Hi everyone! I'm so excited to share this new story with you! This is just a pilot chapter and I'll continue or discontinue based on what you guys tell me. The real action will happen next chapter, so please stay tuned!

All rights to Naruto belong to Masashi Kishimoto.

Anyone who ever knew Haruno Sakura knew that she was a born fighter.

Even before she got mixed up in her current predicament, she was always the violent troublemaker, the forceful protector, and the fierce advocate. There was something within her that didn't allow anyone to get away with injustice without missing a tooth, and, being this way even in her childhood, it grew her into a strong speaker and a quick thinker.

This wasn't to say that she always used her strength for good. There were countless times that she picked a fight with one of the boys at school just because she could. She lusted after that thrill of the battle and loved the adrenaline that flowed through her veins as she took a swing at those who thought she wouldn't be able to touch them.

Fighting was all she knew how to do. She had been fighting her entire life to protect herself and those she held dear. There was no physical barrier that she couldn't somehow overcome through her grit and her resilience.

But when it came to the battle with her own emotions, the resilient tiger on the outside became a scared armadillo, curled into its tiny shell.

Cheers and amplified sounds filled the underground as two people stood in the center of a caged ring, their hands clenched at their sides by their torn protective gloves. Both of them panted hard as blood dripped from different parts of their body, but both of them were relentless and refused to give into the other.

One of them, the woman, cracked her knuckles within these gloves as she got ready for another round with the large man standing in front of her. She knew that he was not from around were she was. If he was, he wouldn't have said anything about her size and the fact that she was a girl. At this, she clicked her tongue, already making it her goal to break his ribs one by one.

She looked at him through the pink bangs that were stuck to her forehead from a mixture of blood and sweat. Her body shined in the blinding light of the ceiling from her perspiration, and the cold underground air that washed over made her shiver. She reassured herself that the fight would be over soon. She grew tired with her opponent's continual disbelief that she was facing him in a match.

A ring sounded throughout the room and the crowd became louder. The two opponents approached each other for their final round, facing each other at a close distance from the referee.

"Both opponents touch gloves." The referee said as he raised his arm to signal the start.

Both the man and the woman brought their gloved fists to each other and they made contact. Both of them then raised their gloves to shield their face in a defensive position.

The man, who seemed to be at least a half of a foot taller than her, "Just so you know Pinky, I was going easy on you earlier. You won't win this time around." He growled in her face.

The woman had to stop her face from grimacing from the foul smell his breath emitted. She then showed her disregard to his threat by rolling her eyes. "Then you should probably stop whining and start hitting like a real boxer." She replied, her viridian orbs glaring straight into his brown ones.

"Let the third round of this match," the referee started before he brought his raised hand down completely, "begin!"

The man immediately took the offensive in his agitation, taking impulsive, yet predictable swings to her sides and her face. Although she was able to dodge and block all of his attacks, it gave her almost no opportunity to hit him back, making her irritated to no end. If he was to continue his barrage of attacks, he would eventually tire out. He was sweating profusely already, waiting for her to let down her defense for just a moment so he could smash one of his bear-like hands into her face. However, she had taken many more hurtful beatings than that one, so she doubted that he would ever wear down her endurance.

Deeming the number of evasions enough, she ducked underneath his next swing and gave him a swift upper-cut to the jaw. The force was enough to lift the burly man a few inches off the ground and send him back towards the other side of the ring. He was down as he coughed up his bloody mouth guard. When the countdown reached 5, he was up again, although he was in a daze from the last blow.

Still in his frazzled state, the man ran forward with a battle cry and took another swing at her head, one that she was able to block easily. However, he seemed to have gotten used to her moves because he immediately took his other fist and rammed it into her stomach, pounding it over and over again until she had to stagger backwards onto the ground. She sat on the ground for a few seconds in order to catch her stolen breath. She felt the sides of her ribcage, right under her breasts, where she was sure there were multiple bruises. Despite her pain, she would not allow herself to take a beating for nothing, so before the ten seconds were up, she was on her feet again, the crowd screaming as she rose to fight again.

Her opponent's frustration was evident on his face. His breathing was heavily labored as he bucked his head and spit in order to rid himself of his nausea. She could see the internal bleeding that was starting to form in his cheek, and took pride in the discombobulated state she had put him in. She had won hundreds of fights in her lifetime, many of them where she was standing right then, but they all meant something to her.

She refused to lose after everything she had accomplished.

The heels of her feet rose and fell slowly before she picked up her momentum and she hopped tactfully in front of her opponent, anticipating every move that he could think of making. By just looking at his frazzled state, she knew that he would be down with one more blow.

