So, I've been redoing this chapter for about a week now, and am almost to the point where I'm happy with it, but rather just shove it out there so I can on with what I really want to do. A guest mentioned this, and I'd like to say that I agree, more Tenten would be great, so the next chapter will be mostly her. That one too is almost done.

Also, I'm not trying for Naruto to seem 'edgy' in this, as that is one of my own personal pet peeves which I just feel is too overused. That being said, yes he's quieter and not as incompetent. But don't take the absence of conversation to mean that he is so introverted, it's just that we don't really see these day to day things because we focus on the battles and missions where he needs to be quiet (And yes, I get the fact that he probably wouldn't be even then, but we assume that he's had things a little better under Imperial rule, okay?)

Anyway, I do appreciate everyone who has supported me thus far, and will hopefully in the future (barring any major ball-ups of my own doing).

Cheers laddies

April 15th, 1943

Unknown Location, jungle east of Calcutta, 0200 hours.

Overland through the vast jungles and plains was arduous. It might have been better to backtrack to the port city and commandeer a vessel to take him back to Burma HQ. After the debacle his last mission had turned into, that would also be the most likely place to find what remained of his unit. He doubted they would have stuck around long after having so much attention attracted their way.

Then again, times were changing. And not necessarily in a good way. Not in a way that anyone could predict.

Case in point, here he was, traipsing about the countryside and making his way eastward across the land without any specific goal in mind. All that he knew was that he couldn't afford to stay still. Not when the world was spiraling out of control all around him.

Let it fall apart. You're tired of order, tired of taking orders.

He purposefully let a branch whack him across the face, stirring him from these lucid thoughts which had become increasingly prevalent as of late. At first, he thought it was a matter of his listlessness during his hospital stay, mind free to run amok in dark places. Then, wondering if it was because he was pushing himself too much, body finally choosing to remind his mind that he was only human.

But you're not, are you? Could a mere human, even a shinobi, cause all that destruction?

He leapt down from the canopy into a thickly grassed glen. The heat was, as always, oppressive, but he felt a chill travel down his spine like a rod of moonlight from the waxen sphere above. Hellish images besieged him- ones that he knew, destruction that he caused, flashing in and out of his mind's eye like a newsreel.

To be famous- to be infamous- to shape the world. This potential is within your grasp.

He shook his head in the negative, trying to dispel this traitorous voice. It was different than that gently reminding conscience, a voice in his own tenor passively whispering hints like a scent on the wind. This one was incendiary, relentless, razing everything to expose the dark thoughts he had never wanted to see the light of day.

You deny them, you deny yourself. Why pretend to be something you are not? You want to be human, yet all they do is dress up their actions in the garbs of civility, pretending that calling it something else makes it better than murder. Would a rose by any other name not have thorns?

There was a cold sweat running down his neck and under his collar. The voice wasn't going away. He fingered the heavy weight of the text in his rucksack, trying to seek solace in its mysterious and unfathomable words. Reality seemed to be slipping through his fingertips, this nighttime trapping him in a dream which would last forever.

Forever and ever and ever. Those gods that you cling to are the very thing keeping you trapped, making you subservient. The only salvation lies the other way, at the bottom of a deep, dark well.

What did it mean to be strong? To follow orders, or to disobey them? To embrace the darkness or rebuke it? If he were to acknowledge the voice in his head, give in to its temptation, would it be his salvation, or damnation?

He fell to his knees in the fertile soil, clutching a hand to his chest. The tall grass pulled a curtain over everything but the foreign spattering of stars overhead and his rampaging heartbeat which throbbed in his ears. Even this proved too much- everything was just too much. The myriad of voices in his head coming to a crescendo all at once.

One prevailed through the others.

YOU WILL NOT IGNORE ME!

"SHUT UP!"

Breath hitched in his throat and for a moment his heart seemed to stop beating.

What had been a cacophony stopped abruptly, swallowed by the image of a fox made from the flames in very memories which haunted him. It had devoured it all in one massive gulp, leaving behind only silence and the barest hint of sulfur in his nostrils.

