"Contra is a title awarded to a superior Shinobi/Ninja possessing almost super-human drive and ability while excelling in guerrilla tactics."

FUTURE

"How did the Sovereign Colonies locate any Hidden Villages, let alone successfully infiltrate the Konoha Cryptanalysis Team? Those Gaigen look nothing like natives of the Great Shinobi Nations. You especially would've stuck out like a sore thumb anywhere in the Land of Fire, round eyes!"

The Marine Contra's eyebrow raises. "Is that so?"

'Well, maybe not in the Land of Lightning, but that's a stretch even then.' The dying Anbu takes a drag of the cigarette resting in his mouth, "Any Sensor Type worth their salt would've spotted someone using a Transformation Jutsu. No matter how sophisticated it was."

"Hmm. Perchance a demonstration will elucidate a broader interpretation, then?" The Contra uncrosses his arms, "Think of this technique as a complex variant of Chakra absorption that extracts, then seals the target's soul within a host. Analogous in almost every way to how one creates a Jinchūriki but from a different approach. Thus, the user gains all knowledge and abilities of their victim." He chuckles. "You have no idea how fortunate we are that those damned socialists could not perfect this Jutsu."

The Marine Contra speeds through dozens of foreign hand seals in a flash. The Anbu almost mistakes the sequential blowback as a stray bullet, soaring past his ear, "Corpse Clone Jutsu!"

The impious ritual is over in seconds. A dark figure stands before the shinobi within the incandescent haze, "I'm turning-Japanese-I-think I'm turning-Japanese-I-really THINK—SO!" The figure sways forward, dancing mockingly from the darkness as the interdimensional dust phases out of existence, "I'm turning-Japanese-I-think I'm turning-Japanese-I-really THINK—SO!" The dying shinobi's heart plummets into his stomach. A disturbing realization sucks the air from his failing lungs, paralyzing him.

The shinobi stares on in abhorrent disbelief, now comprehending the horrendous irony of the Contra's blasphemous covert conspiracy, 'I never truly imagined how deep the Sovereign Colonies Armed Forces intelligence networks operated within the Hidden Villages.' Menma Namikaze, The Scarlet Terror, stands as youthful and vibrant as ever—a hideous transformation from psychotic depravity incarnate to the quiet, handsome teen of days gone. His long blond hair, braided into a ponytail, settles in the calming winds. Menma's bright, balmy blue eyes and fair, delicate skin appear as pristine as the day of his resignation from Anbu black ops despite the passage of time.

However, the shinobi scorns this unholy abomination as no more than a sick perversion of his nephew's memory.

PRESENT

Jimi Iara Malkhaz II, a genocidal war criminal, crashes through the window of a burning skyscraper and bolts down its collapsing corridors, "Let's attack aggressively…" Dilapidation permeates the interior along the war-torn walls; debris coats the ground like a smoldering grey sheet. Smoke suffocates the hallway in a lingering haze, inhibiting visibility. He rappels down a dysfunctional elevator shaft into the sub-basement, then hightails past the subsequent sewer tunnel. Several rapid reverberating taps in the water draw nearer; phantom-like silhouettes wearing pale porcelain masks appear in the darkness.

Jim vaults over the obstructions in his path while casting Genjutsu (illusionary techniques) to hinder the Anbu (Special Assassination and Tactical Squad); he scales the pipelines, jumping over the sewer canals to evade the sharp projectiles hurling at him. A shinobi slashes at his legs; he dives over the cold steel and kicks the cloaked figure into the canal. Balancing on his palms, Jim sweeps one leg after the other beneath his torso, tripping a Kunoichi (female ninja) before she can bisect him with her blade. He spins on his shoulders, swinging his legs back around, and knocks the kunoichi down a drainage pipe.

"Fire Style: Fireball Jutsu!" A blazing inferno erupts from the Anbu captain's mouth like a flamethrower; a volley of steel rain rushes out of the shadows in tandem.

The scorching heat soars against Jim's combat uniform. The fugitive draws a knife from his inventory, Cork-Flips over the fireball, and deflects the incoming Kunai and Shuriken. He lands on a suspension walkway and dashes for the generator room. Jim sabotages the hydraulic pressure controls; an alarm blares inside the facility, initiating the containment protocol. He ducks, a kunai sails over his head, then destroys the terminal.

Another kunoichi ambushes the mass murderer; a brief skirmish ensues. Jim dodges and evades a vicious onslaught until he deflects her blade into the control panel, electrocuting the assassin. The war criminal Roundhouse Kicks the kunoichi out an adjacent reception window and escapes through a closing sluice gate. The Anbu pursue the fugitive as the lights fade at the end of the maintenance tunnel; however, the water-tight barrier closes, sealing them in darkness. Deep growls and sibilant screeches turn to psychotic screams and wails echoing in the sewers bearing down upon the Anbu.

Jim leans against the sluice gate, gasping for breath. He uses the momentary respite to secure his helmet over his red hair before retying his boots.

