Chapter Eight - Senju Kenshi
Beneath an overcast sky, Obito swayed with the motion of the horse. He nudged the mare's belly with his heel to encourage her into a trot under the arched gate of Kijima. In his hands, the reins felt greasy with sweat and not for the first time Obito wished he had the chakra and finer control of the ability to use Kamui to teleport effortlessly from place to place. Now he was stuck fumbling with a borrowed horse.
He swanned her toward a stable that had probably been centuries in use. A boy approached to grab at the tack, his face muddy and his wrap-tunic equally as sad. He held her steady as Obito made to awkwardly slip from the saddle, as would befit the size of the man he'd disguised himself as. The boy took the pair of ryō bills with a quiet thanks. "Best to have your papers ready, sir," he murmured, and turned his gaze as an older man, short and stout, rushed toward them with a writing board in hand.
"Right you are," Obito replied gruffly in the same high Kusan accent the Morikage had chittered in. He scratched at the thick false beard as he watched the little man deftly hop around a puddle of muddy sludge.
The Kusan clerk — a middle aged nin put to desk work as he reached his twilight years — took one look at Obito in his fine garments and instantly his demeanour changed from the prick of bitter suspicion to painful politeness. Obito tucked his thumbs into the lip of his belt, framing the hanging padded paunch that felt awkward on his frame. "You're here to stick your nose in my business, I expect."
Stepping forth, the clerk-nin straightened, his white brush moustache wobbling. "Simply protocol, my good man. If you intend to cross into Waterfall country—"
"—Yes, yes." Obito dismissively flicked his hand. He pulled a set of papers from the breast of his yukata and shoved them in the man's direction. Falsified documents. One's that wouldn't stand under a moment of practised scrutiny. Before the clerk could peel them apart, Obito interjected once again, "The Morikage's finished her little tea party, then?"
The clerk's head shot up, a sudden and affronted look marring his face. Obito took the opportunity to flash his Sharingan behind the contact lens. Once the man returned to his examination, Obito's papers would seem as good as any written by the Morikage herself. Hidden under a leather patch, his left eye itched. Damn thing. A genjutsu disguise was too much of a risk with the higher calibre of nin creeping about. They'd attempted to stick in a contact lens but his eye had watered so badly the lens had fallen out, lost amongst the grass. He had practically heard Gankyō wincing behind her mask as she saw the state of his eye, muttering that he should get that checked out.
The clerk-nin stuttered, clearly biting back a reprimand. "Y-yes, the matters with Konoha are well in hand. This dark business is being dealt with, rest assured." He cleared his throat, thumbing one handed through the documents with barely a look before he pressed his jade stamp hard into his pot of ink paste and thumped the block on each page.
Mentally, Obito gave a resigned sigh. Why bother with genjutsu when negligence did a far more effective job? The man handed the documents back, scribbling on his own list. Obito squinted at it. His Sharingan searched for a certain pair of names. Nothing. With the amount of people moving through they'd probably gone through dozens of sheets in past days.
Looking the short bristled man over once again, Obito sneered. "Good to hear. My business has been interrupted with this ridiculousness enough." The boy holding his mare dropped his eyes and Obito offered him a silent apology. He folded the papers back into his yukata before fishing several more ryō bills from his purse, slapping them onto the clerk's writing board. The man's eye's bugged.
"I've business with a man named Kaishun," Obito told him. "You know where he is?"
The man was happy to direct him to the start of a winding set of mud-scrubbed streets. Obito gave the stable boy's threadbare shoulder a hard pat. "Look after that horse, boy, and there'll be another whole bill waiting for you when I get back."
Kijima had always felt like a grimy town of desperate wastrels, aimless nomads, and jaded have-nots, boxed in by those who preyed on them like circling birds. Every occasion Obito had passed through the border settlement had been a joyless exercise in humility. Disguised as a thick-bellied man in fine clothes, he stood out amongst a street lined with dirty faces. It was as good as armour. No one would dare touch a man like that. No one could afford the consequences. A truth Obito weaponised in his favour. The only thing he was forced to dodge were the cries of whores leaning from their doorways and windows, calling him handsome and begging him to look their way.