Bent double for what felt like half the night, he searched inside of himself for something. His stolen heartbeat, his forfeited sanity, his bartered innocence. At last, there came a deep rumble which he feared was a return, until he realized that he hadn't eaten anything all day.

But the guttural sensation wasn't coming from within. It originated outside, in that world he could no longer regard as completely real. He looked up, and a painted tiger stared back from the backdrop of reeds. Its brilliant orange stripes muted in the pale moonlight, but its famished eyes shone piercing and chatoyant.

Mouth wide and tongue lolling in a mute greeting, the beast stepped forth from its canvas to inspect this morsel. Not a muscle did he move as it came so close that its whiskers tickled his own, drinking in his scent with that black velvet bulge.

Some said these creatures could smell fear. Although he had no weapons on him, it was not this creature he was afraid of. Action did not scare him, it was the decision which was the hard part.

To hide, to run, to die…

To kill.

This thought like static electricity seemed to jump from one beast to the other and the tiger pulled away in surprise. Realizing this feeble looking prey was anything but, it lost interest in its investigations and quickly turned its back on the lost boy.

"Good kitty." He whispered to himself, watching as the striped tail was slurped up by the tall grass like it had never been there.

Sighing, he got back on his feet and looked to the brilliant stars to relocate his direction. After reminding himself that the stars were not quite the same as they were in Konoha, he gave up this effort and settled for following the road again.

Sometimes it was nice when things worked themselves out like that. He wasn't naïve enough to believe that to always be the case.

Though he'd yet to come to a fork in this road. The roads here weren't dissimilar to those back in the Shinobi Nations. Hard-packed dirt in various states of upkeep, meandering blindly this way and that through the trees and mountain passes and making it impossible to see all that far ahead. When travelling somewhere new they had the effect of making you disoriented even with a map.

Luckily, he didn't have one, content for now to go due east- or as close to it as he could get. Still, the nostalgic scenery made him note the differences all the more. Lack of noise for one. Voices, something beyond the shrill cries of fauna that managed to sound foreign and fearsome.

Speaking of fearsome, the voice in his head had remained silent, having expended itself in that one violent explosion of fury.

But he knew it was there. As surely as that wellspring of guilt remained for it to water itself. And this knowledge did nothing to assuage his loneliness.

Almost as if in response, there came sounds, voices far off in the distance. It was easy to believe they were figments of his imagination until he caught a lonely light, winking at him over that expanse of fallow earth. His keen eyes could pick up the flickering fire underneath that distant tree, and his sharp hearing heard the careless carousing of male voices.

Instantly he knew that this was no dream. He did not need to see their faces to know the nasal timbre of westerners, which spurred a response in his trained muscles. There was only one thing people like that would be doing out here this time of night.

"…And so then I tell 'im that the curry he's all fawnin over is made 'a dog!" Another round of laughter circled the campfire along with a half-empty bottle of rum which only added to the celebration. "Should'a seen tha way 'e turned green!"

"And 'e believed ya? What a moron!"

"Well, it didn't 'urt that I slipped the local bloke a few pence for him ta drag a stray behind the counter, right in front of 'is nose!"

The unfettered laughter rang out over the flat landscape, sound and light carrying for miles like a beacon to any paying the slightest bit of attention. Field mice, the only other listeners, turning their ears to the harsh noise.

This carelessness was offensive to the professional soldier in Naruto. One of the many voices returning to tell him how easy it would be to sneak up and kill all three of them without a sound.

But that wasn't what he was here for. He was merely a visitor in this strange land, passing on through.

"Still, 'ats a few pence you'll never see 'gain." Slurred another man morosely with a hand clutching the neck of the bottle containing amber-colored liquid. "Lord knows when we'll be getting another paycheck anytime soon…" The soldier looked sorrowfully into the bottom of the bottle which even in his drunken haze was getting closer and closer.

"Nah, 'is na problem." The storyteller asserted, leaning over the fire to snatch the bottle as it was hogged by his comrade who was too glum to take offence. "While the bloke was chasin' down the dog, I snagged 'is purse from behind the counter!"

