Hey guys! Hope you've all been doing well enough! Always take care of yourselves and stay safe!

First and foremost, you've got my apologies for taking an extra half a month to finish up this chapter. It's a real mess this time, not gonna lie. Some bits will get rather confusing, so I'm going to be adding here at the end a sort of briefly summarized explanation of what happens in some scenes.

In regards to housekeeping, I'm sad to notify you all that I've officially run out of any and all pre-written material, as in I literally finished this chapter half an hour ago and promptly put it into to clean up the reformatting and immediately post, so there is even less of a non-existent buffer than before. Thus, the lack of guarantee in the update rate will continue for the foreseeable future. Sorry guys! That said, still not in danger of being discontinued. No worries there!

On another note, fun fact: this chapter is technically just under 10k words, not counting the notes and such added. Normally, 10k words is about 20 pages of a Google Doc. However, due to ignoring grammatical conventions and playing with my formatting to hell and back, this chapter ended up at 24 pages, 26 with the notes!

Additionally, I have decided that I'm not going to be going through the hassle of copy-pasting every review I get and re-responding to them at the end of chapters, because you all can read them yourselves with the extra click of a mouse and I don't want to turn you all off from reading these notes and missing the more important info. I do, however, want to recognize all you lovely people out there who take the time and spare the effort to write a review and brighten my day! This will normally go at the end of chapter, but because this is the first time, and we're recognizing more than just those who supported since the last chapter, it's going up top here this time! So here goes!

Much thanks to nice2michu, AlucardTheDragonicGod, Copycat25, firemaster101, Carlee, eunoiapaint, Obsessed whoops, TintedFero, and Warkless! And! Also! To those who reviewed in updates previous to the last chapter! Much thanks to nice2michu, Copycat25, orlha, homelybiscuit, AquilaPallas129, americacorona830, mallarieTwinkies, firemaster101, Fanreader1991, and AnimeFreak71777 for all their consistent support! I love you all! (I am aware that there is one more reviewer from just the other day, but isn't showing me them or their review, so I unfortunately cannot include them here today. Sorry! Next time!)

Now then, that's all I can think to add here off the top of my head, so we can get on to the story! As always, I love you all, you guys are the best, and I shall now shamelessly make my plea for reader attention! Read, review, fave, enjoy!

Warnings: Blood. Lots of blood. And death. Lots of death.

Sarutobi Hiruzen was a pragmatist. He had come to power during the first of what would come to be a new breed of war. He had ordered others to be killed for the sake of his own people. He had ordered his own people to die for the sake of others.

Sarutobi Hiruzen knew sacrifice. He knew betrayal. He knew loss, suffering, desperation, despair.

Watching one of his most capable ANBU captains do the equivalent of fuss like a newly whelped mother wolf (and there was more than one reason for that, he supposed) over what could have passed as just another war orphan, given a few rags and a couple dozen layers more grime and less blood, Sarutobi Hiruzen had recognized the inhumanity of what had happened to the far-too-tiny child and acknowledged it. The child had suffered. She should, and would, be handled with consideration, now that the lack of immediate urgency had been confirmed and he had a few assurances that she held no malignant intentions towards his people. She would be permitted to assimilate into the village, and receive what resources they could spare on wartime footing to rehabilitate her from her trauma, if Uzugakure and the Uzukage were willing to let her settle in Konohagakure rather than take her back with them on account of village and clan sealing secrets. Her wounds would be treated, and, should they heal properly and permit it, she might one day be put through the education system and be trained as a Konoha shinobi. Perhaps Zouge would take her in, should his injuries prove truly debilitating. It had been a close thing, from what his medics were telling him.

Sarutobi Hiruzen knew sacrifice. He knew betrayal. He knew loss, suffering, desperation, despair.

Sarutobi Hiruzen could not have anticipated the depths of depravity humankind was willing to sink to for the sake of power.

Moving trees, darkness, night. The sky was far away. There was nothing to see.

A tundra passed them by.

It was strange, the way the memory landscape somehow moved around them even as they had the distinct sensation of moving-and-not-moving simultaneously. Unnatural, but true. Time was passing. They knew that, too, and did not know how, either. Zouge had the sneaking suspicion that the indistinction of its length and speed was not wholly unrelated to Asuga's developmental stage, regardless of what might be said about subconscious object identification.

And truly, she was extraordinary for her age. To be able to remember so much, in such clear chronological order- it didn't matter that what was perceived was dulled and usually only that which moved, because those were the only things that untrained civilian senses could pick up.

Asuga was a genius.

If there was one thing the Hatake understood, it was the dangers of being a genius.

The Nara knew it well, too. They countered it with their seemingly ingrained lazy natures, and used it to their advantage as needed. The Hatake, on the other hand, took it and worked with it, because they understood that genius was neither something to be avoided nor to be taken for granted. Instead, they channeled it into hard work and a humble honor code. Both ways worked, and both had their pros and cons, but Zouge liked to think that the Hatake way was better, even if the naps and feigned obscurity could be quite tempting.

Asuga had not had the balancing counterweight of either methodologies.

Day, night, day, night, day.

Night.

Time passed them by.

Asuga had been tossed onto a pile of other rag-bound children in a covered cart. She rode with them, days and nights. It was freezing and stagnantly humid by turns under the oilcloth. None of them said much of anything. They were the unwanted ones, just like her. No one would miss them.

The oilcloth covering had darkened prematurely one day, and the air had become cold(er) and damp.

A maw of blackness.

(It consumed her.)

Zouge (and the others, still with him, also seeing) blinked into the sudden darkness and had to remind himself that there was nothing wrong with his eyes or the slowness with which they were adjusting, that they were seeing and not-seeing, that they were remembering and not-living (because it all seemed so real, because it all was real).

A cave, he decided. But they were still going somewhere. A tunnel. A labyrinth.

A facility.

Echoing steps, echoing voices.

There were people, more of the ones-who-gathered.

The masters.

"Welcome!" Flashing teeth. "This will be your home from now on. From today until the day you die." Flashing teeth, more. "Let's get along."

A large echoing cavern that stretched beyond sight, dimly lit and reeking of blood and pain and fear and waste.

Thick iron bars. Clanging. Crying. Cracking air.

Warped, inhuman bodies and faces languished in exposed cages. The more human ones wept. The changing ones screeched and wailed. The irredeemable ones howled insanity. Between the rows and rows and rows of cages, the masters stalked, wielding whips that hissed and snapped through the air, yelling orders and shouting threats, opening doors and slamming bars.

Cuffs. Chains. Heavy.

A cage, around th(her)em, enclosing her. Many other feeble, young bodies and darting fear-filled eyes shared the cramped spaces. It no longer swung between extremes of heat, just-

cold

-and always the-

Hunger.

The masters came and went. Sometimes they took from other cages, sometimes they took from hers. Sometimes they took others, sometimes they took her. The others were older, bigger, stronger, selfish. They knew how things worked. The newcomers learned quickly, too. There was no comradery between competing strangers.

"Hello there, girlie. Your turn."

When they took them- "subjects," the masters called them, "three-seven-seven-oh-nine" or "eight-two-eight-five-four" or "six-six-seven-one-three"- they took them away. Sometimes th(subjects)ey were brought back, sometimes they were moved to different cages, sometimes no o(subjects)ne ever saw them again. But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Not here.

Black marks and black lines and twisting scrawling things-that-bound. Chains, heavy, rough-brown-stained-hemp, tight, dragging, rubbing, sticking, tearing, painful.

Cartloads of bodies, still, still, too still, not-bodies-but-were, dying-dying-dead, dead-dead-rotting.

