Crickets chirped outside as the random heat wave that hit Kumo this last week brought out some critters that usually were busy getting ready for winter. It was a sound that was both relaxing and annoying as the cacophony of bugs screaming into the night air rose higher and higher. Shinjo stared out of the window of his little spot above the village gates where he would allow in and cut loose shinobi on missions. His gaze was on the full moon that was rising slowly above the clouds and bringing in the cooler air. He sighed. There was nothing for him to do lately with Miro out of the village on business and his arm busted to hell and back. At least, for the most part, the rest of his body had managed to heal well. He couldn’t begin to count his lucky stars over the ability over temporal control he had, and that his body had used in on pure reflex to reverse most of the damage that he had taken from…what he assumed was a person, but had been reported as a car. His arm, unfortunately, did not make it from the experience in one piece.
More like, four, close to five different pieces.
Yet he took it in stride. For Shin, there was no reason to be angry. In fact, honestly, the emotion was kind of…just not there. Disappointment, resentment, and maybe even envy, sure; but anger? It was just lost on him. He couldn’t even think of a single thing that triggered him lately, even the fact that for the last couple of weeks straight he had been given guard duty. He was just bored. There was a revolutionist uprising out there, somewhere, and all his talents were stopped behind something simple as a cast. For someone who was supposedly in the ANBU Corps, it sure seemed like he was being babied.
Someone yelling broke him out of the bored trance of moon gazing. Shin poked his head out from the window to see below him a merchant arguing with someone from Main Branch that didn’t have their vest; probably a late-trained Genin. There was very little for those who started training late in life to be shinobi, except guard duty, as their talents were generally so low putting them on the field was more likely than not to get them killed. So he slipped out the window and dropped down behind the merchant without a sound.
“Hey, whats up?”
The man turned around and met Shinjo’s gaze. He was older, nearly grizzled, and wore the clothes of a farmer. His hair was salt-n-pepper, shaggy, and between him and his wagon of poor produce it looked like he was having a hard time at life in general. When the pair met eyes, Shinjo suddenly felt a tension rising that wasn’t there. The farmer’s eyes went from frustrated, to terrified, to furious.
“You,” he heard the man growl.
“…Yes. I?”
“Have you no shame to still be alive!? Do you still work as an assassin for the shinobi of Kumogakure, killing nobles left and right?”
“I…have we met? I haven’t kil-“
“A LIAR!” the man cried, cutting Shinjo off. He started to reach for the ANBU Traniee who was genuinely confused by this point but stood his ground. The 30-year old Genin behind the farmer managed to grab him and pull him into a full-nelson, “Sir, please!” the Genin yelled over the older man’s building rage.
“I WILL NOT BE SILENCED! NOT BY YOU, NOT BY THIS GOVERNMENT OF ASSASSINS AND ROGUES! THE YONITSU DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE LIKE THAT! NAIKII, DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE LIKE THAT!”
“SIR!” the Genin yelled again before dragging the man to the ground to begin arresting him. The farmer continued to struggle, crying and swearing about how the noble bloods were slowly being purged. A gun shot suddenly cut through the air. Followed by another, then two more in rapid succession. The Genin that was trying to hold the farmer down fell over to the side, blood quickly pooling under him as the older man quickly twisted around to see Shinjo with his gun held out. Tears were streaming from his face, and his eyes showed a mix of confusion, betrayal, and realization.
“I’m so sorry,” was all the assassin could say before he felt his finger pull the trigger again, and end the life of the farmer. He could hear the gate starting to stir, and the waves of chakra preparing for battle heading in his direction. Choking in a sob, Shin holstered his gun and turned away from the gates.
Miro should have put him down when she still had the chance.
[Going Missing! Run Time = 1 Hour]
More like, four, close to five different pieces.
Yet he took it in stride. For Shin, there was no reason to be angry. In fact, honestly, the emotion was kind of…just not there. Disappointment, resentment, and maybe even envy, sure; but anger? It was just lost on him. He couldn’t even think of a single thing that triggered him lately, even the fact that for the last couple of weeks straight he had been given guard duty. He was just bored. There was a revolutionist uprising out there, somewhere, and all his talents were stopped behind something simple as a cast. For someone who was supposedly in the ANBU Corps, it sure seemed like he was being babied.
Someone yelling broke him out of the bored trance of moon gazing. Shin poked his head out from the window to see below him a merchant arguing with someone from Main Branch that didn’t have their vest; probably a late-trained Genin. There was very little for those who started training late in life to be shinobi, except guard duty, as their talents were generally so low putting them on the field was more likely than not to get them killed. So he slipped out the window and dropped down behind the merchant without a sound.
“Hey, whats up?”
The man turned around and met Shinjo’s gaze. He was older, nearly grizzled, and wore the clothes of a farmer. His hair was salt-n-pepper, shaggy, and between him and his wagon of poor produce it looked like he was having a hard time at life in general. When the pair met eyes, Shinjo suddenly felt a tension rising that wasn’t there. The farmer’s eyes went from frustrated, to terrified, to furious.
“You,” he heard the man growl.
“…Yes. I?”
“Have you no shame to still be alive!? Do you still work as an assassin for the shinobi of Kumogakure, killing nobles left and right?”
“I…have we met? I haven’t kil-“
“A LIAR!” the man cried, cutting Shinjo off. He started to reach for the ANBU Traniee who was genuinely confused by this point but stood his ground. The 30-year old Genin behind the farmer managed to grab him and pull him into a full-nelson, “Sir, please!” the Genin yelled over the older man’s building rage.
“I WILL NOT BE SILENCED! NOT BY YOU, NOT BY THIS GOVERNMENT OF ASSASSINS AND ROGUES! THE YONITSU DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE LIKE THAT! NAIKII, DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE LIKE THAT!”
“SIR!” the Genin yelled again before dragging the man to the ground to begin arresting him. The farmer continued to struggle, crying and swearing about how the noble bloods were slowly being purged. A gun shot suddenly cut through the air. Followed by another, then two more in rapid succession. The Genin that was trying to hold the farmer down fell over to the side, blood quickly pooling under him as the older man quickly twisted around to see Shinjo with his gun held out. Tears were streaming from his face, and his eyes showed a mix of confusion, betrayal, and realization.
“I’m so sorry,” was all the assassin could say before he felt his finger pull the trigger again, and end the life of the farmer. He could hear the gate starting to stir, and the waves of chakra preparing for battle heading in his direction. Choking in a sob, Shin holstered his gun and turned away from the gates.
Miro should have put him down when she still had the chance.
[Going Missing! Run Time = 1 Hour]