Chapter Text
Memorandum 12-USGP
From different samples originating from █████ █████████, █████ ████████ and ██████ ██████ provided by ███████ █████, reinforced by samples taken from a third neutral subject, it was possible to gather enough genomes to create two test subjects – Subject 01, nicknamed Kinoē, and Subject 02, nicknamed Kinoto, with mixed results due to the different amounts of samples used at the time of fertilization of the subject called Brooder.
Subject 01, Kinoē, was the final result of using the Cellular Genetic Replication Method using the cells of █████ █████████ and of the Brooder. It was discovered in the first few weeks of gestation that the █████ genes proved to be dominant, overriding any chakra inclination originating from the Incubator that could be passed via DNA to Subject 01.
In the twenty-eighth week of incubation, it was detected that Kinoē's chakra natures are Water and Earth, which may mean that Subject 01 will develop ████ ███████ in the future.
As for Subject 02, the samples used – █████ and ██████ – briefly clashed before the softening component – the neutral third sample from ██████ ██ ███ ██████ – was introduced into the genetic chain. The neutral cells' properties of attract, conduct and support ██████ ██████ through ████ ████ was what made Subject 02 viable, as the Fire Nature of ██████ ██████ nearly came into conflict with the Water Nature of █████ ████████. At twenty-nine weeks of Kinoto's gestation, there is no sign of chakra that would indicate the appearance of ███████ or █████████, but there are promising signs of Lightning and Water Nature, which may result in a future elemental release not seen naturally in the Land of Fire – the █████ ███████.
Memorandum 49-USGP
Subjects Kinoē and Kinoto were born an hour ago via cesarean section, where the uterine sac was removed for analysis before being sectioned for collection of the subjects – the Brooder was discarded. The uterine sac tissues showed no abnormalities, and with in-depth analysis prior to removal of the subjects inside, it was discovered that Kinoē and Kinoto are placental bivitelline males, Kinoto occupying the left placenta while Kinoē was on the right, both facing each other. After section of the uterine sac and removal of the subjects from the placental sacs, the umbilical cords were cut and sent for laboratory analysis. No abnormalities were detected.
Both fetuses were moved to a mechanical incubator, submerged in synthetic placental fluid under stability and stasis seals, and intubated to receive nutrients and other hormones for accelerated growth stimulation. It's estimated that their brains will be mature enough to receive knowledge through ████████ ████ ███████ ██████████ between six to eight months from the moment of intubation.
The night is still and silent, except for the Shinobi moving on the rooftops – and the war raging outside the gates of Konohagakure. The civilians are holed up in their homes, most asleep or close to it, and the Hokage is once again pulling all-nighters in his office in the Tower, busy with the paperwork generated by both the village and the Third Great Shinobi War. Outside his window, the sky is mostly clear, and the moon is full and brilliantly pale, surrounded by stars.
It's just another night. There's nothing going on.
At six minutes to midnight, all of the trees born from the Mokuton of the late Shodaime Hokage, Senju Hashirama, creak ominously, roots gripping the ground, branches cracking like bones, tops rustling loudly in a warm, damp wind smelling of summer rain.
In an empty, bloodstained clan compound outside the boundaries of Konoha, on the edge of one of the arms of the Naka River, Hatake Kakashi – unmasked, with puppy teeth peeking out from his lips, the fresh Sharingan he got from someone he valued too late burning in his eye socket – stands on the middle of the main courtyard. He raises his face to the sky, stares at the moon with unequal eyes and, like his wild kin before him, howls.
No other howl answers.
The call of the Last Hatake – the last offspring of the Great Lightning Beast – echoes along with the thunder, chakra burning blinding white like the lightning in the clouds above.
At midnight, the storm that breaks over the village is unprecedented.
Hidden in the shadows, out of sight and out of mind, a one-eyed boy, broken in body and heart, raises his head up and lets the rain wash his mask. Under his fingers, engraved recently in the stone, it's written Nohara Rin.
The beasts in the Forest of Death are silent, and the river is overflowing. At the Naka River Shrine, on the edge of the Uchiha Clan's lands, a small flame ignites at the feet of the altar of Amaterasu-no-Omikami. In the heart of the Senju Clan's woods, where a small grove of dead trees of different ages share space with a delicate but robust white beech, a pair of sprouts rise from the ground. One of them is a holly seedling, the other, a rowan.
It's all an omen.
Those who know better, those who are truly connected to the world, feel that something has changed.
