Transmission #5-0-5-1 Addendum: "Blank Period"
Location: ?
Subject Matter: ?
Status: Compromised
November 29th, 1963
Time.
Humans never seem to have enough of it.
The one thing which stymied their research back in '45 when they were so close to a breakthrough. Until those dullards in the Cabinet soured the Emperor's ear, turned him against them, cast doubt on their entire operation. Hirohito was never a sure man, and could be easily influenced. It didn't take much to turn his focus away from the chojin in favor of more bullets, more bombs, and more banzai charges into hell.
Conventional tactics, they said, would win out in the end.
Idiots.
Convention doesn't dictate science, it hinders it.
Alls they needed was a bit more time - a month or so more - for the first trials to be completed. Maybe then Kyushu wouldn't have been ground to dust, maybe the 8th mechanized wouldn't have been liquidated to the last man, maybe the Kanto Plain would never have fallen. One squad of candidates would've held the line at Buracho Pass, one regiment would've bathed the 6th Army in blood up to its knees, and one brigade could've won a peace worth dying for...
But the warhawks and doves were at each others throats as much as they were the Americans, the Reds crossed the Korean sea, and the bombs were dropped. All they worked for seemingly lost in a fit of fire and ignorance.
Some view eternity as a curse, but for them it is the unmitigated souring of work left behind. Of unfinished business. Seeing the world change around you, whilst you stayed the same. Countless opportunities would pass them by, as some of their compatriots would die off, others held in prison, or yet more whoring themselves out to the highest bidder. Granted, they're no different. But the passion to understand life's the waking moments on this plain of existence never faltered. Like Icarus, they never took their eyes off the sun. Or Prometheus, risking it all despite the liver being eaten away every night.
Mortality wasn't to be feared, it was the limitations of seconds holding them back.
For a time, this utterly confounded them.
Until now.
Now they had hope.
As he packs the minutiae comprising his work station - datacards, scribbled chicken scratches, equations of potential/kinetic energy theorems tracking every subject's chakra reserves, he can't help but smile.
Nothing can take away the satisfaction of a job well done; today the chojin offered plenty of date he couldn't wait to sift through. Most met preliminary assumptions, but their prime candidates looked every bit as promising as advertised. Years had gone into their making, like diamonds crafted in the pressure cooker of the earth, ground into colorless perfection. Yes, each had their flaws. The crucible of action will see to it their imperfections will be corrected. Especially, subject 13's. Chikuma Koshiro's skillset was deemed most apt in corralling Uchiha Sasuke, and the man did not disappoint. The once former subject 71 had outgrown his uses - his age in relation to the splicer trials had worked against him, but his Kamaitachi proved an asset.
Tenzen trained him well.
"ROOT agent #67120's interaction with subject 13 has succeeded in ways not previously assessed in preliminary discussions. Preconceived doubts regarding the efficacy of Sasuke Uchiha's Curse Mark have proved...unfounded." Masterful hands twitch as they maneuver doing a million things at once. He moves hastily, as their escape needs be fast; Jugo has picked up the scent of a Konoha patrol. Two men, one woman. ANBU. Along with a squad of a dozen DPRJ infantry.
"I told you not to stray far from the hideout, now look what you've done."
Jugo looks away in shame, a veil of dejection pulled over his face like he was some child being reprimanded. "I'm sorry, kaka. I didn't mean to...He scared away the birds."
Goodness. Bird watching again.
"Did you at least dispose of the body...? No...? Tsk, very well. There's not much we can do now. It is what it is. Assist me with this equipment, and we'll be off. But BE gentle."
Gentleness comes with another dose of opium; once Jugo tasted blood it was hard getting him to focus on anything else. Killing that Konoha jonin was an lamentable accident which could've been avoided. Once Akeginu's fog dissipated the man had come too close to their lair; Jugo was set to keep watch, but at times he could get overzealous. Oh well, it wasn't entirely his fault. What else was the brute made for if not to inflict pain onto others.
