1 Sons of the Leaf. Wed Apr 10, 2019 10:50 pm
Takao
S-rank
A ceaselessly steady rhythm of heavy footsteps filled empty halls, echoing to fill every corner and crevasse. He was busy-- this was not unusual, given the monumental responsibility he had taken on-- but he was busy in an unexpected regard as of late. Individuals were flocking the village, again, not unusual at surface level, but the context of their arrival was interesting, if not concerning. Defectors, shinobi deemed 'missing in action', and 'travelers' who had decided to abandon the village that had invested into their training. Those such individuals were in worrisome abundance. The soles of his boots pounded against the concrete floor; his pace was not leisurely, not was it hasty, it was a healthy middle ground, walking with purpose to their destination. Not unlike an incident that occurred just a few days prior, a shinobi was being held for questioning. This time, however, there was a personal connection that demanded his presence. He had a personal, deep-seeded hatred for defectors and deserters, and the intensity of such passion only swelled when his own flesh and blood found itself mixed into the equation. Captain Heizo, one of many commanding members of the Hidden Leaf's countless Black Ops divisions, had informed him that an individual, making the claim that they were one 'Suutei Kimura', was currently being held in custody of the ANBU in the Heizo Questioning Chambers. He hadn't heard the name in years and nearly hadn't the mind to recall the memory from his subconscious, but upon doing so, he was directed to the 'tenth' floor of the aforementioned interrogation building, hidden deep within the core of the Hokage Monument's mountain. Down ten flights of steps and through a plethora of winding, labryinth-esque hallways lead Takao to a solid metal door with a closed slot at eye level. Perhaps the occupants of that particular room might have felt the overbearing demeanor that he carried before they heard or saw him, residual wisps of the Black Origin Threshold spilling out unconsciously en route, creating a noticeably oppressive pressure in the air. His black eyes, cold as the corridor he stood in, stared unwavering at the numbers, 'ten-oh-three', emblazoned into the steel of the door. He did not knock, and instead reached for the handle. It was unlocked. He pushed it inward and was greeted by the sight of a dimly lit room, illuminated by a single ceiling light dangling above a metal table. Concrete eclipsed the room on all sides, floor and ceiling included. The Black Ops' interrogation rooms were not meant to be warm, nor were they meant to be inviting, comfortable, pleasant. They were built to break a man down psychologically, to place them in such a hostile environment that they would exhaust themselves on their own discomfort, and eventually, they would speak. It wasn't necessarily needed in this case, merely a show of power, a demonstration to set the pace of the conversation that had yet to come. Takao stepped inside and closed the door behind him without his gaze leaving the individual in the room. Dressed in what at a glance appeared to be the traditional Jōnin getup, a second glance would reveal it was darker, the unsaturated green was dark, almost black to match his underclothing. The sleeves of his undershirt were rolled up to his elbows, displaying the myriad of scars that decorated the surface of his arms. His neutral expression revealed nothing, not a semblance of emotion or intention given away. His arms folded at his chest, and his gaze lingered on the form of the room's only other occupant. "We have a lot to discuss." |
TOTAL WC |
615 |