The ears of the Kyuubi-no-Youko, sealed in Uzumaki Kushina's stomach, stand up, alert. His brothers and sisters, scattered throughout the Nations and sealed in flesh and pottery, do the same.
Uchiha Shisui looks out of his bedroom window at the dark and very alive forest outside and shivers. He hides under the covers of his bed and hopes that whatever was in the woods doesn't come after him.
Deep within Hokage Mountain, hidden beneath the ground, Orochimaru of the Sannin gazes upon his new creations floating in their tanks – upon the boy with hair as brown as oak bark and skin as dark as fresh clay and the child with the tufts of translucent white hair with small black streaks here and there, and porcelain-pale skin with an interesting pattern of vitiligo spots, very similar to the pattern of cheetah skin, especially around the eyes – and laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs.
It worked. The Cellular Genetic Replication Method theory worked. The Uchiha-Senju Genetic Project worked.
And the results were better than expected, after all he collected two specimens – two! – and this when the success rates for just one were less than seventy percent.
To obtain two viable specimens at once, even more so when the second is the result of the extremely delicate mixing of the genes of the most powerful clans in the Land of Fire, whose chakra networks and elemental affinities are practically opposite – and this is without taking into account the dojutsu of one of them –, Orochimaru...
Orochimaru marvels at his own intellect and talent.
He marvels so much at himself that he doesn't even really realize what he's actually done.
This will come back to bite him and his sponsor arses later.
Hard.
There is white and fog and train tracks.
There is a bearded old man and a disfigured baby.
There is a wand, a stone and a cloak.
There is a choice.
A choice between to stay, to move on or to return.
A choice that shouldn't be so difficult.
A choice that was constantly dangled in front of him and that he – too oblivious to realize because he trusted too much in those he shouldn't have – didn't see until it was too late.