There was always noise. Aggrieved sobbing, ragged death-throe panting heaving. And the screams. The screaming. Never stopped, never, the screaming never stopped. Trapped in the air, trapped in the shadows, trapped in the breath that would never again leave corpse-still lungs. Trapped in the throats of the still-screaming taken-ones from their distant taken-to places with the masters that took and took and took.

Sharp pointy thing. Thin. Hard. Metal. Flat. Blade. Cutting pain. Stinging, splitting, wrong wrong wrong.

Sharp pointy thing. Thin Hard. Metal. Pinching, pulling, prodding, splitting, wrongness.

Sharp pointy thing. Thin. Hard. Metal. Tube. Small pain.

Pressure.

Not small pain. Not small pain, not small pain, not small notsmallnotsmall-

Pa(agony)in.

Glint of fire from rotted torches, tepid puddles, h(ate)unger h(ate)unger h(ate)unger.

Those that returned bore hurts of all kinds. The young died quickly. The adults died quickly. The old died quickly. Everyone died.

Died and died and died and died.

Words. Rushed, whispered, snarled, sobbed.

(wehavetorunhavetoescapeican'tican'tcan'ttakethisanymoreohgodpleasenostopitstopitstopits(hUt uPp!)ilence.)

Worthless things, words.

There were more pressing concerns, even to those lost to the-

-hunger, hunger, hunger.

They fought for the food. Scraps, really, but there was nothing else, and they had to, had to, there was never enough, never. When heads swung dizzily and tongues shriveled to sandpaper, they learned to drink blood, both others' and their own. The latter option didn't seem to help as much, but fresh rival blood was harder to get, and corpse-blood brought sickness, and the damp on the stones was never enough to dredge off.

And all the while their cordoned world kept on dying dying dying, so more were brought to die die die too.

The young died quickly. The adults died quickly. The old died quickly. Everyone died.

The Cesspit.

How fitting.

Sh(Asuga)e did not die.

Large space. Echoing, like the Cesspit, but louder, sharper, smaller. No cages. Less wailing, more howling snarling hateful screaming.

Cracked air.

"Listen up! There are fifty of you here! You will stay here so long as there remain more than half that! I don't care if you starve it out or tear each other apart, but remember! Only one of those two options come with the guarantee that you survive!"

Flashing teeth, vicious glee.

The echoing slam of a thick steel door.

Another child, a boy. Crying, great heaving sobbing wails.

A gangly almost-teenager, one of the oldest there. Wild, cruel eyes, prominent ribs. Grabbing hands, digging into that wailing mouth, jerking the head to the side and smashing it to the ground. The hand he held the head with had three fingers.

"Shut up!"

The crying stopped.

The almost-teen sneered, eyes wide and darting. Red splatter flecked the expression.

"I'm not going to die! You all can go die!"

Chaos.

Smaller figures, scrambling, stumbling, clumsy, terrified, futile. Clenched fists thrown, weak, aimless, ineffectual. Littler ones bruised each other, while bigger kids scattered, scraping up stones to throw or hit with and singling out the younger, weaker ones. The plumper ones pinched and scratched. The leaner, grimier ones aimed at eyes, soft bellies.

Sh(Asuga) backed up, dodging clusters of frightened, lashing-out, hair-pulling children. She did not understand. What was it that the man had said to cause this reaction? One door, closed- but they could not leave until half of them did? She did not understand. She did not understand-

The almost-teen lunged into her space and thrust a bloodied palm at her. Close, too close- a mirroring speckle of brown flecked the width of his face like shadows to the brighter red-

Sh(Asuga)e stumbled to the side, barely dodging the grabbing hand, lurched away from the crazed boy-

A little girl, half-curled into a fetal position, slammed back-first into the side of the teen-

Another girl, half-teen, chasing after the little girl she'd thrown-

A little boy, fingers clasped tight around a rock the size of his fist, wild-eyed, bringing it down toward the cringing form of-

Sh(Asuga)e scrambled around the knots of grappling children, avoiding getting tied down into any fights-

A sharp burst of pain, behind her, her scalp, sharp sharp burning, hurts-

"Get back here-!"

Sh(Asuga)e lashed out, throwing an arm back reflexively, aimless, hitting something soft and resisting with an open, wet gap that hard, sharp things poked out of-

A snarled noise of surprise-

"Why you little-!"

Sh(Asuga)e lurched forward against the loosened drag on the back of her head, felt a tearing, strands snapping, whirled around to get a wide eye on her attacker-

A slamming mass in her gut, lost breath, gasping, falling backwards-

Hands in her ragged clothes, grasping, searching, finding, locking around her neck and squeezing, and she couldn't breathe, hard-packed earth under her back, hands scrabbling futilely at locked fingers, scratching, useless, useless, reaching out to the side, groping blindly, searching for something, something-

A glimpse of draping black hair, black eyes, wide eyes, wild, fearful, confused, bruised skin and a small seeping cut below, tightening fingers, tears and snot and whyhowwhatamidoing-

H(Asuga)er fingers fumbled over something wet and hard and sharp and latched on, ignoring the unknown stickiness, tugging, pulling, jerking it free, and sh(Asuga)e lashed at the squeezing with it-

-useless, useless-

-gasping, gasping, swirling lights and encroaching blackness-

-thrust it wildly up, at the direction where the squeezing hands' squeezing arms led-

-impact, resistance, give-

A line of something warm and trickling seeped over the skin stretched between thumb and knuckle, peripherally distracting.

The black-haired bigger-child gurgled, jaw working, throat working, voice not working.

A bloom of scarlet-russet on grimy cloth, blooming, flourishing, flourishing.

Shuddering, wracking tremors through spindly limbs.

Collapse.

Heavy.

Light, dragging, greasy tendrils, clogging up her nose, her mouth, her lungs, crushing the air out of her chest, her mouth, her nose.

Sh(Asuga)e pushed at the sagging weight attempting to smother her, pushed and shoved and wiggled her way out from under it, scrambled two feet to the side from-

Him.

Flowing red. Slow blink, one, two, gasp choke.

Crumple.

Blankness.

It.

A scream. Distant, not the blank-it, not h(Asuga)er. A different boy, older, but still a littler-one, pale-faced, trembling, emotional.

Wide, horror-filled, accusing eyes.

"Yo-ouu! You-"

Stuttering, and then a flood.

"You killed him! You killed him, you killed him, he's dead, dead and you- your fault! Because of- it's- you killed him, he's- all your- you killed-"

Lost words, fumbling tongue. Something horrified, something amazed. Chaos continued. Ten paces to the left, a littler-one dodged a fist-sized block of jagged edges to take a blunt ended stone to the temple. The temple crumpled, paper under paperweight. A running girl stumbled over the fallen body and kept going without a spare glance- fleeing, fleeing, falling, still.

"-how- why didn't- what- killed, not, not allowed- you- dead-"

Not allowed?

-words breathed in fearful wonder-

Sh(Asuga)e lifted her hand to look, fingers wrapped tight, stuck firmly by cooling sticky red to the curve of hard white-

-breathed, caught, strangled-

The broken edge, right-angled, sharp-but-blunt, not enough to cut but enough to-

-not allowed-

A snarl, low and gurgling and menacing. A choke, suffocated and gurgling and panicked.

Sh(Asuga)e looked away from her hand, looked back to more dangerous things, looked up and then down at the toppled fumbling-tongue-boy, looked at the other, new child with the bulging veins and the grey-sick skin and the dilated acid-yellow eyes and the bulging-vein-hand clenched arou(in)nd the struggling, leaking throat.

-not allowed-

snap

Startle, recoil. Flinch, fling, flee.

