Kirigakure was a treasure trove of oddities. What had began with a trip fed by curiousity had lead to a much more lucrative plethora of opportunities than he could have expected. One by one, the seeds of Konohagakure’s future were sewn. Those that grew and took root would strengthen the country, leaving her stronger than before.

From a distance, burning red eyes watched the scene unfold. The participants were unknown to him, having merely been a passerby who had stopped to observe. He watched four figures converse, two of which he could identify as women and the remaining as men. A fifth lingered in waiting, hidden to the four by the dark but not from Takao’s watchful heat-seeing eyes. A sixth appeared, and spoke to the aforementioned four, although their conversation went unheard to the cloaked leaf shinobi. Even with light bent around him, obscuring his visage from sight, he still maintained distance far enough to keep himself unseen.

As combat began, Takao moved closer, to observe the chaos with eyes that could discern the details of the skirmish. For reasons unknown, perhaps related to the bag of unknown goods, dark chains ripped the four apart. Their bodies were left in tatters, gibs littering the ground and splatters of sanguine blood stained the soil. Takao watched without blinking and carefully observed. Every step of the way, he lingered nearby, obscured by bent light, watching every act of morbid dismemberment and cruel torture. This one was indeed an anomaly. Takao considered the possibility that it was a Kirigakure shinobi, given their penchant for the murder of criminals. Given the skillset and usage of chains, Takao also considered that he might have been an Uzumaki, however, they were not the only peoples to utilize such a theme in their techniques.

It was an odd scene to stumble upon for sure, and even more odd to stick around and witness in its entirety. Lacking context, it almost seemed random, but considering the coincidence of his own presence, Takao could hardly criticize another for having been lurking at the right place and right time. The brutality continued until the white-haired culprit had his fill of bloodshed, and eventually stumbled his way back to Kirigakure. Takao shadowed him every step of the way, his curiousity piqued, but eventually, let down as the anomaly collapsed in an alley. Perhaps it wasn’t a shinobi of Kirigakure after all, for one indoctrinated into the esteemed ranks of the Bloody Mist would surely not slumber in a gutter.

Takao’s interest had not yet waned entirely. Even as he departed for the night and the day began anew in the morn, he was interested. But when he returned to the alley, his figure draped in the ROOT disguise that he was beginning to frequent, he was greeted with a different sight. His eyes had changed drastically, and his visage was in stark contrast to the night prior. He took to the streets of Kirigakure and stumbled through the streets without aim, urging Takao’s intervention.

“You’re lost.” Said a distorted voice, obscured by the mask over his face and dulled further by the drum of heavy rain. Even so, the deep voice carried through, emanating from his form obscured by bent light.

“No purpose. No direction. No reason to live. I can see it in your desultory stride.”

His tone held steady as the shroud of chakra faltered and broke apart, revealing himself to Tsuneo proper. His visage was obscured by a full-face helm, the cold, reflective black surface offering almost nothing in the way of personified emotion. A white vest clung to his torso, while the rest of his body was covered in black underclothing, gloves, and boots.

“Who are you?”