The coliseum rumbled.

Thundering stomps drummed against the floors beneath the rings and rings of metal seats, and the cries and cheers of an audience who paid to see blood coat the dirt grounds shook the stale air. A chakra-chained dome draped over the arena and the twinkling jewelry of the elite that made up much of the market built up the equation of the scene, and to many, it couldn't be more beautiful.

There was an echoing tap of the announcer's mic and the crowd's howls dipped into murmurs as a jovial voice rang out of the speakers. A woman in a three piece suit stood in the center, her bright purple hair swept up in a mohawk and a microphone dangled from her gloved fingers.

"We're in for a special treat today!" she boomed, her excitement electrifying her words. "Four wee kiddies get to meet their grimy ends here—ain't that tragic? Shouldn't a' been crawling near Nezu and Co., but guess where they landed themselves? Here for your entertainment!"

Roaring laughter melded with the announcer's own, and she continued giddily. "Alright, alright, alright, let's cut to the introductions, shall we? Four brand new mice to play chase with! First we got a cutie out here, hair dark as night, skin white as snow, but we get to add those red lips when his teeth get knocked out by the next cleaver out here! Bring in Snow White!"

Sai was shoved into the area dressed in a black chest plate and a pair of black pants, his smooth abdomen exposed to the jeering onlookers and his customary smile plastered on his face. A tanto was clipped to a belt slung low on his hip as a parmula shield shone under the stark white lights in his grip.

"Next up we got a barbarian for you lot, cheeks painted red and fangs in his mouth." The crowd 'ooh'ed at the description, the thought of a wild madman conjured between their ears. "The nasty mutt plays a little too much with sharp things, and if you can't declaw him, find someone who can! Bring out Senbon, the runt, show him off!"

Kiba was pushed in next, his lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. They'd forced him into a leather breastplate and a bloodied skirt with cingulum armor swaying from his hips. The only weapon they'd given him was a pack of dull senbon, like the moniker they'd graced him with, and he could only stand next to Sai and wait.

In the stands Akamaru sat with his head in a metal head halter and his body in a matching metal harness. The end of the chain connected to a brilliant jeweled bracelet around the Nezu and Co.'s CEO's wrist.

A feral growl erupted in his throat at the sight.

"Now we've got a real mysterious third mouse in the ring today," the announcer cooed in her hideously condescending voice. "Came in hiding in a hu~uge jacket and absolutely refused to remove his glasses. Can you believe that? Well, whatever's behind those lenses we might never know, but let's allow the darling Nurse in the ring, shall we?"

Shino came out next in a sleeveless chainmail shirt, a manica to cover the entirety of his right arm, and an intercisa helmet fastened to his head. His insects hummed with rage and disgust just underneath his skin.

They were going to be subjected to a sport.

Taken. Branded.

Is this what it was like to be used?

"And last we've got the lassie with pink hair and just the most adorable button nose—but I guess appearances can be deceiving. A head as tough as a tool, that one, when she headbutted and cracked the skull of one of the escorting guards and tried to bite his arm off!" The coliseum exploded in crowing laughter. "Not quite the barbarian like Senbon, but close. Bright out Hammerhead, show her to the world!"

Last came Sakura. They'd stripped her down to a sports bra and spandex shorts and fastened leather pauldrons on each shoulder, the belt straps crossing over her chest in an 'x' shape. Her katana they'd taken but they'd allowed her to keep her kusari-fundo, the coils in a white-knuckle grip. The laughter in the arena only grew louder as her greaves clinked together with every step she took.

Of course they'd laugh. Nothing funnier than a brat with a muzzle on her face, right?

The announcer twirled once and spread her arms out wide. "Mice, let's meet your cats and get this show. On. The. ROAD!"

And the four of them stood there drowned in the screams of the audience, a mouse branded running up the backs of their necks.

::

The living quarters they were shoved into was... nicer than they expected. Not that they'd known they were going to be kept to fight until they died, that putting on a show meant good money, that not meeting their weekly quotas from their performances meant participation would double in the next rounds.