"Aw, man, why'd ya have to go an' do that fer?" The man immediately to the right slapped his dirt-caked forehead, knocking his tin helmet to the ground where it rested along with all the others. "'Had a thing goin with the man's daughter…"

"Like 'ell! Wit' your flappin' mouth, you'd be lucky 'nuff ta catch a fly!" With the same hand he used to wipe the corner of his mouth, the man checked his comrade on the shoulder, nearly toppling the man over in their drunken disorientation. "'t's not like there's a shortage of 'em around- not fer much longer though. Last I 'ear, order's passed down just th'other day, we's shippin off to Europe!"

"Feck off!"

"Yeah, no one believes yer shite!"

"Yeah, 'sides, we just go from guarding a field ta…"

"Guarding another field?"

The damn broke at this latest suggestion, the issue in contentment forgotten as they drowned their bitterness and dissatisfaction in a precious moment of oblivion.

The more he listened from his fold in the earth behind the lonesome tree, the less disgust Naruto felt towards the three outsiders. They were like children. Their carelessness wasn't solely to blame on them, but the Allied command which deemed them fit for combat in the first place. Such as his own, who tossed out youths of eleven or less as soon as they could properly hold a knife. He knew that many of the voices inside would call him foolish for sympathizing with the enemy. But there was no one around any longer to tell him just who that was.

And then, his eavesdropping hadn't been fruitless. Even if what the soldier said was one-third truth and two-thirds drunken exaggeration, the sentiment that the British were ready to go home was a crucial knowledge. If his side knew how close their enemies were to capitulating, then they could end this war in one swift move.

It was impossible not to let that thought make him feel a little giddy, fantasize a bit about being hailed a hero and receive all sorts of commendations. Despite how unlikely and foolish he knew this was, there was the simple fact that a shorter battle was better than a longer one.

That was something he'd learned the hard way.

Continuing to linger just out of the firelight, he hoped to glean more inadvertent intel. Quite what he intended to do with this dangerous gossip, he wasn't sure. It might even become irrelevant by the time he made it back- if he went back at all. That was something else he was still deciding.

But the conversation devolved even further than it already had, moving on to more and more slurred agendas as the remaining fingers in the bottle were drained. In this time, Naruto noticed that while the firelight waned, it had not gotten any darker. Far off on that limitless horizon, the sun was starting to come up.

It was time to go. But just when he began to silently extract himself, a thought hit him as his eye caught their unguarded supplies. Food and water which he would need if he were to cross this dry plain, not to mention armaments and other necessities which he'd been unable to take with him during his initial flight. It would be ever so easy to just reach over and snatch one of their small-packs, the lolling heads none the wiser…

"Hey… wassa…?"

Freezing, his hand poised just above a revolver which lay in a pile with the webbing- a personal affect tucked away in a hand-tooled leather holster. Subtle ivory engravings on its handle just becoming visible in the growing dawn.

Gathering the other supplies had been easy, but prudence told him to grab a weapon. All the others were standard-issue: Enfield rifles which were almost as tall as himself. Totally impractical for going unnoticed.

Of course, if he hadn't spared the pistol a second thought, he never would have been noticed anyway.

Now he faced a choice. They had seen his face, but they were so far gone they probably wouldn't remember it, blaming their missing gear on locals.

But what if they saw his skin in the firelight? What if they were not as thoughtless as their drunken stupor suggested, and they realized he was one of those legendary boogiemen? A hunting party might be sent for him. Even if it didn't find him, it wasn't a smart idea for him to put the Allied forces on alert.

What if, what if, what if. There were always consequences for every action.

"What'cha think yer doin'…?"

A fat hand groped for his shoulder, and in an instant he had taken up the revolver and bashed the man's temple with the butt of the gun. Another lurching movement caused him to lash out with his bare foot, catching another man in the chin with his heel. He whipped around to level that snub barrel on the last soldier, but he was already passed out, feet propped up on a log and head resting on the ground as he loudly snored.

Naruto let out a breath as he tried to release the murderous tension which hadn't been sated. At least it would be easier to sort through their stuff.