Approaching snarls and groans escalate to a loudening rumble and persistent howls of torment. Jim flees up a winding tunnel, struggling to find a way out. Straight ahead, a suspension walkway hangs above a bottomless cistern—water streams into the abyss from the outlets flanking the narrow path. Red sunlight radiates on a ladder at the cistern's radius, indicating his ascension from the darkness. He sprints down the walkway, blurring over a series of one-hand Seals.

"Lightning Release: Synergistic Sabre!" A galvanic hue surges around Jim's knife. He cuts the suspension cables with a swipe of his arm, then leaps towards the ladder. The platform bends and deforms; pale, disfigured, blood-soaked arms and tentacles reach from the dark, but the bridge collapses. The glowing eyes and flailing limbs wither into the void.

Near an industrial district, a sewer grate lifts, dragging over; Jim pulls himself onto the cracked pavement. He sits against a concrete traffic barrier before adjusting his glasses. An ominous wind howls through derelict skyscrapers; rusting metal creaks within the ruins like a groaning, restless spirit. Remnants of a raging inferno wither into crackling embers. Twilight casts its foreboding shadow over the war-torn metropolis as an eerie stillness smothers the atmosphere. The stench of death and burning flesh lingers in the air. Charred skeletons litter the seared streets while corpses drift in the boiling canals.

The war criminal reloads his sidearm and pulls back the pistol slide. He presses a second magazine release on the weapon, then catches a cylindrical cartridge ejecting in front of its trigger guard. A brilliant sapphire hue radiates within his brown skin. Jim's chakra flows from his hand into the magazine; nevertheless, it reaches but a third of its capacity. As he re-inserts the cartridge, a receiver in Jim's ear emits a constant hiss obstructing his thoughts.

He places his index and middle finger on the device, but static renders the message inaudible. A hoarse gurgle akin to a low whisper/wheezing draws Jim's attention. He readies his sidearm; three shuriken slip between Jim's fingers. He focuses on the shambling footsteps, then sends the shuriken whizzing at the approaching silhouettes.

After images of metal bolstering with chakra whirls through the air before impacting soft, squishy flesh. The silhouettes disappear in the smoke with three audible thuds. The lurching footsteps are numerous, a persistent stagger drawing closer; Jim backs away, aiming his pistol. The shadows outnumber and close in on him, but he vaults over the traffic barrier, concealing himself in the smoke. He creeps past the abandoned military vehicles towards a nearby government refuge. The forlorn building holds its structural integrity despite bombings from a previous war.

Jim pushes a steel door; its rusting hinges screech, then grind until it jams. The gap is too narrow to squeeze by; debris inside prevents the door from opening further. A reflection in a cracked window steals his attention; the creature's horrifying appearance unnerves him as it crawls from an overturned truck.

Cyst-like bumps cover the creature's disfigured body. Its slimy flesh oozes down its skull like wax over its glowing eyes. Its face is indistinguishable from the rest of its neck, aside from its slack jaw and teeth. The smell of its rotting flesh makes Jim's stomach churn, which is all he can do to keep himself from vomiting. He regains composure, aims, and fires.

The round pierces the mutant shinobi's flak jacket. It flies backward, hitting the asphalt, but gets right back up as if nothing happened. The Red Zetsu charges out of the smoke like a wild animal; Jim adjusts his aim and shoots the mutant's knee, severing it. Momentum overturns the abomination, tumbling it in midair.

The Red Zetsu crashes through the window; Jim shines a flashlight into the building, wondering, 'Where did it go!?' Regardless the cannibalistic ghoul becomes the least of his concerns; the low-pitch growls from the sewers escalate to undying moans of the damned echoing around the streets. Everywhere, dozens of glowing eyes appear in the smoke, moving closer and focusing on him. The eyes are within the skyscrapers, highways, armored vehicles, and ruins; faint groans soar to a perpetual blaring of deranged screams and phantom-like wails.

The Red Zetsus emerge from the smoke. Their wounds are visible from afar: the bite marks on their bodies, the varying stages of decay, and gouges large enough to disturb a combat medic. Some are missing limbs, on fire, drenched in blood, or dragging themselves along the ground with their entrails hanging out.

It horrifies Jim what's become of the military. His former brothers-in-arms stampede after him; he dives back into the broken window before the thickening hordes overwhelm him.

Jim's flashlight unveils the zombie-like creatures charging from the darkness; he empties his handgun's magazine, kneecapping any discernible contours. They force him into Taijutsu (hand-to-hand combat); he evades and redirects each assailant, leveraging their inertia against them. Jim studies the mutant's movements and mannerisms, questioning their lack of variety, coordination, strategy, and any semblance of intelligence or lack thereof.

'Although the inhuman and additional extremities add a degree of unpredictability, repetition, and clumsiness, nullify these factors by telegraphing each of their attacks!' Jim spins on his palms, knocking the abominations away with a torrent of revolving kicks. He topples the remaining Red Zetsu with a Scissors Takedown, switches to his handgun's secondary firing mode, and blasts a hole in its head.