The CEO wasn't all that detailed when she sang them a summary of the rules, but her eyes didn't match her brilliant smile as threat circled her pupils and her gaze combed over each and every one of them.

But her smile was almost as ugly as Sai's. They said nothing as she swayed off to who knows where, yanking Akamaru along as the latter could only throw a small, shaky nod over his shoulder.

Kiba's blood boiled that much hotter.

As the heavy metal door slammed closed behind her, the four of them were left alone and coherent in what could only be described as a fancy rock box. There was a single full-sized bed pushed up against once corner, ratty and stripped, and a toilet missing its seat sat beside a sink that only ran cold water. The only opening was a window covered in electric bars, and its only view was the screaming arena with two new fighters and four dead bodies littered in the dirt.

Shino picked up one of the stained towels tossed onto the bed and wiped the blood splatter off his face with a grimace. The coliseum set them up with four "cats" to kill them, but they'd all been low genin at best and the match wouldn't be called until one side was wiped out.

So, Sai cut off the head of the first one.

After a beat, Sakura snapped the neck of the second.

Kiba strangled the third.

And he'd gutted the fourth, cheers ringing in his ears.

(He'd never felt so sick in their struggle to survive.)

"So you're all a little more skilled than the scouts anticipated. This is good—it'll mean the company won't have to trap more mice for some time."

Someone else strode through the door and let it fall closed behind them.

A woman, early thirties maybe, observed them languidly. The hakama she donned was disgustingly familiar and the sight of her thick tan tunic made the brand at the back of Shino's neck throb. Her desert wear was apparent now if the off-white scarf bunched at her neck said anything about it.

Sakura's eyes roved around the room before they landed on the stranger. "Wind Country?"

"Sunagakure, if you want to be more specific," the woman smiled, pronouncing the crows feet at the corner of her eyes. "What gave me away? The outfit? The tan? The sand in my sandals?"

"Your hair."

Her smile grew. "Yes, red is quite common among my people, isn't it?" She swept over their dripping appearances, her short hair like fire against her scalp. "I am Oosuna Nezumi, no relation to Nezu and Co., though it's quite the coincidence. I am to be your overseer until the last of you drops, though I hope it's not for a while. After your display, I have a feeling the Mice might make a comeback as a fan favorite."

Kiba growled, guttural and grating.

She made no notion of having noticed his growing animosity as she politely addressed the room. "Do you of you have any questions?"

"Yeah, what the hell's all a' this?!" Kiba spat. "Kidnappin' kids ta' fight? You're outta your goddamn mind!"

"I am not directly affiliated with the company, if that helps." It really didn't. "Think of me as a... moderator, as I make sure fights run smoothly and I get a 10% cut of the company's earnings whenever I am available." Nezumi hummed to herself as she tapped a finger against her chin. "Though I have been off-duty from desert patrols as of late, maybe I should retire so I can put in a bigger hand in the works?" She blinked at the four clumped at the center of the room. "What do you think?"

Kiba's mouth flopped open then closed then open again. "You're still... You're still loyal to Suna?"

"Yes? Did you think I was not?"

Shino's brows pulled together as the corner of his lips tugged down in a confused frown. There was nothing legal about any part of this situation, so what was the point of engaging in something as severe as this while upholding loyalties to a village that probably had no clue? Intel? Leverage? A safety net?

"Then what the actual hell? You're running an illegal—"

"Moderating."

"—oh sorry, moderating an illegal underground scene that kidnaps kids to put into death matches for the sick fucks that pay for it? You're crazy!"

Sakura was no stranger to the look that slid onto Nezumi's face. The woman held herself like none of them were a great enough threat, and maybe they weren't, and she gazed at them like they were children rather than slaves or prisoners.

It was nothing short of discomfiting to be the receiving end of such a gaze as if Oosuna Nezumi wasn't the exact person to force another brand on their bodies.