Acid-yellow met watching purple. Dilated acid shrunk back into sheltering shadows. Flicker, gone, remaining shades. Fleeing, fleeing, fearing. Guided only by fear.

Fear-driven.

Sh(Asuga)e did not close her eyes.

(not to the fallenawakeneddangerous-fearful-one and not to the gangly almost-teen with the (-not allowed-) stilled eyes and the torn-open chest and the single missing rib)

-dead and you-

-not allowed-

-your fault-

-not allowed-

-why didn't-

-not allowed-

-killed-

"Congratulations," A cool drawl, self-possessed, self-pleased, self-amused.

-not-

Approving.

-allowed...?

(wrongwrongwrong)

"You are the last of your group. The survivors." Lilting words. Sweet. Sick.

not not-allowed.

Flashing teeth.

"The strong."

not not-allowed.

A scattering of reticent forms, wary, distrustful. Th(subjects)ey hunched and huddled over themselves, far from the bodies, far from each other, independant, divided, wary.

"There is no need to be afraid." Crooning, fake-friendly. Cheerful. Wrongness. "There is nothing wrong with being strong."

not not-allowed.

"In this place, only the strong are allowed to stay."

not not-allowed.

"Staying is a good thing. This is your home now. Why would you want to leave your home? You have nowhere else to go."

not not-allowed.

"Stay here and become strong."

Flashing teeth. Gleeful teeth.

"We will make you strong."

Dilated yellow acid.

(allowed?)

Many-numbered were those who were taken. Sometimes, more. Sometimes, less. Sometimes, too-many-numbered to keep well-sorted.

Flashing teeth. "Sharing is caring~!"

Sh(Asuga)e, along with several other younger-ones, was sharing a cell with, for the first time, significantly older others. Adult others. None were bound by chains long enough to let any within reach of another, but while h(Asuga)er tongue was also bound, others' weren't.

"You will not speak. Not when spoken to, and not when our backs are turned. We will know."

We always know.

Dull eyes, chipped teeth, foul breath, rank stench. A gleam of something like broken chains in the murkied gaze.

Gritty giggles, cracking snickers. "Ohhh? Quite an itty-bitty thing, ain'tcha?"

The disheveled dull-eyed man laughed. Joy. Mania.

Different.

Sh(Asuga)e watched him most of them all.

"Quiet for a brat, ain'tcha."

Sh(Asuga)e opened one eye. Located the voice. Closed her eye.

Scrutinizing dull eyes.

"Why don'cha evr talk to'em othr brats?"

(whywhywhy)

A gritty crackling cackle. "Don' seem'ta like ya ver much, do'ey?"

A beat. Two. The dull-eyes wrinkled his nose and leant back against the bars again, chains rattling.

"Eh. Th'othrs don' like me ver much either. Says I'm craz-d or some such schit." Guttural grunt, spit. Viscous splatter across another anoth(subject)er's nape. They jerked, snapped a hand up to the splatter, glared, shouted, swore. Dull-eyes laughed. Cheerfully shouted an expletive back. "Morons, th' lot'sa'em."

Sh(Asuga)e opened the eye again. Watched him.

Dull-eyes shifted, pressing back against the bars as if to find a more comfortable position. " 'ey sit here, waitin' an' wailin' an' hope'n an' despair'n an' beggin' when 'ey all believe ey're gon' die already. If'n that's so, 'ey all oughta jus' put 'emselves outta 'ey're own mis-ry. Save 'emselves a buncha pain'n hassle, an' spare my ears while 'ey're at it."

He eyed her, a slow grin splitting his filthy face. " 'an here you be thinkin', 'if'n that's so, why'nt he done off-d 'imself yet?'"

Dull eyes, chipped teeth, foul breath, rank stench. A gleam of something like broken metal in the murkied gaze.

"Why, I'll tell ya why. I'mma waitin'."

Brown, sh(Asuga)e noted, as dull as the rest of his eyes, was the color of his pupils. One contracted to a pinprick, one dilated until the color was near indistinguishable. " An' here you be thinkin', 'waitin' fer what?' An', why, I'll tell ya what."

Dull-eyes leaned forward again, apparently having given up on finding a comfortable position against the bars. Split lips split apart to reveal half rows of jagged, broken, rotting teeth. Moved around them, dry and fumbling. Comprehensible. (Meaningless.)

He grinned, broad and ugly, leaned back again, a gleam of satisfaction, anticipation, mixed with the murk and the broken chains in dull brown eyes, and laughed. Joy. Mania.

Dull, dull brown.

"Subject two-two-eight-four-five, approximate age two to three years, prepubescent, female, chakra network activated, affinity unknown."

Another darkness, another changing. A smaller space, but neither small nor large compared to the others.

A master, moving a hand with a stick on a thin square sheet (paper) behind another harder wood sheet. A scatter of guards, handlers, tugging chains and moving doors. Th(subjects)ey, many, pulled and prodded and jerked into place.

Reek of something sharp and unnatural.

One guard, young and subtly irate, with cruel hands and impatient jerks on chain. Sh(Asuga)e moved to keep up, but still choked on a tightened leash for her trouble. A greater, final jerk, a tumble with the momentum. Sh(Asuga)e scrambled to hands, to knees, to sharp-

-clang(ing)-

-as solid steel stakes were driven through the links of her chains into rippling solid stone. Sh(Asuga)e peeled her lips back from rounded baby teeth, agitated, gripped a length of the pinned chain to jerk.

No give.

Th(subjects)ey were of all ages, separated accordingly. She did not know many numbers, but if each of her fingers had as many fingers of their own as both her hands, she would still not have had enough to count them all.

(one hundred forty-four)

The sharp, unnatural reek, of painsick(chemicals)nessrot and cleaned blood and waste and death-

Black lines on grey stone, hollow and dead and full of potential to hurt.

Sh(Asuga)e eyed the flat ink warily, skittering and twisting around in what small circles her chains would allow around the unrelenting stake. It circled her, the stake, the oth(subjects)ers, curled looming and static around their feet, twined between their little circles and back again to weave them all into a promise of shared individual suffering. A stake in each circle, an oth(subject)er in each circle. Ring upon ring upon ring until rings and circles were full.

Great groaning screeching of rock on steel on rock; rumbling clatter of stone on stone-

The doors slammed shut.

Flat black blazed to cold life.

Th(s(he)ubjects)ey screamed.

Vicious sensation slammed into h(th(Asuga)em)im, agonizing and dazzling and overwhelming and h(th(Asuga)em)im but h(sub(Sakumo)jects)er and wh(pain)at though wh(e(re)n)y as-

Terrible-

terrible he(fi(agony)re)at-

terrible co(i(agony)ce)ld-

terrible blo(ha(agony)te)od-

S(h(th)e)(y) gasped (but they didn't because they were remembering theyhadnobodytherewasnoair-), raised (notthe(i)re) hands to (not) scrabble at (nonexistent) chestmouththroat, heaved (no) lungs to scream (no) wordless sounds-

-darkness-

-sticky white chips-

-haze-

-soft oozing squelching-

-black-on-white-on-grey-on-red-

-grinding stone-

-streaking-

-venomous sickly yellow-

-and then suddenly there was clarity and awareness of self and individual thought and all the others around them once more as something formless and distinctly sensing of Asuga clamped down on each of their not-presences and dragged them-

Zouge gasped, as much as one could in a plane of existence beyond the physical, heaving not-air into his struggling not-lungs. All around him, he could sense the others doing the same. It took a moment, but once he'd managed to get his (entirely unnecessary, he reminded himself, because how would that even work, get a hold of yourself) breathing under control, he realized there was a distinct lack of helpless figurative pacing slash hovering-fussing. He'd gotten used to Asuga's particular brand of helpless concern over the past weeks, so he usually wasn't all that aware of exactly how much she did it, but now that it was gone there was a distinct sort of… void, he supposed. An empty space beside him. A missing piece of presence. But no- not completely missing. Removed.

