Siren's Pull

[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.]

[For those few who have been in contact with him, Sasuke's countenance is a world away from yesterday's melancholy. He's not grinning, not happy by any means, but he's alive again--moving and breathing with the world, instead of watching it pass by from his stasis.

His eyes are bright and his face has color again. When he speaks, it's quiet and composed, clear.]

Is there a library or historical archive in the port? As neutral as possible; I want facts, not propaganda.

[Filtered from Warsman.]

When I lived in Konoha, Valentine's Day consisted of every girl I knew bombarding me with crappy homemade chocolate that tasted more like wax. Boys were supposed to reciprocate with something of equal or greater value a month later, on White Day. I never did, though--for one thing, I'd have been broke, and for another I never returned the interest.

[If you look closely, his face has a little more color than usual, and he's avoiding looking directly into the camera. His voice is low, too, a little secretive--and on closer inspection, it becomes clear that he is hiding out in a supply closet. A posh one, though; even the closets at the Uzushio are high end.]

This is stupid. [Grumbled. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling nervously; he looks back at the camera and actually makes visual contact this time, resigned. Unhappy. Embarrassed.

But still resigned. He really doesn't have much choice, here.]

I've never done this before. [And he wouldn't be doing it at all, but he has this strange, squirming feeling somewhere in his stomach that Warsman would absolutely love it--that's enough for him to push past his hang-ups.] I don't want to make it seem like I'm trying to be the woman or anything, but--should I make him chocolate anyway?

[Augh. The words coming out of his mouth make him want to pull out his own hair.] I don't even know if he likes chocolate.

[Sasuke is outside, shoulders tense, in a coat too thin for the weather with circles under his eyes. His eyes are dark, but narrowed in anger, muted by a shade of hopelessness.]

I paid my rent two months in advance.

[There is a flash of red. His mouth twitches into a snarl.] My bank account is frozen and the landlord of my apartment changed the locks. I don't care about my stuff, but I want access to my money and I need somewhere to sleep.

[Sasuke is not doing well today.

He's pale, his hands are trembling, and he has to fight down the near-constant burning tightness in his throat, stinging at his eyes.

So close. He was so close-- and now it's gone, an imprint of smoke.

So he keeps the video turned off, takes a sip of water and smooths his voice as best he can before speaking.]

Obito, my cousin, is gone. His NV has been disconnected. Ino Yamanaka is also gone, but her NV seems to be functional.

I want to know what happened to them. Both of them.

Fess up. 

[Whoever did it--since it's apparently widespread--will know what he's talking about. Not that it will slow him down; he just has to remember to adjust for an altered center of balance. But it is annoying, and if a dispel won't get rid of it and he can't see the source, he's going to have to interrogate the caster.]

 [He's still thin, but he doesn't look so sick now that he's been here for a few days. His expression is twisted and smoldering with annoyance, anger, something. If his memory weren't so impeccable, today would just be any other day, but no. He remembers Kakashi's birthday as though the date had been singed into his head with an iron brand.

His mind never misses an opportunity to beat the shit out of him.

So the words are a little harsher, more clipped than they might have been, for the neutrality of the question.]

I need somewhere with a lot of space to train. 

And a job.