The man charged at her once again, he fists raised to slam directly into her face. He reeled his hand back and thrusted it forward swiftly, almost so quick that she could not dodge. However, she was able to arch herself backwards underneath his arm and bring her knee up to meet his stomach. While the man was doubled over, she took the top of his head and smashed his jaw into her knee, letting the blood from his mouth cover her feet. Then, in one last move, she gave him a right jab straight to his nose, knocking him backwards until he hit to floor with a distinct thud.

The counter started as the man struggled to lift himself off the canvas ground.

One…Unmoving, barely breathing.

Two…His fingers twitched slightly.

Three…He gained movement in his entire hand as he tried to push himself up.

Four…His hand gave out under him as he grasped for breath and expelled the blood from his mouth.

Five…He once again attempted to bring himself to a standing position.

Six…He balanced himself on his crouched legs and one wobbly arm.

Seven…He felt a crack within his body and fell onto his side once more, his face contorted in pain.

Eight…His breathing started to slow.

Nine…He took one last look at the small girl in front of him; the one who had beaten him. She had a look of understanding on her face, and nodded to him to acknowledge their match.

Ten…His head fell to the floor and he laid there motionlessly.

"Hiromizawa Ren is unable to continue!" The referee yelled. He then walked up to the woman and held up her arm in victory. "The victory goes to the Tokyo Terror, Haruno Sakura!" His voice amplified throughout the large underground room.

The cheers that filled the room numbed Sakura's hearing as she struggled to stay conscious. The blinding light overhead made her feel nauseous and lethargic, but she savored the moment of her victory. There were both women and men that threw their money at her, congratulating her on yet another win on her account.

Sakura exited the ring with the poise, something that took all of her mental energy to do. She walked through a row an opening in a sea of people that was held back by the guards that were there. At the very end of the column were her kickboxing instructor and her manager, but she didn't have the mind to talk to them at the moment so she immediately went into the changing room at the very back of the room.

Sakura lifted her once-gray shirt that had been stained with blood. Blood leaked from an open wound in the side of her abdomen, but this sight did not discourage her in the least. No matter how many beatings she took, Sakura was somehow able to heal herself quickly and get back up to fight again. She did not even want to look at herself in the mirror, too tired to think about what she would have to clean up about herself when she got home.

She threw her black hoodie over her head, collected her bag, and exited the changing room. To her expectation, she was blocked by a flurry of rapacious reporters in front of her, making her headache worse with their incessant questions and the flashing lights of their cameras.

None of what they got would go into the newspapers of Upper Tokyo. These Underground reporters collected the intelligence for everything that happened there, whether it be a fight or a drug scandal. Many criminals resided in the Underground, away from the watchful eyes of the police force. Sakura had encountered these criminals multiple times, but couldn't do anything about it. To give away their location was to give away the entirety of the Underground, and to give away the Underground was to give away everything she had risked her life for.

Sakura pushed passed all of the interlopers in order to take the passageway out of the tunnels under the city. It was a long and labyrinthine passage, with the purpose to confuse anyone who was not welcome. However, Sakura had traveled the path so many times that she knew it even with her eyes closed. Thousands of people walked to and fro in the dimly-lit tunnel, most of them holding cigarettes or some other kind of smoking substance and polluting the air inside. Sakura discretely covered her nose with her hand, not wanting to breathe in any of the harmful substance.

When Sakura had finally reached the ladder that led to exit, she pushed the metal grate in order to move the barrier between her and the fresh air. When she finally was able to get out of the hole, she took a gulp of fresh air and let her body relax. She then quickly moved the grate back into its position on the ground and brought her hood over her head to hide her injured face. After all, it was not every day that one saw a pink-haired girl with blood dripping from her forehead walking down the street.

Unlike most people that were in the Underground, she did not live down there. Her small apartment was about a five minutes' walk from the underground arena, and she could not have chosen a more convenient place to live. It made the painful walk back a lot less agonizing.

It took everything within Sakura not to visibly limp up the cobblestone steps to her apartment complex, but the darkness that surrounded her already took care of that for her. She took the elevator up to the tenth floor and slowly made her way out. She kept her feet steady as she walked down the long hallway, careful not to make any loud noises that may rose the people in the other rooms.

When Sakura got to her door and opened it, she immediately saw that the lights were off. Sakura cringed at this fact, because that meant that she was a lot later than she intended to be if her cousin was already asleep. She tip-toed through the kitchen until she got to the living room, where a redhead laid on his back with one arm off the couch and the other covering his eyes.

She looked over at the coffee table in front of her to see piles of bills construed across the surface and breathed a heavy sigh. Of course, her cousin had taken on the responsibility to pay all of the bills since her father died, leaving them with all of his gambling debt. She bent down and brushed a red strand of hair away from his face, taking note of the stress lines that marred his youthful appearance.

Don't worry, Sasori-nii-chan. I'm going to help you any way I can. Sakura thought.

