| [Jun. 3rd, 2009|10:57 pm] |
Ginta's gaze lingered on the prisoner only for a moment--long enough to be certain the man was going nowhere, although by the volume of blood pooling under him, Hell was a likely destination soon. Instead he tracked Kakashi, watching him dispatch the remaining clones snared in his jutsu, then sprint to Hoshika. Ginta let the genjutsu drop at last, and stared at the kunai in his hand. A gurgled groan from the Taki ninja brought Ginta's head back around.
"Shut up," he told the man. He twisted on the ground, sliding his splinted leg through charred leaf litter with a low curse. The pain traveled through him like a delayed exploding tag, catching him full force after he'd already settled into his new position. For several seconds the world disappeared: he was blind and deaf, unmoored from everything around him. He held excruciatingly still, quivering with torment.
The prisoner groaned again.
"I told you to shut up!" Ginta snarled. He turned on the man with blade in hand, point aimed at the man's throat. In the flickering light of the dying fire, Ginta could see the whites of terrified eyes.
"Don't want to die yet?" Ginta dragged the point of the blade across the other ninja's throat, pressing just enough to break the skin. His hand shook, twisting the kunai as he pulled it away. Blood beaded up in the wound and spilled down the side of the man's neck.
"Go to hell!" the other ninja snarled.
"Not without you." Ginta looked over at the fallen woman. At Kakashi still hunched over his dog. They had a prisoner, he needed to interrogate him, but all he could focus on was the agony in his broken bones. He reached over and grabbed at the man's dog tags.
His name was Tsuchibe Moro. He was twenty-nine years old. Blood type B. It was the same as his own, Ginta thought abstractedly. Tsuchibe tried to pull his leg free and whimpered. His head thrashed side to side, eyes wild, searching for something.
Even a henge seemed impossible, but Ginta pulled one off. He morphed himself into the woman he'd killed, and layered a genjutsu atop it. Hospital. Clean sheets. A smell of antiseptic and urine. "Moro? Moro, wake up. Are you alright?"
"Aki?" Moro's focus came back. He tried to lift an arm to touch her.
"Shh, don't move," Ginta whispered. "You're safe. The team that came after us got us out."
"How? Did they get our radio signal? I thought we were out of range..." He looked confused.
"It's alright. They got us out," Ginta repeated.
"Did Idomu?"
Flying blind. One wrong guess would give away his lies. Ginta grasped for what he hoped was the right choice. "Idomu... didn't make it." He could feel the illusion wearing thin as his chakra siphoned away.
Moro's eyes flew wide. "How? We sent him back when the radio failed. He should have... He..." Understanding dawned. "Bastards!" he screamed. He tore himself up, showering blood from his brutalized shoulders.
Ginta's kunai sank into the man's chest. He jerked it sideways, lurching away from the dying man to fall panting and shaking beside him. |
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