He was glad enough to force himself past the threshold of this 'Kaishun's' little clinic on the corner of a street. Inside, Obito had to blink hard, his senses assaulted. He drew a sharp breath through his nose. Demonic chakra. Away from the street, its presence was immediately potent in the quiet atrium. He took in the polished floorboards — now licked with mud from his boots — and the soft, homely decor that reminded him of the house he used to share with his grandmother; all clean, tasteful lines.
Kenshi couldn't have come here. It couldn't be that easy.
Wary, Obito rung the bell set on the front desk.
The thump of footsteps creaked above his head and a thin slip of a man appeared atop the skinny stairway. This must be Kaishun. Old, spindly, and with a cloud of grey hair that looked as if not even a comb could settle it. Obito would have suspected the old man had just rolled himself out of bed if not for the pristine folds of his plain yukata. His face was creased with wrinkles that marred into deep lines. At the foot of the stair, the man clapped his hands to his sides and bowed at the waist.
"Good morning, sir! Apologies for any wait. How may I be of assistance?"
Obito cocked his head with a false smile. "Word is you're a man with a fondness for southern fruits. A good fortune." Obito spayed a hand against the pale wrap of his yukata. "I travel from my father's gardens seeking a like-minded man for advice on some cultivation techniques."
Instantly, the warm welcoming smile dropped from the old man's face, replaced by open circumspection. He shuffled to lock the front door behind Obito. "Yes," he said, straightening. "Yes, like-minded. Well... what kind of advice do you or your father wish to know? I have some... new techniques." He cleared his throat. "We are safe to speak of them here."
Obito took in the clinic a second time with an idleness that stretched the growing suspense thin. "I'm looking for a man," he replied, dropping the pretence that tasted sour in his mouth. "One eye, grey hair, might have gone by the name of Kenshi. Or Koji. Absolutely drenched in demonic chakra — which, funnily enough, is tainting this entire room."
"I have seen many patients that have been afflicted with a suffusion of demonic chakra." Obito gave him a stern look. "But... yes..." Kaishun quietly admitted. "A man with that description came in some four days ago." The old medical nin's shoulders bunched and the lines of his face deepened further still. A strange sort of protectiveness emanated from him. Were he and Kenshi associates? No, it seemed almost distantly familial. The kind a caring old man might feel over the downtrodden and the miserable. Of which Kijima had plenty enough. But especially if a certain target was heavily injured and had limped across Kusa all the way to Kaishun's little clinic.
"I don't intend to hurt the man," Obito assured. "I've got questions for him. Actually, my father and I've become more of... associates these past years. My loyalties lie with a higher order."
The man's shoulders slowly dropped as his caution receded, even if tentativeness remained. His old, twig thin fingers twitched. Not simply some ROOT asset. A retired shinobi. And by his manner mixed with the hints of Fire in his Kusan accent — a retired Konoha shinobi. What did Danzō have over this man? Kaishun was old enough to have likely been amongst Konoha's earliest academy graduates back when Senju Hashirama reigned. Maybe the old man had even graduated with the Shimura Elder.
"The highest?" The old medical nin asked.
"The Yondaime's given his blessing."
Kaishun nodded, rubbing his hands in an oddly nervous gesture. "You'd best come into the clinic room then."
Obito pressed two fingers to the ANBU tattoo hidden on his bicep as he followed the man into a small but comfortable room. Clean, well-fitted with smooth wooden panels and plain yet sleek furnishings. And looking like it hadn't seen a patient in several days. Quickly, Team To slipped through Kaishun's shutters, the wood barely squeaking. With soft hands Gosei closed the shutters silently behind them. His gaze lingered on Kaishun before sliding to Obito imploringly, waiting for approval. Obito nodded.
"Captain, we can confirm. The Iwan Blackguard have a presence in Kijima. It would not be wise to linger."
But no ROOT? That was suspicious. They hadn't sensed any agent as they approached the township either. He would have expected them to continue their pursuit of Kenshi. "Has anyone else visited you in the past week? Blackguard? Men from the Garden?"
