(3rd Person - The Hokage's Tower)
Sarutobi Hiruzen looked at the map spread across his desk, his brow furrowed. The Third Great Shinobi War had not officially been declared, but the world was already bleeding. Skirmishes erupted along the borders of every major nation like festering sores. Iwagakure, the Village Hidden by Stone, was pushing aggressively against the Land of Grass, testing Konoha's treaty obligations. Sunagakure, though now in tense negotiations for a renewed alliance, was still a viper coiled in the desert. And Kumo, the Village Hidden by Clouds, was always an unknown, their ambitions as sharp and jagged as their lightning-forged blades.
"The reports from the Kusagakure border are troubling," Homura Mitokado stated, his voice grim. "Iwa is using scorched-earth tactics. They are not just securing territory; they are eliminating supply lines. If Grass falls, they will have a direct, unimpeded path to our western flank."
"Our patrols are already stretched thin," Koharu Utatane added. "We cannot afford to commit a full battalion to a border dispute that is not yet a direct attack on the Land of Fire."
"We do not need a battalion," Danzō interjected from the shadows where he always stood. "We need a message. Iwagakure's supply lines run through a series of small, fortified outposts in the mountains bordering the Land of Streams. They believe these routes are secure."
"What are you proposing, Danzō?" Sarutobi asked, though he already knew the answer.
"A surgical strike," Danzō rasped. "Not an official Konoha action. A quiet, anonymous operation. Eliminate the commander of their primary supply hub, Outpost Gamma. Sow chaos. Disrupt their logistics. It will force Iwa to divert resources to secure their rear, buying us precious months to fortify our own border."
"It's too risky," Homura argued. "Sending a standard ANBU team could be traced back to us. If they are captured, it could be the spark that ignites an all-out war."
"I have a team perfectly suited for such a task," Danzō said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Untraceable. Efficient. Expendable, should the mission fail. They will get it done."
Sarutobi looked at the map, at the small dot that represented Outpost Gamma, deep in what Iwa considered safe territory. He knew exactly which "team" Danzō was referring to. He was sending children to perform a task meant for seasoned assassins, using them as deniable assets in a shadow war. He hated it. But he also knew Danzō was right. It was the most logical, strategically sound move.
"See that it is done," the Hokage said, his voice heavy. He felt like a man signing an execution order, unsure if it was for the enemy or for his own people.
(1st Person - Machi's POV)
The Land of Streams was a wet, miserable place. A constant, drizzling rain fell from a perpetually gray sky, turning the mountain paths into slick, muddy tracks. It had been three days since we'd left Konoha, traveling light and fast, our black cloaks doing little to keep out the damp chill that seemed to seep into my very bones.
This was our first mission of this magnitude. Shin had briefed us in a sterile, windowless room, his voice a flat monotone as he laid out the maps. "Infiltrate Iwagakure Outpost Gamma. Identify and eliminate the commanding officer, a chunin named Kitsuchi. He is a skilled earth-style user. Cause as much chaos as possible during your exfiltration. Leave no evidence that links you to Konoha. Failure is not an option."
We moved through the treacherous mountain terrain in silence. I took the lead, my senses on high alert, while Judai—'Fox'—followed a half-step behind, a silent specter in his fox mask. Our dynamic was now second nature. I was the scout, the strategist, the one who made the tactical decisions on the ground. He was the force, the weapon I aimed at the target.
I hated it. Every silent, obedient nod he gave to my hand signals was a fresh twist of the knife in my gut. I tried to talk to him during our brief rest periods, my voice a quiet murmur in the rain.
"The air here is heavy," I'd say.
"Affirmative," he would reply, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his voice as empty as his eyes.
"Reminds me of that one mission in the Genin Corps, the one where you tried to use a fire jutsu in a downpour and almost singed off your own eyebrows."
He would just stare at me, his head tilted slightly, processing my words for mission-relevant data. Finding none, he would return to his silent vigil. Every attempt I made to reach the boy I knew was met with the cold, unyielding wall of his conditioning. He was a perfect soldier. And it was breaking my heart.
We reached the ridge overlooking Outpost Gamma on the fourth night. It was less of a fortress and more of a fortified waystation, a series of low, squat buildings carved into the mountainside, connected by muddy paths and surrounded by a simple wooden palisade. Lanterns cast a sickly yellow glow, revealing Iwa shinobi patrolling the perimeter.
I lay flat on the wet ground, my cloak blending into the muddy earth, and pulled out a small, specialized scope given to us by Shin. I spent the next hour observing, memorizing patrol routes, identifying the command building, and noting the shift changes. They were complacent, secure in the belief that they were hundreds of miles from any real threat.