"Agent #67120's assessment of Uchiha's physiology after incapacitation showed a fever had been racking his body for some time now. Temperature taken at the time of capture ranged between 102 to 105 degrees. This means breakdown of 13's genetic makeup had been in full-swing for months. As expected. Uchiha's mRNA strands had begun to dissemble with the advent of spike proteins working in accordance with the his lymphatic system. Naturally, pharmacokinetic transfection through body tissues distant from the injection site by lipid-nanoparticles or viral-vector carriers means 'spikeopathy' will affect his organs. Again, as expected. The inflammatory properties of the nanoparticles used to ferry mRNA; N1-methylpseudouridine employed to prolong synthetic mRNA function; the widespread biodistribution of the mRNA and DNA codes and translated spike proteins, and autoimmunity via human production of foreign proteins, may contribute to harmful effects. Further observation is required. Fortunately, Sasuke has proved physically resilient so far. Mentally, however, is he prepared. What drives him, what does he want, can he be trusted? Many of our colleagues have expressed explicit doubts, but it is my humble assessment - with the proper stimuli - 'yes', Sasuke can and will be."
To nab an Uchiha was a risk. Everyone said so when the doctor first administered the marker upon the child eighteen years ago. A small, feeble thing then. Crying alone and broken in the burnt out husk of his family's compound. All that was left of the once fabled shinobi clan, the sharpened edge of Japan's fighting spirit, were but charred remains and blackened bones. And a single babe left in the rubble.
"Their biology is not compatible - even with immunotherapy treatments, the young Uchiha will die long before the Curse Mark even reaches maturity."
"Putting our hopes on a genetic mutt will be the last nail in our professional coffins."
"Uchiha Sasuke was not our prime concern, but the backup. His brother took precedence, but YOU let him out of our grasp. Good luck finding him now in the ninety-thousand corpses in that city!"
The world did not last long after Hiroshima was sent to hell - the brunt of their research being enveloped in the dawning of the nuclear age. So too with it, the finality of Japan's national integrity. But the Surgeon General ever presided over the notion so long as they lived, their pursuit to unlocking the depths of the chojin project's potential endured. The loss of the brother was regrettable, yet the doctor's foresight salvaged the other. The baby was treated for radiation poisoning, calcium deficiencies, breathing complications. Round the clock care was provided to young Sasuke, so it wasn't hard administering the Curse Seal under the guise of a routine vaccination shot.
Since, then he'd been monitored very closely.
All of them were.
"Subjects 27 and 40 have met their margins, but further psyche evaluations will determine their efficacy for future testing. Nara Shikamaru has scored very highly for us in the past, but his encounter with ROOT operative #005136 Watanabe Akeginu borders on the fortuitous; the arrival of subjects 20, 49, and 16 has marred the procedural evaluation, yet Urasawa Shin and Sen do admittedly have capacity for growth. Subject 49, Edogawa Yome, has fallen down our depth chart. A lame duck. She along with subject 67 Akimichi Choji leave little desirability. Chances of a damnatio protocol towards them both have increased 42%. As for subject 9..."
"The remains of Kira Alyoshka Kuznetsov remains a veritable boon of incalculable potential. Course correcting subject 9's upward trajectory could do well with his growth and ehancehement. Albeit, within the confines of a controlled, highly doctored environment; 9's unpredictability and highly volatile nature mirrors that of his forebear. An undesirable trait considering the circumstances surrounding 'Kushina's' own fate in our first round of trials. Debate whether or not the subject's usefulness is tied to him being 'alive' is ongoing. A push in the right direction may yet win him over. If not, ulterior considerations are on the table.
Subject 9.
Uzumaki Naruto.
Sasuke Uchiha may have brought them to the table, but Naruto's penchant for survivability kept them interested. He was the last little bit of hope hiding in Pandora's box, who could answer a whole slew of questions left in the rubble of '45. The powers that were, are, and will be course through modern Cro-Magnon's today as they had since the Neolithic. Others are more in-tuned to this than the majority, allowing for greater affinity towards the eldritch. "Kushina's" patrilineal line reflected a purity of genetics better than even the Uchiha. Making her the holiest of holies hidden away in their temple. When she and her handlers were stolen out of Berlin, most of who remained in Unit 731 couldn't be in more awe.
Most of all him.
Jugo comes in, strapping a number of crates to his large, bulwark of a frame. Lifting them up with ease, the young man makes not a sound as he deftly navigates the halls; built like a bull in a china shop, it is impressive to see his figure exhibit any hint of agility. It was all thanks to him - he'd specifically honed the boy's motor skills whilst he still was a growth in a test tube. Muscle fiber and the inclusion of rs117047321 into Jugo's genome assisted his coordination. Making him an especially dangerous and competent watchdog.
