Welcome to the Afterlife

The doctors at the Kumogakure City Hospital had a rather complex relationship with the Orthodox Church of Jashin. After the Orthodoxy had been legalized, the Raikage had given them the right to sacrifice those persons guilty of capital punishment. This would allow them to complete their religious rituals without running afoul of the restrictions put in place by civilized society. Many of these corpses were returned to the Hospital morgue for processing, but every now and again, they'd be short a body or two. It was widely suspected by the hospital that these corpses were being eaten, preserved for decoration, or used for unspeakable medical techniques. No one within the building knew for sure, but whatever it was, it had made them uneasy.

So when Sacristan Ann led an entourage of Church officials to the Hospital, the Head Doctor assumed the worst. Vik Chinoike, who was a member of the institution's governing board, was married to Shimiko. This allowed him to mediate with the Church when necessary and given the amount of priests that encircled Sacristan Ann, this looked like a situation that needed mediating. However once the Head Doctor met the senior Church official, he had learned that the reason for their arrival was for a young boy.

The crowd parted and revealed a lone genin on a stretcher. He was covered in severe burns and though he had been stabilized with their help, if he didn't receive sustained care he'd be crippled for life. The Head Doctor knew better than to ask questions. Vik had told him long ago that if he believed the situation was a threat to himself, the staff, or Kumo as a whole, that he should be alerted right away.

"These cultists are dangerous. Don't give them an excuse."

Except at the moment, they weren't actually being dangerous. The Sacristans didn't appear to want anything else except for what anyone who came to a Hospital wanted: for their loved one's to be treated. The injuries that Irui had sustained were far worse than what he had seen in most training exercises. This was rather problematic as he'd need to note this. He doubted much would come of it though. Although abuse was not tolerated in Kumo, the Church had a way of evading the city's regulations. The Head Doctor accepted Irui as a patient and not long after, he received a call from Kumo ANBU requesting that the boy be placed in protective custody.

Irui was given a room on one of the upper floors of the Hospital. The entire wing was guarded and monitored by ANBU Black Ops. Those without clearance could not visit him. He was totally alone with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. The process of healing was slow but steady. Machines had been hooked up to him and the steady beep of the heart rate monitor provided a mechanical lullaby for those nights when the pain kept him awake. On most nights, a doctor or nurse would check in on him. Once they made sure he was okay, they'd leave him be but tonight was not like most nights. Tonight was different.

On this night, she'd appear. It was hard to say how and when she had arrived in his room. What is it a secret passage that only ANBU knew of? Was it through his window that seemed to be sealed so shut that only a fuuinjutsu could be responsible? Had she simply slipped into his room through the door after his painkillers had put him to sleep? Irui might never know. Whatever the case may be, she was now leaning against the wall directly opposite his bed. It was dark and the rumble of a storm could be heard outside. The soft plit-platter of the rain against the window joined the chorus of machines that whirred as they kept doctors abreast of Irui's condition. The glow of the machines would provide the faintest of outlines. It was of a woman in a dark red jumpsuit, armed with Sai holstered from her tailbone to her upper back, compact echo speakers attached to her forearms as though they were evening gloves, and of course two delightfully voluminous blonde pig tails.

The woman crossed her arms and remained leaning against the wall in silence. She'd patiently wait for him to respond to her presence and if he was sleeping she'd nod to the camera and they'd use one of the machines to give him the tiniest of jolts. It was just enough to rouse him awake.

"........."

"--Why are we here-- he attacked Lady Mora--"

"--Get me Doctor Nameda and her team--"

"--These cultists are dangerous. Don't give them any excuse--"

"--Five-hundred cee-cee's--"

"--Doctor--"

The world passed him by, figures and faces whirling past faster than rickshaws in the red-light district. Voices rose and fell, slurred and keened. Over and over the earth flipped, a piercing pale light streaked through a sky of pitch and masked faces. Red, he remembered an abundance of it, a deep wine-red that flowed from well-springs across a landscape of skin. Hands, he'd recall them too. So many hands, with prodding fingers, wielding flashing silver. They bored into the landscape, peeling back layer after layer, some with hooks.

