Fifteen Years Later.

Ami sneezed, coughed, then sneezed again.

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see. Squeezing her lids shut, she tried in vain to protect her eyes from the stinging white dust that engulfed her.

She had to get out of here.

Grappling through the plume, she somehow managed to find a window. Wedging her fingers painfully under the splintered wood, she threw open the pane with all her might and plunged her head into the cool, wet air to expel the particles from her lungs through a series of loud coughs.

Once finished, she glanced back into the room behind her. The chalkboard erasers remained on the floor where she had dropped them in her wheezing fit. The impact of their fall had blanketed the floor in an opaque film that almost looked like snow.

Taking one final, deep breath by the window, she returned to the now filthy classroom. Placing the emptied erasers to their tray, she went to work wiping the chalk dust off the tile floor.

She would not miss this part of the job.

Ami stopped scrubbing.

No, she couldn't let herself think that way. She would be back here in no time, knocking chalkboard erasers, cleaning classrooms, and peeling potatoes just as she had done every day for the past ten years. When she turned eighteen, she graduated from the city orphanage only to show back up with a job application. Although she'd moved into her own apartment downtown for privacy, the orphanage still felt like her home.

And she would come back to it.

After all, she had people counting on her. She looked around at the brightly colored drawings on the schoolroom walls, gifts from the orphans she called her friends and family. Her eyes lingered on one, a line of crude stick figures drawn in a rainbow of colors. She smiled. It would take a miracle to bring them a rainbow, but at least when she came back, they would all be free.

After sponging herself clean in the restroom, she retrieved her purse and hat and headed to the faculty lounge for one last detour on her way out. The small, warm room was vacant, save for one blue-haired young woman.

Nanami, math and science teacher to the orphanage's elementary-aged students, was the faculty's newest addition. Ami instinctively liked her. Patient and calm, the young teacher sheltered the children with a rare sense of safety and security. In another life, they could have been best friends, but for now, Ami could not share her secret with her.

She didn't have to. Nanami doubtless had her own suspicions. Inquisitors would show up at least once a month at the orphanage door to ask after Ami, and although she was too polite to say anything, Nanami would always give her a pained look of concern. Still, she never asked, and Ami never told. It was safer that way. Isolating, but safe.

"Hi Nanami," Ami said, rapping the wooden doorframe so as not to startle her. "Still grading papers? How did they do?"

"Excellent," she said after assigning the current page in her stack a red B+. "They had no excuse for this one, though. Life in Amegakure has already taught them all they need to know about the evaporation rain cycle. But Ami," she gasped, "what are you still doing here? It's late. I'd hate for the inquisitors to catch you out past curfew again."

Ami didn't want that either. The last thing she needed tonight was Pain's minions trailing her.

"I was just about to head out. Remember, I'm taking a few days off next week."

"That's right! I hope your uncle gets better soon. I'm glad you got permission to leave the city to visit him. That's rare these days."

"I'm thankful too," Ami lied. Visiting her imaginary uncle was her cover story. "I still don't know how long it will take him to get better, so I had a favor to ask you."

"How can I help you?"

"My cat," she said, fishing a key from her pocket. "If I'm not back by Monday, will you feed him until I'm back?"

"Shiro? Of course. If it's alright with you, I'll just bring him here. The children would love to see him again."

"Sure, that would be fine. Thank you so much. I've left his food by the door."

"I'll take care of it. Now you head home! And Ami," she said, a concerned expression crossing her features, "be safe. And come back to us soon, okay?"

"Don't worry. I'll be back before you have to scoop Shiro's litter," she laughed.

Taking one last look around to make sure everything was in order, she fastened her hat and cut out the back door. With the last traces of sunlight becoming increasingly replaced by the neon glow of the city, it was dangerous to travel on the beaten path. Ami would not make it to her destination before her curfew, so her best bet was to sneak through the back alleys.

Slipping into the street, she encountered only a few children, racing home to beat the curfew as well. Ami felt for them. If they didn't make it, she knew very well what their families could expect. A visit from the inquisition, a warning, and a fine, if they were lucky. For repeat offenders, the consequences could get physical.

Mandatory curfews were just one of the changes that had arisen since the man they called "Pain" had seized control of the nation. In the months that followed his coup, the streets were flooded with the blood of resistance fighters and Hanzo's supporters. Shinobi had died. Civilians too. Not even Hanzo's elderly parents had survived the aftermath.

Then, either impressed by Pain's might or fearful of his wrath, those who remained accepted him. Or, rather, they accepted those who claimed to represent him. Until recently, none of them had laid eyes on the one rumored to wield the power of a god. Even so, many eagerly embraced the peace he promised. Surely, someone as powerful as he could succeed where Hanzo had failed and end Amegakure's civil war.

And he had.

The war was over. And there was peace, at least in name.

But what good was peace without freedom?

Immediately after the war, Amegakure's laws turned upside down. Words associated with the "old regime" became outlawed, taxes raised, and curfews imposed. The most zealous of Pain's supporters had formed the Inquisition to enforce these new edicts. When they weren't burning textbooks, they were smoking out suspected detractors or former Hanzo supporters.

Pain was erasing their history line by line, and life by life.

But not much longer if she had anything to say about it.

She increased the pace of her strides. She needed to hurry.