Without further thinking he raided their supplies for the bare essentials. Casting off the underwear and socks that were too big, and the trinkets which held no meaning to him he scattered around the smoldering embers. He no longer cared if they noticed the evidence of his arrival.

He hefted the now overstuffed satchel over his back and cast a fleeting look backwards to the three inebriants laid out around the extinguished fire. Hands ghosted over the bulge where the revolver resided, hidden in his waist band.

Then he reached down to the empty bottle, casting it away as far as he could away from rising sun. Hopefully they would be sober enough to explain their missing gear by the time relief came. If not, oh well. It was no longer his problem.

What he had to do right now was find cover, and fast, before the sun lit everything on that barren plain. After running a goodly distance away from the remote outpost along the road, he took a sudden jog to the south and ran for an equal distance. Finally, he crouched down, and within moments he had whipped the hand-seals together and slipped invisibly into the ground.

Within his earthen womb he curled up, propping his head on the canvas ruck. The pistol's gnarled and stained grips rested comfortably in his small hands, and for the first time in a long while he slept peacefully. The only thoughts plaguing his mind revolved around why no one ever seemed to issue Ramen rations.

April 15th, 1943

Konohagakure no Sato, Imperial Outpost, 0900 Hours

Life was an uphill battle.

Everything one did was against forces in the universe trying to maintain a status quo. Just waking up in the morning, one fought against omnipresent gravity and the body's inclination for slumber. Cooking breakfast only added to the entropy of the universe, countless Btu's of heat being wasted to make the whites of eggs harder, the polished rice softer. Even eating was an effort first thing in the morning, intake of fuel for the sole purpose of using it up in the day ahead.

It was all so… troublesome.

Some things though, Shikamaru Nara noted, were more troublesome than others.

Like war.

Sure, peace was hardly a walk in the park, and to maintain a sense of ease required someone in the background to constantly be working 24/7 to prevent a relapse into that preordained chaos. It was work, to be certain. But like the choice to eat, or not to eat, the answer was simple.

Fighting was easy. Their culture had been bred for it throughout the centuries, and the latest addition of guns and airplanes hardly changed the strategies of warfare all that much. Nothing really differed from the rules of Go, and the Imperials were smart enough to realize this. Using simple aphorisms like 'divide and conquer', coupled with the initial shock of their weapons had won them the day. Despite being superior warriors, the shinobi had fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book.

No, nothing was ever really new. It all followed the same rules, just like any game. Every move had its tradeoff. Every strength, its weakness. For every piece gained, something had to be lost.

There would always be losers.

So far, Shikamaru hadn't lost. Even though his home country had come under the subjugation of a foreign entity, he had never stopped struggling against the imposed order. Anyone who knew him might find this behavior odd, but it, too, came with a very logical rational:

So far, he himself hadn't lost. And so, he would continue to play the game.

"Hey, Nara-san, another set of requisition orders that need approval." A stack of yellowed papers taller than the house of cards he was building dropped onto the desk in front of him, knocking down that same paper castle and causing him to groan in protest.

"Come on, can't you get one of the others to do it?" The teen gestured to the other uniformed bodies in the cramped office hunched over their workload and shooting him glares over their own stacks which were less than a quarter of his own. "Tch." He scoffed back in defiance of their looks, knowing that they were dragging their feet completing the assignments to prevent just such a fate. Freedom was another word for people finding out just how useless you were.

"Sorry, Shikamaru," Adjusting the round glasses on her face, Shiho gave her companion an apologetic smile. "But this isn't coming from me." The opaqueness of her lenses hid the glance backwards, but Shikamaru could still tell that the woman was gesturing towards the front of the room, where the Imperial Commandant Takahara was glaring daggers at him.

"Apparently Takahara-shōsa thinks you have extra time on your hands…" She stated sheepishly, looking at the flattened house of cards underneath the pile.

"I knew I should have gone outside to watch the clouds instead." The Nara teen sighed, running a hand through his pineapple- shaped hair and patting his breast pocket looking for a cigarette. "And you wonder why I took up smoking. It seems to be the only break I get. I swear, I'm gonna be nearsighted before the day is over…"

Blushing at her own myopic handicap, the woman glanced away from her not-so-secret crush and muttered, "Yeah, well, I don't think the boss will let you use that excuse again. These ones are supposed to be pretty urgent."