"Like I said, just a past time. I don't control how Nezu and Co. works, but I take care of the Mice they bring me and make sure the pickings are decent. You've made it through your first fight well enough, right? You've got the makings of a good batch."

Shino crossed his arms, unconvinced. "You say you're not 'involved', yet you're the one who branded us on the ship."

"I was the only free hand on deck. You're my charges now, I might as well."

"And what exactly does us being your 'charges' entail?"

"Well first, there are six rules that every and all Mice are required to follow, as skimmed over by the CEO," started Nezumi. She rattled them off from memory, and she'd probably run down these rules hundreds of times before. How many Mice had died in this room? "One: When you're out in the coliseum, there is no stopping. It's death or nothing, unless directed otherwise. Two: Be flashy. Big bangs equal big bucks, and quite frankly, I'd argue this might be one of the more lucrative venues that utilize shinobi."

Kiba ran his tongue over his fangs as his mouth grew bitter.

"Three: Meet your fight quota. Minimum fourteen fights a week per mouse. Could be twice a day, could be all fourteen in one. Ration out your fights as you will have plenty opportunities, but if there isn't, it will be taken into consideration. I will have the line-up at five o'clock every morning, so be prepared."

"If we don't meet our quotas besides the doubling of it?" Sakura asked.

"Then you get punished," Nezumi replied smoothly. "Four: Fights go on as long as they have to. Five: the Coliseum runs on daylight. If there's light out, fight's out. Six: You're only done when you're dead. Are there any more questions?"

Nurse kept up his frown. Senbon still looked five seconds away from sinking his claws into the next person that pissed him off. Hammerhead stayed as cold as she was when she had the muzzle. Snow White stayed silent and still the entire time, his steady black eyes fixed on her.

Nezumi held in a laugh. These Mice were so cute.

"Remember, I am the one to make sure all these rules are followed and you're able and breathing by the time you're up for your next fight." Her smile wasn't mocking or smug, and it sparked something in the back of Sakura's mind. Her satisfaction wasn't sadistic or cruel or sick—like all this really was a past time and she was just going through the motions. "I'll leave you with what I always leave my Mice with on the first day: I have no affiliation with Nezu and Co.. All I am here for is entertainment."

Something underlied her words. Something that didn't ring quite right in her tone or her too-large pupils that told nothing, but she turned to leave and bid them a good rest of their day, as their quota counts would start tomorrow.

But as she pulled open the creaking metal door—there was a chakra recognition seal on there, Kiba noted in the haze of his rage—Sakura spoke.

"We'll burn this coliseum to the ground."

Nezumi glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "Hazun saied."

Sunese dialect.

Good luck.

And the door shut behind her with the hum of a chakra lock.

(Team Sai wore their metal collars for one month, two weeks, six days, eleven hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifty-eight seconds.

It went like this—)

::

[2 DAYS; 17 HOURS; 32 MINUTES; 14 SECONDS]

They hadn't talked much since Nezumi's full introduction, but Sakura was fine with letting everything sink in before they came together to find a way to get the hell out of there.

Sitting on her place on the bed—they'd decided laying to where all of them fit better was worth their feet dangling off the edge—she glanced up at the crackling electric bars and into the darkened stadium. Kiba was to her left, curled and closest to the door, and Shino was to her right, an arm over his eyes and his glasses tucked somewhere on top of the bed frame.

And Sai laid between Shino and a wall, his back to them and one arm tucked beneath his head.

There was always the backdrop of cheers that accompanied the scent of blood. It thrummed in their chests and rattled their bones, and when night came and crickets sang there was still a ringing in their ears that never seemed to go away.

No one spoke, but she knew no one could sleep.

Not with all the noise.

[5 DAYS; 8 HOURS; 31 MINUTES; 36 SECONDS]

There were four rules that governed all medic nin, penned and approved by Senju Tsunade herself before she disappeared without a word and was last heard to be wandering the countries to gamble and drink her sorrows away.