Kaishun shook his head. "No one."
Strange. Unless... oh. Obito suppressed an exasperated growl. At least they expect me to be good at my job, he mused. And at least they would suffer no more problems from ROOT.
"Yochi." He gave the hare-masked woman half a glance. "And Shīkā."
"He was here," the crow-masked man confirmed. Shīkā dipped her head in deference. Kaishun startled when a ninken appeared in a puff of smoke. Shiba sniffed about the room at Obito's direction before sitting, his tail wagging happily and his tongue lolled below his excited eyes.
Obito turned back to the medical nin. "Tell me about Kenshi. Koji."
"He was a man that was very unwell. Moved as though he had been suffering from weeks of agony, yet he held himself with all the poise of a veteran shinobi." Kaishun gestured at Team To. "I need not tell you about the presence of demonic chakra, only that it was the densest I'd ever seen. So much so that it was startling, even if it had been some weeks since the blast of the Demon Star. And his circulatory system..." The man released a sharp huff that sounded like a poor attempt at a laugh. "Destroyed. No. Ripped apart. Held together with paper strings and prayer. Yet somehow he had walked into my clinic and was even able to push himself to use his chakra still. Never, in my seventy-five years of life, have I seen something so extraordinary. I felt compelled to help him and so I repaired what chakra pathways I could. After, he slept for two days. On the morning of the third, I came downstairs to find him gone."
"Did he say anything to you? About the Demon Star?"
"He—" Kaishun's shoulders dropped and he linked his hands. "No, not really. The healing caused him so much pain that even as he spoke, little of it made sense. He only repeated that he was sorry. If it were for the Demon Star, I couldn't tell."
Little good apologies will do, Obito harrumphed to himself. At least Kenshi might be aware of how much trouble he'd caused. Though Obito wouldn't mind a personal apology for being such a pain in the ass. He'd have to ring it out of the man.
"Did he have a dojutsu?" he asked.
The old man hesitated. "I didn't see. There was no need to uncover his eye. But I'd expect not. Dojutsu are costly on reserves. With the state of his circulatory system, merely possessing one would have killed him." The man lowered his eyes, considering something before he gave a near imperceptible shake of his head.
"You have something to say?"
"It's just— the man was a walking impossibility. More than that... forgive me."
Curious, but walking impossibility or not, Obito hardly cared. Internally, he swore. It seemed that if he wanted information on Kamui, it'd have to be from Senju Kenshi himself. "Right. One more thing: any indication of where he was heading?"
Kaishun frowned. "He said he wanted to go home. But I don't know where this 'home' is. I didn't think to ask."
Useful. Obito made a face. He eyed Yochi. "You have everything?"
"Aye, Captain. We've got a good trail. We should go."
"Thanks," he said to the medical nin and made for the atrium. It would look suspicious and no less awkward for a man of the size he disguised himself as to be seen trying to climb out of a window.
"Sir," the old man said, catching him on the arm as Obito passed the front desk. Obito's brow creased. He pointedly looked down at the hold but Kaishun was adamant. "I know it's not my place to make a request, but I would make one anyway." He didn't wait for an affirmation before he barrelled straight in: "treat Mr. Koji kindly. He is a good man that seems caught up in this predicament. He needs help and healing — I've tried but it is only a matter of time before his chakra system begins to unravel again. He is a good man," the medical nin insisted when Obito gave him an incredulous look.
Obito extracted himself from Kaishun's hold. "Many can seem all kind and good, but this is a world of shinobi, old man. Kindness only matters until it's inconvenient."
Kaishun looked at him with a pause. Long enough for Obito to feel scrutinised under his gaze. "If there is anything this long life has taught me," he said with a gentle solemnity, "it's that people will more often reach for kindness before they reach for ill. For all the tragedy we endure, there is ever more joy, even if it's hard to see and easier still to forget. But it's why the bad offends our sensibilities to such a degree that the good present in every day feels overshadowed. The world is filled with good men and women. I believe this; with all that I am and all that I have seen. So I ask you, sir, to be gentle and to be kind. Mr. Koji is a good man. Before you judge him for this, listen to his side of the story."