"You're late." A tired voice said from behind her. Sakura was startled, but she refused to let it show on her face. She did not turn around to look at the other person in the room. She knew how upset he got when she came home with a bloody face.

"Sorry Gaara, my match ran a bit late." Sakura apologized. She heard Gaara sigh from behind her and move towards her, so she quickly buried her face into her knees. "I won, though." She said evasively.

"I don't care." Gaara bit out, much more harshly than he intended. Gaara sat down next to her and tried to pry her arms away from her face. "Sakura-nee, please." He whispered, conscious of his exhausted cousin that was sleeping literally a foot away.

"Gaara, no. I'm fine. I'll clean myself up, okay?" Sakura said as she rose with her head still down. She was stopped when Gaara grabbed her arm and pulled her back down, ripping off her hood in the process.

It was not uncommon for Gaara to see his older sister this way. Her left eye was quickly turning a shade of dark blue and the area below her right eye was following suit. Her bottom lip was cut and bleeding in more ways than one, yet she still found the strength within herself to smile through all of her pain.

"Sakura-nee…" Gaara breathed out as he looked at her, "why do you do this to yourself?" He asked her sorrowfully.

Sakura removed his hands from her face. "I can't leave it to Sasori to do everything around here; he's done enough for us." Sakura whispered in a calmer manner than she usually would have. She was tired. She wanted to sleep.

"What about me? I can work too." Gaara pleaded.

Sakura stood up and brought her hand down on his head forcefully, ruffling his hair in the process. "Otouto", she said sternly, "you're only seventeen and you have to be focusing on school." She bent down to look into his black-ringed eyes, a sign of all of the sleep he had lost because of his study schedule. "You have a chance to go to college, unlike I did. With your grades, you could get in with a scholarship and you wouldn't have to worry about money at all. You want to become a successful lawyer, don't you?" Gaara nodded slowly, her hand still on his head. "Then you know what you have to do. Let Sasori and I handle everything."

"But what makes you think that I'll even get a scholarship? If you didn't, how could I?" Gaara asked her, trying to get her to see the flaw in her logic.

Sakura clicked her tongue. "I had good grades, but you're a prodigy. No stress or anything, but you have more potential than me to be what you want to. If you work hard, you'll get there."

"But I don't want to get there if you get hurt in the process." He retorted defiantly. Sakura breathed a sign of agitation. There was no way that her little brother would relent. In that respect, he was much like her. "This wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for Otou-san." Gaara said quietly, his hands balling into fists.

Sakura could not agree more. It was because of him that she had to go into fighting in the first place. Six years ago, when she was only sixteen and Sasori was in art school, her father's drinking and gambling bills had piled on top of each other. He reassured them that he would take care of it, but both Sakura and Gaara could see that there was nothing he could do.

He always told them that he did not mean to exploit Sakura's fighting in order to get money, and that they had no choice but to do so. He knew the Underground from the gambling that he had done, and immediately sent Sakura into fights where ruthless people pitted two teens against each other to fight. It was because of this that Sakura came home beaten and broken at least one night every week.

Sakura did not care that this happened to her. In her opinion, she quite enjoyed the fights that she faced. It was not because of this that she disliked her father. It was because of what her state did to her little brother. Gaara, five years her junior, had to see her stumble into the house with a bloody face and bruised ribs. Because of their lack of money, they couldn't even take her to the hospital unless it was truly serious.

Gaara was scarred because of that, and that was why she could never forgive the decisions her father had made. Even in death.

"Yeah, well, he's gone and there's nothing any of us can do." Sakura said as she released his head and dusted off her hands. Picking up her black duffle bag, she took one last look at her cousin before retreating to her room. "Go to sleep, Gaara. It's Monday tomorrow, remember?"

"Sakura-nee?" Gaara called out before she could close the door. She peered out the door and raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you beat him up good?" Gaara asked, a small smile lingering on his face.

Even through the bruises that littered her face, Sakura managed to smirk triumphantly at her younger brother. "Of course I did. Got 'im right in the nose."

Anyone who ever knew Uchiha Itachi knew that he was a born leader.

Being idolized as a child prodigy, Itachi was deemed more capable than most people to both communicate to and lead a team. Everyone knew him as the relentless debate captain, the responsive student council president (two years in a row), and the talented principle cellist of the orchestra. Of course, life had to be perfect for the Uchiha, a prestigious family name alone. Itachi's added adeptness just made him all the more valuable.

Everyone seemed to expect what was on his outside, and disregarded everything on the inside. This was also seen through how many girls would flock to him whenever he was around, like vultures to a dead carcass. In their eyes, there was nothing that could mar their impeccable picture of the genteel Uchiha Itachi, who could get any girl he wanted with just a smile. No one realized how much he wanted someone to care about him for who he was, not for who they expected him to be.