First Clause: No medic-nin shall ever stop medical treatment until the lives of their party members have come to an end.

Second Clause: No medic-nin shall ever stand on the front lines.

Third Clause: No medic-nin shall ever die until they are the last of their platoon.

Fourth Clause: Only those medic-nin who have mastered the Ninpou Souzou Saisei—Byakugou no Jutsu are permitted to discard the above-mentioned laws.

And for all intents and purposes, there wasn't anything inherently wrong with the rules. A medic-nin's purpose was to heal and serve; they were the support in the ever-warring climate of their profession and were to remain as such. No true medic-nin had ever tried to undermine those rules.

But as Shino dodged the brass-knuckled fist aimed for his head and swept his leg into the back of his opponent's knees, all he could think of was how self-righteous Senju Tsunade had to be to think medic-nin could adopt a higher moral code when they were still shinobi.

No medic-nin shall ever stop medical treatment until the lives of their party members have come to an end?

What if that member had no chance of survival? Was it worth the wasted chakra that could have been used on other injured members? What about the risks and openings the medic would leave for themselves if the enemy was still a threat?

He used his armored arm to slam against his opponent's head, sending them rolling into one of the arena's walls. The other, some ex-nin from Yugakure, snarled as he pushed his dark green hair back and charged forward despite the blood that started to pour from his head.

No medic-nin shall ever stand on the front lines?

What about when plans change? Would it still matter if the medic would have to kill to save other members of his team? What about the off-chance the medic would be shoved into an illegal fight ring where they would do nothing but be on the front lines? What then?

Shino's kikaichu thrummed just under his skin as he dodged several more jabs and the last of a dull kunai. He was the only Mouse that hadn't been allowed a weapon no matter how useless and he was determined to keep his insects a secret as long as possible, but he'd make due.

He grabbed his opponent's wrist, twisted it, and snatched the kunai for himself.

The audience crowed.

No medic-nin shall ever die until they are the last of their platoon?

Who controlled the whims of the battlefield when it pit weathered shinobi against weathered shinobi? What about the strategies enemies had that made sure to go for the support first? What of the situations that called for not a single able body on the sidelines set there for the sake of morality?

He wasted no time plunging the kunai into the other's chest, blood gushing onto his hands and the metal plates of his armor.

Only those medic-nin who have mastered the Ninpou Souzou Saisei—Byakugou no Jutsu are permitted to discard the above-mentioned laws?

Shino let the body drop and stepped over both it and the red that started to pool by his feet.

He didn't need the Byakugou to turn from the rules that had been drilled into him since the moment he became a medic.

He could kill on his own just fine.

[6 DAYS; 3 HOURS; 21 MINUTES; 51 SECONDS]

Twice a day, once at ten past five in the morning and again at nine in the evening, the four of them would be ushered out their cell and locked in the arena for thirty minutes on the dot. The only difference between the sanctioned times and the rest of the day was that those were the designated meal times.

Theirs, and all the other fighters of all the other companies.

There were no tables or chairs at those times, so the fifty or so bodies that loitered on the stained dirt murmured lowly amongst themselves with tin plates in their hands and cups of room temperature water at their sides.

Kiba flopped onto the ground beneath one of the torches that lit up the coliseum, grumbling as he settled into the dirt as the rest of the team congregated around him. The sky's navy blue blanket cloaked them over and not a single star shone above their heads.

In about thirty minutes, the sun would rise.

But, they had a breakfast of rice and wilted vegetables to eat.

"The collars are only meant for involuntary participants," Sai informed them blandly after a brief assessment of their surroundings. "Though we may not be the only ones who carry the collar, it is part of, how you say, the appeal of Nezu and Co.."

Kiba scooped some rice into his mouth. "Tch, 'course it is." He wiped his lips with the back of his hand as he chewed and glanced around. "How come new faces show up so quick?"

