Note: Every time I try to write light-hearted things, they turn out dystopic. Also, none of the usual alliances line up with the manga. D: Sorry. This is probably the most random alternate universe I ever came up with. I think we've already established that I'm a horrible person for starting so many projects. I don't like that about my writing myself, but THE MUSE GOES ON dragging me kicking and screaming. Writing my final paper for the semester was hell because plot bunnies.

Disclaimer: Naruto's not mine. Part One's title and lyrics belong to Autamata. Your mileage may vary (YMMV). Greatly.

Warning: Some character deaths. It's necessary, sorry.

*This three-shot has been completed, although sequels are very, very possible (you may hate me for it). The subsequent parts will be uploaded on Tuesdays.

And now this day

The things I've seen in this age

My skies have changed

At the end of a long workday, sometimes all you wanted to do was sit down and stare into space, thinking about nothing. There was a nice patch of blank space on the east-facing wall of Gekkou Hayate's apartment for that. He had just put down his briefcase at the table – those briefs could and would wait; that was the point of having a private practice (would be what his partner, Genma, often remarked) – and collapsed onto the couch when there was a knock on the door.

Usually, Yuugao rang the doorbell. He remembered, though, that it had broken the other day when the takeout delivery person tried it.

Hayate ran a hand through his disheveled brown hair and crossed the apartment at his leisure. Yuugao was the one who had told him to take it easy, anyway. Lung surgery patients weren't supposed to move fast (according to her). For goodness's sake, you look like you're dying (also according to her). You sound like you're dying.

I'm on medication, he had responded, not admitting that they were just cough drops. Yuugao worried a bit too much about him, and her job was stressful enough to start with. She and Genma had cooperated to force him to take on less work for the past month; he barely knew the new client who had approached Gekko and Shiranui, Attorneys at Law, LLC, for representation. What had happened to the days when he could have been a one-man team and they'd set a record for themselves by handling five cases at the same time? (Still had that plaque of thanks from Tazuna – and the guarantee that they'd never need to pay tolls on the new bridge). They took on more cases for free, back then, one to every four for-profit ones. What had happened… he wasn't even that old.

The knock came again, this time more like a fist hammering impatiently on the wood.

With a sinking resignation, Hayate concluded that Yuugao was not on the other side. Nevertheless, it sounded urgent. "Just a second," he called, fighting the itch in his throat that would set off another round of coughs.

He checked the peephole and saw a pale-looking man with slicked-back hair and a leather duster standing on the welcome mat. There was a long, wrapped package strapped to his back.

"Evening," Hayate answered the door calmly. The man was only slightly taller than him, but he was giving off a weird vibe. His stare had a curious intensity, comparable to the look Hayate had once gotten from a hyena at a zoo on a daytrip with Yuugao. But Hayate had met fairly bizarre characters over the course of his career, so he didn't even blink. If he sounded brusque, that was because it had been a long day. "What's your business here?"

The man smiled. "Judgment day."

"Go on. Confession's good for the soul."

Her friend snorted, slurping up the tapioca pearls in her tea through a fat purple straw. The ambient noise of the other people in the café drowned out the sound. "You would say that. You're an investigative journalist."

Hana shrugged. That was a kind way to put it. She wasn't one of those serious journalists who published bestsellers about the stint they had spent with the Head of State or on the warfront in Kiri or half as revolutionary as that shadowy international hacking organization who had made a giant splash the other month, when "Bingo Book," an extensive international directory of mob networks, corrupt public officials, and regularly updated information on individual whereabouts, had gone public on the nets.

Hana's greatest achievements, in contrast, took up full-page spreads in the Konoha Exclusive. Anko still tormented her about getting name-dropped in the cult hit adult fiction series called Icha Icha;Hana had never been more grateful that she had decided to write under a pseudonym.

"It's nowhere near as interesting as your stories … I might, er, run into him again next Monday, that's all."

"See if you can actually find out his name," suggested Hana, earning her an exasperated sigh tempered with a grin.

"And report back to you? Sadly enough, I think I might. So you can give me the dirt on him then…I really hope there's nothing to find."

Hana raised her eyebrows. Her friend chewed on the end of her straw, trying and failing to look sincere.

