Menma Uzumaki

The tour of Orochimaru's lair was as unsettling as the man himself. The corridors were cold, damp, and dimly lit by pale, flickering torches. Shadows danced on the uneven stone walls, their shapes often too serpentine for comfort.

The air smelled faintly of chemicals and decay, as though the very stones absorbed the secrets of forbidden experiments conducted within these halls.

Kimimaro led the way, his silent grace and unyielding posture making him seem more like a sentinel than a guide.

The Sound Four trailed behind, occasionally muttering to one another in hushed tones, though they kept their distance from Menma. It wasn't clear if it was respect or caution—or maybe both.

Kimimaro stopped before a tall, iron-bound door, his green eyes glancing back at Menma. "This will be your room," he said, his voice calm but emotionless. "Food will be brought to you. You are free to roam the lair, but certain areas are restricted. Do not test Lord Orochimaru's patience."

"Sure, I'll stay out of the snake pits," Menma said dryly.

Kimimaro didn't react, simply pushing the door open and stepping aside to let him in.

The room was... adequate. A cot with rough sheets was shoved into one corner, next to a wooden desk with a few empty scrolls and a half-burned candle. A single torch flickered on the wall, providing just enough light to make the space feel claustrophobic rather than comforting.

As Kimimaro turned to leave, he paused. "You will be summoned when Lord Orochimaru has need of you. Until then, make yourself comfortable."

Menma smirked faintly. "Comfortable. Right."

Kimimaro's gaze lingered for a moment, then he closed the door behind him with a dull thud.

"

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"

For the first time since arriving in this world—or whatever this was—Menma was alone. The silence pressed against his ears, broken only by the faint dripping of water somewhere in the distance. He sat on the cot, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his mind racing.

He'd spent the day surrounded by shinobi from a world he'd only ever admired on a screen. Orochimaru. Kimimaro. The Sound Four. They weren't just characters anymore—they were real, dangerous, and all too eager to size him up.

His inner geek couldn't help but surface, even in the midst of all this chaos. He glanced around the room, half-expecting a camera crew to pop out and reveal this was some elaborate prank. What the hell is even happening?

He chuckled humorlessly, leaning back on the cot. 'Okay, so... I just met Orochimaru. The Orochimaru. Like, actual snake guy himself. And not gonna lie, the dude's even creepier in person.'

His eyes flicked to the rough ceiling, his mind replaying the day's events. Kimimaro... That guy is terrifying. I mean, yeah, I knew he was strong, but holy shit, he radiates boss-battle energy just by standing there. And the Sound Four? Way more obnoxious than I imagined.

A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "And me? I'm Menma freakin' Uzumaki. Of all the characters to get stuck as... I couldn't have been Naruto or kiba? Nooo, I had to be the emo alt-universe guy with a cursed Rasengan and a black Nine-Tails. Great."

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. The humor was fleeting. Beneath it, the gravity of his situation pressed down like a weight. This wasn't a game. It wasn't an anime. It was life and death. And he was smack in the middle of a den of vipers.

The thought of Orochimaru's offer lingered in his mind. It was tempting, in a way—having a safe haven, a place to figure out his powers without worrying about someone hunting him down. But it came with strings. No, chains. Orochimaru didn't strike him as someone who handed out charity.

As he mulled over the events of the day, he held his hand out, focusing on the dark chakra that coiled deep within him. It came easily, almost too easily, pooling into his palm in a swirling mass of black energy.

The power was intoxicating. He could feel it humming beneath his skin, promising destruction and dominance. But it was dangerous, too. It wasn't his. Not really. It belonged to Menma Uzumaki—the version of him that wasn't Peter.

I have to figure this out, he thought, clenching his fist and extinguishing the chakra. Before it figures me out.

A sharp knock at the door broke his train of thought. He tensed, the instincts he didn't recognize as his own flaring to life.

"Food," a voice called from the other side.

He relaxed slightly, crossing the room and opening the door just enough to see a young subordinate holding a tray. The kid looked nervous, his gaze flicking over Menma like he wasn't sure whether to bow or run.

Menma took the tray with a nod. "Thanks."

The kid practically sprinted down the hall, leaving Menma to chuckle softly. "Guess I'm not making friends anytime soon."

He sat back on the cot, poking at the simple meal of rice and vegetables. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

As he ate, his thoughts drifted back to the Naruto series. He'd always admired the shinobi world—the camaraderie, the power, the sense of purpose. But living in it? That was different. Here, power wasn't just flashy jutsu and epic battles. It was a weapon, a currency, a curse.

And now, he had power. Enough to make Orochimaru take notice. Enough to make him a target.

He set the tray aside, his appetite fading. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

The question hung in the air, unanswered. For now, all he could do was survive—and figure out a way to stay one step ahead of the snake.