Disclaimer: I own neither the video games franchise Halo or the anime series Naruto. They are the properties of Microsoft and Masashi Kishimoto, respectively. All characters depicted here belong to their legal owners.

I'M BACK! And better than ever!

Incursion

Within the depths of the Forward Unto Dawn, amidst the illumination of dim back-up power and exposed sparking wiring, there was only a slight pause in the Master Chief's gait. "A Forerunner AI?"

Cortana was inside his head again as they trekked towards the ship's reactor. It was time to get a hands-on inspection of the state of it, and their walk there was as good a time as any for her to explain what had occurred back at Konohagakure. "Yes, a very rude one at that."

"You're sure?"

The UNSC AI scoffed as if insulted, though there was no heat in the action. "I've been around enough Forerunner digital architecture at this point to recognize it when I see it... take a left at the junction coming up... Old and Grumpy calling me a 'Reclaimer' was also a pretty good indicator."

Master Chief silently followed her directions, taking a moment to soak in this new information. He eventually settled on a question. "Why did it-"

"Do what it did, without damaging me?" she finished for him.

He raised an eyebrow that translated along the lines of 'You didn't look undamaged'.

"Well, yes, its invasive intrusion of my being was certainly not polite," Cortana huffed before displaying an image of her face in his helmet. "But believe it or not, it didn't do anything beyond that. It was almost as if the AI was... violently curious. The effect it had on me wasn't intentional per-say - more a bad side-effect of a massive and apathetic intelligence assaulting my personal space."

"So, it just observed you?"

"Yes." Her next words came out softly and hesitantly as she took on an anxious expression. "It was like getting swept up in an avalanche of ancient knowledge and consciousness falling upon me in a microsecond. It was only an information probe – I wouldn't be here if it truly meant me harm – but the trauma of its entry and presence was just too much for my fracturing matrix to handle."

The Spartan stopped at the next junction in the passageway when new directions weren't given. He delayed for only a few seconds before giving up the wait, refusing to acknowledge the reference to her worsening rampancy. "You didn't have this kind of trouble with Guilty Spark."

"That insufferable floating lightbulb wasn't a pushover if you'll remember," she stated pointedly. Her previous weariness disappeared at the mention of the Monitor. "If I hadn't added Installation 04's Index into my code, he would have had little trouble purging me from HALO's systems during our first run-around." There was a small pause as her avatar sighed. "Still, even then Guilty Spark isn't comparable. This AI was different. Larger. Stronger. Angrier. If I had to compare it to anything, it would have to be..."

Sensing his companion's struggle, he finished for her. "The Gravemind?"

"... Yes, the Gravemind. Only less 'eldritch tentacle horror' and more 'very pissed off Hyper-Intelligence'... right, by the way."

Master Chief nodded his thanks as he made the turn. "What's the plan?"

The corner of the UNSC AI's lips tilted up slightly. "Funny; I was going to ask you that."

He defaulted to a shrug. "Same as before. Power communications, contact the UNSC, and then we go home."

"You know it won't be that simple."

As he opened and passed through another thankfully functioning airtight door, he responded with full confidence. "We'll make it work."

CRACK

CLANG

The MA5C was up in a fraction of a second, muzzle and weapon light aimed at the previous junction. As fast as he was, the Spartan managed to catch a brief glimpse of a rodent-sized creature as it skittered and squeaked around the corner they had originated from. Laying in the middle of the passageway was a broken chunk of overhead plating that hadn't been there before.

"Rodents, already? They get around fast," Cortana stated bemusedly. "We had better hurry along to the reactor, Chief, before one of them starts nibbling on something it shouldn't."

The Master Chief didn't move. He remained tense, rifle raised at the corner the rodent had escaped to. It had looked like a large rat, but something about it had been off. He couldn't rightly explain the reason why. It was shaped like a rat, moved like a rat, and even squeaked like a rat. But instead of being dirty and furry as was expected of such a wild creature, it had almost appeared... oily.

"Chief?"

Anyone else might have dismissed it as a trick of the eye - a mistake made due to the speed of the moment. Not him. Not a Spartan. "Is my helmet still recording?"

Cortana looked mildly confused but answered instantly nonetheless. "Yes, it is. Why?"

He cautiously began stepping towards the broken chunk of metal on the deck, weapon scanning between the junction and the fresh hole in the overhead. "Playback the last ten seconds and pause at the exact moment I turned around."