"--Rdiac arrest--!!"

The land of flesh spasmed and collapsed, its core heaving with anguish. They drove needles into it now, surging fluids into veins. Translucent cordage bound to bags hovered in the black sky. Its core went silent, beating once more, loudly, before the hands descended upon it in mad frenzy, pushing and prodding. The lands frame cracked, he felt it somewhere deep within, one by two, bone gave way. A loud sound, a gasp for air, a tortured, mangled voice cried out. Again came the pale sun through the pitch black sky, wheeling overhead-- and there was fire. Flame all around, still smoldering within his skin, lurking within his lungs. It coursed like a wild beast through his veins--

--Dark cold silence. He fell away from the fire and blood, let his body slip and enter free-fall, somersaulting head over heel through a starless expanse. No sound, nor sensation, just that cold, dark silence. He fell for so long, it became a slow lazy glide. There were no more faces hovering in the sky with innumerable fingers, no pale sun. A void. There was comfort to be found here, a gap so great between this world and the next that stillness dominated. A flicker, a faint pinprick of light popped into view, impossibly bright against the enveloping dark. He fixed himself to that distant start-point, hanging in the blackness, feeling his own weightlessness as he shifted and turned to keep himself facing the star.

Through its thin, ghostly shafts of light, he looked down upon his naked form, staring at his chest, abdomen and arms. Mottled flesh, blistered and ragged. IT WASN'T HIS OWN. The hands! They'd stripped him saw of his skin, pumped blood that wasn't his own. His hands clapped upon his face, working over his cheekbones, nose and lips. There were gashes, craters to be found. Fingers wormed curiously into crevices and wounds, pulling and prying at lips that scarcely remained. He grasped at the sides of his mouth, pulling and stretching at thinned skin, peeling it back over ivory teeth. His hair, where was his hair? It fell away in scorched clumps, clinging to oozing, pale skin. He stared at the clumps through blurring eyes, and through tremblings, ran his hands over himself, crossing arm over arm, wrapping around shoulder blades, drawing knees to chest, curling into a fetal position. Fingertips spidered over slick and raw patches, nerves flickered like live wires. His skin, where was his skin, this wasn't his skin! Palms traced the nape of the neck, running once more over bald and blistered scalp--

Charred and brittle nails found purchase in a crevice. Five by five his fingers joined in, pulling and pushing. This skin, it wasn't his own. he had to take it off! This was wrong, this was stealing-- no this was ruined skin! It needed to come off! He couldn't wear this any longer, he needed new skin, needed to be something new. Fingers pulled, fingers pulled. A crack, so loud it split the dark. It gave way, the skin relented, flaking and crumbling into fine ash. He clutched the ball in his hand, turning it over and over. No, this wasn't his skin, this couldn't be his skin, could it? He let it go, drifting away into the black, trailing ash. Fingers returned, and found new grip, now working with vigor, they pulled and tore.

Pulled and tore.

Pulled and tore.

This wasn't his skin, was it?

He twisted, over and over now, watching that distant star, its ghost-light playing across pale plumes of ash in his wake. He'd gotten greedy, and now stared at the chunk of shoulder and rib that floated lazily in his current. But where was his skin, where did it go? It wasn't underneath all of this mess! There had to have been a mistake, a miscalculation. Someone took away his skin. He'd done something wrong to deserve this punishment.

"Today you you will learn the true power of your bloodright boy!"

"HOW DARE YOU BOY! I WILL HAVE EVERY INCH OF YOUR SKIN. I WILL TAKE IT FROM YOU SLOWLY AND MAKE YOUR FAMILY WATCH!"

"You heard me...No. I cut it off for a reason. A sacrifice to Jashin for the blessing he has given us."

"Jashin has shown me that this was a necessary sacrifice for your development."