"Oh?" An uncharacteristic look of interest flashed through the boredom, and Shikamaru momentarily forgot the cancer-stick dangling from his lip. "Well, maybe I should get started on it right away, huh?"

Tossing the unlit cigarette into the ashtray, the dark-haired boy whipped the first sheet off the pile, scanning it with machine-like precision and focus. Ignoring even a loud cough from the front of the room which startled the female administrator, prodding her to return to her own work and leaving her friend alone.

Amidst the shuffling of papers and the occasional off-rhythm thump of rubber stamps, Shikamaru's mind chugged along like a combustion engine. Steadfast in his job to read thoroughly every paper that crossed his desk, looking for typos and balancing the budget allocated to their village's military forces.

Boring and monotonous to most, Shikamaru was smart enough to find something of interest behind every line. None of the supposed 'confidential' information was listed on these forms, such as the unit or their location. But pride could not prevent the requisitioning officer's name and personal seal from being affixed to each one, spelling out for those who were paying attention just what resources were going where.

And, according to Imperial doctrine, all soldiers, including shinobi were counted as resources.

Slapping his own stamp apathetically on the sheet, Shikamaru moved it wordlessly to the out-pile while his mind processed the information he had already memorized.

Tokubetsu-Gunsō Momochi, requesting replacements for two soldiers MIA in their last engagement, two months hence. Replacements approved, on the usual condition that they be picked from the disciplinary pool.

While his hands and eyes worked through the other supposedly 'urgent' requests, Shikamaru perused the list of personnel under his jurisdiction who had been slated for prison, wondering who he should send.

But also, wondering just whom he was replacing.

Not unusual for 'the Demon of the Mist' needing more fodder. Their group has by far the highest attrition rate amongst any unit, despite their 100% shinobi composition. Still, it's been a while, the last people I sent his way were Inuzuka Hana and Uzumaki Naruto…

In the midst of his work he had managed to light a cigarette. Taking a long drag, he jammed the half-finished stick into the clay ashtray, snuffing it out.

"Troublesome."

Being efficient at his job was troublesome, but not nearly so much as having these papers pass by some other bureaucrats' desk. These were people he'd gone to school with, shared a park bench and rubbed elbows with in the street. The others probably wouldn't care that there was a living being behind that impersonal name scrawled out on the requisite form. He didn't have a choice.

If they needed him to resign his pride as a shinobi, he'd take one for the team. If they needed him to stack the game board in their favor, he'd be the chess master behind the curtain. And if they needed him to push papers all day long, he'd be their damned paper god.

It was just easier than the alternative.

April 18th, 1943

Along the banks of the Kaljani River, South ofBuxa Forest, 0100 Hours

Only now did he realize how large the world truly was. Days he had traveled, and even though he could not travel as swiftly as he would have liked while keeping unseen, it was still an unfathomably vast distance.

It should have been expected, given the fact that his own people had stayed hidden in plain sight for so long. Yet it wasn't something you could comprehend just by looking at a map or putting a pin down on a globe. Like names on a page, the mountain ranges and river crisscrossing the great blue marble meant little until it was looming right in front of you, eclipsing the way forward.

The Brahmaputra was just such a geographical challenge, daunting in its immensity. It was proving just as much an adversity for Naruto as it was the Imperial army, who were stymied several kilometers back from its eastern banks while he was stuck on the west. The last vestiges of Allied resistance were fighting doggedly to keep them there, putting themselves unwittingly in between the boy and his goal.

All up and down the floodplains of the great river were men and machines deposited like sediments spilling from its banks. For miles and miles, not a patch of grass was left unoccupied by this tide of humanity who were slowly but surely being expelled from this part of the globe. Such a pitiful and moving sight had not been seen since the beginning of the war at Dunkirk. But there was little chance of a miracle saving the Allies today, and one could feel this knowledge spreading like a malaise throughout the camp.

