.:.Prolouge.:.

Rating: M for sexual content. Vilence, Gore. Rape.
Main Pairing: DeidaraxGaara
Side pairings: SasorixDeidara -one sided-, OrochimaruxGaara -rape-, SasorixGaara
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, only the ideas.

General Warnings: Sexual content to come, underage sexual content to come, Vivid descriptions of dead bodies to come.
Chapter Warnings: None.

Summary: Subject 23. That is what he is called, because down there he has no name. He is not human now. Not anymore. Not after what they had done to him. The people in white, they cut him open before his very eyes. Take him apart, rebuild him /like a broken toy/ they are preparing him. Him. The only one to survive years of dis-assembly, re-assembly. They are making him. Making Subject 23 into the perfect host.
Because Shukaku is very picky with his humans, he needs them to resemble his former body.
And that is why Subject 23 being broken, bit by bit.


White. White walls, white floors, white sheets. I sat down on the hospital bed. The smell of disinfectant stung my nose, while thefluorescent lights above gave me a headache. Sounds reached my ears. Screams, cries, shouts.

"Nurse! Get the tranquilizer!"I heard from another room. I felt sick. But that's not why I am here, in this... this, hell hole. Honestly, I don't know what I did to deserve this. But, what can a seven year old boy do to deserve being mutilated by strange hands, far from daylight and family? Tears began to well in my eyes, blurring my vision, and for this I was grateful. I've seen this place so many times, the white walls around me are familiar now. The paper hospital gown seemed to be part of my wardrobe, the hospital bed, and room, Like my own. This place like a second home, the one you run from. And fear returning to.

My tears had long since begun to fall, running down my cheeks. It felt like liquid fire on my skin. Strands of fine crimson hair was plastered to my face, I brushed them back with trembling fingers. I glanced down at them, my pale slender fingers...

'NII-JU-SAN' It was stamped to the back of my hand. Burned into my very flesh.

It marked me as a patient here. It labeled me as a freak. It means 'Twenty-Three', because I am the twenty-third human test subject in a set of twenty seven. And one of the last few to survive.