"Some of the companies keep excess fighters in the buildings outside the coliseum as overstock," Sakura said. She motioned towards the guards by one of the fighter entrances. "We've got thirteen participating business in total, and the only ones I've heard of so far are Nezu and Co., Harimau and Sons, and Izimvu S.A.."

"And each business has their own manufactured collar," Shino added. "Why? To lower the chance of a coliseum-wide escape should one of the fighters figure the mechanics of their own collars and unlock them." He picked up a piece of browning broccoli, frowning. "Smart. But inconvenient."

Sai smiled, exactly half his plate eaten in perfect symmetry. "I suppose it is in your unfortunate nature to find out how to unlock all thirteen, correct?"

"We'll try where we can," Sakura butted in before Kiba could snarl something that would only help rile him up later. "If we're actually interested, we'll go for the neck when we're in the pit and see how much we can dig up. For now, we stick with getting off ours. And before we can even get to that, we need to know what happens when we make the coliseum tick."

Kiba huffed. "Easy."

He stood as he shoveled the rest of his food in his mouth, washed it down the rest of his water, and punched out the first person he saw.

Shino heaved a long sigh and rubbed his eye beneath his glasses as the guards stopped the fight before it even began and hauled Kiba out to who knows where for the rest of the day.

It was right after their second meal of the day that Kiba was thrown back into the cell with so many lashes on his back that there was no untouched skin to be seen.

[1 WEEK; 3 DAYS; 23 HOURS; 15 MINUTES; 50 SECONDS]

There was a reward system for meeting quotas, it seemed.

Sakura was unamused when Nezumi came in with not only her line up sheet, but a red quilt that frayed on the edges and looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years.

"For your victories," she smiled before she listed off the battles that would take place the rest of the day.

For your kills, Sakura heard instead as she signed herself up to take the extra match that was put forward. At least Kiba could move more freely now and admitted that the whip scars on his back were only a dull ache when he moved, sluggishly healed by the small spurts of chakra Shino could siphon despite the collar.

She tucked that tidbit in the back of her mind to theorize later. Could siphoning out small slivers of chakra and storing them over time allow them to break the collar with a chakra overload?

As Shino checked Kiba's back once more before helping him fasten on the leather breastplate, Sakura turned her gaze onto Sai. After his unrelenting silence the first three days of their capture, he'd returned to his usual ignorant, insensitive self that had done nothing but incense Kiba and ratchet up Shino's anxiety, which in turn made her own annoyance climb up an inch higher every time he opened his mouth.

The one thing they needed to do was stick together because at the end of the day, it didn't matter if they liked each other or not. They were all in the same mess and they were all going to get out of it. Maybe not in one piece, maybe not all there, but they would. And if Sai could step up to be even half the leader he could be, their cell wouldn't have the air of a string taut and ready to snap.

Sakura coiled the chain of her kusari-fundo between her fingers as Nezumi walked over and locked the dog muzzle over her face. She no longer protested or tried to wrestle out the goddamn thing, but a cool anger trickled further and further down her veins the more she got used to the leather and metal pressed hard enough against her face that it was starting to leave marks that don't get the chance to fade until she was in it again.

Getting escorted, muzzle. In the arena, muzzle. Not in the cell or at meal times? Muzzle.

"I'll burn this first when we get out of here," she told Nezumi as they were led to the pit for breakfast, jerking her chin.

Nezumi chuckled. "But Hammerhead, would that not be a good souvenir?"

The only souvenir she'd have was the blood on her hands of the people she'd never know.

But, Sakura inclined her head as the muzzle was slipped off her face and a tin plate was thrust in her arms. "Maybe."

[1 WEEK; 5 DAYS; 2 HOURS; 54 MINUTES; 30 SECONDS]

"FUCK YOU!"

Kiba's hand sailed into Sai's cheek with a resounding crack just as Sakura's arms looped under his armpits to pull him back.

"Calm dow—" she started, but didn't get to finish when he reached up instead to grab the straps of her pauldrons to absolutely wrench her up and over his shoulder. She landed in a heap with a blank gaze trained towards the ceiling, Shino watching horrified by the running sink, before one foot was one the ground and her other slammed into her friend's stomach.