Without a word or moment of pause, the display in his HUD changed from a rendering of the AI's face to a video recording of their walk through the passageway via his helmet camera's perspective. It then replayed the last snippets of their conversation up to the point the fallen debris ended it. As soon as the camera snapped rearward, at speeds that would have given a standard human whiplash, the feed paused. Now visible was the three-way junction, only this time with what looked like a black rat mid-stride as it attempted to hide behind the turn only an inch away. It had clearly come from the fallen chunk of overheard based on its position and direction of movement. The creature must have been traversing between bulkheads when it came across loose plating and fell down into the passageway.

"Zoom in," Master Chief commanded calmly.

Doing so verified his suspicions at the cost of even more questions. Displayed on the video feed was an enlarged image of the rat in question, only it wasn't a rat. Not really. It was certainly meant to resemble a rat, but the close inspection revealed a mimicry. Instead of a coat of fur, its body was formed by what could best be described as a black tar or oil. There was no distinction in texture barring thin fracture-like patterns of white arranged haphazardly throughout. The abnormal composition of its body gave no indication of where its legs and tail began. The creature was looking directly at the camera, not with true eyes but rather blank white dots in the shape of a rat's eyes.

"That is not a natural animal," Cortana declared. "It's as if a drawing or ink painting came to life, as odd as that sounds."

"I don't like it."

The AI's serious face reappeared to take its place over the video feed. "Neither do I. Should I initiate a lockdown?"

The Spartan nodded. "Do it."

He had found a small corner deep within the derelict, hidden inside a dark room unlit by the broken lights in the ceiling above. Stacked beds built into the walls on two sides gave evidence of it having been a berthing space of a sort. Civilians might have found it irregular considering the cramped disposition of the room, but it was familiar enough to his own living quarters to induce a passing curiosity. Not that he had any plans of resting in such a place; the secluded and unused nature of the space served well enough as a central location for his expanding reconnaissance network within the giant vessel.

The ink rat was heard before seen. He didn't bother turning to it, choosing to instead patiently await its arrival upon the blank scroll opened on the floor before him. No sooner did the creature do so did it begin melting down into the scroll. Rather than collapsing into a black splotch on the parchment, however, the ink shifted appropriately to form coherent scripture upon the rat's dissolution.

Reading the message informed him that the mission was proceeding smoothly. Slowly but surely his drawings were spreading, the derelict was being mapped out, and discovery by the alien resident had insofar been avoided. Contrary to all his training and conditioning, he allowed himself to express a measure of relief in the smallest of exhales. His compatriot, whom he had lost radio contact with soon before reaching this deep into the vessel, would be content. All was going as planned.

Until, very suddenly, it wasn't.

The red lighting that engulfed the room caught him off guard, almost blinding his eyes which had adjusted to the prior darkness. It took him a moment to realize it originated from smaller secondary light fixtures he hadn't noticed before. Foolish, he reprimanded himself. A second passed before a loud obnoxious alarm began blaring throughout the vessel, screeching in his ears. He quickly began to understand that his presence had been revealed. It was time to extract. With a hasty but professional pace, he moved to gather the multitude of used and unused scrolls arranged about.

The alarm abruptly cut off before he had retrieved his final scroll. And the staticky singsong voice that followed, echoing throughout the room, startled him more than he would ever admit. "Found you, little rat!"

He snapped towards the entrance to the room with a kunai at the ready. But no one was there, only the same jammed mechanical doorway he had squeezed through before. The hall outside was now also lit by red lighting rather than the prior dim white lights.

"Surrender, would you kindly?" the decidedly female voice demanded, seemingly originating from the vessel's walls. "Or don't. That would be more fun!"

He did not speak a word nor hesitate to act. After placing the last scroll in a pouch on his side, he simply started to run. Slipping through the broken and previously inactive doorway, which was now stuttering back and forth as if attempting to unjam itself, he brought his hands together into a seal and sent out a chakra signal to all his ink drawings. They would have to fall back and rendezvous with him along his path of retreat. Any which failed to do so would unfortunately need to be destroyed along with the intel they carried.

"Yes, run!" the disembodied voice taunted. "Give us a show, little rat!"

