The hideout is cool and quiet. I roam the hallways, if just to cure my boredom. Obito doesn't let me out to train on my own and there's always someone guarding the entrance. Getting out of this place is going to prove difficult.
It's not huge, just a few short hallways with various rooms carved into the stone. My room is small and simple, consisting of just a place to sleep and a small shelf for my few belongings--the necklace, which I refuse to wear, sits carefully on the top shelf out of sight. It belonged to my adoptive mother in the Hidden Dream Village. I stole it before I was kicked out. I think it belonged to her mother, and her mother before that. I don't know why I took it, maybe out of anger. It was a sporadic decision.
Also on the shelf is the anonymous note I have never forgotten. I've always had it as long as I can remember so I don't really remember getting it. My mother tells me it was from my grandmother, my birth mother's mother. But I don't believe her. My grandmother died just after the war and I managed to ask her about the note just before she passed. She had never seen it before.
So the author of the note remains unseen but I hold it close to my heart and never let go of it. It's the one thing I still allow myself to hold onto from the past.
I pull it off the shelf, letting my fingers feel the decaying edges of thick, brown paper and my eyes trace the curves and corners of dark, handwritten letters that bleed through the paper.
'Misaki,
I'm sorry that I can't give this to you myself. There is so much I want to say to you but I can't fit it all on this small sheet of parchment. This will have to do.
My hopes for you are high and boundless. You are special and I know your powers will help you achieve great things. I wish only for you to realize that and find your calling.
Please never forget who you are and where you come from.
I love you, my little storm girl.'
Storm girl. A reference to my dual-chakra nature of both water and lightning. That's what my grandmother used to call me before she died. I wonder if my birth mother or father wrote this note. I will never know for sure but I can only assume it was one of them.
I fold the note neatly at the crease which is so tired of being folded it might split apart any moment and sit on the edge of my bed. The lantern on the wall makes the small room flicker with warm light.
If I still had my journal, I'd write in it now. I'd write all about my plans to escape and become my own person--one not belonging to anyone or anything except a purpose of my own.
The age-old question of what it truly means to be a shinobi is worn out but still important to me. There are things I will never understand about the shinobi life like why people can take the lives of others and still go on living, or what the deeper meaning is of being a ninja--the purpose of it all.
At this point, I'm no longer wishing to escape the shinobi life, hence my reluctance to stop training and let myself get weaker, but I'm still not sure why I'm doing it. What is my purpose in all this? It's not like I have anyone to live for--no family, no real friends.
Wouldn't it be easier to give up and move to some small town, start anew and forget about fighting and missions and plans? Like a cloud, I think, floating and drifting along with no destination.
But every time I consider that life, I think about the family I never knew--my real parents and clanspeople--who died in the Third Shinobi War. It would have been so easy for them to run away and hide, wait out the storm. Come back out when the war is over and keep on living.
But they all died in that war, fighting to protect people they didn't even know.
I lean back on my pillow, contemplating. The note is still folded between by fingers, the thick paper a smooth texture on my calloused hands. It's such a strange thing, the way one's mind can drift for hours and never reach any conclusions--just witnessing, observing.
The lantern on the wall flickers, the flame emitting warm heat into the otherwise cold space.
The soothing sound of the breath in my lungs, predictable and constant. In, out. In, out.
Footsteps echoing down the hallway, probably an Akatsuki getting back from a task.
The thumping in my chest, my heart beat quickening as the Akatsuki member gets closer to my door. I still fear they'll kill me, deem me useless. Once I'm no longer useful, they can't just let me go. I know too much. They'll have to kill me--or worse, wipe my mind with some torturous jutsu. They're always coming up with new horrible techniques.
Thump, thump... Thump, thump... Faster as the footsteps pause outside my door. Thump, thump, thump, thump. My worst fears come true as the door creaks open slowly, letting light from the hallway bleed into the shadow on the floor. I have to go, I have to run, but there's no other exit. I'm trapped.
Without even thinking, there's chakra forming in my hand. I mix in the water and lightning, creating a perfect ball of electrified water. Able to douse and electrocute any person I can hit with it.
Before I can lunge forward, I'm being tackled. There's an arm around my neck, holding me down, and others flood into the room to take hold of my limbs. I struggle against their skilled grasps.
"Hey, hey, calm down. We're not here to hurt you, we're here to rescue you," a man's voice immediately hushes me and I stop struggling. The storm ball flickers out in my hand.
"Come on," this time, it's a woman. "Stand up, let's get you out of here." All their faces are covered in masks--not the same red-striped masks I remember Leaf ANBU wearing. No, these are definitely not Leaf shinobi. They wear black cloaks over a black jacket with red straps over the shoulders.
What village is this?
I panic for a moment, thinking it might be Dream Village shinobi sent for me by Hiashi-Sama, but then I remember that Dream shinobi don't wear uniforms.
I'm guided out of the hideout by four shinobi. There's nobody guarding the entrance like usual, and I notice it's quieter outside too.
"The Akatsuki," I warn, half-expecting one to jump out of the bush any moment, "They always guard the entrance! And they're strong, you won't be able to fight them!"
I can't see my rescuers' faces under their white animal-like masks but I notice they don't even flinch at the mention of the Akatsuki.
"Yes," one of the men answers, voice calm and collected. "That's why we distracted them, so we could get you and the other hostages out."
Over my shoulder, back in the mountains, an explosion sounds and a mushroom-shaped cloud of smoke fills the air. I barely catch a glimpse of red cloud covered cloaks jumping away from the smoke, and other black-cloaked shinobi like the ones rescuing me appearing out of nowhere to fight the Akatsuki.