Ayame caved. "All right, I guess I wouldn't mind if there did happen to be a good story. Is that how you figure out whom to write about, actually – someone comes to you with a name? How did you find out about Utatane's fling?"

The article, signed "Haimaru," as always, had begun: Let's not give old men such a hard time… old women have itches, too. If Utatane Koharu's itch can only be satisfied by a man forty years her junior, well, who are we to judge anyone else? The rest had been written like a mock-journalistic piece on the councilwoman standing on trial for the fictitious case against her.

All of Konoha would be her judge and jury.

"If I told you," Hana said seriously, "I'd have to kill you, or worse..." She waited until Ayame's dark eyes widened. "…Write about you."

Ayame smirked. "I'd have at least two months to put my affairs in order, then. You'd give me that, wouldn't you? For a friend?"

"For the sake of fairness," agreed Hana, playing with the straw in her half-finished drink. She tried to keep her reporting balanced so that no gender was consistently singled out. Last month, it had been about favored mayoral candidate Shimura Danzou's addiction to BDSM. Once a week, he used to visit his favorite club downtown… Now, he probably no longer got to, because the article had generated so much business for the club that he'd be lucky to sneak in through the back. Apparently, Danzou's recommendation went a long way…

"Who's next in the lineup?"

"Hm. Well." Hana tapped her fingers on the edge of the table, her eyes running over the figures hurrying across the street through the unexpected light rain. Some of them had pulled their jackets over their heads; others just hunched their shoulders and sped up to cross before the light changed. Spring had arrived, and it was going to shit on everyone's day until at least mid-May. That was how it went in Konoha. Pleasant, bright skies… and then, out of the blue, a deluge. But nothing was unexpected if you learned to read the signs or check the forecast.

Most high-profile people in Konoha had skeletons in their closets and, in general, many of them knew that Hana would get the scoop on them sooner or later.

She hadn't been notorious until the Orochimaru article. Hana's big break had cost the former Professor of Molecular Biology his tenure at Konoha University when her article revealed that, at one time, no less than ten couples had tried to bring Orochimaru to court on counts of kidnapping and illegal experimentation on their children, as well as luring them with false advertising for "innovative" daycare practices. The out-of-court settlement had involved astronomical sums of money… money that Orochimaru had, in all likelihood, embezzled from his research funding. He'd pretty much skipped town after the story went public. Ironically, Hana's best-known work, the closest she'd come to serious muckraking, also bothered her the most, because of that loose end. She had started the private investigation for a friend who had once been a brilliant grad student and currently struggled to make ends meet. Anko had applied to different programs after breaking with Orochimaru, but without success; the taint of her former mentor trailed her everywhere. It was as if Konoha was punishing her for doing the good deed of protesting her research advisor's methods.

Konoha liked scapegoats, targets for their concentrated viciousness – apart from which they could go back to acting like nice, ordinary people. Hana had decided from then on to give Konoha what it wanted and deserved.

"You can't even give me a hint?" Her friend wheedled, pushing her brown bangs behind her ear.

"A hint? Okay…but don't overreact." Hana glanced back at Ayame, tearing her gaze from the window. The rain streaking down the glass was distorting the view, anyway. "He's in this café."

Ayame stiffened in her seat in the booth across from Hana, visibly restraining herself from pivoting around. Hana could practically hear her count the number of times that the door chime had rung since the start of their conversation. The weather outside, though, had brought in a larger-than-normal group of patrons.

"Aw… give me another clue?"

Hana laughed and finished her tea. "I need to go back and start writing. My dogs will be expecting me, and I need to get something in before my mother calls." She had three enormous grey-backed dogs, the canine triplets who were the original Haimaru. Ever since she had moved out of the house where her mother and younger brother lived, the Haimaru brothers had served as a source of comfort and protection.

Some of Hana's articles had earned her dangerous enemies.

Ayame's brow wrinkled, and she looked a bit put out. "You aren't going to go over and say hi to your next victim?"

"What would be the point of that?" Hana shrugged on her light jacket. As she bent down to retrieve her umbrella, she stole a glance at the counter.

She had to admit, she was going miss this place. But it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Who knew what additional ingredients would go into her drink if she turned up after the next issue came out…

"Wait for me," Ayame called, straightening her mini-skirt. "I want to say bye to the hot barista boy before we leave."