"Intruder located," Cortana announced amid Master Chief's sprint through the Dawn's interior. "On the move from the Aft Crew Quarters. Lone male, armed with bladed weapons, carrying hip pouches jam packed with information-gathering tools. We have ourselves a spy!"

The dim back-up lighting of the ship had been replaced by the emergency lights typically used during General Quarters, bathing the passageways in a neon red intended to better aid sailors' eyes adjustment to darkness. The Spartan moved as if it was a clear and sunny day regardless. He ran through doors, climbed into hatches, and passed over debris with ease. Never did he need his AI companion to guide him through the vessel; the super soldier had spent his entire life aboard ships such as the Charon-Class frigates. He knew the layout like the back of his hand. Cortana had only been needed to detour him from dead-ends caused by collapsed passageways, and because he'd wanted to keep her mind distracted on a useful task.

"Destination?" he asked calmly, breath steady and unfazed by his racing pace.

"Based on his current trajectory, the hangar bay. He's likely trying to escape before you catch up to him. Further proof of an agent sent on a clandestine recon mission."

"Identifying markers?"

"Nothing specific unfortunately; he's wearing a mask over his face." The AI then paused briefly. "It's similar to those worn by the Hokage's guards."

Master Chief hummed as he approached a jammed door. With a quick show of strength, the obstacle was pushed aside. "The Hokage called them Anbu. Special Forces. Could he have sent this one?"

"I wouldn't reject the possibility," she mused. "But we also now know that Konohagakure isn't the only 'ninja village' that'd take an interest in the Dawn. We can't know for sure who sent this one until we capture him." Frustration suddenly rose in her tone. "Speaking of which, he's a fast one. Crafty too."

"Giving you trouble?" he asked with a slightly amused raised eyebrow.

"Only because half the systems in this burnt-out wreck are unresponsive," Cortana shot back. "Normally, I would have had him trapped between two vacuum-sealed doors before even starting this conversation, but many of the ship's systems are malfunctioning for one reason or another."

"Still..."

"Okay, yes, he's no amateur either," she admitted with grudging respect. "He planned his escape well, with contingency routes to boot. Every time I manage to cut him off, he diverts through a broken hatch, an unresponsive door, or a hole in the bulkhead. And it's not random on-the-fly decisions; he's avoiding possible dead-ends I establish."

A small amount of worry creeped into the Spartan as he dropped down through another hatch. "Will we intercept in time?"

"Just don't slow down."

The Master Chief was rushing into his destination a minute later, assault rifle raised and scanning for his target now marked by a red dot in his motion tracker. It was darker inside the hangar bay than the passageway due to the fewer working lighting and the larger space of the compartment. Nonetheless, the beams of his weapon and helmet lights illuminated the figure of a man sprinting for his life almost directly in front of him.

The intruder, a surprisingly short individual with an ear-length crop of straight jet-black hair atop his head and face mask decorated in the stylistic image of a mouse, was barely halfway through to the open hole in the hull. The sound of the half-ton suit of armor entering had caused the masked man's head to look behind him. He said nothing before turning back towards his escape, choosing instead to push his legs as hard as possible. Cortana has been right; the spy was fast. Not Spartan-fast, but much faster than any unaugmented human Master Chief had ever seen. Only Johnson had ever moved so quickly, and the intruder still might have beaten the deceased sergeant.

Their hands were fast too. Anyone else might have had trouble seeing the arm wind up and launch the knife-sized blade. Master Chief saw it coming, though he didn't bother to move. The thrown weapon reached him and then, when only a couple of inches away from impacting MJOLNIR's chest piece, was promptly deflected by the armor's golden energy field activating. No sooner did the super soldier pull the trigger on his MA5C, firing a single shot at the intruder who was already diving behind the cover of the hangar's Scorpion tank. Capture was preferred, not elimination, so he'd made sure the round only skimmed the spy's leg.

"Come out and surrender," the Spartan commanded in Japanese. He steadily began walking towards the tank at an angle, pieing the far-left corner of the vehicle with his rifle and maintaining the range advantage. "Failure to do so will result in the use of lethal force." He wasn't going to take unnecessary chances for the sake of his preferences. And when answered with silence, a hand reached for a frag grenade.