Having never heard of Dunkirk, the chance of their deliverance never even entered Naruto's mind. Especially as he focused solely on how to get himself past this nigh-impenetrable barrier.

Where before he had confidence that he could sneak through undetected, now he harbored doubts. The British troops guarding the barracks had somehow sniffed them out of a whole crowd of people, and chances were likely that within this horde existed someone or something that could replicate this feat.

Which lead to the fact that he could always just make a break for it. He doubted there were any sharpshooters capable of drawing a bead on him in this darkness before he flitted past them like a bat out of hell. Yet, even though the massive guns were facing away from him now, the moment he got upon the water he would draw their fire and lead the veteran artillerymen right to his ally's encampment.

There was of course the option of simply standing still and waiting out this stalemate. The Imperial Japanese Army would not let themselves be halted for long, and would break through the lines sooner rather than later. Probably using shinobi forces at the forefront, if they weren't complete fools.

Something prevented him from lingering though, even though he knew salvation was within a stone's throw. Listlessness became like a sickness, and so he took off again, skirting along one of the tributary rivers towards parts unknown.

Driven only by gut and this newfound wanderlust, he headed north along the river fork and further into the impenetrable forest. The feeling which drew him changing direction, away from the soldiers whose only familiarity was that they spoke the same tongue. And towards…something, yet a mystery.

April 18th, 1943

Council Outpost 04, Grass Country, Elemental Nations, 0100 Hours

"The Axis will lose this war."

What was left after this declaration might have been called silence, but only in the manner of something so massive moving unobserved beneath the surface. Where tectonic shifts occurred right underneath one's nose, disregarded until something broke and a deluge of scorching hot magma erupted at the surface.

Everyone present could feel that orogenic churning, chaos barely contained beneath their feet which felt even closer to disaster being several hundred meters under the earth already. And no one wanted to be the first to unleash this potentially devastating conclusion unto the world.

"So, is this the roundabout way of telling us: 'Fuck you, party's over, it's everyone for themselves now'?"

Unsurprising as it was that the delegate from Iwagakure was the first to give into this outrage, the calmness in his voice was betrayed only by the bluntness which was his mannerism. It was also a testament to just how much the times had changed that he hadn't made an attempt on the speaker's life yet- let alone the fact that he could stand to be in the presence of Konohagakure's arguably most infamous shinobi.

"Somehow I doubt, Kitsuchi-dono, that Shimura-dono would have called us here merely to tell us this." Going almost unnoticed in the shaded corner, the dark-skinned woman from Kumo defended their host tentatively whilst also cautiously assessing her best chances for survival should the shit really hit the fan.

"Indeed, it would have been far wiser to off us individually." A humorous lilt accompanied this morbid observation, totally against the stale and oppressive air in the chamber, but perfectly fitting of the other woman who seemed to thrive in this sort of danger. "Unless of course he wanted to lure us into a trap, and simply means to gloat a bit before ending things. A last fling before the divorce hmm?"

Unable to totally banish the subtle smile these opinions instilled on him, Shimura Danzo waved off the concerns with his one unbandaged hand.

"As amusing as it would be to stretch these old bones one last time, surely you know that I would have chosen a situation more advantageous for myself if I were to attempt something like you are suggesting."

"Cutthroat as always, a true shinobi, eh, Shimura?" While smirking underneath his bushy beard, it was clear that this was not a compliment from the Stone-ninja.

Nevertheless, this time Danzo didn't even try to hide the devious smile forming on his face, owning up to all those less-flattering opinions of himself.

"Refreshing, one would hope, in these uncertain times."

"Perhaps," Admitted the Kumogarkure delegate, relaxing slightly in her seat yet not emerging any more from the shadows which offered her slight advantage. "Though it still tells of nothing of why you called this meeting. Previously we had allied because advantage favored this. While the alliance and the war have certainly been beneficial to our villages, it is no secret that some have benefitted more than others."

"-In short, you're the one who invited this mess, so why would we trust you to get us out of it?" A noticeable venom had tainted the redheaded woman's levity, sparing a drop of it for a quick glance at her counterpart from Kumo whose country had also not done poorly. "Furthermore, what evidence do you have to support this claim? It is a rather drastic change from your initial stance."