Irui Mikiri screamed to life, thrusting upright in a bed that was not his own, covered in layers of wrappings. A peal of alarms rang out, as a new, ragged voice tore from his chest, and the tortured, mummified boy clapped maddened eyes on the woman in red.

Irui rose forward from his bed with a start. Whether it was because of the jolt or the dreams, only Jashin knew for sure. He was wrapped in bandages from head to toe. The various monitors hooked up to him began to beep loudly but all it took was a simple handwave from Shimiko and the machines would be quieted. The blonde stared at the now awake of Irui. She spoke in a low and serious tone:

"Irui Mikiri, born in 920 A.S. genin of the Hidden Cloud and sworn servant of the Orthodox Church of Jashin. I trust you know who I am so I'll spare you the introductions. I'm surprised you're still alive."

There was a hidden meaning to what the ANBU had said. It was truly a miracle that the doctors were able to heal Irui's burns. Mora had held little back and if the Orthodoxy hadn't delivered him to the hospital in time then he would most certainly have died. However, there was a deeper meaning to the statement. He had been subject to a dark and ancient ritual. One that had been attempted by numerous non-Orthodox Jashinist sects in the past. The results were often less than stellar. They had needed an expert in Fuuinjutsu and Ijutsu to complete the ritual, Shimiko provided the former and the twins the latter. Together, they had tried to bring Mora's prophecy to life.

"Mora cut her arm off for you" she said in case the memory was lost in a haze of blood. The boy had experienced both medical and occultic surgical intervention. There was no telling what he remembered. "You fought the Lady Superior and won....and it left such a profound impact on her that she decided to sever her right arm for your sake. Normally, this would be grounds for a painful death but not in your case. Apparently, you're special. Mora believes our powers are connected and that once we unlock each other's full potential....nothing can stop us"

Shimiko looked at Irui from across the room. She was a tad bit jealous. She had fought the Lady Superior but never had she managed to push her as hard as Irui did. The boy was stronger than he knew and his bloodline's power yet to be untapped. The Mikiri had been loyal vassals to the Inazuma for years but their shadowy and secretive past had made them outcasts even among the noble clans. They were afforded all due respect and honors, but there was a wall separating them from the rest of society. Even the Chinoike, vampire descended they may be, were not as feared. Mora was past her prime and she had gone down a different path. She could unlock the secrets of their bloodright and she had chosen Irui to walk that path for her. It was an honor to be bestowed with such a task and in that moment Shimiko began to fear that she was no longer Mora's favorite shinobi.

"Personally...I don't what the big deal is. I was stronger than you when I was your age and not nearly as reckless."

That was a lie but he didn't need to know that.

"Do you think I'm wrong Irui?" she cocked her head to the side.

Irui doubled over, emptying his lungs into the thin turquoise blanket, all the while the air filled with ringing alarms. Everything hurt; his face, his arms and legs. He clutched feebly at his sides and arms, pulling and pawing at the layer upon layer of cloth. It wove around his torso, shoulders and stomach. He found it around his neck and forearms too. With trembling hands he ran his fingers across his face.

Screaming gave way to shuddering breaths. A monitor somewhere beeped in alarm as his heart accelerated. He traced his jaw, cheeks and nose, finding more cloth, his eyes fixed upon the woman before him. He didn't care. Her lips formed words that fell on seared ears.

"Irui Mikiri, born in 920 A.S. genin of the Hidden Cloud and sworn servant of the Orthodox Church of Jashin." She purred from her perch. "I trust you know who I am so I'll spare you the introductions. I'm surprised you're still alive."

Alive?!

Irui pressed his hands against his mummified body. Rounded lengths of tubed cording folded in between the gauze. Immediately he recoiled, crying out as pressure met flayed nerves, and found himself doubling over again. He breathed in sharply as fresh pain raced through his body, spreading like wildfire. That's right, he remembered, he'd been badly injured.