Kiba smacked against the wall, but he didn't crumble. His pupils were thin slits in their wildness and he charged again. Sakura ducked out the way, but he didn't stop his lunge. Before Sai could catch another fist to the face, he dove between the chuunin's legs and drove his elbow into the back of his head.

"That's enough," Shino said when shock released its hold on him. He gripped Sai's arm and pulled him up from pinning Kiba on the ground. "He's frustrated—we all are. Why? Because this predicament does nothing to soothe the nerves."

"Is that so?" Sai questioned. He swiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "Then perhaps you should keep a better reign on your Mutt, Four-Eyes."

He barely had time to blink when Shino smashed their foreheads together.

"Don't call me Four-Eyes."

Before Shino could get another hit in, Sakura sent Kiba straight into his knees.

Stars in his vision, he bore his teeth as he sprung back into the mess.

::

Around midnight, four bruised and bloodied bodies scattered around the cement floor of their cell, panting through the thick layer of sweat that stuck to their skin. The cool breeze that flitted through the bars was welcoming and the stale air they shared became just a little easier to breathe.

"... 'm sorry," Kiba murmured. "I'd... It was all gettin' to my head. The fights, the killin', y'know. And the... the CEO hasn't been 'round in a while. Don't know where she's been and don't know what she's done to Akamaru. I ju-just hope he'd not dead. I dunno what I would do if he was and I... I..."

His teeth snapped together in an audible click, and none of them had to look to know a few stray tears dripped down his unpainted cheeks. He covered the bottom half of his face and sniffed as quietly as he could, pressed in close into the corner by the door.

Shino, who'd taken to propping up against the bed, used the last of his strength to drag himself to Kiba's side. "We're going to survive this."

"If we don't—"

"Then we don't, and we're dead, and there's nothing else we can do."

"... We already killed so many of 'em."

"I know."

"And no matter how hard I try I can't wash the blood off my hands."

"... I know."

Sakura sat herself up and cast a careful glance over her shoulder. Shino couldn't hide the way his hands had begun to shake—not to her—even as he latched onto Kiba's wrist to offer his support.

She exhaled through her nose. If there had ever been a chance that only she'd be taken and not them...

"Is it not tiring to hope as much as the three of you do?"

The question had been spoken so quietly Sakura nearly thought she'd misheard, but she turned her head towards Sai who'd sprawled beneath the bars. One side of his face was blotched with a red she was sure would darken into a nasty blue-purple over the next few days and there was no hiding the exhaustion that hung in bags under his dark eyes.

Another look over her shoulder granted her the sight of Shino and Kiba slumped together in an uncomfortable, but unconscious pile.

So she scooted closer to Sai.

"What else can you have in a place like this?" she returned just as quietly.

"Rule Sixty-Seven of the Shinobi Code of Conduct: A shinobi must never show any weakness," he recited dutifully despite the fatigue that seeped into the fringes of his words. She didn't comment on it. "Emotions are unnecessary. Hoping is useless."

Sakura tipped her head, all the loose strands from her bun toppling to the side. "Killing your emotions solve a lot of problems," she admitted. She remembered the cold amber of Konan-san's eyes and the permanent crease in Kakuzu-san's brow. "Sometimes it's just outwardly, sometimes you can't tell." Then she remembered ringed eyes and a scorpion's tail. "But it helps. Emotions. Hoping. Just don't get carried away."

"You sound so sure of yourself."

"We got into this mess, we'll get out of it. We always do."

"... We?"

"We," she repeated. "We share the cell, we share the bed, we share the burden. You're stuck with us no matter how much you don't like us, and we're stuck with you no matter how big of an asshole you are."

If she hadn't been looking she would've missed the sharp edges around his eyes softening and that minuscule quirk that tugged at his pale, chapped lips. But it was gone as quick as it came, back to that blank canvas. That empty look he hid in the shadows of his greasy hair.