Jim sprints past the lobby as more mutants stampede the corridors after him. He slams a nearby security gate; however, something crashes through an adjacent window, tackling him. It bites at his throat with its scabrous teeth. Still, he escapes using the Body Replacement Technique (Substitution/Kawarimi no Jutsu). Jim reappears, sweeps the abomination's knee, and swings his heel back into its thigh before crushing the mutant's skull with a 360° Ax-Kick. He thrusts his heel into its face, heaving the Red Zetsu back out the window (Meia Lua De Compasso).

Duel-wielding kunai Jim approaches the zombie-like creatures rushing down the hallway at him. He sidesteps a marauding mutant, cleaves its vertebrae, then back-kicks it over a guardrail.

The fugitive wall-flips over another Red Zetsu lunging at him; Jim drives both kunai into the abomination's jugulars before kicking it down a flight of stairs.

He slices the next Red Zetsu's abdomen, spilling its intestines on the floor. Jim impales the mutant's heart with the kunai, slashes its throat with the other, kicks the flesh-eating ghoul's legs from underneath it, and sends the abomination tumbling down the stairs into the previous mutant with a turning side-kick.

The hoard breaches the gate, flooding the halls like an endless stream. Jim sticks Explosive Tags to his kunai, throws them, and chains a set of hand seals.

"Kunai Shadow Clone Jutsu!" The kunai becomes a sharp metal cluster piercing flesh and bone, like needles skewering pin cushions. Jim breaks through another door, then kicks a wall locker down in front of it to use as a makeshift barricade. Disfigured limbs and tentacles breach the narrow window on the door, forcing him to step back. He removes the wall panel from a ventilation shaft, dives into a basement, and bumps into a janitor's carcass. Sections of the rattling basement door bulge and splinter; dust puffs from its frame, threatening to detach from the wall. Jim wastes no time shimmying into an adjacent sliding window.

The Red Zetsus swarm into the basement, biting and tearing into the dangling decedent, swinging from a rope like hanging meat. A hand reaches from the window, brushing against Jim's heel. His eyes narrow at the rotting arm reaching and grabbing at him. He snatches the mutant's wrist with inhuman speed and strength, then casts the abomination toward a trash compactor in a cold, uninviting gap between decrepit buildings. It tries climbing over the aperture; a laser inches toward the cannibalistic fiend's forehead. Jim releases the trigger; ionized chakra surges from the prototype weapon.

The Red Zetsu's head explodes like a balloon full of blood. Skull fragments and brain matter fly everywhere; its body slides back down as steam emits from the end of the weapon's barrel. After activating the compacter, Jim walks away from the building, arming the explosive tags with a string of hand seals. He pauses; a neon sign brightens on a billboard, 'Andrade's Pump n' Dump Fuel Depot!?'

"Oh, come on!" with mere seconds until the explosive tags detonate, Jim sprints down the alleyway. He runs up the side of a wall, side-flips over a group of approaching mutants, then aims—with each shot, their skulls splatter like overripe watermelons. He grabs a wall-mounted flagpole, drives it through the remaining abomination's face, and takes cover.

The explosive tags on the kunai detonate, igniting the accumulating gas. Flames engulf the fuel depot; debris, then burning bodies fly out the windows, landing on the fuel tankers and gas pumps. Explosions erupt onto the streets, obliterating the Red Zetsus as they cram into the building. Ash and debris fly everywhere, covering Jim in a shroud of darkness. A dense mass slams between his shoulder blades, knocking him to the ground. He rolls over, then fires at a smoking head and torso, trying to take a bite out of his leg like a quarter-pounder.

The Red Zetsu's eyes shoot from their sockets, and its brain catapults in the air like a champagne cork. The final superheated bolt of chakra obliterates the remainder of its skull. Blood pours from the mutant's shoulders like a fountain. Jim kicks the headless torso away, yet it begins crawling toward him. He scrambles to his feet and rips a piece of rebar from a ruined concrete wall before stomping on the torso to restrain it.

Blood gushes from its shredded neck as he applies pressure on the headless torso's back; Jim drives the rebar through its heart and pins it to the ground. Realization presents itself like ice water running down his spine. The now headless Red Zetsus stand and continue lurching after him. He backs away, clamoring at the sheer absurdity that befalls him. A hand grabs his leg, almost tripping him. He tries pulling his ankle from the torso's seared clutches, but a damp, squishy mass impacts the top of his head.

Blood drips down the sides of Jim's helmet as the headless torso's brain slides off, plopping on the ground. At his wit's end, he severs the torso's hand and pries its smoldering fingers from his ankle, yet the hand continues grabbing at him. Jim chucks it off in the distance; a faraway shriek follows, shattering glass, but his attention lies upon the approaching headless mutants. He clasps his hands, forming the Snake Hand Seal.