Flicker of Hope

3 years. 1095 days. 26,280 hours. How many seconds was that? She wasn't sure. However, she was not aware of much else aside from these numbers which rolled around in her head. All good memories, dreams, and bonds which flowed through her had been crushed into nothingness. She had been down here for three years. Three years of clutching rotten food from bowls and from hearing the screams of men, women, and children who circulated around her.

She had stopped trying to make friends. She had stopped trying to escape. Escape...was not possible. Yes, she tried to hold to the hope that...as long as she persevered then..maybe she would be able to see her family. Maybe...she would even be able to meet the one who had caused her to come into this situation. However, that hope had long died by the tales woven to her.

For three years, she had been down here. Weeping and gnashing of teeth became the universal languages with which she was accustomed. The dark became her world. It warped her sense of time, of belonging, and of living.

Could she even classify herself as alive? She did not believe so. The lasting memories she had been given before her death had been snuffed out like a cruel flashlight in a dark forest. What did the sun look like? What did the moon look like? She could not remember.

Day after day, lesson after lesson, pain after pain, she was surprised she even still knew her own name. She remembered being forcibly dressed up in demeaning attire and presented to all manner of clientèle. Absurd prices and bids were placed upon her, but none of them seemed to satisfy her jailer.

He gave into none of their demands. Though forced into humiliation after humiliation, he had not allowed a single person to touch her aside from his wife. The woman had stolen her lips many times. She wasn't even sure when she stopped resisting. She just knew that she had.

Yet, every single day that passed she wondered what kept her moving. She was aware of at least fifteen different ways she could make it all stop and find pleasure in the afterlife, but she kept pressing forward.

"Your name is Dog. Do you hear me?! Repeat it back to me! Dog! Dog! Dog! Dog! Dog! Dog! Dog! Dog! Dog! Dog! Dog!," Dog. A dog is loyal. A dog does not speak back. A dog listens to its owner without question. A dog...is second-class to a human. It's...not equal. There had been much horror placed upon her in breaking her to speak this name. She did not remember when she had broke, but she definitely had.

Perhaps it was after the pain of hot coals under her feet, perhaps it was after the strikes of a whip, perhaps...after the nigh suffocation from having her chakra points forcibly closed.

These were only a few of the many she had endured. Perhaps the worst was when a Yamanaka had tried to mentally wipe her mind of all of her memories. She had been administered to a doctor because her heart had stopped at least two times. To be honest, she wished it had stopped.

However, one day, it came to her. She understood why she kept living despite the obvious routes she could have taken to ensure her peaceful death. It was not for the sake of love. It was not for the sake of proving those who had tortured her wrong. No, unfortunately, she was human.

She did not have this reason to live for selfless purposes. It was her own burning, smoldering hatred within her body. Hatred for herself for her weakness.

Hatred for these people who kept her. Hatred for...the person responsible for putting her in here! Why did he not finish her off?! If he had finished her off, then...she would not be suffering like this! It was all she had left. She ate what they told her to eat. She drank what they told her to drink. All while slowly storing it away in the recesses of her mind, always there, never forgotten!

For three long years this hatred boiled. For three long years this rage manifested. For three long years this rage kindled itself. For three...long...years...this rage cultivated itself until she heard the sounds of footsteps. She had a plan in mind.

Once he opened the door, with as much strength as the gods would grant her, come hell or high waters, she would wrap her rusted chains around the neck of Takamura Shingen and rip the essence of life from his eyes. His guards would have to kill her or they would watch as she ripped their precious Boss' head from his shoulders. She did not think about what she would do when...if she got out, but...it was better than the alternative!

Just you wait, Takamura Shingen! You would feel all of the rage that Izumi Uchiha had collected for all three years of her captivity. Every ounce of love, every ounce of appreciation for anything good, every ounce...of hope for a better tomorrow died long ago. He would let her experience the well of despair that she felt. Her chains rattled and the sound of moaning prisoners stirred her.

In a drugged daze, she noticed the footsteps stop. Her eyes looked up. This...wasn't Takamura Shingen. No, it was...that boy. What was his name? She couldn't remember. But she knew she had seen him at least a handful of times back during the moments of her existence that hadn't been so fucked up.

Then, she heard the boy laugh. It was not a laugh full of the joy a boy his age should have. No, it was a laugh that she had found herself letting out those nights she laid on her cold bed dreaming unholy thoughts upon all of her tormentors.

Izumi was surprised to even see an Anbu with him. He spoke some words to her and, to Izumi's surprise, the Anbu dashed off like they had just been granted an order from the Hokage. "You want Takamura Shingen, don't you?" he asked. Her eyes lit up with unholy fire. Yes. Dare he ask such a question? Shingen should have been standing right there so he could open the cell and she could watch the blood pour from his mouth when she…

Izumi stiffened when she watched the boy kneel down and hold out his hand into the cell. "Well, that'll be kind of difficult for you if you're in this cell. I can give you Takamura Shingen, but what will you give me?" He asked.

His tone of speech. She was starting to recall it. It was very faint, within the dregs of her memories, but it was there. "Uzu...maki…..N-Na...ruto," she wheezed out, her throat dry. She did not believe him. Why should she? A no-name orphan boy had, in his possession, one of the most powerful underground leaders in Konoha? If he was expecting her to laugh at his joke then he would be disappointed.

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