Itachi Uchiha's son Shinra Uchiha

Long before Shinra was ever born, before he even had a name, his fate was sealed by science and ambition. Deep beneath the dense foliage of the Fire Country lay an abandoned facility—a relic of Orochimaru's most secret experiments. The entrance shifted in complete darkness, a trapdoor buried under years of moss. Inside waited a pilgrimage of broken tanks, shattered experiments, and empty husks littering the cold stone floors.

Only one incubation pod remained active, bathed in the ghostly glow of chakra-laced monitors. Its surface rippled slightly, as though something stirred within. A puddle of nutrient fluid reflected the swirling green light, glinting like a lie told half-truthfully.

Inside the tank floated a tiny form, cocooned in transparent liquid. Shinra—though no one yet knew he would be called that—hung unmoving. His features were delicate and fragile, with dark lashes closed. Vaguely human. Vaguely alive.

The only sound was Orochimaru's soft conversation with Kabuto, neither of them raising their voices above a whisper.

"He's still stabilizing," Kabuto murmured. He hefted a clipboard and scanned readings from the tank. "Cell fusion completed successfully. We're past the dangerous rejection phase."

Orochimaru drifted closer to the pod, fingertips tapping on the condensation. "Progress." His mouth quirked. "But speed is essential."

Kabuto adjusted his glasses. "Uchiha DNA from Itachi's cells, collected post-fall to Genjutsu resistance. I isolated the Sharingan genes. Hashirama cells are introduced at the embryonic stage. And I utilized Uzumaki lineage from Karin—great stamina, large chakra reserves, epigenetic healing markers."

Orochimaru made a slow, satisfied hum. "Yes… a perfect triad. Precision, strength, vitality. Powerful genetic lines combined."

Kabuto lowered his voice. "Even better—this version also integrates catalyst gene sequences to accelerate development. We've already witnessed visible spine formation and chakra node development. He responds to faint chakra pulses."

His eyes glittered with scientific thrill. "He will be viable in months."

Orochimaru lifted a hand and traced a finger along the glass. Shinra's hand twitched inside the water. Orochimaru leaned closer, scrutinizing.

"He'll be ready when I need him."

Kabuto touched his clipboard again. "But—Sasuke."

Orochimaru paused, expression sharpening. "Sasuke is my current vessel. He's tied to emotional anchors—family, bonds. The Uchiha obsession with legacy, heritage."

He stirpped the glove off his hand. "But this child… he doesn't know hope, love, fear, grief—he forms nothing for any of it. He is blank. Untainted. An echo chamber for pure power."

Kabuto paused. "A blank slate."

"Yes." Orochimaru's eyes glittered. "And one that will follow orders without moral hesitation."

They fell silent. The soft hum of the tank's machine pulsed like a heartbeat, talking power to quiet tension.

Finally, Kabuto cleared his throat. "The problem is time. Sasuke acts now."

Orochimaru drew back, arms folding again. He gazed toward the flickering monitors—dozens of tanks, ghosts of ambition.

"We'll store him," he said curtly. "Keep the pod locked and under quiet observation. Erase him from all records. I only want him available after… contingency." He tapped one of the error-message screens with a fingertip. "Repository needs closing out."

Kabuto nodded but still hesitated. He accidentally dropped a tool, jarring against the steel floor. The clang echoed through the lab like an alarm.

Orochimaru's gaze shifted—and for a flash, it felt personal.

Leave no trace.

"Archive." His voice was soft, tinged with finality. "And when it's forgotten, let the betas begin."

Months passed. Above ground, Orochimaru's world fell apart. His research facilities were raided, then abandoned. Data cores crowded with warnings fell silent. Word of his death—battle against Sasuke—spread like wildfire.

But beneath it all, Shinra grew.

In the absence of oversight, his pod remained sealed in darkness. Sensors continued to measure breathing, chakra pulses, and vitals. Mirage patterns flickered on monitors, registering slow growth. In secret chambers, his spine straightened. Among dormant gene sequences, his brain leaped forward. Chakra channels are formed in lattice-like patterns. His senses came alive in pale dream-circuits.

No heart had beaten in his chest, yet programming told him to breathe.

No mother had kissed his face, yet something learned instinctive fear.

When a loose panel let in a shaft of forest moonlight, it glowed strands of gold. The water surface rippled as he opened his eyes.

They were pitch-black.

He breathed.

He flailed.

He sobbed.

The catalyst came from a tremor above—an earthquake shuddered through the support beams. Earth barked loudly. Walls creaked. The pod housing Shinra vibrated violently. Feed lines ruptured. The immersion liquid drained. The power strand sagged.

Shinra's eyes snapped open. He shoved off the pod wall. He surged free.

His body hit the floor with a crack, too loud in the silence. His breath jagged as he yanked bio-tubes free from his shoulders and spine. The mist of the lab stung his nostrils. He hissed and dragged himself forward, hands shaking.

He struggled against fluid covering cold stone, but his fingers found traction. He crawled over fallen glass shards and bruised himself on bone fragments of failed clones.

Each step left a mark.

A synthetic tank cracked. A beam showed rust under its force. Broken monitors still flickered upside-down messages he couldn't comprehend.

Shinra passed them all by instinct, not curiosity. His mind was raw survival.

Then he forced himself upright. Legs are shaking, but working. He glimpsed his reflection in broken glass. Dark hair. Empty eyes. He looked like… power unformed.

He took a breath.

He listened for footsteps. He heard only the echo of his own heartbeat.

A soft whine reached his ears—air vent. He followed it. Water pooled on metal stairs leading upward.

Half of the construction dust funnelled down. Shinra climbed. His legs flared, but he kept moving. He paused at the threshold of moonlight where abandoned labs sometimes opened to forgotten hallways. He looked back once.

All behind him was dark.

All ahead, he had nothing—no name, no home.

But two dawn-born eyes had seen enough, felt enough, to know what it meant to be alive.

He inhaled.

He stepped out.