Marked for Death: A Rational Naruto Quest

Back when she had been Mari-sensei, the fire-souled redhead had spent a lot of time working with the team on what she called 'internal management'. Being a ninja was dangerous, and it wasn't possible to manage those dangers unless you could manage yourself into maintaining a cool head. Breathing exercises, pre-planning, meditation, body-to-mind control—the toolbox she'd offered had been wide and varied.

Hazō reached into that toolbox now. He took a deep breath, picturing the swirling blue energies of the air flowing down his throat and into his lungs. He watched it move along the inside surfaces of the lungs and then curl upwards at the bottom in order to push out all the stale red air that lingered there, hosting panic the way spoiled meat hosted maggots. The air flowed back up, carrying all the stress and distraction with it. His chest relaxed, the muscles of his shoulders loosened, and he felt himself calm. He pulled chakra through his body, imagining it flow in through his fingertips from the outer world ("Sensei, that's impossible! There's no chakra floating around in the air, it's only in living things!" "Hush. Who's the teacher here?"), up his arms, up into his head along the inside surface, curl over and flow down through his spine, spread out and then down through his chest and legs, and out through his feet. There he actually could push the chakra out of himself, sending it deep into the ground and imagining it connecting him, not just to the ground he stood on, but to the very core of the world where lay the essence of everything.

He pushed his awareness outwards, threads of attention running through him into his environment. It was an exercise taught to him by the frankly terrifying Mother Nana as the first steps in the Living Roots technique, before any actual moulding of chakra. He pushed the awareness further, winding his mind's eye through the fabric of the house and imagining where everyone was in the rooms and corridors around him.

There were numerous problems, all balanced on the point of a needle named Orochimaru. If Hazō annoyed him, Hazō would die. Instantly and without repercussion from a Gōketsu-hating Hokage. Kagome-sensei would doubtless attempt revenge and be casually swatted. The rest of the clan would die or need to go missing again, unable to live in a village that permitted such things. Even if Hazō didn't annoy him, the Gōketsu and their retainers still faced homelessness and the loss of all the unique resources that existed on this compound. The hot spring, the medicinal gardens, the hidden training area. Most of all, the house.

The house was beautiful. Old, and still moderately decrepit, although that was being reversed. It was a dowager matron, traces of her youth's bloom still visible in her face but now seasoned and engraved with long years of experience. The wood and stone of its walls was imbued with imagined years of lives and loves, tempers and reconciliations, joys and loss and all the essence of life. Many of those had been added just since the Gōketsu came to live here.

Despite that, it was just stuff. Material walls, rich carpets, comfortable beds, but those were hardly uncommon or unavailable elsewhere.

The grounds were beautiful. Wild and still somewhat unkempt. Mildly dangerous in places, just to add seasoning and as a reminder not to take them casually. Still, beautiful. The hot spring was lovely, especially in the winter. There was room for all the civilians and clanless ninja that were slowly becoming loyal retainers of the Gōketsu. Giving the house back to Orochimaru would dispossess all of those people as well as Hazō and his team.

Still.

All of that was still just stuff. Oh, the hot spring was probably irreplaceable within the boundaries of Leaf and the special plants in the gardens were unlikely to be available elsewhere. Still, there was nothing here that truly mattered. Giving it up to Orochimaru was the right choice...even though it wasn't really a choice, since the S-rank ninja had the backing of a Gōketsu-hostile Hokage. Orochimaru could do whatever he wanted, trample on anyone, and it wouldn't matter.

Hazō nodded slightly as he recognized the obstacles within himself. Pride. Anger. Fear of Orochimaru and his dangerous whims.

Those were just stuff as well. Mari-sensei's voice whispered in his memory's ear, telling him that a modicum of fear was useful in order to chart one's path through dangerous waters, but more than that modicum was something to actively discard. A modicum of pride, she had said, was useful for gaining and keeping the respect of others; no one admired a worm who groveled and begged, instead preferring those who stood tall and showed respect to themselves and those around them. More than a modicum of pride interfered with the mission and was something else to actively discard.

The people who lived here...they mattered. They mattered a lot. Team Uplift. Keiko, who had begun to distance herself from the team and no longer lived among them, but was still more important than anyone outside it. The clanless ninja whose names he was just beginning to learn. The hundreds of civilians whom he had sheltered but had very little chance to interact with as yet. All of those were valuable and worthy of protection.

And then, of course, there were the people that Orochimaru would work on in the future. The specimens that would be studied...no. No, be honest and face truth unflinching. The people who would be mutilated, tortured, their humanity ignored in favor of the knowledge that could be extracted from their screaming bodies. The Third Hokage had been well known for patience and kindness, for loyalty to his students and his people, for wisdom and courage...including the courage to make hard choices and then accept the consequences. Despite all that, he had considered Orochimaru's experiments so horrific that he had arrested and imprisoned the Sannin to prevent them from continuing.

Still.