"Mora cut her arm off for you"

Mora?!

A flash of brilliant blue flame sparked across his neurons. He'd felt it, like thunder against his flesh, stripping away every mortal fiber of his body and igniting his insides. His world had been consumed by it, drowned in her fire. Wordless, he froze, recalling how Mora had stood over him cowled in black and wreathed by flame. Her arm... Yes that's right, she'd lost her arm! The violent crack of bone and minced flesh, the woman's own agony, how she'd fallen to her knees and bled profusely.

"You fought the Lady Superior...and won." The red-dressed woman continued, "and it left such a profound impact on her that she decided to sever her right arm for your sake. Normally, this would be grounds for a painful death but not in your case. Apparently, you're special. Mora believes our powers are connected and that once we unlock each other's full potential....nothing can stop us"

No, no, she didn't sever her arm for his sake. The images coursed in rapid fire, frame-by-frame in his mind's eye. He turned over, looking up at her arm snared in his trap. He'd mangled her, ruined her arm beyond recognition, severed her connection to her bloodline. Irui ran his hands over his crown, tracing the cochlear implants, and returned to folding them across his chest. It was easier to stare at the blanket, to get lost in its sea-blue color; it allowed his thoughts to wander, to hope that this might not be happening and distract himself for just a few seconds. But the memories continued to bubble to the surface. Even the damned blanket twisted into Mora's fire.

He knew he shouldn't have lived.

Everything had happened at blinding speed. One minute he was flying through the air, surrounded by shattered glass. He'd breathed Lightning from his throat, a savage and reckless maneuver that should have devastated the Cathedral and brought it down. Yet Mora was always there, moving like a wraith. He'd hit the ground, and before he'd had time to adequately counter-attack she was there, filling the courtyard with fire. So much fire. Mora had burnt everything to the ground in her wake, destroyed countless artifacts and ripped apart the church in her fury.

The woman continued on: "--Personally...I don't what the big deal is. I was stronger than you when I was your age and not nearly as reckless--"

He turned over his left hand, the Mark greeted him. Something had changed deep inside. His flesh wasn;t his own, Mora had seen too that. He'd taken her arm, and she took his skin. An eye for an eye, bloody sacrifices for them both.

"--Do you think I'm wrong Irui?"

What?

He jerked his head to the sound of her voice and stared with wide eyes. Even the slow undulation of cold air stung his flesh. He looked straight at the blonde woman, finally taking her form in. He couldn't will his face into an expression. His body shook as he breathed, and slowly processed her words. Every stretch of muscle, and pull of skin, sent ripples of agony across his body, which turned to tensing muscle fiber. Irui continued to stare. He must have looked utterly mad, and truly he felt it. The slightest motion made his nerves catch flame, made him want to claw and tear at his bandages.

He exhaled slowly, as if the action would let all the air from the world.

"Do...." He began, twitching as flesh cracked at his cheeks. "Do I think... you..." His head jolted forward. "--Are... wrong?!" He ground out, his voice battered. A surge of neural-flame jerked his head up. Asking a man who'd barely survived immolation to speak was beyond cruel, but this was the nature of the Orthodoxy; to survive and understand pain and suffering. He clenched the bed-side rail, letting his body hang there, feeling the flesh writhe within him.

"You... Are... " Irui gasped out, "--Ack--Lord Jashin...." He paused, feeling the fire race through his esophagus and chest. Mora's flames had left few things unscathed. As he wheezed and his lungs filled and released, he could have sworn he felt tissue knitting itself together-- a crawling sensation, wriggling and spidering its way through his insides. "... To Jashin, there is only kill or be killed... "

The boy was tossing and turning as if the flames were upon him again. Phantom pain. PTSD. The whole works. Shimiko remained right where she was as his vitals spiked and he relived every moment of agony. He finally managed to choke out some words but she was barely able to understand them. He was delirious. The match had broken his wits. The way he contorted and mewled in his bed was beginning to irritate her. She had euthanized other Church members for less. If Mora was wrong then she was wrong. Irui was of no use to them in this state and Shimiko had half a mind to put him out of his misery. He'd embrace the void of Jashin and die in their Lord's sweet embrace. It would be a honorable, quick, and painful death.

