Face down in the dirt, the sour taste of warm wet earth filled his mouth. Nudging at his lips, the thick fur of the grass stalks itched incessantly. But there was nothing he could do about that. He drew a shuddering breath, grateful that his ability to capacitate his lungs with air was still there. If there was nothing else left there was that. And the harsh throbbing of his heart. But every half second he was praying that that wouldn't stop. And for every other half second he was watching.

The Eye worked almost of it's own accord, now. It was a surveillance camera. Clicking and whirring and spinning. Through the thin film of red he could just make out oblong shapes and concrete silhouettes, but with it's processing beam, details didn't really matter. He was half tempted to reach up and lower his hitai-ate down over it, shutting it out, but he let The Eye have at it. Often times when he was alone like now, enabled with enough time to count the measured cycles of the toma, and listen to the furious whirring he felt like a freaking computer. But considering all that had happened, he had decided long ago that he was no longer human. So at least being a computer gave him something to be.

A sharp blast of pain bolted through his left arm, threatening to wrench it free of the socket. He closed his eyes tight and clenched his teeth until the radiation passed, but wouldn't allow himself to make any sound. He was protected from view by the tall marsh grasses, but if he cried out they'd surely find him. They may have been stupid, but they weren't deaf. And with a wry knowing smile he admitted to himself that he was too battered to take on a fair fight.

Using just the slightest movements he slid soundlessly from his belly and moved into a kneeling position, cradling the rotten arm between his thighs. Calculating, the whirring Eye spun the circumference of everything within a hundred mile radius, limited only by his mental will. There in the distance. He quickly figured his time frame. The left arm was already broken so he reasoned that further damage to it wouldn't make any difference. He pressed his palm to the ground supporting it with the stronger right arm. His head wrenched free of his neck and bounded up into the sky, suddenly alive with the jolt of adrenaline that often possessed him when there was a chance at blood on the horizon.

He bit down on his bottom lip and ho-hummed a quiet tune. He could hear the squadron of about five or six approaching. But more importantly he could see them, because The Eye never failed. Which was more than he could say for himself. But later on, if any of the approaching ninja survived, they wouldn't remember the melody of his soft humming, or any insecurity on his part. Only the cold reflective hatred of the eye. He would make sure of that.

He could plot their body heat coordinates and pinpoint them to the micro centimeter, as they crept forward oblivious to their imminent death. He let the whirring pace the work of his muscles. His wrist flexed, fingers became eggshells cracking open. 1,000 birds. They were just above him now. He rose quickly, his hand alight with a crackling electricity that would continue to sizzle there long after the chakra had been dispersed.