However horrific those things were, however completely opposed to the ideals of Uplift on which Hazō grounded his entire purpose in life...they mattered. Not only would expressing interest and approval make it more likely for Hazō to walk out of this room alive but, if he faced brutal truth, they were interesting. The results they yielded could, in the long run, save far more people than would be expended in the process of achieving those results. So what if a handful—or even a few dozen handfuls—needed to have their limbs cut off in order to...what? Experiment with regeneration, probably. If a thousand people had their missing arms or legs replaced, wasn't that worth carving the limbs off a few dozen? Did not the ends justify the means? They had to, if Hazō wanted to work with Orochimaru, which he did. And surely what mattered was the final accounting, not the intermediate steps. After all, Hazō had been willing to butcher sixty people on the Sunset Racer merely because his commander ordered him to, obedience to orders was the price of remaining in Leaf, and remaining in Leaf gave him far more leverage to achieve his goals than would going missing again.

No, working with Orochimaru, no matter the cost in lives or pain or degradation of the helpless, it would all be worth it. No matter how red Hazō's ledger became in the process, it could be restored and rendered pristine later. A future in which Noburi could heal a thousand, ten thousand, a million. A future in which Hazō's seals could provide housing and comfort and safety to literally everyone in the world, in which Mari's skills—doubtless enhanced by modifications discovered in the course of Orochimaru's research, since anyone who could splice tentacles onto a lynx could presumably find ways to enhance the brain and the body—a future in which Mari's skills and knowledge could shape politics and rulership into something that worked to the benefit of the many instead of the enrichment of the few. Doing enough good at some point in the future could wash away the blood that would drench his hands along the way to that future...right? Surely that was the case. Surely.

Oof. Speaking of Mari, that brought back to focus just how much she was not going to like the idea of Orochimaru's work. Nor would Kagome-sensei; the older man thought that biosealing was beyond insanity and that the world would be better off if all knowledge of such things fell straight into the Out and was forgotten forever. They would oppose any efforts to work with Orochimaru, and if they opposed such efforts too strongly then the Sannin might wipe them away as casually as Hazō would kill a fly that was annoying him while he was drawing seals. Worse, they would know that, and they would be furious that Hazō had placed them in such a compromising position.

Still...

His friends, his family, those under his protection. Those were the things that mattered. Them and Uplift and that shining future in which all problems were solved. And Orochimaru could be...not just a step on the path to that future but an entire staircase, a shortcut that would slice years or decades of uncertain effort into weeks or months of focused surety.

Still...

He felt himself waver, his chosen passion for protection and Uplift uncertain-but-somewhat-opposed to the ideals that Orochimaru embraced. No matter. That opposition was merely squeamishness, not something to be seriously considered. No, if he was going to convince Orochimaru to work with him, to be the protector that the Gōketsu needed and the teacher that Hazō wanted, Hazō was going to have to be the one who changed. The demigod before him had cast aside emotion and the fallibility of imperfect human ethics, built as they were on uncertain mental groping after truth, compromise for the sake of mutual coexistence, and the ongoing struggle for dominance. He had cast those things aside and look what he had achieved: Power beyond all but perhaps a dozen living beings. Skills that were the subject of whispered legend. Knowledge held by no one else. The power to be cut in half and then just casually walk it off. What if those skills and that knowledge could be spread? What if everyone could casually walk off lethal injury?

How could he gain the benefits of Orochimaru's skills without incurring the costs of losing his family's trust, of potentially losing them to the knives and needles of a dispassionate demigod who disliked being annoyed and viewed people as experimental subjects?

Appeals to emotion were out; that had been made clear. What he needed was logic. Reason. Formality, that would show him a person worthy of at least a modicum of respect. Not as an equal, but as someone above the common herd, who could think in lines similar enough to those of the Snake Sannin that said Sannin found the thinker of those thoughts interesting enough to talk to. And not kill. That part was very important; he could not protect the others if he was dead, and if he died then the dream of Uplift would die with him.

His emotions and social training were quieter now, but still grumbling objections in the back of his mind despite his best efforts to quiet them. He could not afford the distraction, yet there were no techniques remaining to try...except, perhaps, one.

He suppressed a shudder and then very, very carefully, he brushed against the edges of his memory of the Scroll. Not the actual experience, just the strange, off-kilter feeling that had crept over him when he first looked at it, before things had gone sideways. The moment he felt that feeling again, he firmly brought to mind the image of the most ridiculous thing he could think of: Hyūga Hiashi, painted purple and yellow and dressed in a frilly pink skirt, capering and tumbling through the streets of Leaf while shouting "Calooy, callay! Hoodooy halayyye!"

It was difficult, balancing the two bizarre states of mind, but it achieved the effect: He was distant from his body, his surroundings, the world rendered strange and dissonant. There was no space within him for the grumblings of conscience or the distraction of emotion, and he could choose his way rationally.

He considered his language and word choice, casting his mind back to every conversation he'd ever had with any Nara—the one interview he'd had with Shikaku, the many conversations with Shikamaru, the casual and brief interactions with other members of the clan on visits to the Nara estate or here and there throughout the course of everyday life. How would they phrase it?