Said hand froze midway when, from behind the tank where the intruder was supposedly hidden, three large animals sprung forth with bestial roars. No, not animals. Modeled after an artistic interpretation of lions, the creatures more closely resembled the fake rats. Their skin and textures were reminiscent of an artist's drawings, although they were only outlined in black and carried much more detail unlike their prior counterparts. The creatures moved like a coordinated pack, attempting to surround the Master Chief on three sides. One flanking his left, one flanking his right, and another climbing over the tank to engage frontally. Their gaping mouths and sharpened fangs were authentic enough to pose a threat.

In a rare fit of genuine surprise, Cortana voiced what they were both thinking. "Where did they come from?!"

The super soldier didn't have time to ponder the question. He targeted the creature in the center first with a fusillade of 7.62 before the trio could complete the pincer maneuver. Every round hit home directly into the cranium of the artificial beast, quickly resulting in it dissolving into a puddle of ink-like liquid. At the same time, his left hand which had been reaching for the grenade instead retrieved the M6G Magnum attached to his hip. He then dived low to the ground as the creature on the right leaped for an attack, bringing his rifle to bear on the underbelly while the Magnum was simultaneously aimed at the creature on the left. Both weapons released their reports to create two additional puddles. Some of the liquid fell on the Spartan to paint sections of his torso and helmet with streaks of inky black, but he paid it no mind. As quickly as the creatures were removed, the Master Chief was already refocusing on the primary objective.

The intruder had taken advantage of the distraction provided by the ink lions to make another run for the hole in the hangar. He wasn't as fast; the minor wound to his leg was causing visible discomfort and his hands were busy fumbling with a parchment and brush. There were maybe ten or fifteen yards left before his freedom was achieved.

A single bullet from the MA5C was enough to put the escape effort to an end. With a loud bang, the spy's left kneecap burst into a pink mist. His leg caved under the unsupported weight and a faint gasp of pain accompanied the proceeding fall. The parchment and brush slipped from his hands and were thrown several feet ahead out of his reach, the drawing base unrolling to reveal a long mostly empty scroll. His head then met the hard metal deck face first to crack open the mouse mask. Although now immobile and pained from his blown knee, the spy determinedly kept his head forward and arms reached out, body sluggishly attempting to crawl towards his drawing instruments.

Master Chief was back on his feet by the end of it. Magnum magnetically reattached to his hip and assault rifle trained securely onto the intruder, he began his approach. When he arrived over the fallen man, reaching hand only a moment away from regaining the scroll, the Spartan kicked the parchment a few feet further away as a safety precaution. Only then did the spy cease his struggles in the shadow of MJOLNIR.

"Turn over slowly, hands raised," he demanded carefully.

The intruder made no move to respond nor cooperate. While his left hand was holding onto his thigh above the torn knee, seemingly in a natural response to the injury, it was lingering suspiciously close to a buttoned pouch sized just large enough to hold those blades he'd thrown previously. In response to the lacking acknowledgement, he was forcefully nudged onto his back by the Spartan's foot.

The resulting knife rising into the air, launched at the Master Chief's head with an impressive speed and agility, was predictable. Knowing the futility of the attack, he allowed it to crash harmlessly against his energy shields once more and clatter onto the deck a few yards away. The display of his golden defense caused a surprised rise of the spy's eyebrows - they must have not noticed it the first time - before the expression reverted to nigh blankness.

It was that pale unshakable face, however, which caught the super soldier off guard. Rather, it was just how young the intruder looked. So young that this person could not have possibly been grown beyond their teenage years. A flashback all too suddenly and unexpectedly ran through the Master Chief, bringing him back to a time years passed on a far-away planet now reduced to dust and glass. In that face he saw other children like him, hardened by training, tempered by discipline, and wielded for war. He saw Fred, Kelly, Linda, and Sam. He saw the seventy-four other "recruits" of the Spartan-II program, those who survived the augmentations and those who did not. He saw a parade of barely adolescent faces staring ahead as resolutely as the one glaring at him now. Above all else, he saw himself.

It lasted for the briefest of moments before he shook it off. Now wasn't the time for reminiscing. Questions and answers could be ascertained later. Securing the newly acquired captive, and ensuring said individual didn't die from blood loss, was the prudent course of action. And yet the fact remained: this lone intruder, who had displayed an unnatural kind of summoning ability and given Cortana a run for her money, was little more than a child.

"John..." Whether Cortana was attempting to comfort him, reorient his attention back on task, or both, was hard to say.

