Awakening

He woke up. In a way that made this morning the same as every one that came before, but as he opened the blinds to his dimly lit room, letting in an invasive beam of grey, sick light, he had a premonition that today was going to be different.

He followed his routine, healthy breakfast, water, shower, exercise, each down to the letter. He even checked his self-made seals tattooed to his chest and arms, an ink black vison into a blood laden future. His mind focused, he went further, the picture of thorough-ness, as he checked each mechanism in his prototype, kept secret in his body's art. He took every precaution in the construction and obscuration of his device, such that he, and he alone, would be arbiter of its terrifying power, even if such a dream could only be temporary.

Back the prize went, hidden just like the seal, as he equipped his standard issue Rain Jonin uniform, steel armour, light and manoeuvrable, but thick enough to offer some protection, and an additional flowing faded purple fabric, fully cut for vanity, camouflage, and deception.

He took a moment to breathe. Ran a hand through his washed-out blonde hair, faded like the rest of his country. The moment ended, and he travelled to his meeting with Hanzo the Salamander.

...

The constant native rain flowed through the gaps in the dark metallic skyline, great dark pins reaching into the clouds themselves. The clear droplets splattered against the ground with an exhausted apathy, the land itself worn through the decades of downpour, begging for a release. Ironically, even with such a mercy, the land would lose its purpose, its identity, its drained life.

Purple in Rain was a ubiquitous colour, and though memories (amusing ones) of his past life sprung up at that combination of words, he thought on it in a more philosophical sense, as he walked on the once alive soil that fuelled his war-torn world. It, in many cultures, is an expression of royalty, power, respect and all. In the waring states era, Rain sought to use its geographical position as the focal point for natural showers across the neighbouring nations in order to become the new kingdom of grain, usurping Fire as they did Rice. In fact, it was founded upon it

Fire hired the Uchiha, who came with flame, smoke and ash, and burned the fields.

Fire hired the Senju, who offered gifts to combat the coming famine, and not to be outdone by their Uchiha cousins, killed all that were gathered at the peaceful procedure.

Rain had yet to recover.

It was perhaps for that same inspired aspiration for ambition the old rain sought, or more likely a deathly ironic commentary, that the office of Hanzo the Salamander was laden with the similar faded hues of day-old bruises and oil mixed with water..

The man was imposing. Terrifying even. Not stature nor postulation inspired this living lethality, it was the simple fact he presented. He could kill and has in a heartbeat.

He spoke:

"Kumori Dokusei"

"Newley made Jonin, early enough, at 18, now 19. Veteran of the 5 year past second shinobi war."

His diction left no room for debate. This was the truth, in the world he made, and the real world it mirrored.

"You came to make a proposition for a 'Research and Development Division', R&D for short."

His steely gaze evaluated. Dokusei spoke.

"One of Rain's greatest strengths has been its technology, Lord Hanzo. I believe channelling it could be the key to our victory."

The steely gaze did not move, yet it seemed to think. Seconds, years in the ninja world, passed, before an answer came.

"I will speak plainly. I have an S-rank mission. Complete this mission and you will get your division. Refuse and I will see it never comes to fruition."

Dokusei knew a trap when he saw one. Hanzo would either kill him with the mission in a day, or with an execution for incompetence in a month. Regardless, there was only one way to win.

"I accept"

For the first time the Salamander smirked.

"Details are such; Every year post the Second war, there is a summit. All 5 'major' villages send an envoy, a high-ranking shinobi, to keep appearances. Your mission is to kill all of them, no survivors, no witnesses."

Almost immediately he prepared. He was an assassin now, or at least a potential one. His advantage, He was always good at planning. He knew to look Hanzo in the eye, to show you have nothing to hide, but he also knew to look with a hint of fear. Nothing to hide but Something to show. It was in his dingy apartment where his two plans, both, nested and grew. He took a metallic weapon from its drawn inventory and observed his solution to chakra sensing. The facsimile of an M1911 looked back at him. A weapon that had no chakra signature and moved faster than its sound. His old-world knowledge gifted him an equalizer of Kage and Genin, and for targets like these he would need it.

...

Long before any of this happened, two men stood, a pair of boots against a pair of sandals, stuck still, standing strong on muddy ground. Rain was pouring, a sign of the end, as the two stared at each other, twin expressions of both anger and admiration.

"Hachi, you know none of what we do will matter. Come 100 hundered years' time, some other two ambitous fools will stand where we are and wax philosophy, talk about preserving the future or abandoning it. We will be forgotten in a lifetime, and our deaths here will not change that."

The one who spoke was tall, and had long flowing black hair, reaching the middle of his back. He was well built, and dressed in a black garment, a long-tipped spear attached to his back, and a sharp face which communicated seriousness.

"Yeah, we won't even impact the story. Some fuck will get that chance before us, and nobody will care about all of this-" He swept his arm out, hand moving over the distant destruction of a former battlefield, the wake only communicating misery.

"We simply won't matter. Except that isn't really true, is it?" He had a hint of sardonic irony in his upbeat voice and upwards facing grin, the Flashiness of his blonde hair, nearly yellow, was contrasted by the blood covering his body, a sure sign of his bloodthirst.

"Each and everything we do will change this world, even just by a bit."

The dark-haired man shook his head, brown skin lit up by a nearby fire showing the scars of war.

"Be that as it may, all it takes is one person setting the course for what they think it needs to be, for that to all come undone."

Two former friends looked each other in the eyes one last time, both smiling, then cracked the ground with their steps as they ran, faster than the sound they made, their only desire blood.

They fought for 23 hours.

On the 24th they both dropped dead.

Their names lost to time.

Their actions, removed by ambition.

Author's note: This is my first story. I've had this idea in my head for a while now. The next 2 arcs are conceptually done, and the writing is yet to come. The point of this story is to have lightning-fast pacing and an intelligent character, as well as make commentary on the nature of SI stories, and who we are as people, how appearances deceive, and how good people have bad intentions. Inspired by every SI story out there, the brilliant Pure White Ash by Ball Buster Doppo and most of Lord Bz's stories. Thank you for reading.

19th October 2022: Edit adding a new section. I wanted to introduce the concept of muti Si's earlier on and make the chapter more interesting as not much happens until chapter 2. I will probably add more sections like this in the future, so in the latest chapters expect to see Notes about these.

Also, very meta, which is kind of the point. Remember to review.