"When I offered adoption into the clan," Hazō began, keeping his voice toneless in the Nara manner, "I had not anticipated you wanting to be Clan Head, although in retrospect I should have. As a tactic for dealing with intelligent and powerful agents, I have pre-committed to not make binding agreements until I get time to privately ruminate and consult with trusted external parties." He braced himself for the killing intent that would doubtless come next, a morbid curiosity making him wonder if it would be snake-themed or medical-themed or both.

Orochimaru shrugged before walking past Hazō and over to the desk. He casually swept the papers that resided there onto the floor and seated himself before producing a stack of seals from a pocket. A moment later, a lantern seal cast pale green light and a storage seal had disgorged paper, brush, and ink. Orochimaru bent over the paper and began writing notes.

Hazō stood, uncertain, for several long seconds.

Orochimaru glanced up. "Why are you still here? If you can't make decisions without talking to others, go talk to them and come back when they've told you what to say."

Hazō blinked. He took a moment to gather himself "I wished to apologize for my tonal shifts," he said after a moment. "Your arrival threw me off balance—" He broke off at Orochimaru's upraised palm.

Orochimaru bent over his paperwork again, clearly dismissing Hazō from his attention...although undoubtedly not completely, since no ninja would completely ignore the presence of another, even one so far below them in power.

Hazō backed away and pulled the door open...and hesitated. "Sir," he asked, after struggling with the potential risks, "I have multiple burning questions. Would you be willing to indulge me for just a moment?"

Orochimaru looked up, the steady light of the lantern seal that rested on the desk throwing his face into chiaroscuro relief. "Speak."

"What are your long-term plans? It will help in the consideration of my upcoming actions to be able to simulate your intentions more accurately. I wish to minimize conflicts between us, maximize our mutual gains...or at least not get in your way." He hastened to add the final words, as an expression of annoyance hinted across Orochimaru's face.

"I can conceive of multiple methods for you to be useful in my plans." The way he studied Hazō as he spoke those words was far too much 'farmwife eyeing side of beef' for Hazō's comfort.

"Is this an expression of your unwillingness to explain your long-term plans?"

"I find discussions of my goals both overly personal and rarely of positive utility. The screaming is often distracting."

Hazō felt ripples across the calm surface into which he had so carefully smoothed his mind. Too many implications, too many images pressing themselves in front of his mind's eye, too many of them centered on the man from the basement. If Orochimaru would do that....

"I see." He paused, considering. There was more he wanted to ask...why had Orochimaru returned? What had Akatsuki's plan been? What more did the Sannin know about Nagato/Pain, the leader of Akatsuki, and the resurrection technique he had used? Still, those weren't appropriate at the moment. He at most had a few more seconds of his potential clan head's attention, so he needed to go straight to the most important thing.

"Sir, may I become your apprentice?"

One thin eyebrow went up. "You wish to be my apprentice?"

Hazō nodded firmly. "Yes, sir. Biosealing? Bloodline research? Necromancy? The true nature of chakra and the world? Sign me up. I want to make the world better. I want my father back, and Jiraiya. I want to never die, and spend eternity learning and growing and experiencing. Death is an annoyance and your investigations are the surest path to removing it from consideration."

The snort was somewhere between amusement and contempt, but Hazō carefully told himself that it leaned more towards the former.

"I'd prefer not to be involved in any of the more...invasive research experiments," Hazō said carefully. "I'd rather assist you in modifying the methodology of these experiments. We—the Gōketsu, I meant—have resources. We could help you rebrand. That's something we're good at. We have—"

The world became knives and agony, his body flensed into its component elements, opened up and pulled apart so that every nerve and muscle and snip of skin floated in the air, consciousness still inhabiting a destroyed fleshsack that could not scream because the lungs were no longer connected to the throat despite still swelling and shrinking with breath that went nowhere. Horrors paraded through his mind, every image he'd ever seen that had infuriated or horrified or terrified. Zabuza's killing intent, the enormity of the Third Hokage and the coldness of being separated from his presence, the horror of Jiraiya's anger looming above and around him, threatening to crash down if the Fifth's temper tipped from 'annoyed' to 'angry'. The pain of his father's loss, the isolation of a boy growing into a man in a society that never fit, the loneliness of the wilderness with only a handful of badly damaged humans for company. The view of the scroll that had t)23rn h!m to @)AHO$^&(@#HJKJR JHLW@)&!!$%Y 1#$%D %#DFSG #$a% !gFt32....

He came back to himself, curled on the ground with Mari and Akane and Noburi clustered around him in fear. Piss and shit stank in his nose, drool and snot covered his face, and his clothes were drenched in sweat.

"Interesting," Orochimaru said, tapping the handle of his brush on the desk in absent thought. "We shall discuss your reaction later. You. The redhead. Get him out of here, then fetch a mop and clean that up."

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XP AWARD: -1 (0 for a ~10 minute scene, -1 for lack-of-brevity penalty)

Consequences: Mild, Physical ("Seizure Bruising"). Mild, Mental ("Brushing Against the Beyond")

FP AWARD: 2

It is now about 11pm.

Vote time! What to do now?

Voting ends on Wednesday, October 30, 2019, at 12pm London time.