"Your incompetence will be noted in the mission report."

"Sure," she agreed easily as she laid back down on the cool floor.

And even if she noticed his implication that they would even get out to make that report, she didn't say anything about it.

[2 WEEKS; 1 DAY; 21 HOURS; 42 MINUTES; 9 SECONDS]

Kiba was walking down one of the coliseum's corridors at Nezumi's side when curiosity got the best of him.

"I don't get you, Oosuna," he said. His eyes darted to every crack and crevice he could spot as his nose sniffed out just how much air pulled through them or how stable the crumbling foundations were. Some few well-placed explosive tags should be enough to blast the damn place to bits. "If you get your kicks out this, what's the point a' goin' through all the trouble with Suna? Why not just leave and stick with this shit full time?"

"An excellent question," she mused. They stopped at an entrance to the arena, but the faint clang of metal and rabid cheers pointed to an ongoing match. But it'd be over in a few minutes. Kiba had been there long enough to know how long he'd have to wait. "But first, tell me this, Senbon—what do you think is my reason?"

He opened his mouth to snark, but snapped it shut at the last second.

Nezumi had said as much when she first introduced herself and the coliseum to them. A past time, he thought he remembered her calling it, one she got into when she wasn't doing those sand patrols or whatever they were called. But why choose this? Or why not choose something that was at least in-country, because he knew for a fact they had to be on an island or something if he was stuck smelling seawater 24/7.

"'Cause... Suna's not enough?" he guessed, gesturing vaguely with one of his hands.

She nodded. "You are nearly there."

The metal doors slid open and the victor of the last round brushed past them with her own moderator. The collar around her neck was copper compared to the silver pack and Sai had, and crumpled in the area was the freshly killed body of her opponent.

The other three bodies of the previous matches were pushed against the walls. They wouldn't get cleaned up until evening meal time.

As he stepped into the arena to take his place, Nezumi called out from behind him.

"Senbon."

He turned.

"Shinobi do not have a definition," she smiled, and this time something dark flared in her expression. "And the world should have known what it was getting into when they made people like us."

The doors slammed closed.

[2 WEEKS; 5 DAYS; 12 HOURS; 39 MINUTES; 46 SECONDS]

Shino peered into the arena through the bars. Sakura and Kiba were against three faces that arrived only a day or two ago. Team-ups were offered every now and again, and it was usually them against some larger group. Plus, the quota count went to whoever landed the finishing blow.

Sakura would probably give all three to Kiba this time. She already had her fourteen for the week.

"Inja Corps., The Povi Company, Pampu K.K., Muraga Ltd.," Sai suddenly listed off. Shino looked away from the bars to regard him quietly. "Those are four more companies I have heard the names of from the thirteen that are supposedly participating in this illegal underground ring."

"Konoha has dealings with Muraga Ltd. and Pampu K.K.."

"Yes."

Shino ran a hand over his face and pushed himself away from the fight to sit on the bed beside his senpai. Further possibilities of the village's corruption aside, he focused on his surprise instead. Sai had never quite given out information without thoroughly angering at least one of them first, adding fuel to the fire with that infuriating smile.

But there wasn't anything on his face now. Not even a hint of it.

'That's new.'

"If we manage to get all thirteen business names, we can collect their information with this context. Why? It will be beneficial in the future," he said. When there was no jeer or taunt to be seen, he allowed a small horde of his beetles to collect at the back of his hand. Sai eyed them carefully. "Whenever we leave the village, it is imperative that at least three kikai are on Sakura and Kiba at all times until we are ensured of our safety. The kikai on them now have been the same ones since Sachiko." He didn't mention the trackers that were supposed to be on Akamaru as well, or that the ones that had been on him had lost contact nearly three weeks prior. The new ones were still searching. "They're for emergencies. Why? Because as the medic of this team, it would do well for me to know any instances of injury."