Obito gave Kaishun a hard look, before he turned to leave. "I have to go," he told the old medical nin. "The more time wasted the better his chance to get away." Obito only paused for a moment at the door before shoving it open to the dirty street.
The shack was a decidedly miserable little space.
Obito lifted his foot to inspect the mud stuck to the bottom of his sandal and sighed. Back in far more comfortable ANBU gear (who knew thick beards could itch so much?) he watched as Shiba took his nose to tracking their quarry's trail once again. Kaishun's 'advice' nagged Obito from the back of his mind. It was an irritable prickle. He threw the thoughts off. Kenshi had a lot to answer for. That was all Obito cared about.
They had almost lost the man's scent in the wind and rain that had come howling in from the north. The shack (more of a pathetic half-standing hut) was found not by Shiba but by Yochi and Shīkā's expertise, the latter of which had grown quieter ever since their encounter with ROOT. Good. Obito hadn't much patience to deal with her ever since she had outed herself as one of them. For that he still kicked himself for not realising it sooner. Had it been her that had destroyed the chakra trail at the inn? Unlikely that they'd ever know.
Lucky that Senju Kenshi had decided to shelter from the storm in a place the weather hadn't sluiced his scent away. Shiba pulled his muzzle from a square of moss stuck into the damp earth as the wooden shack around them groaned. In her corner Gankyō burred and rubbed at her arms with as much dramatics as she had when she played the weeping wife a week ago. The silver dog shook out his coat and barked, coming to paw at Obito's thigh. The scent is recent. Good. From the furious wag of the pup's tail, he was excited, verily so. They were getting close. Half a day at most. He told the others.
"Gankyō, go swap with Gosei, I want to confirm." The woman grumbled but did as asked. It wasn't that he didn't trust his ninken, but in this case he'd listen to a second, third, and even fourth opinion.
"It's him," Yochi said after receiving nods from both Shīkā and Gosei. "The same signature from that old man's clinic and well, given that it's so recent and vivid, I'd even suggest that it bears some similarities to the very one we first detected near the Dead Zone."
"What do you mean 'some'?"
Yochi crouched, gently pressing his gloved fingers into the only patch of 'dry' earth present in the shack. "It's still different. It still changed. I know what you're about to say — 'that doesn't happen'."
He was about to say that. "Whatever. He was here. We have the trail. Give me a minute, I want to try something."
"I will say, Captain Ryouken," Gosei interjected, "that the physical remnants of the man's chakra is particularly strong compared to past encounters. It feels... adjusted. More stable."
The work of Kaishun, Obito thought as the others left him be. He gave a pat to Shiba's head where the dog had plopped himself down to lean against Obito's calf. He earned a nuzzle and licked glove in return. "Now, let's see if I'm as good as you, eh?" he told the hound.
Obito closed his eyes, focusing chakra into his nose. A flush of scents hit him and he scrunched his face, giving himself a moment to adjust before they became bearable. It was as difficult as it had ever been. Mud, wood, and moss; overpowering scents that near drowned out everything else. But as Obito crouched near the driest patch of earth, he could smell it: the musky stink of sweat. The scent of a man. There was an earthiness to it, indistinct enough that Obito couldn't tell whether it was unique to their target or the damp mud beneath him. He shuffled in his crouch with a low growl that had Shiba padding forward to lick his face. If the scent was similar to those he'd found at ROOT's farmhouse, he wasn't good enough with the technique to know it.
He activated his Sharingan and found relief in the clarity it provided. In the patch of moss Obito pulled several strands of grey hair trapped within the spongy curls. He brought them to his nose. Nothing. Ugh. If he were a Hatake, this would be considerably easier. And much more chakra efficient, he thought, grimacing at how the technique was slowly but steadily eating into his large reserves. And all after he thought he'd been doing so well. Pakkun had made him go through his entire pantry to try and sniff out any hint of expired food as a training exercise. 'How do you think the Hatake first learned, kid?' the little dog had chuffed from his bed. Now Obito considered that the head hound had probably just been annoyed by the constant smell of food past its use-by date. Obito rolled his eyes.