He opened not-eyes he didn't remember closing to be met with a vision of incomprehensible chaos. It was carnage, he understood, emotions and sensory details incarnate, but fragments, pieces of memories moving too fast or slow for untampered perception, thrown together into an ataxia of sensory overload. A swirling whirlwind of the luminous darkness churned around them, his and the undefined edges of the others' forms, a veil of fragile energy screening them from the pandemonius memories.

It was hard to tell with the constant whirling tendrils, but Zouge was sure that Asuga was struggling to maintain the separation from the memories while still allowing them to perceive them. Now that he was distanced enough from the memories to analyze the situation, he realized that they really had been experiencing them. At some unidentifiable point, the walking through the memories had become living, first-person perspective and everything. Every injury to Asuga, they had felt. Every sensation. Even every emotion.

She was shielding them.

He tried reaching into himself, searching for the end of the bond anchored within himself. She was paying a price for them to see these things, whatever it might be. It wasn't worth it. He had to get her to stop-

-awareness brushed against straining will-

A sort of wave wracked the swirling veil, and for an instant pure, unadulterated agony washed over him- sharp, throbbing, freezing, aching, dragging, burning, crushing-

-Asuga around him, shoving back at the-

He gasped, reopening not-eyes once more and dragging at the not-air as Asuga struggled to regain the tenuous balance around them. He dared not reach out to her again. The moment of overwhelming sensation imparted him at least that knowledge. Now that the onslaught of memories had been triggered, they could not be stopped, possibly not even by Asuga herself. It seemed to be a miscalculation on her part. They were in too deep. Even if they tried to share the burden with her, they would all just end up experiencing whatever it was currently assaulting Asuga in equal measure- and that would achieve less than nothing.

He gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to snarl.

He was Zouge, and Zouge was ANBU. He had a duty to take the most practical path, even if he wished with all his heart to throw himself in with Asuga and share in her suffering, futility be damned.

The best thing they could do was watch attentively, and not let Asuga's efforts go to waste.

If they had been in the physical world, several of his teeth might have cracked from the force with which they ground together.

Forcing himself to push his personal turmoil aside for the moment, he turned his attention back to the churning mess of memories. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on. The only thing that was evident was the extreme sensory overload they contained. From the brief snatches of sound that occasionally managed to surface, it was clear that whatever was happening- had happened- to Asuga was also happening to the other subjects, and whatever that was was not very pleasant an experience at all.

A flicker of something more immediate-feeling brushed against his awareness. The others, he realized. Isolated into slightly separated groups. Around them, Asuga's presence kind of... twitched, as one of the other presences twisted slightly and did something, but her control didn't lapse this time. A strange flexing swirling from the luminous darkness and a moment of half-eternity, and then all of them were sort of lumped together into a form of shared cognizance. Instantly, the uncomfortable sensation akin to rubbing a patch of skin so long it began to hurt to even touch faded to a distant irritation. None of them tried to reach out to Asuga. They had all made the connection between the fluctuating glimpses of memories and her concentration.

Outside their little bubble, the memories seemed to be regaining some semblance of order to them, at least in the chronological aspect. The more the subjects struggled, the longer the morbid process took- and the worse their slow end. A grown man, shriveling up into a grey husk, shedding clouds of dust. An old woman, swelling up in bulging lumps, popping in showers of the viscous pink and yellow of overripe fruit. A little boy, clawing bloody streaks across his arms, chest, face, sobbing and shrieking helpless terror as flesh churned beneath tender skin and his own body turned itself inside out.

Change, blood, dust. Change, blood, dust. Over and over and over and over.

Sh(Asuga)e looked down, at her hands, arms, body, clenched muscles and thrashing limbs, clawed at her chest, her stomach, desperate to shed the agony of her own skin. Sh(they)e shivered revulsion at the (not)phantom sensation of swelling joints and burst boils slithering through the gaps between their bones.

(T)He(i)r flesh rippled.

Sh(Asuga)e was screaming, sh(Asuga)e thought. But sh(Asuga)e also wasn't, she was(n't), she (was)n't, (t)he(i)r mouth was open there was no sound. (T)He(i)r skin pulled tight over emaciated limbs, stretching, stretching, splitting wide in patterned rows that softly rose through grimy skin, magma through split earth, shriveled chrysanthemums in ashen winter on stalks of smooth smooth white. Taut, drying, shrivelling, hardening, weighing down, down, down as the unforgiving floor seeped through (t)he(i)r pores and rose through (t)he(i)r veins, tide of inevitable suffocation.

There was something on her arm, vaguely.

There was something on her back.

There was something in her arm, in her back, in her neck, in her eye-

S(t)he(y) watched, vaguely, (on her hands, on her knees, on her stomach, on her side) as the smooth, smooth white floating between the crimson petals cracked, and split, too. Watched as a lighter color of red peeked through the gap, porous and light, and melted. Watched it churn within the cracked cradle of white, warp, twist, twist. Watched it grow, winding tendrils that thickened and whitened as they reached for the skyless blackness, watched it falter and grey and dry and shrivel and crack and leak and melt and grow again, reaching, reaching, reaching for nothing.

(bone marrow, (s)t(he)y registered, just as vaguely, bone marrow and chakra corruption, chakra mutation, mutilation, disfiguration, deformation, deviation, differentiation)

Beneath it all, there was a burning in (t)he(i)r senses, (t)he(i)r body, (t)he(i)r soul, s(t)he(y) didn't know where, so little and gentle, a brush of forgotten breeze, a touch of crying sky.

S(t)he(y) w(ere)as glowing.

-fragmenting, snow, dust, powder-

S(t)he(y) w(ere)as glowing.

(((((S(t)he(y) w(ere)as dying.)))))

-little growing things, little branching things, little trees, little forests, little worlds-

S(T)he(y) needed to cut them off.

S(T)he(y) needed to-

-needed to cut-

-to cut them-

-cut them off-

-cut-

-cut-

-off-

The f(low)ing tendrils )twisted( and (flowed) and (flowed) and )twisted( and (flowed) and (flowed) and fl)(ed as all that could have been should have been would have been-

Sn(ar)ling silence, s(t)he(y) jammed (t)he(i)r g(nar)led d(i)g(i)ts down( on( the arm, c(laws) shear)(ing de)(ep and s)l(iding( )slick be)n)eath skin( )(and)( )muscle )un(til they gr)(a)(ted a)gainst( war(p)ed bone, roug)h(ly shav)(ing through the (stem)s of win)(d)(ing wh(i)te. They tumb()led t)o t(he grou(n)d, sh)(a)(t)(t)(er)(ing on impact,

(..grey..)

(. ..d.u.s.t.. .)

( . . ..n.o.t.h.i.n.g.. . .)

)((they fell, and the darkness rushed up to meet them))(

Night gave darkness.

Stars gave light.

Light in darkness.

Why would stars give light in darkness if they could see in it?

There were no stars here.

the stars did not watch her

(but (they) did)

fire and ice, death and pain, burning so cold, freezing so hot, numbing and scalding and eating away

-ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts-

until nothing was left but ice and fire, pain and death, sense beyond sense, awareness and lack

-pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-

in all that was and all that wasn't, all that mattered and all that didn't

-whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy-

and in all the ways that didn't and did not

-ihateyouihateyouihateyouihateyou-

fire passed and ice passed and death passed and pain passed and sense passed and lack passed

-stopitstopitstopitstopitstopitstopitstopit-

and all the light was grey grey dust and all the night was burning

-justletusdieinpeace

S(t)he(y) opened (t)he(i)r eyes to familiarity.