M̵̡̡̟̲͚̠̞̟͕̻̞̈́̍̒̚á̴̛͓̻̪̹̼̰̱̯̮͈̤̬͙̰̮͉́̒̈͗̂s̶̛̟̫̱͎̙͑͐͗̎̀̐̐̌̈́̓͒͌͒͘͠͝͝t̴̢̡͈͍̦̤͚̎͊͗̊͗͂́͆̿̑̓̓͆͒̊̂͗̓è̷̫̹͓̠͓͈̭̿̒̍͐r̴̺̜̘͎͇͍̱͍̙̾́̌̂́̄̔̈́͑̈́͑̒̊̈́̈̕͘͜.̶̧͙̗͈̘̣̣̯̥͓̥̞̣̪̝͈͇̘̖̀̃̐͂̒̽̇̂̈́͊̉͘͝.̷͔̩͈̹̮̫̠̫̜̭̓̑͆̍͊̃̾̑́̾̅̒̀́.̵̢̧̨̩͔̞͔̝̯͚́͌͌̉̓͑̀͛͛͘̕ ̷̡̡̮̲͓̠̣͖̥͈͂̐̿̇̌͋̐͛̿͋̄̏̄̈́͝͝͝ͅC̸̢̢̧̰̟̜̻͍̞̗͈̦̦̖̦͚̘̠̋̽̌̓̓̍͊̆͋̂́̚͜ḩ̴͔͖̗̻̣̖̼̫̖̗͓͍̣̺͂̌̀̃̊̍͑̓͛̓̃͒̋̈́̕o̴͇̮͈̩̦̮̰̹̔͗͋̊̂͑̽̎͆̾̕͠ǫ̸̨͔̪̺͔̬̞̠͔̓̑̒́̐͌̏͝ͅͅș̸̏̎̿̓̌ȇ̴̬͊̈́̍͋̚͜͠,̷͎̜̣̞̲͎͓̭̜̑̌͌͂̉̊͑̓̍̾͐̆̑̕͘ ̵̘̪̱̻̮̙̤̜̰̲͓̳̦̻̰̺͑͗̎͂͊͂͒͂͋M̴̧̖̞̩̣͍̻̘̐͑͊͋̓̉͒̈́͂́̾͘͠ͅä̷̢̢̖͖͉͍͍̟̱͍́̃͐̋̾̑̉̚͝s̵̛͍̳̱͒̐̀̓̀ţ̵̡̘̩̺͚̩̮̻̹̦͓͓͆̀̐̈́̊͛͘ḙ̴͈̠̘̫̩̺̰̗͉̜̜̬͔͋̂͗ͅṛ̷̢̨̡̭̦̻̯̠̫̜̼͇̞̹͍̲̓̈̑̒͊̈̒̌͆̑͐̌̀͜͝.̷̡̫̹̪͗̀̾͆̆̓͆̓́͑̊̓̍̅́̎̚͝͠ ̶̟͕̠̮̱̙͕̻̣̥̞̞̻̟̣̩͖̓̓ͅC̸̛̳̻͉̳͙̱̿̅̈́͐͛̅̀́̀̽͌͛̈́̈́̆̕͝h̶̨̢̛͍̼̞̰̬͚̺͓͈̹͙̼̎́̇̇̎́͊̑̀͐͘͝͝o̶̧̖̮̹̗͕͖̘̼͇̦͙̩͈̟͙̟̱͌̆̎͆͑̅̐̃̽̑̑͐̈̽͆͘͠ͅo̵̜̖͍̬͉͙̮͖̫̲̗̮͚̐́̑̽̔͊̒̏̆̚͝͝s̶̢̧̛̤̗̞͌͝ę̸̱͉͖͍̗̤̤̲̥̠̞̿̾̊.̶̡̨͓̞̰̞̺̱̻̔̆̇̾̅̂͗͐̒̐̓̓ ̶̡̖̔̈́͐̿̎͆̓C̶̗̺͆̀h̴̡̲̲̰̠͙̥͕̀͋̀́̈́̽͆̽̋̂̔̚̚ǫ̸̨̡̛̤̞͙̙̦̠͔̼̹̳̜͍̦̥̑̈́̈͐̋̈́̒̅͐̓̎͆̀͘͜͠o̴̢̧̦͙͎̘̗̱̾͒ͅs̸̛̙͇̯̯̹̈́̀́̀̑͗̄̇͂͌͆́͘̚͝ê̵̩̭͍͖̠̩̞͉̙̹̪͈̳̲͚͊̇̇̓̓̒̽̑̋̐͐̑̿͆͋͑͜͝,̸̻̥̙̺̗̼̭͕̤̙̎̌̉͐͒̂͠͝ ̸̢͎̟̲̟̦̼̜̣͈͎̽͜c̸̢̮̬̠̜̺̲̺̤̜̜̯̬̻̯̒̆̉̏̀̈́̋͒͑ḩ̷̰̥̰̘̫͔̯̥̒͗͝ͅͅȍ̴̢̨̗̖̱̺͆̓̋̑̾͐̂̑͘͠ơ̷̖̼̎ṣ̴̨̖̺̦̭̯̮̥͓́̉͑̐͗̈́̌̍̏̀͑̓̿͌̌̓̈́̂̾ͅͅe̴̤̺̭̼̲͇̯̤̲̓̅͑͐͂͑̓̾̀͛͛̑̿̓̄̿́̆,̷̨̨̲̗̝̟̜̟̹̺̯̳̟͉̪͎̑̎͂̂͊̀́̓͘͝ ̴͉̩͓̋̒̇͛̉̾̇̿͊̍̉̌̒̒̾̄̚͝͝c̶̜̣̯͇̎͂͑͛̌̈́̀́̏̔͂͜͠͠h̶̢͙͍̰̝͔̣̖̱̙̻̊͝o̷̺̔̀̈͑o̴͚͂̑̎̐̋̄̅͛̒̃̍̀̃̕͝s̸̡̨̡̜̭͈̫͚͖̺̫̭̻͍͚̗̮̑̈́̀̚ͅe̵̡̞̳̯͇͕̳̺̗̽̑͜͠ͅ.̴̧̢̛̰̮̫͓͇̮̳͓̹̼͚̩̔͌̓͗͛̿̇́͌̈́̌͘.̶̛̻͇͚͔̣͙̖͖̺̱͙̖̯̉̏͆̌̾͗̈́̅͜.̷̰̮͉̙̖̱̂̏̒̈̓̃̀̃̏͂̚ͅ.̴̧̞̜̰͇̬͐͛̈́̄͆̏͐̌͆͐͂̏̍̕̕͜͜͝
Neither can live while the other survives.
He can't go back.
He looks at the flayed child bleeding under the bench and the old man smiling benevolently at him, and decides he doesn't want to stay.
He will have to swallow his fear and catch a train.
"You need to go back and finish saving them, dear boy," The old man says, standing as he walks unsteadily away towards Platform 9. "You're the only one who can kill him."
"Uuuuhmm..." The baby groans, reaching out a skeletal hand to him.
He doesn't look back, not even when the old man yells for him to come back or when the baby cries.
The train he boards is orange.
He doesn't look back.