He patted Shiba on the side, wincing as he stood. Days upon days of running was beginning to get to his joints without a proper rest. "Ready to find our man?" The dog barked, racing out the door when Obito opened it to the humid evening air.
Kakashi's eye snapped open. Distant birds trilled. An instinct coming from deep within his bones — or deeper still — urged him to get up.
They were hunting him.
And they were close.
Years in ANBU keened his senses to listen to the feeling. Morning had yet to break. In the rainy dark, he pushed himself up on heavy hands and aching limbs. Stuffing away his effects took moments of precious time. The wound in his thigh and the crack in his shoulder each gave a weakened pulse; a warning that though they had healed, they were still present. Kakashi collapsed the earthy hollow with deft hands and padded into the clearing, ears listening and chakra forced into his nostrils, ready for any hint of a scent.
A distant caw flew above the canopy.
Close.
Kakashi forced his quickest shushin, chakra coils roaring into wicked bright pain. He lunged to the treetops, taking the branches steady underfoot. A strange rush of desperation fueled him onwards as he set into a run. He ignored where it came from, content to appreciate the boost of energy it gave him and how it soothed the burning in his lungs and the stubborn pulses of his wounds. Rain pelted his coat. His focus remained on his feet. Making tracks through the brush of the forest floor was more dangerous than it had ever been. This time it was no happenstance — a track someone happened to stumble upon. This time they knew he was here. They were following him with a persistence that spoke of finding his trail somewhere miles back. He could feel it.
Through the stretch of dark, Kakashi sensed them like a distant mist and the feeling held heavy in his belly. Not their chakra signatures or their scent nor their sound, just the instinctual feeling of them, like the prey-sense of a hare chased by hounds. Zig-zagging back and forth, Kakashi jumped into shallow streams, wading up hills and slipping between wet mossy rock. Only at the cusp of dawn did the rain ease. Kakashi felt no relief, irritated by another loss of cover. There was no time for traps. No time to set up wires to hold them back. Hiding was out of the question. All that mattered was putting distance between him and those that followed. Sometimes they lost him. Soon enough they picked up his trail once again. Too quickly. Whoever followed must be sensors and trackers of a high calibre. It was a realisation that didn't sit well in Kakashi's mind. Barely able to sense it, he pulled his chakra signature even tighter into himself as he ran, kitten-weak as it was. He couldn't be caught now. Not this close to the safety of Takigakure. Not after weeks of this. Kakashi shook himself. It was a pain-addled, childish thought. He needed to focus.
Yet despite how he tried, he couldn't outrun them forever.
As the sun crept higher into morning over the border of Waterfall Country, they found him.
Kakashi leapt, landing lightly on his bad leg. The bark beneath scraped against his sandals, loud in his own ears. He steadied his pace and kept his footing as he took another leap, crouching low in his coat, the hood pulled high. As he moved to take another, a sharp acrid scent swept in with the breeze, stinking of ash and smoke.
Kakashi whipped his head around. The rush of a dark form streaked in. High in the trees it slammed into him, snarling and snapping. The jaws of a hound of burning black-red flames locked onto his hip. Its fangs bit through the fabric and Kakashi hissed as it nipped all the way to his skin. Rolling a kunai into his hand, he slammed the knife down into the creature's head. The metal seared hot in his palm even through the bandage wrap of the hilt. Skin blistered in his glove. The fiery hound twisted, intertwining their legs and big enough to force Kakashi to twist with it, crashing to the forest floor together. Unable to break his fall, Kakashi took the thumping roll with a grunt, both he and the beast throwing up a scatter of burning leaves. The hound jutsu extinguished in a whip of flame and Kakashi wheezed in a lungful of smoke.
The world whirled and rocked, bleeding colour. He struggled to stand. Wetness seeped from his hairline, rapidly spreading down his temple. The stink of burnt fabric stung his nostrils. Overwhelming enough that Kakashi forcibly cut the flow of chakra to his nose as he staggered under a slap of vertigo. He tested his hand. The glove had melted where he had grasped the kunai's hilt, attached to the blistered skin beneath.