"Nothing has changed, Terumi-dono." Sparing the hotheaded woman one of his more respectful gestures, his lone eye meeting hers for the briefest of moments. "It is no secret that what I do, I do for the good of Konoha. Likewise, it is understood that everyone here is of that like mind." Perhaps one of the greater compliments from the man, whether those in attendance knew it or not. "The détente between our villages along with the alliance to the Nippon was always a temporary thing, to be taken as far as was beneficial for those involved."

Danzo paused for effect, surveying the mood of the room and debating the nature of the plea he was next to make.

"Naturally, we owe nothing to those invaders. I will not pretend that it is because of any sentimentality that the shinobi alliance will stand." Kitsuchi snorted in the background, the large man feeling comfortable enough to lean far back in his seat. "-Rather, it is still to our mutual advantage to do so. As you have observed, Kitsuchi-dono, I am a true shinobi, as is everyone at this table."

A challenge waiting for an objection, Danzo was using their pride and they all knew it. Perhaps it was a lie to say that these warriors held no sentiment between their villages. Hatred was far closer to admiration than people would like to admit, and a worthy adversary was a rare commodity to come by.

Raspy laughter diffused this mounting standoff, emanating from the last person at the table to speak.

"It's nice to know that some things never change, no?"

"Honored Sibling." Danzo acknowledged his contemporary's entrance into the discussion with a subtle nod.

"Still, it would be a shame to go through all this just to return to the way things were before." Musing to himself, the septuagenarian from Sunagakure twiddled his massive eyebrows as he let the others ponder on his words.

"With respect, I do not believe it would even be possible to return to the status quo." Offering her humble opinion from the corner, she spoke with deference to this elder shinobi. Kumo may not have been allies with Suna, but the man was a pinnacle of fairness in their otherwise cruel world. "With all the advances that have been introduced to our society, I feel that it would be impossible to make our people give up the luxuries they have been accustomed to."

"Too true, Mabui-dono, too true." Chuckling again, the elder nodded appreciatively to the young woman. "I myself would be hard pressed to give up my radio programs, and I know Nee-chan likes her chocolates!" This genial demeanor quickly darkened as if the lights dangling overhead themselves had dimmed. "Therefore, should it not be the younger generation who will decided what becomes of our societies? I feel us old fogies have muddled things up quite enough."

Unlike the challenge issued by Danzo, this one was undesiring of an answer. Whereas his sister respected the experience gained from battling adversaries, the only thing Ebizō learned from his many years was that it was never enough. Experience taught the same lessons over and over, never anything new. It took an outside force- something like this invasion, to move these immutable facts, and it would be a shame to waste it.

"…Old?"

Being closest to the mounting storm and having decades of experience with the female fury, Ebizō realized his mistake soonest, the color draining from his tanned face as he felt himself toe the grave. The others were not long behind, taking a page from Mabui's book and looking for the best possible escape routes to flee from the smoldering wrath of the temperamental redhead.

"-N-not that everyone here falls in that category!" The admitted 'old fogie' dissuaded, waving his hands frantically as if to physically clear the air of the literal and figurative steam rising from the woman adjacent to him. "No doubt Terumi-dono has many, many years left to go before she can claim this, ne?!"

While this placating remark only seemed to delay his inevitable demise, his wish granted sooner than he would have expected, the Suna elder was delivered from his fate from the last person he would have expected.

"As poignant a question as that may be," All eyes turned to Danzo at the undisputed head of the room as his cool voice palpably dropped the temperature of the room several degrees. "Perhaps it would be better left to after we have assured the next generation a place in this world." The ice in his tone smothered Terumi Mei's magmatic bloodline, allowing the woman to defuse with a huff, crossing her arms over her still very much desirable body.

"We must focus on rectifying the situation as it stands, fixing whatever mistakes may have been made on our parts." A slight reference, if not admission, to his contemporary's remark.

"You're one to talk about your mistakes." Kitsuchi scoffed, dusting off his scuffed pride and pretending he hadn't been about to soil himself. "What about your Uchiha? How do you plan on dealing with that?"

