うちは サスケ | sasuke uchiha (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bondsoflove) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sirenspull2013-04-09 09:33 pm
bondsoflove) wrote in sirenspull2013-04-09 09:33 pm
Entry tags:
o14 [text]
[Video is dangerous. So is audio. Something as small as the bouncing of his voice or a flicker of light could be used to find him, and he can't be found.
There's a bounty on his head, apparently. A big one. He's still shaky, still sick from the days or weeks or months he spent in that closed room, hurting and hurting and hurting a hundred thousand times more than he's ever hurt in his life; he physically can't take any more, regardless of the fact that the torture wasn't in his body. He could feel his heart fluttering in a rapid death-march towards the end of it. Chakra gone, almost at his limit. He's lucky he isn't dead, really.
Or worse. For a few days he was a shell, immobile, completely hollow; no thoughts but the ghost imprint of torment.]
I hurt a lot of people last month.
[And isn't that an understatement? The port feels more like a prison camp than a city, from what little he's seen. He knows with absolute certainty that it's his fault.]
If anyone is still willing to correspond with me, I would like to know what I've missed.
[So many people gone. Hushed rumors. No new arrivals at the baseball field. The silence feels like the calm before a storm.
His fingers hover over the keys for a minute, but he can't think of anything else to say. The transmission ends.]
There's a bounty on his head, apparently. A big one. He's still shaky, still sick from the days or weeks or months he spent in that closed room, hurting and hurting and hurting a hundred thousand times more than he's ever hurt in his life; he physically can't take any more, regardless of the fact that the torture wasn't in his body. He could feel his heart fluttering in a rapid death-march towards the end of it. Chakra gone, almost at his limit. He's lucky he isn't dead, really.
Or worse. For a few days he was a shell, immobile, completely hollow; no thoughts but the ghost imprint of torment.]
I hurt a lot of people last month.
[And isn't that an understatement? The port feels more like a prison camp than a city, from what little he's seen. He knows with absolute certainty that it's his fault.]
If anyone is still willing to correspond with me, I would like to know what I've missed.
[So many people gone. Hushed rumors. No new arrivals at the baseball field. The silence feels like the calm before a storm.
His fingers hover over the keys for a minute, but he can't think of anything else to say. The transmission ends.]
[permatext]
[He had chosen his targets carefully in advance, and succeeded with both. It seems a little pathetic to hold onto that bit of morality--he's still a murderer--but he does anyway. However unsound they might have been, he still had reasons.]
[permatext]
no subject
no subject
no subject
But I failed, so it doesn't matter.
no subject
[In other words they are now dead]
no subject
[He doesn't really want to know, although it's not hard to guess. There's enough destruction attached to his name right now.]