Near soundless, multiple presences appeared high in the trees behind him. Kakashi squared his shoulders and evened his breathing. The hood of his coat had been thrown off in his cascade across the forest floor. There was little point in replacing it now. Even with a weakened grasp of chakra, he could tell the shinobi perched on the barrel-like branches were powerful. Maybe he could have faced them as he was weeks ago. Not now. Shit.
He waited, letting them speak first.
"Halt, Senju Kenshi. Drop the kunai. Raise your hands and turn around slowly."
Ah, so that was how they tracked him.
Kakashi could almost sigh in relief. A man's voice spoke; a deep and pleasant baritone. Foreign to him, but a Fire Country accent. A midlands one. A Konoha one. Well, if torture was in his future, at least he would be getting tortured by his own people. You wanted to go home, didn't you? He glanced towards the dark path between the trees. He could escape. Maybe. But they would find him. The desperation that had fueled him for hours burned down into a simmer. Tired, Kakashi could do nothing but let it die.
"And if I don't?" he asked, dropping the Kusan accent that had grown familiar on his tongue. He was in no position to mock but he couldn't resist. It had been a taxing couple of weeks.
"We make you and it'll be painful."
Kakashi could nearly hear the 'asshole' that was restrained by the barest thread of professionalism. Shrugging, he let the kunai thump to the scatter of pine needles and dead leaves at his feet. He raised his hands as ordered, wiggling his fingers to make sure his would-be captors could be sure he had nothing up his sleeve. Save for, of course, the senbon nestled in the hemline of his coat sleeve. Kakashi turned to find an ANBU cell of five peering from amongst the tangled branches of a pair of katsura trees. At the forefront stood a tall man, his mask the contorted snout of a snarling dog.
Their captain.
Snarling Dog was a tall man, perhaps a small few inches taller than Kakashi himself; robust, with broad shoulders and an equally broad chest. His cropped hair was thick and black, and he held himself with an easy confidence that spoke of a practised hand. It stood in contrast to the deep knicks and silvery scars scattered across arms corded with muscle beneath his vambraces. Overconfident and careless or just doesn't care? Kakashi looked up, searching for the hidden eyes of the man behind the unrecognisable mask.
Their eyes met. Like he had been struck by an unexpected chidori, Snarling Dog seized, his head jerking as his spine straightened. He recognises me, Kakashi realised with wonder. Oh, this wasn't good.
Kakashi wasn't sure how he was going to explain the presence of two of him in this world. Not without being dragged to the deepest bowels of T&I. Or worse: given to ROOT.
Lines of sudden tension bulged in the muscles of Snarling Dog's neck. The wiry cords of his arm thickened where it grasped the hilt of the tanto strapped to his waist.
They stared at one another.
Kakashi felt the tension gather in himself, settling in between his shoulder blades. What to do. The man wasn't calling him out. As Kakashi watched, he appeared stuck struggling in a well of doubt. As though this revelation had caught Snarling Dog off-guard and the man was now unsure of what to do as well.
He knows me, Kakashi knew, but I'm not supposed to be here. No, it was more than that. Something significant enough to make this ANBU captain fight his own subtle, increasingly rapid breathing. How well did this man know this other Kakashi? Who was he?
When Snarling Dog next spoke, his voice was dark and icy. Unfriendly. "State your name," he demanded. "Your real one."
Kakashi mentally flicked through his catalogue of ANBU who fit the man's description and came up blank. The startled twitch when Kakashi had turned around spoke of an abiding recognition of him. Though in that initial twitch, Snarling Dog was not unique. Grinning Raccoon, a brown haired woman (willowy, short) had adjusted the grip on her kunai, while Silent Crow, another black haired man (short, gracile) had let out a gasp — no more than a gentle whisper of air. He didn't recognise those ones either. The tall Unknown Bird was so covered up he had no chance of distinguishing the man, and Lady Rabbit had dark blue hair with a lithe build that vaguely reminded Kakashi of one of the Chūnin who frequently worked the mission desk, though he could never recall her name.