(S(t)he(y) opened (t)he(i)r eyes to darkness.)

Cold stone beneath (t)he(i)r hands, rough cloth over (t)he(i)r back.

Cold air still in (t)he(i)r chest.

Cold stone in (t)he(i)r skin, (t)he(i)r flesh, (t)he(i)r bones.

S(t)he(y) trailed stone-stiff fingers up (t)he(i)r arm, (t)he(i)r shoulder, (t)he(i)r chest, (t)he(i)r ribs, click clack grind scrape, dug them down deep deep deep.

Shatter, dust, grey.

Grey, dust, nothing.

S(t)he(y) ached.

Echoes. Always there, in the dark of the cold of the stone of the black. Noise.

Footsteps, water-drip-drip-drip, rattling chains, creaking rusty iron and steel, empty in the stagnant of the black.

Voices.

Quiet, loud, murmuring, snarling, rapid and steady and anguished and fearful and toneless and angry in hunger and frustration and pain and grief and death and-

-screaming-

Blink. Shutter, black, lighter black, black.

Smoldering dilated acid-yellow.

S(t)he(y) looked, looked after having not looked for so long, looked and didn't look away.

S(t)he(y) watched, and the dozen pairs of sickly-acid eyes watched back, a spectrum of spiteful sentinels.

The young, the old, the creatures, the subjects- the others.

The others were losing themselves.

(clarity)

Day by night by night by day by black-white-grey-dimness, sh(Asuga)e watched the young die and the old die and the subjects change and the changed become creatures.

Time passed. Nothing to do with time but watch, and so sh(Asuga)e saw much and came to know about the facility. The young changed, the old changed, the creatures changed, sh(Asuga)e changed-

And yet there were those that did not change.

The ones-who-held-metal, the guards, keepers, handlers- they did not change. The masters did not change. Some of both came and went, but never did they change the way the others did, the way th(subjects)ey did.

Why, th(subjects)ey so often asked. Why do this. Why us. Why, why, why.

Sh(Asuga)e had never known this word, why, but she came to know it.

And as she watched and saw and comprehended, she came to use this word, too.

Because they were similar. Th(subjects)ey and the masters and the others who pushed and pulled and turned locks and grasped metal, th(subjects)ey and they were the same.

She and they were the same.

They all held the power of the (not not-allowed) killing.

(why)

And yet they did not change.

They did not die.

Why should they get to decide who changed?

Why should they get to decide who dies?

(whywhywhy)

And as she watched and saw and came to know the ones that held the other ends of the things-that-pained and things-that-bound, she came to know something of her own.

Whatever this (why) was, whyever it was, she did not like it.

("Stay here and become strong.")

She disliked it.

("We will make you strong.")

She would not let them decide she would die.

Even if they could decide everything else that happened in the facility, even if they could decide everything else that happened to her. This would be her proof of her Self. The intangible thing that endured that which was dealt and carried her through the unmeasured time was both Self and Hers in a way that she somehow inherently understood would never belong to another- she would keep it.

She would make this a way of things, too.

She, too, was changing. That was something she could not do anything about, not like the Selfness, the awareness of being. She didn't know what she counted as, fear-driven or hunger-driven. She didn't think she was either. She didn't think she ever had been.

It didn't matter. Nothing ever mattered.

Such was a way of things, and so would it remain (even as it changed).

Black and grey and black and grey.

Time passed.

"Do ya like 'em scars?"

Dull-eyes, dull, but glinting sharp.

"No?"

He cackled gleefully, silence broken as (t)he(i)r own stillness ended.

Heaviness, slow, dragging limbs, dragging eyes. Closed eyes.

The rattle of chains, clanking of cold metal bars.

Heaviness, slow, dragging limbs, dragging eyes. Opening eyes.

The ones-who-held-metal stood by the outline of rust-burnt-grey in the black, a train of discontent subj(creatures)ects bound in a line behind.

Waiting.

He cackled gleefully.

"Kill 'em like 'ey've ne'er kilt ya before."

Black and grey and black and grey.

Time passed.

(Blink. Shutter, black, lighter black, black.)

Smoldering dilated acid-yellow.

Acid, burning, corroding- frothy saliva on stone, pus-filled stomach bile on chains.

Acid eyes, glazed eyes, dull dull lightless eyes.

-retching, heaving-

Sickness among the subjects, the creatures.

-from the cold from the blood from the hunger from the changing it didn't matter it didn't nothing ever mattered-

(The young died quickly. The adults died quickly. The old died quickly. Everyone died.)

(The Cesspit.)

(And all the while their cordoned world kept on dying dying dying, so more were brought to die die die too.)

(A face, tense and grim, twin orbs of deep purple, calling, reaching hands, reaching, reaching, reaching back-)

Blink.

A face, tense and grim, twin orbs of deep purple, hunched, shrunk back, shuffling steps, hands filled with a bundle of smaller limbs and the arm of the man shuffling beside her, the scar of a terrible gash falling down the side of his temple.

Sh(Asuga)e did not blink.

Sh(Asuga)e moved, and the others, subjects, creatures, whatever they were no longer, moved, too, parting to make what little space could be made for her to step. No more did any of th(us)em struggle against each other, against h(Asuga)er, when they knew they had nothing to gain, when they knew they could never gain from h(Asuga)er.

(hunger-driven. fear-driven)

step. (part)

step. (part)

step. (part)

The huddled group of newcomers trudged down the row, towards h(Asuga)er cage, by h(Asuga)er cage, past h(Asuga)er cage, tentative, begrudging, mutinous, frightened. The ones-who-held-metal (guards, the newcomers whispered, slavers, monsters) shook their whips at the newcomers, jerked their chains, snapped harsh words of meaning. The newcomers kept shuffling, whispers quieter, looking at the guards, looking at the(creatures)m, whispering, whispering, whispering.

Th(we)y looked back, silent disinterest, distantly evaluating.

(creatures, the newcomers whispered, animals, beasts, monsters)

-whisperingwhisperingwhispering-

(what is that)(why are we here) (what do they want from us) (are we going to) (no no nonono) (don't look them in the eyes who noneofthem)

Sh(Asuga)e was parallel, to the newcomers, to the bars; a line of bars, a line of newcomers, a line of fear parting before (t)he(m)r.

step. (part)

step. (part)

step. (part)

A row of bars, perpendicular from the ones separating the newcomers and h(them)er, halting h(th)e(i)r steps.

Sh(Asuga)e halted (t)he(i)r steps.

Clattering chains, harsh commands, whispering whispering whispering. The newcomers continued their shuffling steps, heads down, disappearing into the perpetual gloom with the muted orange torchlight.

Sh(Asuga)e did not blink.

(A face, tense and grim, twin orbs of deep purple, calling, reaching hands, reaching, reaching, reaching back-)

Sh(Asuga)e watched the procession go. Silent. Pensive.

A creature, lost to the hunger, shoved its disfigured maw between the perpendicular bars, opportunistic, lunging against them in an attempt to savage (t)he(i)r ear, (t)he(i)r neck, (t)he(i)r face-

-sh(Asuga)e distractedly tilted her head out of the way, bared her teeth, snapped back, instinct, teeth closing down on flesh and tearing, tearing, tearing flesh open on a jaw down to the bone, teeth grinding on the resistance, screeching, howling, in h(Asuga)er ear-

(-twin orbs of deep purple-)

Sh(Asuga)e looked into the darkness and did not blink.

