Convergence: A Sasuke Fanfiction

KONOHA

As we lay on the hospital bed, staring up at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan above, we couldn’t help but think back to a better time. To the days we spent in a ponderous haze, contemplating the meaning of life. Introspective existentialism, the essence of our mortal existence, and the irrationality of the physical laws that governed this plane. These amongst other mundane thoughts we mulled on ceaselessly, day in, day out. To put it in a few words, we lived a happy, carefree existence.

In hindsight, we also realise the role we played in the destruction of our clan…

The signs were there. They always were. Only, we were too distracted by our fears—or worse—our egocentric self-indulgence, to act on them. The political neutering of our clan. The bigotry of Konoha’s topmost authorities. The segregation and ghettoization of our people. The prejudice, discrimination, and antagonism. The marginalization. Racism ... Stereotyping and unfair bias … Political oppression…

These all culminated in the eventual slaughter of every Uchiha man, woman and child. In more specific terms, a wanton genocide—engineered simply because mass murdering dissidents of the state who wished to be freed of decades of oppression is a just and noble cause!

Let’s not forget the butchering of the corpses of our people for their body parts. We can’t let those go to waste, can we now? If our allies-of-convenience speak the truth, Danzo Shimura, a prominent member of Konoha’s esteemed council is currently in possession of a startling number of harvested Sharingans. Which, of course, he puts to use for the greater good of Konoha. A much nobler alternative than their original owners ever could conceive perhaps? As for what this greater good entails specifically, we struggled to comprehend.

In our haste to condemn the enemy, let’s not forget the suspicions that in some hidden ROOT repository were hidden vats containing other valuable Uchiha body parts stored for further research into the nature of the Sharingan.

…Quaint.

Orochimaru had proven himself a useful tool, having helpfully handed over a copy of the Konoha’s classified log books dating back to its inception—a few amongst other secret documents gifted to us in a show of goodwill. If one could read between the lines, they proved impossibly valuable in shedding more light on the true extent of the injustice afflicted upon the Uchiha clan.

A quick summary of this would begin with Madara gullibly agreeing to a worthless peace treaty that bound the Uchiha to the Senju. From then on the Uchiha would be subjected to one nefarious scheme after another, time and time again. First, in small doses, taking the form of dog-whistling campaigns pioneered by one Tobirama Senju to foster subconscious fear towards the clan—something about a “curse of hatred” apparently. Then, to include covert plays to limit the Uchiha’s political influence.

Once the haze clouding his vision cleared, Madara Uchiha would confront Hashirama Senju—then leader of the Senju clan—regarding this matter. There were few detailed records as to what transpired between the two following their altercation, but it wasn’t hard to deduce. In a fit, Madara abandons the clan, striking out on his own before later being killed by Hashirama who aimed to maintain a status quo skewered in favour of his own. The rest of the Uchiha proved too short-sighted to realise the trap they willingly walked into. They could hardly be faulted though. Weariness had clouded their judgement. They wished not for another war to break out.

How ironic, we scoffed inwardly. A clan touted to bear a sinister curse that forces them to lose all reason and indulge in obscene atrocities, even to the extent of kin-slaying, willingly chooses to avoid conflict with their once sworn enemy… at their detriment! How ironic indeed!

Soon came the blatant and near-complete violation of the agreement that culminated in the creation of the Hidden Leaf. The Uchihas were removed from society and cast out to the fringes of the village: Apparently, because the only thing they were good at was manning a toothless police force that couldn’t even protect its members and their families from constant state-sanctioned surveillance, discrimination and isolation!

We sighed. It was tiring to think about these things. We would much rather watch paint dry than do so; at least we might achieve some measure of epiphany that would deepen our connection to this realm in the process. Our reminiscence would only fuel the rage smouldering in our soul. An emotion too potent for the human mind to even begin to bear. We could feel it ageing our mortal shell, killing it ever so slowly.

But our failure yesterday was too great a blow to ignore. It mired our thoughts, grasping at them and weighing them down like some infernal, sentient tar. And to be honest we might not be too far off from reality… Though it would be discourteous of us to birth an entity of such nature in a dimension we sought to claim as our own.

Experience has proven that our progeny weren’t the most… reasonable sorts you see. Hopefully, Inari would prove him useful in that regard.

But we digress.

To be frank we couldn’t less what the humans did to each other. If they believed conflict and sadism were their only true love then we wished them good luck in that regard. Since time immemorial we’ve learnt it was better to leave mortals, regardless of form, to their infantile devices than interfere and risk having our own plans thrown off course.

But then again, to inflict such atrocities on mortals we had taken a liking to?

The gall!

The room we were placed in was empty, but we could sense multiple chakra signatures observing us from a distance. As predicted, the intensity of the surveillance allocated towards us had drastically increased. This was undoubtedly a result of the misgivings Konoha’s leadership had in regard to the authenticity of the report we gave on the incident with the weasel.

For one, we refused to surrender certain key details regarding our confrontation. There was no way we would provide an enemy with such vital intelligence. The fact that we refused to grant permission for Inoichi to peruse our memories wasn't helping our cause either.

There was also the fact that our handler, Kakashi, was currently in a Mangekyo-induced coma. This only served to further implicate us. It was only natural for them to connect the dots and assume us to be responsible after all.

In short, the tension that existed between us and the council had risen to an all-time high, and conversely so had their brazenness when relating with us. It was a situation that was not at all conducive to our plans.

A sigh escaped our maw again. The emotion came quite easily to us it seemed.

Aside from the impulsive decision to attack the weasel, we could hardly be faulted for how things turned out. By the time Konoha’s forces arrived to investigate the commotion on their borders, the weasel had long disappeared and our discarded arm had been thoroughly consumed by the black flames. There was little concrete evidence left to clear us of suspicion.

We looked down at the bandaged stump where our right arm used to be. Had we been a regular shinobi, our prospects as a ninja would have been thoroughly obliterated by the loss. For us though, it would likely amount to a major inconvenience that would further hinder our plans. We ran a quick mental simulation of our battle with the Jinchūriki from Sunakagure, only this time in our current state. In the end, with all estimations and available data taken into consideration, we came to the conclusion that we had more or less suffered a sixty per cent loss in combat effectiveness. Quite dreadful news as one could imagine.

So, in summary, in exchange for terminating the weasel’s partner—a nonentity in the grand scheme of things—and inflicting negligible damage to our intended target itself, we were now half-blind in one eye, missing an arm, and liable to suffer further strategic setbacks in the face of Konoha’s impending retaliation.

It appears we are overdue for a comprehensive revision of our notes on battlefield economics.

If that wasn’t a poor trade then we couldn’t say what was…