Neither Master Chief nor Cortana were able to comment further on the matter. MJOLNIR's motion tracker picked up another red dot just then, centering the Spartan's focus to raise his rifle at the unknown threat. He'd barely gotten a look at the second masked operative standing in the open hole in the hull before two sparkling devices landed between them and exploded into a smokescreen. Just so did a large mass of ink rats begin swarming into the hangar bay as well, appearing from the interior of the Dawn out of seemingly every nook and cranny. The mob of squirming and wriggling creatures, moving like a tidal wave aimed in his direction and clogging up his motion tracker, forced an image of a group of Flood infection forms. The super soldier started unloading the remainder of his MA5C's magazine.

Much like the infection forms they vaguely reminded him of, the rats were easily mowed down by the 7.62 assault rifle. Its high rate of fire combined with its user's unparalleled precision meant the mass of faux rodents were bound to be dealt with in short work. There'd be a lot of cleaning to do when all was said and done. However, the problem wasn't the rats. It was the two infiltrators currently vying for an opportunity.

Master Chief knew this was another distraction. A last-ditch effort for the spy to escape with whatever intel they had collected. And as he was forced to back away from the wounded intruder by the approaching mass, swiping off a rat that had managed to climb up to his hip and begin gnawing on his undersuit, he knew it was working. There were simply too many of the creatures crowding together to turn a blind eye to, especially if it meant MJOLNIR receiving damage even if only slightly. He didn't have the means to properly repair his armor, and there was no telling when he'd cobble together a way to do so or return to UNSC space. As much as the soldier inside himself was clamoring for the elimination of all info leaks by any means necessary before it was too late, the practical and logical sides were screaming to protect the integrity of his presently unrepairable armor.

"They're getting away." There was a tone of dejected acceptance when Cortana spoke. She didn't make the statement in disagreement with his choice. She knew what was at stake given the alternative. Instead, it was a comment made in slight exasperation. Outdone by a child? Master Chief figured she'd never hear the end of it if Doctor Halsey ever found out. The AI suffering from rampancy and the child in question being a skilled covert operative would not be excuses.

"I know."

As the fight with the horde of ink rats raged on, he watched his motion tracker. He watched as the red dot transitioned from the hole to the location of the injured spy. Even as he was slowly driven back to the Scorpion tank and climbed on top of it, continuously firing and reloading his MA5C to near monotony, he watched as the single red dot became two and made way towards their salvation. Eventually, though, the mob dwindled. When most of the rats were either black puddles laid across the hangar bay or retreating in the wake of their master, he jumped down from his elevated position and sprinted through the smoke screen.

But as expected, it was too late. Standing at the edge of the warped deck and bulkheads where he had blown open the hull with explosives, Master Chief gazed out at the odd sight of the intruders' escape. He hadn't known what to expect. It was not a short fall to the base of the Dawn's crater. Considering everything else seen that day, he was willing to keep an open mind. Of course, he still could not have guessed their chosen method. How could he have come up with the idea of flying away atop the back of a massive ink bird?

His AI companion, however, came up with a valid point. "In hindsight, we probably should have excepted something like this after learning he could conjure up animals from drawings."

Master Chief nodded slowly. He kept watching as the bird and its passengers steadily grew smaller and smaller in the clear starry sky of the moonlit night.

"You know..." Cortana continued with a hint a mischief. "I could use the ship's weapons to shoot them down."

"No." For a multitude of reasons, all of which you understand well, was said wordlessly.

She pouted, almost petulantly so. "You're no fun."

A shrug was all she got.

It was the morning after his introduction to the Spartan that Hiruzen was surprised by another visit so soon after the first. He did not know whether it was a good or bad sign, but he left that judgement to be made afterwards. As much as his caution and suspicions of the armored man warned him to avoid getting too comfortable, he could not help his curiosity. He was titled "The Professor" for a reason. What kind of man labeled as such would he be if he didn't take every chance he could to learn about the wonders - and dangers - of the world beyond his immediate scope?

So, there they were, Master Chief and Sarutobi seated within the Council Chambers once more. Except Hiruzen was surprised for a second time just as quickly, and for a much less palatable reason. Instead of the Spartan entertaining a conversation of politics, diplomacy, and other worlds, the Third Hokage was confronted with the peculiar image of an alleged Hidden Leaf shinobi laid low. The young pale face of the ninja, allegiance betrayed by the Konoha headband wrapped over his forehead, was staring up dispassionately into the barrel of the armored soldier's weapon.

