AMEGAKURE
Plink!
Plink!
Plink!
Heavy drops hammered relentlessly against rusted metal rooftops, echoing through the labyrinth of alleyways like a symphony of discordant percussion. The city lay shrouded in a cloak of diesel-scented mist, its towering buildings obscured by a thick veil of rain. The streets, slick with rain, oil, and grime, reflected the glow of flickering neon signs like distorted mirrors, wrapping and twisting at the whims of the storm.
We peered ahead, gaze piercing into the heart of the industrialised city. It was oddly picturesque, we decided. Ugly to the point of being interesting again. intriguing.
Queer.
Above, the sky was a swirling mass of charcoal clouds, illuminated sporadically by jagged streaks of lightning that crackled and danced across the heavens. Thunder rumbled like the growl of some unseen beast, reverberating through the canyons of concrete and steel. We sneezed—clearing our nostrils of the acrid tang of pollution that hung in the air—before stalking forth, our footsteps sending tiny ripples dancing across the oily surface of the puddles that littered the path.
One would have assumed the relentless deluge would bear down ruthlessly on the people and force them into a state of near-perpetual seclusion, but humans were adaptable if nothing else. Life in the village pressed on. Through the dimly lit streets, the flickering glow of streetlamps cast the occasional passerby into sharp relief.
With Henge cast, we blended in seamlessly with the civilian populace. Our Kimono had long been discarded; in its place, a dull grey hooded poncho hung from our shoulders under which we wore a thick nylon jumpsuit. A gas mask with a faulty filter hung from our neck to help sell the appearance of the poverty-stricken tramp. With the use of Henge limited to just our height and silken mane, and our facial features modified with the use of Orochimaru's Vanishing Facial Copy Technique, our disguise was supposed to be watertight.
Hence our surprise when we discovered we had still managed to gather a few tails.
The group was discreet, falling in and out of our perception like otherworldly spectres, but given our experience with Konoha's ANBU, and the half-decade they spent snooping around the Uchiha compound, their attempts were, nonetheless, a futile endeavour.
We turned a corner, dumping another trail of Hiraishin technique formulas as we scampered down a series of corridors before splitting off with a shadow clone and doubling back towards one of the seals we left further back with a discreet application of Hiraishin. Our pursers continued on the trail of the clone for a few moments before suddenly re-vectoring their trajectory towards our current location. They knew. We were being observed. Somehow. At that, we stopped, leaving the clone to continue drawing a trail of technique formulas and strategically placed explosives and barrier tags around the village.
Attempting to shake off our tail was beginning to seem futile; we might as well set up the battlefield in the meantime as we wait for them to arrive.
When we read Itachi's request to meet on "neutral soil", we saw the trap for what it was a mile away but still decided to come, regardless. The weasel was many things: a traitor and a kin slayer, but unskilled, he was not. If he truly decided to fade away into the background and never emerge again, digging him up again indeed might prove troublesome.
Still, we did not expect to arrive here and immediately lose our advantage in stealth.
Oh, well...
The first of our pursers arrived in a flicker, filling the void that was one shadowy corner beneath a dead street lamp. Slicked back, medium-length, grey hair, wet from the rain, stuck flat to his scalp. He wore no shirt, with only a wet black- cloak adorned with red clouds hanging from his left shoulder. A forehead protector hung around his neck, and across the village symbol on the shiny plate of metal, a deeply carved grove slashed horizontally.
"Is this the kid?" the fellow asked, hefting the giant red triple-bladed scythe in his hand onto his bare shoulder.
"Doesn't look like much," another said from behind us. Our gaze flickered to regard the fellow's murky reflection on a broken windowpane. Eerie green eyes stared back at us from over the lip of a high-collared cloak.
We pulled free the tanto sealed in our wrist as we glanced at the blue-haired woman who had stood to our left.
"You must be Konan," we said to her before turning to regard her companions. "And you two must be Kakuzu and Hidan. I have heard a lot about you guys. The Akatsuki, I mean. I never thought you lot would be holed up here."
"...Uchiha Sasuke," the blue-haired woman intoned. Her features remained expressionless, but we detected an undercurrent of hostility under her calm mien.
"I am here for Itachi," we said. "The rest of you need not die for his sake."
Konan's expression finally failed, crumpling into a frown. "Itachi's dead," she said.
We tilted our head as we regarded her. "He asked to meet me here."
The woman's expression grew flat again. "...Ah," she said, indiscernible comprehension flashing through her eyes. "I see."
"So, he is not here, then?" we asked.
"Are we gonna kill the kid or not?" Kakuzu interrupted. We glanced at him, amused.
"Itachi is not a fool," we said, panning our gaze back to Konan as we dismissed the fool. "He asked to meet me here for a reason. Given the state I left his beloved leaf, I doubt it is for a brotherly reunion. Still, I struggle to imagine how you lot can harm me. I mean, I could always just leave... right?"
Konan sighed as she opened her mouth to reply but immediately fell silent as the space beside her suddenly warped to spill out another figure.
"Sasuke-kun!" the stranger exclaimed as he waved oddly enthusiastically at us.
"...Who are you?" we asked, unable to match a name to the orange mask. A Sharingan glowed menacingly from behind the sole eyehole of the fellow's mask.
"Tobi," Konan intoned. Yet again, she sounded calm, but an undercurrent of anger ran through her words. "You knew Itachi was alive? You got your intel regarding Sasuke from him, yet didn't deem it fit to inform Pain?"
The one referred to as Tobi simply shrugged in response. "Everyone wants the little rascal dead," he said. "Itachi was willing to aid us with that, but I could not trust bossman to overlook a few things. I am sure you understand."
We stared at the group in silence as they discussed. The next moment there was another ripple in the fabric of spacetime and Tobirama appeared with Itachi behind. Following the kinslayer like some demented dog was a slobbering shark man bearing more than a passing resemblance to the S-rank missing-nin we killed some time ago.
What was his name again?
...Ah! Kisame.
We looked away from the odd sight.
Our gaze met the weasel's.
The world around us faded into silence. Red spun. Colours faded away.
"Samehada," our brother intoned as he tried to pin us under the weight of his Mangekyo. The fool.
"Use Rain Dome!"