However, his next words brought it all into focus.

"... To Jashin, there is only kill or be killed... "

It was the truth. He and Mora had torn up the Church going at it. No one dared question the Lady Superior's tactical decision-making. Wood and stone could be rebuilt. They had worshiped in sewers, gutters, and caves before Nariko's act of legalization. A broken Church meant nothing so long as their faith held fast. And even as he lay writhing in bandages, Irui still had that faith. So this is what Mora saw in you... She kept her arms folded and smirked.

"You're right. You're absolutely right. You might be of some use to yet."

He had fought with nothing held back. It was reckless yes, but it was necessary. Shimiko knew of the Mikiri Clan's abilities but her understanding was superficial. The latent Dark Release power that grew within the young man was something that only he'd be able to tame. She was curious to see what effect her experiment would have on his body and its ability to utilize his kekkei genkai. Until then, she'd need to shepherd him along.

"For all your faults and weaknesses, you aren't without skill. You have a killer instinct and I can respect that. The stunt you pulled with the bear during the Chuunin Exams was cute but even more impressive was how you were the only one to see through the deceptions of the First Round. Pitiful performance in the second round aside, I'm going to convince the Raikage to promote you to Chuunin. You'll be pulled out of the regular military framework and inducted into ANBU Black Ops. There's war on the horizon Irui, and maybe what this village needs is less wolves and panthers....and something more....treacherous. We need vultures. People who are willing to go to any lengths to scavenge for information, people, and artifacts. That's what I see in you and that's why I'm recruiting you into Kumo ANBU"

She was saying a lot. Most of it might go over his stress out head. But if he was going to be an intelligence officer then she'd need to rely on him to retain information even under the most severe of circumstances. He'd need to find a way to keep up.

As each word was ground out from his throat, he felt their annunciations upon his vocal cords and flesh like sharp glass. The boy lurched forward and coughed bloody spittle into his water cup, his body shuddering as he wheezed.

"You're right. You're absolutely right. You might be of some use to yet."

Bloodshot eyes flicked across the room. Burnt and deformed as he might be, through all the pain killers coursing through his veins, he was cognizant of her body language. He saw how she shifted her weight, shoulders and arms in accordance with her answer. Was she patronizing him through all this? Getting cut was one thing, but layers of flesh seared from your waking body fucking hurt.

"For all your faults and weaknesses, you aren't without skill. You have a killer instinct and I can respect that." She went on over his coughing.  "The stunt you pulled with the bear during the Chuunin Exams was cute but even more impressive was how you were the only one to see through the deceptions of the First Round. Pitiful performance in the second round aside, I'm going to convince the Raikage to promote you to Chuunin."

HIs breath caught in his throat.

"You'll be pulled out of the regular military framework and inducted into ANBU Black Ops. There's war on the horizon Irui, and maybe what this village needs is less wolves and panthers....and something more....treacherous. We need vultures. People who are willing to go to any lengths to scavenge for information, people, and artifacts. That's what I see in you and that's why I'm recruiting you into Kumo ANBU"

Irui settled back in the hospital bed, and set the cup to the side. A machine to his left whirred to life, sensing something as it went to work administering fluids intravenously. For the moment the sounds of pneumatic pumps filled the silence between them. He was being given a chance at redemption for his failures at the Exams.

Slowly, the smoldering pain slid into the back of his mind, numbed by another round of morphine. He traced the path of a shimmering green fluid as it followed a cord to a site in his forearm. The liquid pumped itself into his veins, and began its spider-like crawl through capillaries as it crept along through layers of tissue. He flexed his arm experimentally as fresh, clean, warmth filled the limb as the fluid knitted skin together. Irui opened his palm.