"Cradle-robber," teased Hana.

"Shut up!"

Uchiha Sasuke: nineteen-year-old high school dropout.

Heir to one of Konoha's darkest secrets.

Are you ready to hear it?

He scanned through the article without any change in expression, then folded back the magazine pages to study the photos.

"I thought you'd be interested," said his partner.

He put the magazine back down on the table and stood; the chair he had been occupying wobbled on its uneven legs. The chairs in the office were all broken in some way or bent out of shape from enduring ages of abuse long before they had been deeded over to Itachi as part of his new workspace. He had put in an order for a swivel chair and a couple new pieces of furniture, and the additional cabinets were supposed to arrive in the afternoon. What with the urgency of their current case, refurnishing the office kept slipping down his list of priorities.

He'd transferred over from Otafuku directly after solving the grand theft auto case,and he still hadn't met everyone in the department, given the ongoing investigation, even if he had reviewed all their dossiers… obsessively, as Kisame declared. It was his first day off since starting – crime, after all, did not wait – and it'd been practically forced upon him. Apparently realizing that Itachi would just show up as usual, it seemed that Commissioner Pein had decided to relocate everyone else for the day. Had Itachi wanted to, he could have figured out where they had all gone, but he had been planning to do some work by himself. Kisame had stayed behind – solely to keep him company, it seemed.

Or to keep him unproductive, as most people erroneously equated that to relaxing or having fun. Yet even before Kisame had slid the magazine across the table, Itachi had already felt like he was being unproductive, with the unfamiliar scent of his new office leading his thoughts astray when he needed to focus.

Give it time, Mother would have chided – and in any case, everything smelled a little different in the spring, what with all the rain.

Impending failure also smelled different. He sensed it looming on the horizon, and though he didn't fear it, he resisted its approach with every fibre of his being. Here, failure didn't mean No gold star for you – yes, the academy gave out stars (and Kisame had guffawed when he heard) – nor one less pat on the back. It meant another gruesome body arranged for calculated effect on a blood-soaked surface.

What else had they learned over the course of three months' investigation?

The murders had a ritualistic aesthetic to them. The trunk of the body was always enclosed by a triangular shape formed from the dismembered limbs (an elbow crook for one of the vertices) that was itself circumscribed by a circle of blood. The head was the centerpiece, propped up at the vertex directly opposite the line of vision of the first person entering the room. Different victims, same every time.

Anyone even loosely connected to the investigation knew that, just like how everyone who had lived in Konoha for the last decade knew a couple facts about the Uchiha scandal. But this article had gone a step further, unearthing details that most family members wouldn't have known.

"This," he said, his fingertip resting lightly on the glossy page. "This is what we need."

Kisame blinked. "Reports on your family history and brother in questionable magazines?"

Itachi knew he was being deliberately obtuse. "If you're staying in the office today, could you please buzz in the cabinets when they arrive?"

The other man pulled the magazine back to him, pale eyes narrowing as he studied the photos that Itachi had been perusing. "You could just shoot the guy an email. Haimaru," Kisame clarified, in case Itachi thought he was referring to his estranged younger brother.

"Haimaru's female."

"Male. I ran his work through gender analysis before."

At least he wasn't making an asinine comment about the masculine pseudonym. "Female," Itachi stated again, flipping the collar of his trench coat and simply draping on the dark blue scarf before heading out.

"Want an umbrella?" offered his partner. "I'm surprised you forgot yours today."

"I didn't forget." Itachi had left it at a food stand the other night as a signal. "Thank you, but it should be a short walk." The closest subway station was a block away, and if he recalled correctly, his intended destination was just seven minutes from the stop; four, if he picked up the pace.

"Tell him-her-it 'hello' for me," Kisame said cheerfully.

Itachi pulled out his phone and dialed as he walked. He'd never added this number to his list of contacts, but he would turn in his badge before he ever forgot it.

Likewise, she'd promised that it would never change.

The apartment felt stuffy.

Hana went to the windows and winched one of them open while holding the phone to her ear with the other. The scent and sounds of rain, traffic, and the food truck across the street glided into the apartment. Chusa, one of the three enormous dogs lounged in front of the TV, swiveled an ear. His tail thumped in his sleep.