"The patrols are on a predictable thirty-minute rotation," I whispered to Judai, who lay motionless beside me. "Two guards on each wall, one roving patrol inside the compound. The command building is the largest one in the center. That's where Kitsuchi will be."
I laid out the plan in a series of quick, precise hand signals. Phase One: Infiltration. We use the river that runs along the western edge of the outpost. The runoff grate is a weak point. Phase Two: Target Identification. I will confirm the target's location. Phase Three: Execution. You will create a diversion at the eastern gate. A large-scale fire jutsu. Loud. Destructive. Draw their attention. While they are distracted, I will enter the command building and eliminate Kitsuchi. Phase Four: Exfiltration. We rendezvous at the pre-designated point two klicks north.
He gave a single, sharp nod. Fox acknowledges.
My stomach churned. I was ordering him to be the loud, flashy distraction, the role he used to relish. Now, he would do it with the same cold efficiency as a thrown kunai.
We slipped down the ridge like shadows, the rain masking our sound. The runoff grate was just as the intel suggested—old, rusted, and poorly secured. A single, powerful, chakra-enhanced kick from Judai, and it buckled inward with a muted groan.
The tunnel was cramped and smelled of stagnant water and filth, but it led us directly into the compound, emerging behind a supply shed. We were in.
We split up, melting into the deeper shadows. I crept toward the command building, my movements silent and fluid. My Komacine clan heritage making me undetectable as my chakra control was so precise even Tsunade would be impressed. The mastered the Transparent Escape Technique, in hopes of getting closer to Judai and having a conversation but it failed.
the technique is shown to render the user invisible, allowing them to either make stealthy strikes on their opponent or escape from the opponent's sight. It was powerful, with the original creator being known other than the legendary pervert Jiraiya.
This turned me into a ghost. I scaled the wall, clinging to the rough-hewn wood, and peered through a dirty window.
Inside, three men sat around a table, a map spread between them. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a distinctive scar on his chin, matched the bingo book photo of Kitsuchi. He was laughing, drinking sake with his subordinates. The target was confirmed.
I gave the signal, a soft, near-inaudible bird call that we had practiced a thousand times.
A moment later, the night exploded.
"Fire Release: Big Flame Bullet!"
Judai's voice, amplified by his chakra, roared across the compound. A massive, concussive fireball slammed into the eastern gate, shattering the wooden palisade and sending guards flying. The explosion was followed by a second, then a third. He wasn't just creating a diversion; he was systematically obliterating their primary escape route.
Alarms blared. Shouts of panic and confusion echoed through the outpost. Every single guard, including the two stationed outside Kitsuchi's office, turned and ran toward the chaos at the eastern gate.
This was my chance.
I slipped through the now unguarded door, my kodachi already in my hand. The three men inside were scrambling to their feet, their sake forgotten.
Kitsuchi saw me first. "Who the hell are—"
He never finished the question. I closed the distance in three silent steps. My blade was a silver arc in the lamplight. It was over before he even had a chance to draw his own weapon.
His two subordinates stared at me, their faces a mask of shock and terror. I didn't hesitate. I moved, a blur of motion, and they fell without a sound, their lives ended with two precise, efficient strikes.
The mission was complete. Now, for the chaos.
I planted the explosive tags we had been issued throughout the office, attaching them to support beams, ammunition crates, and stacks of mission scrolls. I set the timers for five minutes and slipped back out into the rainy night.
As I made my way toward the northern rendezvous point, the sounds of battle from the eastern gate were still raging. I could see the brilliant, terrifying flashes of Judai's fire jutsu lighting up the sky. He was single-handedly holding off the entire garrison. He wasn't just a diversion anymore. He was a force of nature.
Then, just as I reached the edge of the forest, the command building behind me erupted in a secondary series of explosions, a chain reaction of detonating tags and cooking-off ammunition. The heart of the outpost was gone.
I found Judai waiting at the rendezvous point. He was leaning against a tree, his breathing slightly labored, but otherwise unharmed. The front of his uniform was singed, but his mask was pristine, his eyes as empty as ever.
"Diversion successful," he stated simply. "No hostiles followed."
"Target eliminated," I replied, my own voice sounding just as cold, just as detached.
We turned and melted into the darkness, leaving behind a burning, shattered outpost and a dozen bodies. We had altered the course of the war, just a little. We had done our duty. We had followed our orders.
And as we ran, a single, horrifying thought echoed in my mind.
This was easy. Too easy. We were good at this. And that, more than anything else, terrified me.