"They will be taken care of along with any of their Imperial allies that get in our way." A collective shiver swept around the room along with the War Hawk's hand, reminding them all of that previous assessment of the man. Was he even a man? Could someone like this be enough of a human to be considered shinobi?

"Now is not the time to assign blame for things in the past," He looked to Ebizō. "Nor is it the time to start daydreaming of a world after this war. Now is the time to lay the foundations of a plan that can react to whatever course this World War takes around us.

"This means confirming the loyalty of your supporters, making sure your subordinates can work together with those from other villages like we are now. No, I am not saying this is a permanent solution, merely that in order to survive we must still support one another in order not to become marginalized in this global theatre."

"Hmph, so this is what you meant by 'nothing has changed'." Quietly smoldering still, Mei observed as she folded one leg over the other.

"Yes. We may have supported the Nippon Empire at first for our own benefits, and now we must band together to make sure we survive its collapse.

"My agents were, for the most part, successful in staying outside Imperial notice." He remarked, noticing the dissatisfied looks from the other with mention of his ROOT agents. "It was much harder, however, for them to infiltrate foreign nations, as we have no prior reference to their cultures and procedures, and therefore had to compile a library of knowledge before the attempt. Hence why it has taken so long for a clear picture of the global situation to be developed. Now though, we have an understanding of just where our side sits in this power play."

"Go on." Of all people, it was Mabui who decided to humor him, impatience evident in her voice.

"Of course. The numbers are there, but they will not mean much to most of us considering the sheer scale of things- Terumi-dono will perhaps have a better picture considering the rebellion her faction waged for the years prior to this." The woman herself shrugged off the respectful nod in her direction. "What you need to know is that the Allies production capabilities- the United States in particular, totally outstrip any advantage the Axis brings to the table."

"Numbers don't always win wars." The Iwagakure shinobi pointed out with evident pride, hinting at his own nation's often underdog status.

"Perhaps, though my nephew might have argued differently." The mention of Sasori of the Red Sands elicited a flinch from the bullish man, as did the contradiction by one of the most venerated in the room.

"Indeed, quantity has a quality of its own." Agreed Danzo. "These very words were spoken by a man who solidified his power by sacrificing thousands of his own people. Currently, he throws away tens of thousands to keep the enemy at the gates to his nation."

The table balked at this thought, the idea of a man who would make the sly War Hawk at the head of the table look saintly was horrifying. The desire was to rebuke it as preposterous, yet they had little choice but to believe him. Not only because his were the only spies abroad, but because he himself seemed so disturbed.

Though in truth, Danzo's perturbance was the most disturbing thing of all.

"With countries that can afford to do that, there is very little chance of success if we do not consider all the allies we can get." He did not wish to inform him just how little of a chance they still had, their own numbers waning since the start of this war, and themselves slated to become an endangered species.

"Shame we cannot rely on our neighbors for this." Carefully composing herself, Mabui remarked. "The Chinese are just as fractioned as we were- perhaps even more so. And their animosity for the Nippon in many cases extends to us for our complicity."

"Maybe a few can be convinced, but I believe we have a better chance of persuading a free India." Kept in the know by one of her long-time contacts, Terumi Mei was aware that the liberation of India from Allied occupation was nigh. "Just remind them of who has been helping their independence movement. Friends like that could make a compelling argument for our non-compliance. Or, failing that, prove a good dissuasion for them to try anything."

"Do not so readily believe that they will be our friends." The War Hawk admonished with a smile that made the growing mold on the cavern walls wither. "A lot can, and has changed in a short amount of time. One never knows when arrangements made for convenience can fall apart."

"Such as our own?" Leaning over the table, Mei replied with a lust-filled grin that looked eager for a confirmation, an excuse to unleash that conflagration trapped underneath layers of civility.

"Exactly."

To himself witnessing this exchange, Ebizō sighed.

"Some things never change."

So to note, not a history lesson really so much as a culture lesson, Shikamaru here is kind of based on EX-PFC Wintergreen from Catch 22, and will be fulfilling a rather pivotal role in the coming chapters.