"They'll fight with purely defense techniques, their specilties," another man says as we jog into the forest. "Distracting the Akatsuki long enough for us to get away."
I don't question it. I just focus on my legs and the ground below me, each long step straining on my muscles as I struggle to keep up with these highly-trained shinobi. Who are they?
We travel for a long time and nobody talks. They move along like robots, trained on the forest ahead. Eventually, we stop and I sigh, happy for a break. My muscles scream, not used to running long distances.
"I'm sorry to do this, but we need to put you to sleep for security reasons," the woman says as she pulls a vile out of her pouch. Instinct tells me to scream, resist, and run away. But my body is exhausted and I'm so tired of belonging to the Akatsuki that I give in as she stabs me with the needle, letting one of the cloaked men catch me as I grow tired in his arms.
When I wake up, the room is dark except for a single light above me. It's bright and I go to put my hand over my eyes but it gets caught. When I look down, I see that the chair I'm sitting in has cuffs at the wrists and ankles, holding me firmly in place.
Of course, I think. Another prison.
I don't struggle this time. I'm too tired to resist and honestly just happy to be away from the Akatsuki's glaring eyes. Any place, captive or not, is better than with the Akatsuki and their constant threats.
"So you're not going to fight the restraints?" a deep, masculine voice comes from the corner of the room and he emerges, face catching the light. Shadows run down his sharply-pointed face, further illuminating his scars and sunken cheekbones. He approaches the chair and pulls a key from his pocket, unlocking each restraint. First the ankles, then the wrists, one by one. Click, click. "Allow me to introduce myself," he says, putting a hand to his chest. His voice is strained and deep, with eyes to match the dark clothing and strange room with no windows. "Ibiki Morino." When he's fully in the light, and angles his head up, I see the forehead protector clear as day.
"The Hidden Leaf Village, huh?" I say, surprising myself with how calm I am. "It seems I can never get away from here. But I guess I'll take it over the alternative." Again, thoughts of the Akatsuki and their terrible torturous techniques sends shivers down my spine.
"I'm head of interrogation here in the Leaf, but I do not wish to interrogate you so as long as you answer my questions," he goes on, ignoring me. I nod, keeping my cool.
"That seems fair."
"Let's start with your name," he says, pulling a clipboard and pen out. "Age, and village."
"Misaki Kumara," I abide. "I'm 21 and I don't belong to any village."
He tilts his head, and the shadows illuminate his face differently. No matter how I look at him, he still manages to look tough and unreadable. I wonder how he got those scars.
"How long was the Akatsuki keeping you hostage? And do you know their purpose?"
I have to think about this one. I didn't really count the years go by--I was more focused on my training. "They took me in when I was 15," I say, remembering it like it was yesterday. "My old master was going to take my eyes so Ob--" I quickly correct myself, and Ibiki narrows his eyes. "--a man who goes by the name of Madara Uchiha took me in."
For one flitting moment, Ibiki drops his facade and I see panic and confusion come upon his face.
"Madara Uchiha is dead," he says, lowering his voice and leaning closer. His eyes are like cold stones.
"Yes, well it was someone who claimed to be him then." I say, avoiding the Obito topic. If he ever found out I told anyone about him, he'd come for me. Ever since that day I invaded his memories many years ago, he made me vow not to speak of it to anyone or he would make sure to personally kill me himself; and I don't doubt his threat one bit. He would certainly be capable of it.
Ibiki actually drops the clipboard to his side, and looks me right in the eyes.
"Your eyes," he says as he searches them. "They are a strange color. Usually genjutsu users have eyes like yours."
I dare to look right back at him. He doesn't flinch or waver or show any sign of fear. I'm most certain this man has seen worse in his life. The scars are an obvious indication.
"You're correct," I reply, crossing my arms. "Genjutsu is my clan's specialty." I purposefully avoid telling him about my mind-invasion capabilities. He doesn't press.
Leaning back on his heels, he lets out an audible breath. He brings the clipboard back to his torso and scribbles things down.
"What do you know about the Akatsuki's intentions?" he's almost whispering now, peering at me over the clipboard.
I sigh and look away from him. "They didn't let me in on much. But Madara mentioned wanting to destroy the Uchiha clan."
He tenses at this, and suddenly stops scribbling things on the clipboard. His eyes stay trained on the paper.
"What did he say about them?" his voice is darker now, and he carefully pronounces every word.
"That there's going to be a coup."
Silence fills the already empty room. Ibiki has stopped writing entirely. He still stares at the paper like it's about to jump or something.
A door opens up and light flushes in from the outside. It closes as quickly as it opened and the room is dark once again. From the corner emerges an old man wearing a long, white coat. He keeps his head low, to match his tone of voice.
"That much is true, Misaki. There has been turmoil here in the Leaf Village," his voice rings a bell of recognition. "Ever since that night, things have never been the same."
The Third Hokage.
He approaches the side of my chair, entering the bright beam of light. His eyes and cheeks look more sunken than I remember, and more wrinkles have formed on his face. Still, a sheen of kindness glimmers in his eyes, the same as they did nearly six years ago when he sat beside my hospital bed and offered me mercy.
The same old man who kept quiet about my secret, despite knowing what I did to aid the attack that night.
"My, you've changed. You're all grown up," he says, a smile on his lips. He laughs, coughing in the process. "Maybe I'm just getting old." He chuckles and the corners of my lips tighten into the slightest of smiles.
Perhaps I do have a friend in this world.