Experimentally he coughed, his throat thick with bloody mucus.

She was giving him a chance not only for redemption, but rebirth; a once in a lifetime chance to be turned into something new, to be given freedom. HIs eyes settled on the charts, x-ray's, and diagrams along the wall. Strange things had been circled by the medical staff, far too many notes had been written. Irui squinted as the words "Kuebiko" and "Kagase" appeared over and over. Kagase, or 'Scarecrow'  in the Hidden Cloud's dialect. Beneath the bandages and gauze, his expression hardened; they'd already made up his mind for him.

A scarecrow. How apt. Irui returned to Shimiko, settling on her and cupped his chin in his hand.

"I want... Something...." He rasped out. "I want something before I accept." Irui lurched forward again, and coughed. "I want you to declare me dead. I want to live without the Mikiri's intelligence apparatus interfering...." He ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed. "I want to be free to do as I please."

He was cognizant enough to understand her but not much else. He was badly injured and judging from the IV he was due for a morphine drip. This conversation wasn't going to last much longer. She waited silently as he finally replied to her offer (although implying it was optional was rather optimistic). He said he wanted something. Shimiko was not opposed to taking care of her Nin. There were limitations as to what she could give him but she was willing to hear him out at least. What he wanted surprised her. He wanted to be dead, or rather, to be declared dead. The Mikiri were an odd bunch and apparently they were watching him. Shimiko had kept tabs on the clan but there was a limit to how hard she could probe them. They were a founding clan and if she pushed to hard to uncover their secrets, they'd balk. All she knew came from Mora and even that was on a strictly-need-to-know basis. From what she had gathered, the Mikiri were fiercely protective of their kekkei genkai and they often kept tabs on those who might manifest it. This surveillance had an unique and scary dimension to it but that's where Shimiko's knowledge on the subject ended.

Irui was on his death bed and he was asking to be free of their grasp. He must really not care for their meddling. She considered his request. It wouldn't be difficult. No one save for the Church and the doctors knew he was here or what had happened. The doctors could be sworn (or rather sealed) to secrecy and the Orthodoxy would never speak a word without Mora's leave. There was of course his parents to consider but Shimiko didn't feel bad for them. Irui had his reasons and she'd respect them. She had despised her own parents and it wasn't unthinkable that someone shared that sentiment, or at the very least, didn't care enough to bring them in on that side of their life. It also occurred to her that Irui might want to protect them. The ANBU and the Orthodoxy were not people who tolerated failure lightly. The further they were from his career, the better off they'd be.

She nodded and replied:

"Then free you will be....from them. Not from me."

Heh. That rhymes.



"Your body and soul belongs to the Church and this village. But from now on, you won't have to answer to anyone outside of me and Mora. You'll be beyond your clan's reach"

Shimiko produced a file and plopped it down on the swivel tray near Irui's bed. It didn't contain his new identity, that would need to be drafted in detail much later. Instead, the packet was an "orientation" folder of sorts. It contained a basic primer for all things ANBU Black Ops. The information was relatively classified and once he was done reading it, the nurse (an ANBU cleared operative) would burn it.

"Irui Mikiri died in an collateral jutsu accident after unauthorized entry in to the Level Three Training Grounds. So that begs the question....who am I talking to?"

This was an invitation for Irui to create his own identity. It'd be a new life for him and given how so much had been decided for him, Shimiko thought the least she could do is offer him a chance to pick his own name.

Beep

Beep

Shimiko stood against the wall, visibly contemplating his request, chewing it through and through. Her silence, and the droning of the equipment, made him all the more aware of his shallow breathing. Slowly, neuron by neuron came alive, no longer distracted by conversation and thoughts, and the smoldering pain crept back  into his peripherals. The longer she held back her thoughts, the further his body would crumple, and the more clearly he realized her intent. By the time his fingers began to twitch towards the morphine, she pursed her lips and spoke:

"Then free you will be....from them," She clarified, "Not from me. Your body and soul belongs to the Church and this village. But from now on, you won't have to answer to anyone outside of me and Mora. You'll be beyond your clan's reach"

He swallowed hard and exhaled slowly. She could truly do it. She could free him from the Mikiri's cage, he would finally be a released and on his own accord. No longer bound to their rules, their traditions. Sparks of fresh wounds teased at the corners of his mouth as burnt lips spasmed into a shade of a smile.