"Sheh looks lik ya."

Dull-eyes bared his teeth and spat at the ground. Eyed (t)he(m)r, like a piece of meat that something else was going to eat.

"Didja know that." Statement more than question. At her, not to (t)he(m)r. "Th' stocky bast'd…" A hack, cough, spit. "Not s'much. Some. But th' bitch, th' snotty 'un, yeh, sheh- sheh looks lik ya."

He gestured with his chin from where he was slumped against a wall, jerky, ungainly, effective. The tense-faced one was also sat against a wall, opposite on the far side three rows away, curled into herself and huddled into the side of the face-scarred and peering with darting, fearful eyes.

He chucked.

"D'ya know why s'm people look alik?"

(T)He(i)r hands were dirty, fingers curled in stiffened hooks. She picked at one, at its tip, at the dirt packed in tight beneath it. The nail was thick and darkened and high-arched along a middle ridge, half talon half claw.

" 's cus o' inheritance. Bloodlines. Fam'ly an' reproduction. Though, I really dun' 'spect ya t' underst'nd, I suppose. Ya dun' look lik ya've been lov'd a day o' yer life."

Squinting eyes, dull, dull. Brown like mud. Tightening, relaxing, disinterest, amusement. At (t)he(m)r, at the tense-faced, at the face-scarred, at (t)he(m)r.

"Sheh looks lik ya, but ya dun' look lik 'er." A grunt, ragged and blunt. "Ya'll ne'er grow long 'nough ta look lik 'er."

A casting glance, from (t)he(m)r, at the dull eyes, at the tense-faced. Closed eyes in the dimness. Consuming black was easier on the eyes than black-greys shapes.

"D'ya know," he mused, gravelly sing-song lilt to his amusement. "D'ya know, wha' it means, ta look lik others?"

S(t)he(y) tapped a wicked nail against another, not looking. It caught in an indent, skittered along the curve.

"C'n be coinc'dence. Unlikely, but it c'n happ'n. More lik, tho, it'll be relations. Shared blud."

Dull-eyes lifted a hand, his own set of wickedly curved talons, long and brittle and yellow-tinged grey, pointing together at the (un)familiar newcomer pair. They didn't notice, too preoccupied in their own misery and eyeing the much closer other newcomers and subjects in their vicinity.

"They look alik 'cause they's 'ppar'ntly siblings. S'm parents. So, shared blud." The talons dipped and dropped, exhaustion suddenly flashing across greasy the usual greasy sneer.

"Th' world ou'side, it's diff'nt th'n here. P'ple c'n afford 'ta spare a thought for oth'rs. Bein' all, 'every man for'em selv's,' ain't th' only way 'ta survive. P'ple c'n have frien's. Blud sticks wi' blud."

Dull-eyes squinted at (t)he(m)r, at her. Something she couldn't recogni(pity)ze lurked in the dull gaze. Squinted, squinted, blinked, shifted, sideways. Went to the newcomer pair. The siblings.

Snickered.

"Those two'll die, too. Slow'r, maybes, but only as slow's dying c'n get, here. I's seen oth'r siblings c'm here b'fore, too. S'm do stick t'gether t' th' death."

Sneer.

"Mos' don't."

Dull-eyes, grinned, giggled, grimaced, grunted, groaned, spat out a gob of something viscous brown and sharp yellowish grey. A swollen, slimy tongue probed the gaps between rotten teeth.

"Ah," he sighed, nudging the rotten piece of enamel. The slur had thickened. Worsened. "Ther' go's 'nother 'un."

"Stand."

Braced legs, one or two on left out forwards, one or two on right out backwards. Chest out, stomach in, hands or claws or wings or tails or teeth out and open and spread. Head up, eyes on the master's feet.

A crack of the whip. The command. Demand and obedience.

A muffled shriek, scraping shuffling.

"Stand."

Braced legs, one or two on left out forwards, one or two on right out backwards. Chest out, stomach in, hands or claws or wings or tails or teeth out and open and spread. Head up, eyes on the master's feet. One more leg leaking wetwetlifeinjuryweakness.

Measured steps, one two one, down the rows and rows. Inspecting. Huddles of other masters, along the walls, leaning sideways, looking, watching, making more marks with sticks on pieces of white (paper) over flat pieces of wood.

"Turn."

Braced legs, chest out, stomach in, limbs spread, head up, eyes down. One step, twist, two. Front to back, back in front.

Too slow.

Crack.

Muffled cry, drip, drip.

"Turn."

Braced legs, chest out, stomach in, limbs spread, head up, eyes down. One step, twist, two. Front to back, back in front.

"Down."

Hunched backs, folded haunches, hands and feet then knees and elbows touching cold stone. Heads down.

"Stand."

Braced legs, chest out, stomach in, limbs spread, head up, eyes down.

"Ready."

Bent limbs, bared teeth, rumbling growls, muscles coiled and tense and-

"Stand."

-drive to hunt, to chase, to catchripkill-

Crack. "Stand!"

Shriek, pain (drip, drip), snarl, anger, instinct, lunge-

Crack, commanded the whip again, snagging tight around suddenly struggling neck, jerking, choking, dragging down down down-

Crack, echoed more whips, crackcrackcrack, dragging the mindless ones down to the ground by their throats. Crackle, sang the fractured sparks of coldhotlightning, punishment, punishment.

"Stand," said the master.

The other masters watched the master-that-commanded, eyes burning with things-that-differed. Fearangerhateawedeterminationfear.

They looked at the master, the strong-master, all the creatures and all the masters.

The creatures stood.

"I hadda sib'lin' once," dull-eyes mumbled, voice hoarse. He'd screamed until he spat blood with every breath again, writhing on the floor where the guards had dumped him hours before. A new grey ridge protruded from his spine, jagged and bloody. A similar ridge mirrored it in rust-brown-black along the bony edge of her own knee. "He'd lik'd a girl. The girl lik'd 'im back. Th' got marri'd. Our par'nts b'came th' girl's, an' the girls' par'nts b'came ours. None o' us shar'd blud, bu' their kids w'd."

A long wheezing pause. Like he was catching breath, or listening to the oddly smooth whistles the air made passing through his throat, between the holes in his teeth.

"Th' girl hadda bru'th, too. He'da lik'd this place, mebbe. Th' stalagmites up ther'. He did rocks fer' a liv'in. Carved 'em, in'ta things, th' way our fam'ly carved ice. In'ta plants. P'ple."

Dull eyes rolled in sunken sockets, blown wide and unseeing, seeing only things that could no longer be seen.

"S'm year' back, he got'a job, a big job, from thes' p'ple, thes' shinobi. They wann'd 'im ta carv' th' face o' their god in'ta th' side o' a mount'n. He asked wha' kinda spirit they wann'd 'im ta make real for 'em."

He laughed.

"They laugh'd a' 'im, an' tol' 'im their god was real, an' they'd let'm meet 'im."

A sigh, (wistful) and something.

"He wen'. He met their god."

Dull, dull eyes, laughing in the dark.

"Woud'ja lik' ta see wha' th' face o' a god looks lik?"

Broken, but still-wicked talons rose and pointed, up, up, at the darker dark that the spikes of stone poked out from far above.

"Ther'," he singled out, "Tha' clus'tr ther', with the fiv' stubby un's. Iff'n ya c'n brek tha' 'un, th' way ya c'n break rocks ta carv' ou' shapes, ya'll be able ta see th' face o' a god."

He grinned, and this time showed teeth, loose, rotting, foul.

