Maybe this was not such a bad thing. Shinbatsu watched from afar as the sniper took out civilian after civilian, and he could not help but calculate the decrease in state expenses that came along with the death of every poor civilian he watched drop. Was there really such a thing as justice? Such a thing as feeding the poor? Was it ever the right thing to do? As he sat in the middle of it, the vastness seemed to swallow the Chuunin into it. He felt more for the state than he did for the people in it. The disattachment was such that he did not even flinch when a poor bloke got his head popped off. But a mission was a mission, and money was money. He had to start moving, and so he did.
Moving among the citizenry was probably his best option. Surveying the sniper led him to the conclusion that while his aim was true and his damage, he did not have many options for area of attack Jutsu. It was an odd conundrum: if he was aiming to take out many people, why would he not go for efficiency? It did not really matter to Shinbatsu, as this allowed him to move closer undetected. For the most part, he was safe because the sniper did not know that Shinbatsu was targeting him yet, but as he got closer the number of people roaming the streets got significantly lower. They seemed to have caught on to the position of the sniper, and nobody really wanted to be near him. Shinbatsu closed his eyes. For a moment, all he wanted was for his head to get popped off, for everything to end, for the pain, the aging, the longing, the suffering, the misery, the dishonesty, and all the rest of it to be over. It could happen. He could be dead, it could happen!
He felt a tug at his robes, and within an instant he'd realized that someone had gotten into his clothes and taken his wallet. He was killed in a very similar fashion that the sniper was taking people out. Nobody would know the difference.
...
Later that night, Shinbatsu was in his lounge chair listening to the world around him. The bar was still lively upstairs. People were coming in, going out, getting drunk, whatever. He had a lot to think about, so none of it mattered.
Now he was at his desk. The room was only lit by candlelight, and he wrote lightly on a piece of paper. The man which you sought is now deceased; I had previously failed to find him, but this time he was at the Grand Palasis, just as you instructed. After closing the distance between us I... Yada yada. It did not matter. He specified the date of death, the place the body could be found, and he started moving out to get the paper delivered. Life was so long. He just really wish it would be over.
Moving among the citizenry was probably his best option. Surveying the sniper led him to the conclusion that while his aim was true and his damage, he did not have many options for area of attack Jutsu. It was an odd conundrum: if he was aiming to take out many people, why would he not go for efficiency? It did not really matter to Shinbatsu, as this allowed him to move closer undetected. For the most part, he was safe because the sniper did not know that Shinbatsu was targeting him yet, but as he got closer the number of people roaming the streets got significantly lower. They seemed to have caught on to the position of the sniper, and nobody really wanted to be near him. Shinbatsu closed his eyes. For a moment, all he wanted was for his head to get popped off, for everything to end, for the pain, the aging, the longing, the suffering, the misery, the dishonesty, and all the rest of it to be over. It could happen. He could be dead, it could happen!
He felt a tug at his robes, and within an instant he'd realized that someone had gotten into his clothes and taken his wallet. He was killed in a very similar fashion that the sniper was taking people out. Nobody would know the difference.
...
Later that night, Shinbatsu was in his lounge chair listening to the world around him. The bar was still lively upstairs. People were coming in, going out, getting drunk, whatever. He had a lot to think about, so none of it mattered.
Now he was at his desk. The room was only lit by candlelight, and he wrote lightly on a piece of paper. The man which you sought is now deceased; I had previously failed to find him, but this time he was at the Grand Palasis, just as you instructed. After closing the distance between us I... Yada yada. It did not matter. He specified the date of death, the place the body could be found, and he started moving out to get the paper delivered. Life was so long. He just really wish it would be over.