Shimiko's heels clicked across the linoleum flooring as she stepped to his bedside, and procured a file, placing it on the tray nearest the arm rest.

"Irui Mikiri" She declared as he grasped the folder and slowly brought it to his chest."-- died in a collateral jutsu accident after unauthorized entry in to the Level Three Training Grounds."

He held it in his hands as best he could. Every contact, every iota of pressure against his flesh brought a dull, smoldering pain to the surface. He ground his teeth together, pushing through the fire with twitching and trembling fingers, fumbling with the flap until he let the folder slide haphazardly onto his stomach. It was ANBU, a primer for the prestigious Black Ops division. But officially, he'd scarcely cleared Genin, and hadn't finished the Chuunin Exams.

"So that begs the question...." Shimiko murmured after a moment, "who am I talking to?"

He closed his eyes, trying to will away the pain as he shifted the documents to the side. A name or word had appeared over and over on the documents scattered through the room, on medical reports, charts, and scans. They'd tentatively called him "Kagase", or Scarecrow. Someone in ANBU Black Ops had a dark sense of humor-- a burnt husk of a man, swathed in bandages would surely frighten away the crows of the world. It had a certain ring to it.

He thought back to his younger days, of all the friends and faces that had come and gone, many to far flung battlefields to never return at the behest of the Hidden Cloud. His thoughts wandered to sunny afternoons attempting to prank the cathedral. Fate truly had a sense of irony.

"Codename.... Kagase...." He ground out the words, and inhaled slowly on shaking lungs.

Memories raced to his mother, Soma Takagari. She nourished him, clothed him, and tried so, so hard to find a better life within the clan. Life had always been difficult, and every time she swore she'd find a way for the two of them to fly away from these mountains. He fell silent as he felt the sun setting on his former life. She'd learn of the incident but he knew she wouldn't break down; she'd throw herself into her work, close herself off from the world. But she'd finally be free from the Mikiri's reach. She'd finally be able to fly away.

"Kojin... " He found the name apt. "Kojin.... He paused, his eyes dancing across the room as he searched the dim light for an answer. A name radically different from his own, that slipped off the tongue  with unusual ease.  "Hisamori. Hisamori Kojin will be my name, Shimiko-sama." He looked down at the file, and pondered. In the Academy, they'd discussed the possibility of having to forge new identities. He'd never considered he'd be doing that in his life until now.

He was clearly pleased about the situation. Despite the pain of being nearly burned alive, he was rather happy to not have to deal with his Clan. Shimiko wasn't sure why he was so happy to be rid of his family but she didn't pry. She could probably empathize with some of his reasons and if he decided to share then she'd be there to listen. The two were indeed more alike than she might be giving credit for at the present moment. He accepted the folder and held it close to his chest. When she asked him who she was speaking to he uttered a codename.

Kagase?

She looked at the name on one of his monitors. It was common practice for patients in the ANBU medical wing to receive codenames. Most people kept in this wing were persons of interest and it wouldn't do to have their real names inputted into the hospital mainframe. She grinned and noted the meaning behind the codename. It fit with his current predicament quite well. The cover name he had chosen for his civilian identity was a solid one. Not too generic ("John Smith") but not too unique to the point where it'd raise eyebrows.


"Very well. Word of advice....until you reach my level or greater I suggest you keep those two identities as separate as you can. Not just to the world but in your own mind. Read the document that I've given you and read it fast. Commit as much as you can to memory. The nurse will come back soon and burn it. You'll be in touch with one of my operatives, he'll onboard you and get you situated. If you have as much potential as Mora thinks then we might be having another one of these one on one's. Until then Agent Kagase..." she gave him a final curt nod and headed for the door.