"They'll get over it soon, Mom, they always do… people can get used to anything."

"People won't stand for these state-ordered home inspections! That's an invasion of privacy – as if we don't know anything about hygiene… it'd be one thing if they were enforcing stricter regulations on construction companies, checking for structural soundness and proper use of materials… everyone knows the companies take the money and use it to buy the cheapest thing that looks right…"

By nature, Tsume was a contradictory combination of optimism and paranoia, especially concerning human nature. This kept Hana's mother in a consistent state of indignation; most phone calls opened with the latest troubling policies that the mayor had signed into effect. How could anyone trust his judgment when Danzou remained on the municipal council?

"I'm not sure about that. That new invasive species of fungus has got everyone terrified. But it'll die down and the law will get repealed… so don't worry."

"I don't like it. I'm sure I won't be the only one lodging a complaint. See if Sarutobi Hiruzen gets my vote again next election."

Hana was fairly sure her mother would be one of a measly handful. She stood by her first statement: Konoha's people could tolerate anything; every month she could shock them less and less. One of these days, they wouldn't bat an eye at the stories she told, and that would be her signal to move elsewhere, perhaps even out of the country. At least Suna didn't have a deadly fungal problem that she knew of…

Her phone vibrated. The number on the screen didn't exactly make her jump, but her heart skipped a beat. What, after all this time?

"Hey, Mom, I've got another incoming call… can we continue this later?"

"Just remember that when they come for you, it's your right to shut the door in their face."

"Right…"

She hesitated just a second longer before switching to the other line, holding the phone to her ear without speaking.

"Hana," the person on the other end said.

A beat passed.

"Hello," she said. I was wondering when you'd ring me up.

"Are you free right now?"

"I can talk for a couple minutes."

"Would you happen to be home?"

Business. That had to be why he was calling. Otherwise, irritation. She didn't think he was the type to read Konoha Exclusive, but maybe someone had brought it to his attention at some point. "Maybe… What can I do for you?"

"Can you please buzz me up?"

Damn, he knew where she lived? Keeping tabs on me now, are you. Or he might have looked her up with his law enforcement officer powers.

Well, he had said 'please.' Most cops these days didn't bother.

Not that Hana had needed to chat with the police recently. She thought she'd done a pretty good job staying on the right side of the law. Especially ever since Itachi had started working as a detective for the Konoha Police Department.

"Why not…" She let her reply trail off, letting him hear how unenthused she felt. But her finger hit the buzzer to unlock the front door, which she heard moments later through the phone.

"Thank you."

"Sure." She hung up.

What did he want?

A shadow passed over his face, along with a fetid, musty odor. Heathen. His associate had arrived, shattering the quiet with his grumbling.

Lord Jashin, forgive me.

"How much longer are you going to take? Time is money, you brainless fool."

He drank in the copper tang in the air and lay still until his heartbeat, which had sped up in irritation at the new presence, slowed to its previous rhythm.

"Do you waste less time on kids? Next one isn't even out of high school… g – damn it, Hidan, get the f – up."

The hard toe of a boot rammed into his ribs. He reared up, snarling. "I'll send you to hell, you f – ing shit! You don't interrupt me. Seriously." The other man looked unimpressed. In the dimly lit warehouse, he was but a vaguely humanoid silhouette. Hidan glared at the blob of shadow where his face was approximately located. "If you f – ing do that again, Kakuzu, I'll have to start over from the beginning."

"Get on with it," snapped Kakuzu. "We don't have all f – ing night." His shadow passed over Hidan as he strode off a short distance away, leaving bloody footprints on the ground. Moments later, the sound of piss hitting the base of a metal door could be heard.

That disrespectful f – …

Hidan lay back down and felt the blood saturate his skin, rejuvenating him with the vitality of an immortal. Beneath his shoulder blades, the crook of an arm pointing the way to eternity. Above his head, the head of the sacrifice. On either side of his feet, the feet of the one he had just consecrated.

He completed the last rites, and then pushed himself into a sitting position. Kakuzu was reading something on his phone – probably a message from their leader.

"So," said Hidan, "where the f – to next?"