Hiruzen studied the face presented to him before looking up at the accusing gaze of the Master Chief's visor. He took a deep exhausted pull from his tobacco pipe, then closed his eyes. "I will tell you I do not recognize this ninja. And you will not believe me."

The Spartan's response was to close his palm and lower it back to his side, turning off the video display and the technology's intriguing manipulation of light. "Why should I?"

The Hokage's eyes reopened with a glint of sincere apology. "You have every reason not to. You do not know me. You do not know this village nor its people. From your perspective, you were suddenly and deliberately attacked by one of our own, assumedly under my orders. You say they were Anbu?"

"Yes."

"The ninja did not have his mask on in the recording. I assume it was removed?"

Armored hands reached into a small duffle bag hanging off the Spartan's shoulder. Three separate pieces of a fractured Anbu mask were then laid out atop the table between them, revealing a combined visage vaguely evocative of a mouse. Minimal decoration adorned it. The mask was a blank slate save for four short black lines at the horizontal and vertical edges.

"It follows the animalistic themes of Konoha Anbu, but this does not belong to any of mine. What 'abilities' did this shinobi display?"

Hiruzen had to give the Master Chief credit; the man did not hesitate to go along with the question even though the mistrust was evident. "Conjuring of animal-like creatures using ink drawings," the Spartan answered, before raising his hand again to activate his palm projector. This time, the display showed a whole image of the ninja wounded on the floor. His kneecap was a mangled bloody mess, yet his face remained seemingly emotionless. "And an abnormal tolerance for pain."

The Third Hokage hummed thoughtfully. He determined the jutsu responsible almost instantly. "Super Beast Imitating Drawing. A rare jutsu, one that requires a keen hand with a strong passion for the arts. This nin is very skilled indeed to be so proficient in it at such a young age." He took another puff from his pipe before continuing. "'Abnormal tolerance for pain', on the other hand, while not common, is also not unheard of. Particularly among Anbu and other elite nin. It does, however, further narrow down the possibilities. Most cases require the shinobi to go through extremely rigorous training regimes and psychological conditioning, and there are only so many places one can receive them."

"Does the Hidden Leaf Village offer this form of training?" the Spartan asked bluntly and harshly, hand again returning to his side.

"No," Hiruzen answered as honestly as he could, staring hard into the yellow-gold visor. He took the fairly given frustration in stride. "Not that I am aware of. For as long as I have been Hokage, such conditioning has been prohibited." The image of a young pupil with an affinity for snakes growing up into an amoral sociopath, and his failure to avoid said fate for pupil, flashed before him. "Why, might you ask? Because the regime in question does more than merely reduce the body's sensitivity to pain. The side effect is the mind's ability to process emotional stimuli and expression."

"The less receptive to pain, the less emotionally stable they become?"

"Worse," the Third Hokage emphasized. "They begin losing the ability to feel emotions at all."

Silence engulfed the room for a few tense moments as the armored soldier absorbed the information. "... Some nations and organizations would see that as a beneficial trait in their operatives."

He understood it was meant to be an objective statement-of-fact. Yet Hiruzen also understood the implication, and it caused a tightening in his jaw. He stood from his chair in defiance of the Spartan's words, not to raise his voice but to respond firmly and sternly. "Yes, some would. But not I. Not Konoha. This village is not a heartless machine that churns out ruthless murderers and conscienceless assassins. We are the inheritors of the Will of Fire, not mindless beasts."

When the armored man chose to remain standing in silence rather than respond further, the Third Hokage closed his eyes with a tired sigh and carefully lowered himself back to his seat. A small sad smile, evidence of a tried and tested life, appeared on his lips. "I apologize. That was unbecoming of me."

The shift in the Spartan's posture was slight, barely noticeable. His back was just a little straighter, his head just a little higher. He then nodded both forgiveness and an apology of his own. Hiruzen amusedly reflected on how he was able to tell because of his extended experience reading the body language of his own masked Anbu. Speaking of which... "Tenzō."

The shinobi mentioned appeared on the Hokage's side on-command, standing casually at ease but clearly positioned to protect his village's leader in any possible event of hostility. His feline Anbu mask with green and red markings was still adorned over his face. "Yes, Lord Hokage?" he inquired dutifully.