It wasn't by accident that she had bid him farewell using his codename. To her, he was now more than just a person. He was an operative of Kumo ANBU. That identity would always come first and if Irui truly sought to unlock the secrets of his kekkei genkai, he'd do well to embrace this reality.

Exit

Kagase.

Kojin Hisamori.

Irui Mikiri.

"Very well." Shimiko answered after a long pause, chewing on the names. "Word of advice....until you reach my level or greater I suggest you keep those two identities as separate as you can. Not just to the world but in your own mind."

He nodded as best he could.

:Read the document that I've given you and read it fast." Shimiko continued, " Commit as much as you can to memory. The nurse will come back soon and burn it. You'll be in touch with one of my operatives, he'll onboard you and get you situated. If you have as much potential as Mora thinks then we might be having another one of these one on one's. Until then Agent Kagase..." She nodded , and paced briskly to the door, slipping through and into the florescent white beyond.

The door clicked shut, the door clacking into place, and he sat back, letting a strange, thick silence settle into the room. He breathed in and out, drawing on the cannula. There was something exhilerating about the speed of it all. Within a few sentences he'd been freed from the Mikiri's oversight. Shimiko would fabricate the papers, the ANBU would deliver the information, and his life as Irui would be over. He looked up to the buzzing light, choking back the lump forming in his throat, and lurched forward, burying his face in his hands, letting out a ragged howl, grasping at the sides of his face.

This skin wasn't his , this body wasn't his.

This was someone else, somene new, unfamiliar, a stranger.

This wasn't his skin.

He felt the paper crumple and twist beneath his elbows, and his eyes cracked open. Painstakingly, he pulled himself back from the warp folder, and eyed the cover. It was embossed with the seal of the Hidden Cloud and its ANBU-- the secretive organization serving the Raikage. An intelligence operation. He blinked numbly. She'd told him there wasn't much time before the nurse returned. Irui cast a side-eye towards the window, scanning the hallway, then returned to the folder and tore it open.

Welcome to the Special Assassination and Tactical Squad Division of the Hidden Cloud. The following document is for your-eyes-only. Any mention of this document, its contents and information contained herein, will be met with a--

"Yeah, yeah.... yeah..." He mumbled, ".... Say anything and I'll be shot."

He flipped the page, and skimmed the table of contents.

History, allegiance to the Hidden Cloud.... He flipped a few more pages, his eyes darting from the title to the content. It outlined the ANBU's purpose in the Hidden Cloud's military; an organized intelligence and assassination group that served to protect the Land of Lightning's interests at home and abroad. Anyone who threatened the Raikage anywhere made their hit-list. counter-intelligence operations were crucial as well, and the ANBU performed them eagerly. He couldn't help but crack a pained smile-- Mora's 'Spymaster' nickname had been all-too-accurate. Irui flipped the page, and carried through to the remaining sections. Thick bars of black redacted key language: it seemed the ANBU wasn't willing to give up all its secrets so quickly.

Another section detailed a birds-eye view of its hierarchy, how the organization fit into the general operations, how communications were required to be carried out, each section equally vague, promising more information later. A piece discussed the uniform, masks, personal appearance, and other truly "orientation" worthy topics. He would undergo training to understand the mechanicsa of the mind, the human body, and its weak points; a primer on medicine, psychology, basics in chemistry and other areas to advance his knowledge in field operations.

Tracking, surveillance, and investigations of foreign operations would constitute the bulk of their operations.

He swallowed hard, and finally closed the folder after he skimmed it through once more. This was going to be his life from now on-- membership into an exclusive organization within the military. He set the folder to the side, and let the information percolate through his mind, but try as he might, the morphine eventually took hold, and soon he sucummbed.

[exit]

[role credits for the time skip]