The further she ventured from the city's heart, the louder and more singular her footsteps became. Noticing this, she softened them to hear any pursuers. Of course, she could travel more stealthily leaping from building to building, but these past few years she had carefully concealed her kunoichi abilities. Getting caught and questioned this close to the enactment of her plan would spoil years of preparation. She would have to play the role of innocent civilian just one more day.

For a few blocks, there was nothing but the quiet splash of her shoes against the wet pavement.

Then she heard it.

Not footsteps, but the faint sound of rustling paper.

She cursed. Of all the people in the world Ami didn't want to see right now, she was number one.

Realizing she had already been spotted, Ami positioned herself in the center of the street to better her view. Sure enough, hovering three stories above her was the one Amegakure called the "Lady Angel," Konan.

Instead of revealing himself in the coup, Pain had chosen to remain in the shadows, acting through his agents. Of those, Konan was his right-hand woman. An attractive woman with short, violet hair, her most striking feature and the one that had earned her the awe and reverent fear of the people were her wings. Formed of thousands of sheets of chakra-infused paper, the two appendages helped her watch over the city and deliver Pain's rhetoric to the masses.

Quickly, Ami concealed her dislike and apprehension. Where others saw gentleness and humanity in this woman, Ami saw cunning and ambition. And after years of observation, she knew those wings belonged to no angel, but a powerful kunoichi whose paper could cut just as deeply as any knife.

"Lady Angel," Ami said, acknowledging her with a respectful nod.

"Out past curfew again, Miss Tsukuda?" Konan asked, still hovering above her. "I hope all is well at the orphanage."

Konan referred to the last time Ami had been caught outdoors past curfew without permission. Fortunately, one of the children had been more than happy to feign ill to support her alibi, and she had a doctor friend on the inside to corroborate the child's "condition." Unfortunately, she could not play that card twice.

"Everything is fine, thanks. I just had a lot to do this afternoon. I can't always leave work on time, and often, I don't want to. I grew up in that orphanage, so it feels like home to me."

With two, large flaps, Konan gracefully landed beside her. "You were orphaned during the Second Shinobi War, if I recall."

"That's right." It didn't surprise Ami that Konan knew this detail about her past. After getting caught in the wrong place at the wrong time fraternizing with the wrong people one time too many, she had attracted the suspicion of Pain's regime for some time now. Their subsequent investigations always came up short, but the repeated offenses had evidently been enough to alert Konan.

"Which battle?"

"Amegakure Plains."

Konan nodded. "A close friend of mine lost his parents there as well. Before Pain, that battle was celebrated as one of Hanzo's greatest accomplishments, mowing down an entire Leaf army singlehandedly. But as you are aware, he didn't win that battle singlehandedly. He left some of his own forces in the village to distract the enemy and die as a distraction. Your parents were two of those sacrifices."

"Perhaps they were. But it was there decision to make. They died serving a cause they believed in."

"And you, Miss Tsukuda? Are there any causes you would die to serve?"

Ami thought carefully before answering the loaded question. "Yes, the same as you, I think. If I had to, I would fight and die to shield those children from violence and war."

"A good answer. You're right; I wish for that too. That's why I choose to serve Pain and his mission. He's already brought peace to this land, and I believe he can bring peace to the world. Take some advice, Miss Tsukuda. Leave the fighting to us, and stay out of the way. Amegakure needs people like you, but I can't vouch for you again if you keep stirring trouble."

"I understand. Thank you, Lady Angel."

Without another word, Konan propelled herself into the air with powerful swoosh and soon soared away above the city's tangled spires. It was only until she was out of sight that Ami noticed the goosebumps on her skin and cold sweat spreading under her arms.

She heaved a sigh of relief. She had gotten off easy this time, but she couldn't press her luck. She would have to take the long way tonight.

Her apartment was only a few blocks away now. Unfortunately, she would have to stop there first in case Konan had alerted inquisitors to make sure she returned home.

The rain began to fall heavier, giving her an excuse to break into a jog. Soon, she was within eyeshot of the skinny apartment complex. The keypad at the door was so old and well-worn that the numbers had long since eroded away, but with muscle memory, she didn't need them. A few strokes of her fingers later, the mechanism made a loud buzz and metallic sound as the door unlocked. Sensing no followers, she pushed inside.

Instead of heading to the stairs to climb to her fifteenth-floor room, she quietly tiptoed down the hall. Most of the maintenance staff had left for the night, and the skeleton crew that patrolled the complex during the day was spread thinly over thirty floors. The odds of bumping into one of them were slim, but she had to be careful just in case.

A side room at the end of the hall led to an off-limits stairwell descending into the basement. To her relief, the lights were off and her path was clear. Finally, something was going right.

Quietly, she entered the room without turning on the light and slid the door closed behind her. Eyes closed, she waited until she had adjusted to the darkness before guiding herself down the old stairwell with her hand trailing the wall.

About half way down, she felt the board beneath her buckle and snap. Quickly, she stumbled to the next step and braced herself clumsily against the wall. She could simply jump to the basement floor but the buckets and glasses littered about the room would loudly announce her presence were she to land on them. Better not to chance it, she resolved, continuing her descent. Konan was right, she huffed. She should just stay out of trouble.

But if things went her way, she would stir up lots of trouble tonight.