believe my luck. Truly; I am still certain that this is at best a Genjutsu, a last little kindness from Itachi in acknowledgment of my leal service to Konoha, a brief respite as I bleed out in the dirt of that clearing, a hallucination so I remain complacent. At worst he finds me so revolting in my pathetic grovelling that he wishes the pleasure of hunting me down at his leisure once he has finished with the rest.

Eventually I cannot make myself move anymore, legs numb and lungs burning, and I stumble against a tree and take trembling breaths as I clutch at the faded bark with nerveless fingers. There is a small sound in the clearing behind me, and my veins fill with ice again as I turn to see-

Too slow.

I barely complete the movement before the smooth metal slides through my neck, blocking my windpipe and neatly severing my spine, pinning me to the tree. It hardly even hurts, so sharp the blade, so quick the strike, I could almost believe I was imagining it but for the total numbness and my nervous system's desultory attempt to parse a cleanly disconnected trunk into familiar sensation, arms unresponsive to my attempts to remove the tanto and cling for just a few more seconds to the sweetness of air.

My eyes roll maddly in their sockets looking for options, but I can't escape from this. My jaw twitches soundlessly against the blade as I try to beg once more, mouth nearly forming words that would go unheeded even if audible, and I know it is too late. I cannot hear my heart, and I can smell something hot and sticky as it drips over my lips. Tsunade herself couldn't save me if she was here.

The man in the swirling mask probably just wanted me to be facing him while I died, and I can taste the sneer in his voice as he begins to walk away, chill breeze rustling his black cloak in the wake of his passage.

"Pathetic."

The balance tips. Fate is decided at last.

...Insufficient.

My skin is cold and grey consumes the edges my vision as my brain starts to die, thoughts still frantically spinning even though it is all far, far too late.

Should I have tried to get Kakashi as my sole instructor? Should I have been friendlier with my teammates? Could I have run more dangerous missions to show my devotion to the village? Could I have begged for amnesty from the Hokage? Was there ever really anything I could have done?

I will never know the answers to these questions.

I die alone, with the taste of blood on my tongue and the sound of my jerking feet drumming against the trunk of the tree echoing through the grey, grey woods.

. . .

END SATURATION

. . .

A/N:
If you liked this fic, and want to keep it a perfect crystal of human anguish forevermore, I suggest leaving at this point. Seriously. LEAVE NOW.