The air was thick with an oppressive tension, heavy with the weight of something unnatural. It was the kind of atmosphere that whispered danger into the ears of even the most seasoned shinobi, a quiet warning that danger was never far behind. The sun hung low over the Hidden Leaf Village (Konohagakure), casting a warm, orange glow across the buildings and streets, but the beauty of the evening was lost on those who hunted.
Orochimaru had fled.
The Third Hokage's expression, grave and unyielding, had been a silent proclamation of the peril that loomed over the village. His usually calm demeanor had been replaced by a steel resolve, and the urgency of the situation rippled through every corner of the village. ANBU squads moved swiftly, their presence a shadow of quiet death, fanning out across the village to hunt for Orochimaru's trail. The pursuit was ruthless, as each team delved deeper into the remnants of the snake's grotesque experiments—dark remnants of his twisted ambitions. The further they ventured, the more they wished they hadn't, as each step into the bowels of Orochimaru's forsaken hideouts brought them closer to unspeakable horrors. What they found could not be unseen.
Deep within the dense forest, an elite tracking unit pressed forward, their sharp eyes scanning the earth beneath their feet. The wind carried an unsettling stillness, the weight of unknown dangers pressing against them. As they combed through the underbrush, the forest seemed to hold its breath. And then, by sheer accident, the ground gave way beneath their feet, revealing a hidden entrance—half-buried under layers of earth, meticulously concealed from prying eyes. A sickening sense of dread crawled up their spines as they uncovered the facility.
Inside, the air was thick, stale with years of neglect. The faint metallic tang of blood lingered, a reminder of the atrocities committed in these forsaken halls. The dim glow of a single torch flickered against the cold, damp walls, casting long shadows across the abandoned space. Glass containers lined the shelves, each one holding remnants of twisted experiments. Surgical tables lay forgotten, their surfaces stained with unspeakable marks of past horrors. The place reeked of despair—a hollow monument to Orochimaru's madness.
And then, they found him.
A boy. Barely six years old. His small, frail form was suspended in a glass tank, filled with liquid that held him in a state of suspended animation. His body was limp, a marionette deprived of its strings. His vitals were faint, barely perceptible, but still present—a flickering flame struggling against the suffocating darkness. The tank was a silent testament to abandonment, its surface cracked and weathered. Orochimaru had left him behind, an afterthought—a failed experiment deemed unworthy, discarded like trash. His face was pale, eyes closed, as if his very being had been drained of life. His suffering was written in every line of his fragile body.
The ANBU worked quickly, their hands steady as they extracted the boy from the cracked glass tank. The viscous liquid clung to his skin, sliding off in thick droplets. The urgency in their movements betrayed the gravity of the situation—they knew that time was running out.
But then—his fingers twitched.
One of the ANBU flinched. "Did you see that?"
The others hesitated, watching. A soft, shallow breath escaped the boy's lips, his body shuddering as if something inside him struggled against the void of unconsciousness. A faint surge of chakra pulsed through the air, flickering, then disappearing as quickly as it came. The lead ANBU frowned.
"Get him to the hospital. Now."
Whatever had happened to this boy, whatever horrors he had endured—this was only the beginning..
The hospital doors burst open, the boy's frail form carried inside. The soft hum of machines and the sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air as the medics scrambled to stabilize him. They had him in the highest level of care. They didn't know what kind of nightmare they were dealing with yet, but they would do everything in their power to save him.
For now, the boy was in their hands. The rest could wait.
Hokage's Office – Latenight
The soft glow of lanterns cast long shadows across the Hokage's office as he reviewed reports in silence. The weight of the village's affairs sat heavily on his shoulders, but his thoughts were interrupted by the quiet arrival of an ANBU operative. The masked shinobi knelt before him, his voice steady but urgent.
"Lord Hokage, we have retrieved a child from one of Orochimaru's abandoned laboratories."
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed as he set his brush down. "A child? Explain."
"During our search for any remaining traces of Orochimaru's activities, we discovered a chamber containing several glass tanks—each holding the bodies of children. All were deceased, except for one. The facility had been mostly destroyed, with its records either burned or taken elsewhere. We found the boy unconscious in his containment unit—his pulse faint, severely malnourished, and barely clinging to life. It appears he was either presumed dead or deemed a failed subject and left behind."
The Hokage leaned forward, the lines on his face deepening. "Who is he?"
The ANBU hesitated. "That's… unclear, Lord Hokage. His features do not match any of the missing children in our records. We are verifying old reports, but there's something odd about this case."
Hiruzen set his brush down, frowning. "What do you mean?"
The ANBU shifted uncomfortably. "There was no documentation of him in the lab. No files, no research logs—nothing. It's as if he never officially existed."
A heavy silence filled the room. Hiruzen exhaled slowly, his gaze darkening.
Orochimaru was meticulous in his research. He documented everything. If this child was erased from his records…
"Could his death have been faked?"
"It is a possibility, Lord Hokage. We suspect that his origins were erased or concealed. We found no documentation regarding his existence within the lab—Orochimaru destroyed or moved all research records before abandoning the site."
Hiruzen drummed his fingers against the desk, deep in thought. "What about his body? Any signs of experiments?"
"Physically, he shows no signs of injury. There are no external scars suggesting major surgeries or grafts. However, we cannot dismiss the possibility of other forms of experimentation—such as bloodline research, genetic modifications, or chakra conditioning. The records have been located, but they are incomplete. It will take time to fully understand what was done to him."
The ANBU handed over the scroll containing the experiment records to the Hokage, remaining kneeling as they did so.
The Hokage sighed deeply, his expression somber. "And where is he now?"
"He has been moved to the hospital under ANBU surveillance. We are running medical tests and monitoring him for any irregularities."
Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, eyes flickering with concern. If Orochimaru had taken an interest in this boy, there had to be a reason. And if his past had truly been erased… then there was much more at play than they could see.
"Continue the investigation. Verify all death records from recent years, and discreetly check for any falsified reports. I want to know exactly who this boy is and why Orochimaru had him."
The ANBU bowed. "Understood, Lord Hokage." With that, he disappeared, leaving the Hokage alone with his thoughts.
As the candlelight flickered in the dim office, Hiruzen exhaled deeply. Who are you, child? And what did Orochimaru want with you?