An Imperial Influence

[Kakashi Hatake]

Kakashi chewed his lip thoughtfully beneath his mask as he eyed the open crate, pondering the motivations of the Miu clan. It seemed Tsunade was indeed correct in assuming the family was worthy of some degree of suspicion. While he could not rightfully assert that they had malicious intent just yet—at least based solely on the box of receivers—the devices would certainly be of interest to the village leadership. The masked shinobi slipped the unit he had been holding into his trouser pocket and reached for a scroll from his belt with his free hand. He unbound the roll as he had done so often before, letting it unravel freely with a flick of his wrist before laying out the blank white surface on the ground of the vacant alleyway. Taking a knee, he performed a quick series of hand seals before bringing his gloved palm down forcefully upon the scroll, causing the crate to vanish in a puff of smoke as intricate scrawls of black ink sprang from the point of contact and wove strange patterns upon its face. Kakashi sighed as he began to roll the parchment back up, happy to find that his storage scrolls still did their job.

Bwooooooow.

Kakashi became aware of the chakra signature on the very edge of his periphery just seconds too late. He felt an alien sensation contact the back of his head before his vision began to blur. Though he made to turn and face the source of the sensation, he felt himself unable to rotate his neck more than a few degrees. Strength rapidly drained from his body like bath water from an uncorked drain, his legs crumpling uselessly beneath him as his lungs began to seize. His eyelids drooped as he slumped forward, vision going dark before his face could reach the gravel.

Moments ticked by in silence as the mid morning lull crept through the village. The silver-haired shinobi lay prone in the side street for a few moments, limp frame flopped over the newly anointed document. A sight like this may perhaps have aroused concern or suspicion among a crowd of passersby, though there was but a single person present to take notice of the man’s dilemma. With his target showing no signs of stirring, said watchful assailant descended quickly from his perch atop the second story balcony of the noodle shop opposite the alley.

“Kakashi Hatake.” The man spoke more to himself than the prostrate prey at his feet, his voice even and quiet. He gave the downed shinobi an experimental tap with the toe of his geta before nodding satisfactorily and stowing his weapon. Though he hadn’t the faintest idea how the device managed to incapacitate his quarry, in the end he was just thankful that his contact had supplied him with such measures. Nagai Miu bent at the waist and tugged the loaded scroll from beneath the fallen man, wrapping it up and tucking it neatly into his kimono. “I do apologise,” he muttered, raising his left arm high above his head. Seconds later, a trio of hooded men seemed to appear from thin air a few yards behind him, hastening forward to grasp and lift Kakashi’s dead weight from the ground. Without a word, the men fled the scene.

---

“We can’t afford to rouse suspicion with such tactics.”

“Tying up these loose ends would be much more beneficial to the plan, don't you think?”

“Our directions are clear. Any unnecessary attention drawn to our operation is strictly forbidden. We’ll wait until after the move is made before we get rid of these two.”

Kakashi fought against overpowering nausea as consciousness trickled back. His enfeebled mind struggled to provide him with any useful information, failing to even parse the positioning of his disabled body as he drew dangerously slow and short breaths. He felt as if he were awash in a sea of white noise, bobbing along erratically within the nonsensical static. After several moments of tumultuous tumbling in the distorted current, his hearing slowly began to return, outpacing the ability to so much as flex any voluntary muscle. This was perhaps for the best, as it allowed him to take in the conversation across the room while remaining stone-still.

“So, we kill them after we get the order...” The speaker paused, weighing the idea for a few seconds before replying. “I really just think it would be easier to do it now. They won’t even be awake to struggle.”

“The answer is no,” a much more stern voice returned. “We’re taking no chances here. We’ve already had to doctor the plan once thanks to them.”

Unable to wait for his body to get a grip on its faculties, Kakashi wrestled control of his breathing and began channeling chakra into his left eye. Though his strength continued to return as he listened to the bickering of his captors, he was not content to place the odds of his survival on whichever of the two grunts was the better debater. If he couldn’t rely on his own senses, he’d trust in Obito’s. Supplied with the necessary chakra, the Uchiha birthright drew back the veil on his surroundings.

“And you trust this plan?” Kakashi watched with perfect clarity as the nearest captor glared at his comrade, turning his back on their prisoner to lock eyes with his partner. “Why should we trust them?” He stood not an inch over five feet, though his thick and stocky stature made him more than a little intimidating. His black hair, matching the shade of his long tunic, was tied in a tight bun upon the top of his head.

“That’s not for you to inquire.” The second voice, a stern and commanding female tone, belonged to a rail-thin woman standing along the wall opposite Kakashi’s disabled body. She too was dressed in ebony drab, curtains of black hair framing her narrow face. “We cannot afford to take a chance; this is our command.”

From the low vantage point and angle, the former ANBU could tell that he had been dumped unceremoniously against the back wall. His sharingan revealed to him that he had been bound and gagged, only to be placed face up with his arms beneath him to further discourage any use of ninjutsu. Finally, a thick cloth sack had been draped over his head and cinched tightly around his neck. Kakashi could feel the rough fibers abrading his flesh as feeling returned to his skin.

“They’re enemies of Mokugakure!” The male exclaimed, positively fuming. “Why does it matter?”

The silver-haired shinobi continued to note his surroundings as he eavesdropped on his jailers. The room was small—approximately five by five feet—and dimly lit, despite the early afternoon sun that shone outside the building’s walls. The room was completely undecorated, bearing no signs that the quarters were used for anything under normal circumstances.

“It’s not our task to decide what’s best for the Village; that is up to the elders.” The woman folded her arms over her chest, turning away from the ire of her peer. “Come, we’ve wasted enough time.” She crossed the room to the doorway, her companion reluctantly following her over the threshold and snapping the door shit behind him.

Kakashi sighed as he began to stretch his cramped muscles. He hadn’t realized it, but at some point during the conversation much of the feeling had returned to his body. The scarecrow lifted himself to a seated position, resting his upper back against the wall as he struggled against his binds. He hadn’t a doubt that he’d be able to free himself from the meager rope in short order; it seemed that his captors had not even bothered to relieve him of his tools. His sharingan eye stared straight ahead at the backs of his captors, now several yards down the hallway. As he began to focus on undoing the knots around his wrists, a familiar chakra signature caught his attention, just a few rooms away.

Kito?