"I don' wan'a look. D'you? D'you?"

The tense-faced and the face-scarred held each other and trembled. (Shivered.)

S(t)he(y) had grey stone-skin that chipped and cracked and sometimes shed dust. S(t)he(y) had not known coldness in a long time. S(t)he(y) could not truly know something s(t)he(y) had nothing to compare to.

-water-that-steamed poured into a tub of rags, slowly slowly freezing to sharp harness again-

S(t)he(y) shivered, too, without knowing the coldness.

(t)He(i)r corner, because it was (t)he(i)rs, yes, (t)he(i)r corner had a pile of old, reeking rags because the others, the one-who-were-not-yet-creatures, hoarded them and hid themselves in them and most often woke up again from sleep when they had more of them to hide in. S(t)he(y) mimicked them, and fought, because those who had many rags were strong and often attacked for them and those that were weak were attacked for them and left to die, but those that were the strongest had the most and were left more alone.

The subjects had been moved. There were fewer chains, then fewer, still, then none at all. The chains were saved for the newly changed, still provoked by the light rustle of shifting weight against a wall, still mindless with the new fear and hunger driving. They would learn.

The tense-faced and the face-scarred had been moved, too. S(t)he(y) had been moved. S(t)he(y) and the tense-faced and the face-scarred had been moved into the same cage.

The tense-faced and the face-scarred had lost half the rags they'd come in. They shivered.

Clattering, jangling iron and stone, scuffing boots.

A group of guards, making the rounds, slamming bars roughly as the buckets of scraps were dumped between them, scattering on the ground.

A surge of grimy limbs and jagged maws, a scrambled struggle, flashing claws and guttural snarls.

The creatures went first. The still-more-human subjects skittered around the edges of the struggle and snagged what scraps scattered beyond the scuffles.

S(t)he(y) prowled forward on silent feet, claws clicking quietly against rough stone, scattering others as they scattered scraps. The others hissed and spat and scuttled back from her, leaving the scraps but not quite leaving, still eyeing, knowing s(t)he(y) always took her pick and left the rest.

The tense-faced and the face-scarred eyed her.

S(t)he(y) caught their eyes, and eyed them back.

Held their eyes, as the wrinkled, grey-skinned, dust-shedding husk of an old woman lunged for her throat from the side, and s(t)he(y) opened her own mouth, and snatched the creature by the ear, and jerked her head, and tore the ear downwards, and let the ear go to dangle uselessly by a limp strip of flesh from the creature's head as it shrieked and shrieked and scrambled back away from her, chastised and cowering.

S(t)he(y) let the tense-faced's and the face-scarred's eyes go to pick up her due scraps, and let her silent feet drag sideways a bit to kick some scraps in their direction as she turned to go back to her own corner of rags, baring bloodied teeth at the cunning still-human subjects inching toward her rags. S(t)he(y) could not see it, but s(t)he(y) could feel the tense-faced's and the face-scarred's eyes on her all the way back.

Dull-eyes squinted through a disproportionately bulging eye at her. "Wha'st ta you, now? Quiet lil' beast lik ya'd ne'er been mean, but ne'er nice neith'r. Di' mah fam'ly craz'talk bleed yu'r stone-sk'n hert?"

S(t)he(y) said nothing, as always, for her throat knew not the words, and the dull-eyes bared his teeth and sneered, as always, giggling dementedly.

"Stand."

Rows upon rows, all no-longer-human. By each, a guard or master just a few steps away.

"Ready."

A strong-master at the front, two more lesser masters on each side, all five with buckets of water at their feet. More masters behind them, waiting.

"Return!"

Limbs tucked in, shifting weight, darting back, back to the sides of designated partners, presenting a flank or shoulder to wear the brunt of the attacks.

Water first, punishing pressure, but harmless, giving. Then fire, flashy but harmless, until the water burned away, and then dry, and hot, and burning, burning. Lightning, just as dazzling, but less heat and more pain, and faster, faster, unrelenting. Earth, solid spikes, punishment without give, terrible consequences but still there, still threatening, still necessary to stand against. And wind, last of all, most challenging for speed and lack of warning, unseeable, demanding proactive effort to defend, defend, defend, suffer, and still defend again.

Lashes stung the air, punishing and correcting. "Return! Turn! Forward! Stand! Return!"

Return, turn, forward, stand, return. S(t)he(y) lashed her tail, balancing weight, scales scraping along the furred tip, and moved. Fire along one forearm, wind slicing into the other shoulder. Back, turn, forward, return.

The creatures circled their masters, defending against the onslaught.

"So inefficient," one master along the sidelines grumbled.

"They're animals now," another returned. "Too dumb to understand defensive tactics. We can only train them this way now."

Forward, stand, turn, return.

"Stand," said the strong-master. "Down."

Hunched backs, folded haunches, hands and feet then knees and elbows touching cold stone. Heads down.

The strong-master, the training-master, strode down the rows, lesser masters trailing just behind, inspecting the subjugated creatures. He paused at one or another to lift a boot and nudge at a crested head or furred flank.

"Return." He rolled the word over in his mouth. "It's a bit of a mouthful when in a rush, no?"

"It also shares the command word 'turn' in it," one other the lesser masters agreed. "Perhaps we should find a different word to use?"

"Like what? We've discussed this. We can't use 'guard'." The training-master snorted. "They hear us say that for other things too much. Guard shift. Guard duty. Guard the rear. Armguard. And the newer ones among them always speak about 'the guards'. They've already got strong mental associations with the word."

The lesser master shrugged, pushing his glasses up with the end of his brush. "Then use something else. They won't understand the actual meaning of the word regardless. They just have to recognize the sound of it."

"So, what then? Shorten it?"

"That would be one solution, yes."

"Return," the training-master said, doing the rolling thing again. "Ret. Do you know what ret means?"

"I wasn't aware that it was a word."

"It means to soak," the training-master said, terribly amused. "For flax or hemp. To soak in water to soften it and separate the fibers. To break it in." He hummed, seemingly satisfied with the word. "Alright. Ret. Suppose we'll have to retrain them now. Shouldn't be too bad, though, since it's just the first day."

He cracked his whip. The creatures fixed their eyes on him once more. The training master grinned.

"Stand."

They stood.

"Ret."

S(t)he(y) stared, down at the corner, the corner that was hers, at the emptiness that was not hers.

Some of the others gave her a large berth.

Some of the others inched forwards, maws hanging open, eager at the promise in the air of consequences, be it upon the challenged or the challenger.

For while rags and scraps were sometimes taken when owners were gone and sometimes traded among the still-human subjects, none dared steal a whole nest of rags from those that were strongest-among-them. When such things happened, blood was promised.

The newcomers were no longer newcomers. They knew this, too. They knew that even when the masters came and took the strong ones away their things were not to be touched beyond a threadbare rag or two. They knew this. The tense-faced and the face-scarred knew this.

They watched her from behind the thin spread of her rags over their legs and shoulders, unmoving, as the circle of others moved in.

(something inside but not really inside, closing up like death-ash over a hole in the dark, disappearing like the warmth of the sun on face of a blind child)

The others circled, sensing the challenge, scenting for weakness, inching forward, inch by inch by inch.

S(t)he(y) lifted her head.

The creatures lunged, teeth and fang and talon out and reaching for vulnerable stomach and throat.

S(t)he(y) fought.

S(t)he(y) stood over the bodies of the challengers, panting, spitting out bits of fur and grit and scales.

S(t)he(y) did not know the cold, but she was bleeding and she only had so much blood, and the cloth of the rags could stop the bleeding, and being a stronger-among-them without rags meant fighting, and fighting, and fighting, and death.