"There about a klick away, kaka." Jugo says sniffing the air outside the tunnel; with Akeginu's fog and its chakra inhibitors contained within now gone, their presence was a bit more precarious. The ANBU could very well catch them easily, if they weren't careful. And careful they needed to be, lest the guns of the DPRJ patrol turn them into Swiss cheese. "I cans tay behind and proved you cover, kaka."
"Not necessary, Jugo. Come, quickly."
For a quick escape, he'd planned for a contingency; a ten diameter circle in a clearing not far from where they were situated. Upon the ring of dark trees were the inscriptions of an old, heathen language. One dead and unknown for almost seven thousand years. Back when the old peoples believed in such things that bumped in the night, who witnessed the old gods walking among them, who's "eternity" seemed so much more infinite than today. Today, time was crunched. Stuffed with all the trivial nuances that lose them precious moments. But with this mix of science and...well, something "else", now they'd all the time and opportunity in the world.
The sound of breaking branches and shaking leaves becomes apparent - Jugo tenses, his instincts kicking through his drug-induced haze. A calm hand on his shoulder tells him there's no need to fret. This location had been compromised in the past, and it hadn't effected their assignments then. The ANBU would probe, but all they'd find is another wasted military emplacement.
Besides, the detonation of Watchtower 12 will complicate their orders - Konoha and Sapporo elements will scramble to assess the gravity of the situation. The aftermath of the attack will complicate the modus operandi of the State apparatus - fingers will be pointed, blame will be hedged; the failure of a security check will fall on the head of lone person standing, and that will be the Hokage himself. Asuma Sarutobi was a predictable man, who became undressed when the unexpected occurred.
Was he a slow man?
No.
Which will only make the implications of what can be said - what will be said - all the more damning to a man who's played it safe for far too long. Asuma inherited a gold mine from his predecessors, yet counted every penny like some miserly whore. There wasn't enough goodwill to be bought off with to save him now. He will be beholden to whatever lies Hokkaido can fashion. Just as Hashirama, Tobirama, and his own father before him.
A slash of his finger, a drop of his blood along the inscribed runes glowing an eerie, pale white; the language is sickly, the letters aliens, and the meaning of them he's still unsure about. But he knows what they can do once a bit of his chakra is infused within the circle. He fashions the destination in his mind, takes in a deep, deep breath of the damp, moldy air around him; the rot of the trees, the dampness of the moss, the stale aroma of dead leaves. Through all that is another circle, the same crude lettering inscribed onto the floor, in a brightly lit room. The laboratory is kept clean, pristine, and scrubbed of all impurities.
Anything to keep away the fetid stench of the tucked away Hong Kong alley they've hidden in for thirteen years now.
But that will soon change.
With the last vestiges of control either sidelined or decommissioned - permanently, Sapporo will be desperate now. The poison has not yet sifted through the blood yet - bodily functions are still ongoing, the immune system kicking in as readily as it needs, but organ failure is imminent. The "Noble One" can't manage such an affront without a scapegoat. Blame was ever the excuse for weakness, and the cure towards this was always a head. And who'll be chosen as a replacement has been groomed for years, the perfect symbol of their work, leading them to the ultimate conclusion.
"やめろ- Stop!" A voice yells; he spies the porcelain of her mask through the dying light. A cat with three stripes. He draws forth the sidearm he seldom uses - more out of habit, than any actual skill. Her blade is drawn, along with that of her comrades. She orders him to: "Halt right there!"
Of course, he doesn't.
She was already too late, as their bodies began to singe away. Like the onibi floating about them, drawn by the stench of death and decay, their physical forms dissipate into shimmering fragments of light. Jugo's hackles are up, the thrill of impending violence eliciting a sickening laughter. The uptick in adrenaline causes his canines to grow, pupils to dilate, his skin hardening to a hard, brown shell. A few seconds earlier, and she would've been torn to pieces; time was her saving grace. And teleportation circle. For even if her strike rang home, blades did little against Jugo's hide.
It hadn't helped the poor, unfortunate soul who'd fought him before, and it certainly wouldn't have helped her now.
And as she swings and misses, he couldn't help but think if she knew how incredibly lucky she was.
Or unlucky, considering what is to transpire in the Village Hidden in the Leaves next.