He wanted someone to challenge his ideas, because everyone seemed to think that he knew best, when he didn't. He wanted someone to tell him that he was wrong, because everyone else seemed to think otherwise.

Most importantly, he wanted someone who did not care about his name and his status, because that was a burden he had to bear his whole life.

The busting police station was louder than ever as dozens of calls came in by the minute – some reporting fruitless incidents and some bringing terrible news of a new crime. There were no breaks in this police station, especially when the public safety could be threatened.

A man sat at a desk at the very back of the police station, his face stoic and pensive. Strands of his long black hair covered his eyes as he sat stiffly with his chin on his hands. As the commotion carried on around him, he was able to seclude himself into an isolated shell where no one could bother him while he thought.

The crime rate in Tokyo had always been very low, but somehow that had taken a drastic turn. There was an increase in the number reported cases of drug trafficking with there being almost no evidence left of the perpetrator. It did not seem as though they left the city, because the police would know if they did. But if they were in the city, then where are they? Where could they possibly be hiding?

"Uchiha-san." He heard a voice call for him. Uchiha opened his eyes slowly to see his unexpected guest. His best friend and cousin, Uchiha Shisui, stood in front of Itachi with the iconic Uchiha stoicism. The Shisui on the field and the one off the field were two different people, and that was Itachi's own doing. He told him that he would have to give up his jovial nature in the work place in order to keep people safe, and that effectively stole away any jest that Shisui had left when he was working.

"What is it, Shisui?" Itachi asked, raising his head.

"We've gotten multiple reports of bank theft in downtown Tokyo. The police chased the culprits for approximately five minutes before they vanished. There was one casualty, a woman in her early twenties. She was stabbed in the neck by one of the thieves in order to make their escape." Shisui laid a file in front of Itachi. Inside were photos of footprints, DNA samples, and the autopsy results for the stabbed woman.

Itachi nodded curtly, yet didn't take his eyes off of the file. "Thank you, Shisui." Itachi dismissed. Shisui was about to walk away before Itachi silently motioned Shisui back to his desk again. "If you could, tell Sasuke to get on the scene and then report back to me immediately." The police chief ordered.

"Yes, sir." Shisui said as he saluted to his superior.

Itachi sighed as he took off his glasses and rubbed them with his black cleaning cloth. His eyebrows were furrowed as he looked out of his blurred vision to the swirl of colors and distorted figures around him. He couldn't believe that so much crime has been occurring and no one ever seems to be caught. Itachi was sure that they all had a hideout somewhere in the city. He just needed to find out where.

The police chief stood up from his chair so he could take a vigil scope of his entire desk. Papers and photographs were spread neatly across in Itachi's own organized manner, never letting a single document become misplaced. He made it a point when he started working for law enforcement that he would keep the amount of papers on his desk to a minimum; that he would never allow himself to become overwhelmed with the amount of cases that happened. Until a few months ago, this had been the case.

Itachi knew there was a trend, though. Those that were committing the crimes were cautious at first; they made no move to do anything drastic that would blow their cover. However, recently they had been more brazen with their wrongdoings, which escalated from petty theft to homicide and kidnapping. To rob one of the largest banks in Tokyo in broad daylight was a bold move in itself.

That had to mean that the criminals were becoming comfortable with their routine, and that they had confidence that the police would never find them. Itachi deduced that because of that, they would not think about leaving the city when they had a reinforced "fool-proof" system of evading enforcement.

Their crimes were disorganized and sporadic, possibly hinting that the perpetrator was not just one person or a small group of people. The lack of pattern in their work made it hard to predict their next move, but as they became more daring with their attempts, Itachi was sure that one of them would give him the opportunity he needed to bring them down.

But going on a city-wide search would be questioned by the public. What he really needed was someone on the inside – someone who knew the ins and outs of the criminal world. Although an Uchiha would never admit needing another's help, Itachi was different. He put the public safety above his own pride.

Itachi sat back in his chair and laid his chin on his hands once more. No matter where this hideout was, he swore on his job that he would find it, no matter what the cost.

Thank you all for reading this pilot chapter, because it really means a lot to me.

Please review down below with your thoughts because they would be highly appreciated. I probably won't continue if I don't get too much positive feedback because I have a tight schedule and I don't want to spend time on something nobody wants to read.

The story will pick up next chapter, when the two meet for the first time. I won't reveal too much, but I will say...it's not going to be with a few bumps here and there.

Just to clarify some stuff, I'll list out the ages here:

Sakura: 22

Itachi: 27

Sasori: 24

Gaara: 17

Sasuke (who will come in later): 24

And, as always, I hope that all of you are having a fantastic day wherever you are! See you guys next time!