Hiruzen instead turned towards the Master Chief. "May you show us the shinobi's face again?" When his request was granted without question, he returned to Tenzō. "Sketch it and share a copy with all teams. Young male adolescent skilled in advanced B-Rank jutsu; unknown name, alias, and affiliation; likely identifiable by the effects of severe trauma to the left kneecap. Any who comes across this individual is to apprehend him, alive, by any means necessary."

"By your command, Lord Hokage." Tenzō took another long look at the face presented on the recording before leaving as quickly as he'd arrived.

With that task established, the village leader addressed the Spartan once more. "I understand it is not much, especially when you have all the reason to expect deceit. However, my desire is for us to come to a mutual understanding. Possibly even a partnership of a sort. We have much to learn about the world beyond our planet, as I am sure you have about our own lands and cultures."

He stood up from his seat again and walked to the chamber doors, tobacco pipe puffing along the way. "If we find this perpetrator and learn anything from him, I will inform you myself. You have my word." He stopped at the doors and opened them with a gesture to the Master Chief. "In the meantime, please return tomorrow afternoon. I will have a proposition for you by then, one I hope will build trust."

The armored soldier hesitated only briefly before following along. "Very well."

Hiruzen was back in his office soon enough, Master Chief's departure having thankfully gone much smoother than the day before albeit with frostier formalities. Now left alone to his thoughts, before the inevitable flow of paperwork, he could review the previous conversation and its contents in privacy. He could think back on it, better examine the Spartan and establish a feel for the soldier's ideals. It wasn't easy by any means. The Master Chief was a stoic conundrum wrapped in a heavy metal suit who held his shogi pieces close to his chest. But it needed to be done; too many pieces on the board were on the move, and fewer of them were in Konoha's favor as the days passed. The Sand was stirring, the Mist was bloody, the Rain was too quiet, and an eerie Sound was playing behind the scenes. Spartan-117, if he was indeed the kind of man Hiruzen hoped him to be, could become invaluable to the safety of Konoha.

The Third Hokage exhaled a hit of tabacco with a tired sigh. He did not lie to the Master Chief. Everything the aging village leader had said about this unknown shinobi was true. Nevertheless, what he hadn't said made him feel guilty all the same, and feeling guilty seemed to be a running theme in his twilight years. Perhaps it was high time to make some corrections.

Damn you, Danzō.

Darkness was all there was. And inside this small box, sealed shut from the rest of the container, it was silent.

A rodent, not one of ink and will, but of flesh and fur, had found itself trapped inside. The shifting walls of the container had revealed this box only for them to shut behind it, capturing it within the cold metal and unbreachable black. No shelter to keep warm, no liquids to drink, nothing to eat, and no path of escape. This was the rodent's world now, for however long it would take to starve or suffocate.

Then the rodent found something fleshy. It smelled odd and tasted odder, but something fleshy meant something edible, and something edible meant longer survival. So, it bit down.

Only something bit back.

Darkness was all there was. And inside this small coffin, sealed shut from the rest of the grave, something dripped.

CHAPTER END

Author's Note: Hello, all my dear readers! Long time no see! Bet none of you were expecting this to come up out of the blue, were you? Well, I always did like to make people wait, sometimes way longer than they are comfortable with. But as the saying goes: better later than never! Right?

In all seriousness, this return - and end to Iunctus' hiatus - was long overdue. Yet the rollercoaster that is life always managed to find a way to shake things up. How many things have happened in the world since the last update I made to CH 7 back in 2019? Yeah, things have been real crazy, and all I've been trying to do is get on by. Well, I'm happy to say things are finally looking fairly good! Eh, maybe not so much for the rest of the world, but for me it is! So here I am, returning to where everything began with a new chapter, written with better grammar and skill to boot. Though I'm sure even after two proofreads I'll still manage to miss a typo here or there until days or weeks later.

Anyways, I'm real happy with how this chapter came out. The premise and story beats have been stuck in my head since I originally posted CH 7 all those years ago, and it was great to finally put it all out there. And this isn't just a one-time thing; I really do plan on coming back to this story in full. Does that mean the next chapter is likely to come out within the next week? No, but it certainly should by the end of April! And expect many rewrites and QoL improvements of previous chapters to come over the next few months - they're sorely needed.

I hope you have enjoyed this latest chapter as much as I did writing it! Please leave a review, would you kindly, and I'll see you next time!