"State your name," Snarling Dog ordered again, dropping into a growl that befit his mask. Now the man looked seconds from ripping that tanto from its sheath. The tension grew into something almost physical. Probably shouldn't have dropped that kunai, Kakashi mused. He was no longer quite so sure that he would make it back to Konoha. This Snarling Dog didn't seem impressed with him.
Kakashi bit the inside of his cheek. There was little point in lying. "Hatake Kakashi. Pleasure. And you? You're supposed to be who, exactly?"
The hitch in Snarling Dog's breath was audible. Interesting. The others weren't so... affected.
"Well?" Kakashi drawled when Snarling Dog gave no reply. He slouched and nearly stuck his hands in his pockets out of habit before remembering that the action would likely earn him several kunai sent his way. "I answered your question, now you answer mine. It's only polite. Or did you skip that etiquette module? ANBU certainly has gone downhill. Nowhere where some manners can't be put to good use, even in some muddy forest in Taki."
Despite all his previous bravado, like a popped balloon, Snarling Dog instantly lost some of the tension in his limbs, the hand on his blade's hilt going slack. He almost seemed... confused at Kakashi's blithe response. Well, Kakashi always did have a death wish.
Kakashi shrugged, wiggling his fingers. "Something got your tongue, Mr. Dog?"
Snarling Dog shook himself of his stupor. "Hatake Kakashi," he spoke and Kakashi did not miss the thin warble with which Snarling Dog said his name. "You're being taken into the custody of Konohagakure no Sato under suspicion of participating in the detonation of an unsanctioned and highly destructive demonic chakra-based explosive. An explosive that has cost irreparable loss of life and extensive damage to property." Kakashi clenched his jaw. "You're to be questioned on your involvement and a determination will be made by Lord Namikaze Minato, the Yondaime Hokage. It's best if you don't resist."
Kakashi released a long sigh. "Torture and interrogation. Got it. Mah, well hurry up. Might as well get it over with and put a dart in my leg." He gestured with a raised hand. "That's what you intend to do, right? Take me back to Konoha? Or do you prefer on the spot T&I?"
Finally someone else added to the conversation when Lady Rabbit hissed, "do you understand how serious this—"
Her captain stopped her with a raised fist and she drew back, burned. Yes I understand, Kakashi answered her. I understand it with every second. Every time he squeezed an iota of chakra from his coils.
Snarling Dog released a breath. Now, far from the easy confidence, he seemed to hold himself with a practised but utterly false steadiness. Kakashi swallowed thickly. He searched for more signs that would hint at an explanation about this stranger. Why was this man affected by him? Very affected. He looked Snarling Dog over once more, yet found no recognition in his strong build, nor the way he held himself. The deep voice was foreign. The cropped black hair could be shared by near half the population of the Great Nations. He almost wondered if this world's Kakashi and Snarling Dog had (has?) some kind of deep connection. Am I dead here? Kakashi couldn't help but wonder. But who would—? I don't... The breeze carried the man's scent — smoky musk and sweat. Warm, like a low burning flame.
Kakashi's heart unexpectedly gave a wild, hard thump.
Who is this man?
"Gosei." Snarling Dog shifted, the light filtering through the trees catching the edge of his mask just so. Kakashi narrowed his eye, no more than a nearly imperceptible twitch. A glint of red shined from the depths of Snarling Dog's right socket.
A Sharingan?
Kakashi's heart gave another hard thump and he felt a sudden breathlessness. He hardly even noticed one of the cell move. Unknown Bird was quick. Kakashi twitched, instinct sending his hand down to his kunai pouch. The man caught him on the way there, giving a snapping press of fingers to the joint in his shoulder. Dammit. He was too fatigued and his mind too mussed to dodge. The arm dropped, useless. He stepped back, only to find Snarling Dog right there, his presence looming and his hand grasped bruisingly tight on the bicep of Kakashi's sole working arm. Within the depths of his mask, the single bright Sharingan spun.
Obito...?
Two fingers jabbed the pressure point at the base of Kakashi's skull.
END OF ACT ONE