Ryota stood in a dimly lit room, looking around with a questioning gaze. Slowly a weight of betrayal started to sink in. Friends turned to Enemies that had crossed a line, and now, fueled by a burning desire for revenge, they were to step into a world darker than they ever imagined. But a little bit did Ryota know, the hunt wouldn’t just be for vengeance since someone was already at his trail.
Earlier that week.
Each week, Ryota would grab a box of Spicy Hot Chicken and regular ones; his roommate loved that kind of thing, and he could barely eat that spicy sh-t. As he walked through the town, he pretended like he didn’t notice the toothless bums slouched away in the corners. Further up ahead was a small mob forming, waving cardboard signs, all of which had red x’s on them and bad words. The world this, the decade that… If only they had been there at that attack.
He had just taken a bite out of his own drumstick, the cartilage popped like a knuckle, and the door banged open. Not… the way that normal people did, but with a full arm. The kind of swing you would give the poor door if your hands were full. It was his team leader who had to track him down, since Ryota didn’t answer any of the other things. “Oi, we have a job!” He commented before making his way in front of him. A heavy sigh left Ryota; it seemed like he had to do a lot of work again.
“…” Ryota remained silent as the leader went through the mission details. It was a simple raid for information, it seemed to be. But he didn’t like his teammates. It was a regular mission, not ANBU, so he didn’t understand why he had to be here. He shrugged it off and looked at the file in front. “A raid on an old home?” He questioned and looked at the floor planner. It seemed like a small home, so why was a team of 3 shinobi and 1 leader needed?
Inside the house… it was eerie, dark, and the dust bunnies were littering the place. One teammate coughed a little as he went through the place. “It sure is musky,” Ryota muttered softly as they went through the place. Everything looked so normal that it was weird with all the stories from the files. People went nuts out of the blue, often with dinner parties. This made sure that the 3 genin went through the place as fine as a comb while the team leader stood there watching. It was eventually a genin that found a draft behind an old clockwork. “That… is an old granny clock?” A young blonde asked the leader, who seemed to nod in agreement. “It is an ornate grandfather’s clock.” He answered as his hands were going near it. “It… feels like a little draft,” Ryota commented as he stood close to the side of it. With that… They found out that behind that clock was a small and narrow passage. “This… was probably used to transport something… but it’s small.”
“Didn’t the report say that they often had small kids around?”
“True.. But they always seemed to disappear.”
“Oi oi… if we find child bones-!”
“We won’t!”
The thought alone left Ryota silent and looking to the side. That was an eerie idea even for him.
The shortest straw… A little tunnel that closed on his shoulders, giving his skin a taste of unwashed pipe and dead rat. Ryota tucked in his chin, exhaled, and made himself even smaller. Behind him, he could hear his teammates making sarcastic huffing noises. Ryota gritted his teeth and snaked forward, led by the dim light of a small pocket torch.
He blinked. The light threw a pale oval across the concrete, highlighting the frantic sight of spiderwebs and the fine, white, grey dust that coated everything like ancient neglect. With each drag of his forearm, he felt the grit rasp on his skin, abrading him into something meaner. The walls sucked in all the sound, and for a few seconds, it was just Ryota’s pulse you could hear and the scratching of his clothing against the tunnel.