Three little black bugs crawled into his palm as he held it out. "Here."

Sai stared at them for a long moment before he offered up his own hand and let the kikaichu to crawl up his arm to disappear somewhere in the nape of his neck.

(Years down the line, he would come to the realization that he'd never crushed a single one.)

[3 WEEKS; 1 DAY; 13 HOURS; 17 MINUTES; 2 SECONDS]

-You are a tool. You are a pawn. You do not have a name.-

There was a voice inside every ROOT operative's head, he was sure.

It never asked questions. It never got scared. It never left. But what it did do was remind him of his duties, what he was meant for, how they would always be tools to be wielded by the hands of Konoha and the greater good it would never learn to know.

The voice was absolute.

Sai didn't know who the voice sounded like to everyone else, but to him, the voice had always sounded like Shin.

-Team Eight is your mission. Treat them as such.-

He read books to help with the social tact he knew he didn't have, but it seemed his efforts at acting as an 'acceptable team leader' had fallen flat and made them hate him to the point of aggression.

Fine by him. As long as they did not get attached.

-Aggravate the Mutt and the Dog. They do not think clearly under intense emotion.-

-Keep watch of Four-Eyes' insects. Let none of them touch you.-

-The Foreigner is more perceptive than she lets on. Be wary.-

-You are a tool. You are a pawn. You do not have a name.-

And he listened. Because when had the voice ever been wrong?

But then something odd happened.

While the voice had always been there since Danzo took him in, since his cognitive evaluations, since the first time an objective had fallen to his blade, it was always calm. Authoritative.

Since Sachiko Village, it got louder.

-Do not show weakness.-

-Do not show emotion.-

-You are a tool. You are a pawn. You do not have a name.-

("We," Sakura said. "We share the cell, we share the bed, we share the burden. You're stuck with us no matter how much you don't like us, and we're stuck with you no matter how big of an asshole you are.

-Say nothing. Say nothing.-

"You incompetence will be noted in the mission report.)

(Three little black bugs crawled into Shino's palm as he held it out. "Here."

-Let none of them touch you. Let none of them touch you. LET NONE OF THEM TOUCH YOU.-

Sai stared at them for a long moment before he offered up his own hand and let the kikaichu to crawl up his arm to disappear somewhere in the nape of his neck.)

Yesterday, the voice asked its first question.

-When did you stop listening to me?-

Sai didn't have an answer.

And as he stood under the bright light of the sun and under the stripes of shadow of the chain dome, he slipped his tanto into his hand and faced the shaking opponent before him.

-Do not show weakness.-

-Do not show emotion.-

-You are a tool. You are a pawn. You do not have a name.-

(Kiba rolled his eyes. "Well, your name's Sai, isn't it?")

[3 WEEKS; 2 DAYS; 18 HOURS; 21 MINUTES; 57 SECONDS]

They were given two more rewards a bit past the three week mark: a set of lumpy pillows and a couple bottles of plain ink with two brushes that were missing some bristles.

Sakura sat on the bed with one of the pillows in her lap, breathing easy with the night air. She'd gotten used to the blood splatters that clumped in her hair and she couldn't care less if she didn't get all of it out when she scrubbed her head in the sink. Kiba was to her left, curled and closest to the door and his nails meticulously sharpened to a point when he couldn't cut them, and Shino was to her right, a pillow over his face and his glasses tucked somewhere between the bed and the wall, his hair a little more wild with how much its grown.

And Sai laid between Shino and the end pushed up to the wall, his front to them and one arm tucked beneath his head. The tan he was gaining looked almost unnatural.

The residue of cheers hadn't faded and the scent of blood was as strong as ever.

But this time the noise sounded less like screaming and more like a hum, and they let themselves be lulled into another dreamless sleep.

::

Oosuna Nezumi is an OC of croquasari on tumblr! Here's her beautiful character profile!

And here we'll end with beautiful fanart and covers by-

KirigakureNin!

RealityKeeper!

and Shadowflight2005!