S(t)he(y) turned her head to look at the siblings.

They shivered, and reeked fear.

(They spoke to each other, and s(t)he(y) heard them, clear and magnified by a thousand thousand rememberings.)

"It won't hurt us," the face-scarred murmured to the tense-faced. "It's scared of us. Remember how it gave up its food to us and ran. And look." The tense-faced looked. "It's too injured to try anything."

S(t)he(y) stepped towards the siblings.

"Well it's trying something."

"What do you want me to do? Talk to it?"

"It can't understand you."

"I don't know. We can try. What else can we do?"

The tense-faced had no answer.

"How do you talk to something like that?"

"I don't know. It's- it's an animal. Talk to it like an animal."

The tense-face didn't respond. Her eyes were on (t)he(m)r. The face-scarred stopped talking, too, and turned to eye (t)he(m)r, posture defensive, wary. Neither stood, backs pressed to the wall, but shifted feet beneath themselves in preparation to move.

Another step, and another, and another. And then s(t)he(y) was standing before them.

S(t)he(y) curled blunted talons into just one rag, the largest, draped over the tense-faced's stomach.

Her expression crumpled instantly, folding like skin on a burning corpse.

"No. No." The tense-faced denied, scolding, like to a disobedient dog. "Bad."

Grimy claws- no, fingers, still fingers, still-human- hooked into the coarse fabric and tugged with force. "Give that- let go. Let go." A sudden jerk, and the tense-faced was reeling back against the wall from her own momentum, cloth in hand, as the alarmed face-scarred moved forward and swung for a clumsy cuff.

Instinct.

-a flash of teeth, snap, catch, tear-

The face-scarred cried out, and stumbled back, too, cradled hand seeping red against his chest.

And all the shaky confidence leached out of their faces in the realization that their own weakness had not disappeared after all, and was not an exception to her strength. That no, she did not fear them. That they feared her.

S(t)he(y) took a step forward again, regaining the lost ground, lips curled and eyes narrowed and ears flat, and the siblings shrunk back.

"I need it," the tense-faced said through cracked-bleeding lips in grating notes, "More than you do."

S(t)he(y) blinked once, slowly, through still-narrowed eyes, and looked at the brother.

"I need it," the face-scarred said with a hoarse tremble, "We do, more than you."

S(t)he(y) blinked once more, slowly, and understood.

(Blud sticks wi' blud.)

The dull-eyes was wrong.

These siblings, too, were fear-driven. Driven to each other, driven against dying.

The dull-eyes was wrong, but right, too.

(Those two'll die, too.)

S(t)he(y) stepped forward.

"No," the tense-face whispered, tense face crumpling into something fearful for the first time. "No, no, you can't. I need it. I need it."

(what about me?)

"You're like them," the tense-face continued, words coming faster. "You can fight. You don't need it. I- we need it."

(t)He(i)r teeth clamped on the threadbare cloth, solid and unyielding, one pair of cuspids just shy of brushing the tense-faced's fingers. S(t)he(y) pulled and it came.

The tense-faced gave a strangled cry, but did not attempt an attack.

Having made a show of reasserting her dominance against the siblings to all those still eyeing her neck, s(t)he(y) made another show of casting her gaze about. None quite dared meet it.

Slowly, methodically, s(t)he(y) went to the vanquished ones' things and took what she needed.

S(t)he(y) let the siblings keep the rest of her rags.

As s(t)he(y) sunk into her corner once more, back to the stone and filthy rags pressed against oozing holes, the dull-eyes opened his mouth again, as he was wont to.

"Aw," the dull-eyes simpered, "Poor girlie. No fam'ly for this girlie, no." He cackled, and spat rust.

Notes:

As you might be able to discern (if I wrote it well enough, anyways), Asuga's mental processing and ability to convey information through the memory seal progressively improve in coherency at a very rapid pace. This is in part due to the fact that she's had a lot of time to think about and analyze her experiences, given the lack of literally anything else to do in the facility in between the fighting and killing and dying. At the same time, there are points where she clearly doesn't know certain words or terms for things, but her mental dialogue is more developed. This discordance is because she's a child still learning about the world she's been thrust into. She does not necessarily know the words being used in her mental narration because, again, she's not actually using words- she's thinking in the language of ideas, and she has a very strong grasp of such things, because she's been observing and asking herself why in an attempt to adapt to the situations she keeps getting put into.

There are a lot of places where parentheses are used this time. Eheh, heh, whoops. Sorrynotsorry. Anyways. Grammatically, I butchered my own writing. Symbolically, there's (in theory, you guys are my judges here) a justifiable reason for this. We are simulating her thought process. More importantly, we are simulating how her audience is perceiving everything, too. There's a discordance from the viewing of memories, particularly ones that have not been abstracted, because memories are, by default, experienced from the perspective of the rememberer. Thus, our Konoha and Uzu friends are having to deal with the complexities of differentiating their senses of self from that of Asuga while experiencing those memories.

Summarized Scenes:

Starting from the scene with the fifty children in a room- the children turn on each other. Asuga is grabbed by the hair and dragged back. She fumbles around blindly and grabs something, and uses it to lash out at her attacker. She shoves the object she grabbed into her attacker's throat, who she can then struggle out from under and watch as he collapses, dead. Another boy screams at the dead body. She looks at the things she used to kill him, and realizes it's a bone- specifically a rib. The screaming boy is cut off by another child, the first to change, who is a fear-driven type.

In the aftermath, Asuga is a bit out of it, but is taught by one of the proctors of the test that there was nothing wrong with her act of killing (in self-defense). Of course, there is no distinction taught there.

Two rather self-explanatory scenes. The subjects are shuffled around their cages. Asuga gets a new neighbor. He doesn't talk to her, but at her, because he doesn't actually expect a response. He speaks what some might think of as gibberish, explaining why they should and shouldn't kill themselves, and says the reason why he hasn't himself is because he's waiting- for what, though, is temporarily censored by yours truly for plot reasons.

One of the first major experiments/procedures. The sensory input is too strong and has too great a mental impact on her at the time, so the conveyance of the memory is disrupted, chaotic, and rather uncontrollable. Asuga does her best to mitigate it and dampen and condense it into a more conceive and objectively informative form, pulling back a bit because she recognizes that maybe it wouldn't be a good idea for them to actually experience everything she remembers full-blast. Her control isn't perfect, just like how normal people can't control staring off into space in thought once in a while. Over this and the next few scenes, where she slowly recovers and adjusts to the changes that have been wrought on her physically, Asuga manages to take the chance to dampen the sensory inputs beside visual, and kind of figures out herself exactly what happened in the aftermath of that event. It's still not quite perfect, hence the use of all the s(t)he(y)'s and such, but it progressively gets better through the following scenes. (Who is seeing? Who is thinking? Who is feeling?)

That's mostly it, for confusing scenes. However, for those who might have had a hard time understanding the dull-eyes, his later speaking bits have to do with these:

There is an explanation about the meaning of blood relations and family and physical similarity in appearance. His conclusion is that blood means something, implies that it is even important, but only in the outside world. Such concepts are effectively irrelevant in the facility.

There is a reflection on his own family. His brother married a woman. The woman had a brother. The brother was a stonemason, a sculptor, who once got a big job from shinobi to carve the face of their god into the side of a mountain (technically cliff, but eh; sound familiar?). He says more things about seeing the faces of gods, but that's cryptic for plot reasons.

I think that's it. Feel free to message me or leave a review if there's any other confusing bits of scenes you want me to explain! Of course, if that answer is plot-related, I reserve the right to give you the usual "wait and read and see! ;P" response!