The transition through the blast door wasn't just a change in smell; it was a change in pressure.
The air inside the lower processing plant was pressurized, heavy, and tasted distinctively of antiseptic and old blood. It was quieter here than the upper levels, but only because the walls were thick enough to muffle the pile drivers outside. Instead of a roar, there was a hum—a sub-bass vibration that rattled the fillings in my teeth.
Thrum... Thrum... Thrum.
"Stay sharp," Asuma-sensei rumbled, his trench knives already in his hands. The chakra blades glowed with a faint, blue wind edge, cutting through the gloom. The light caught the moisture in the air, creating a halo of blue mist around the brass knuckles.
"This layout doesn't match the blueprints."
We were walking down a wide central corridor lined with pipes that pulsed like jugular veins. The lighting was terrible—flickering banks of purple chakra lamps that cast long, bruised shadows against the rusted grating. Water dripped from a overhead seam—plip—landing on the back of my neck with the shock of ice water.
Suddenly, the hum stopped.
The silence was deafening. For a heartbeat, the factory held its breath.
HIIIIISSSSSSSSSSS.
A steam vent to our right exploded.
It wasn't a malfunction. It was a smokescreen. A wall of white, scalding vapor filled the corridor, blinding us instantly. Condensation bloomed instantly on my lenses, turning the world into a smear of terrified gray. The smell of sulfur and boiling chemicals punched me in the nose, making my eyes water behind my glasses.
"CONTACT!" Anko screamed.
A figure materialized out of the steam. She was beautiful in a jarring, terrifying way—wearing a kimono that looked too clean for this filth, her hair flowing like liquid ink. Kotohime.
She didn't attack us. She floated past, her movement unnatural, like a ghost caught on a draft. She brushed past Asuma.
"This way, little monkey," she giggled, her voice echoing from everywhere at once.
A trail of heavy, cloying perfume—lilacs masking rot—drifted in her wake, sickeningly sweet against the sulfur.
"Asuma!" Anko yelled.
Asuma lunged, slashing at the woman, but she dissolved into smoke and reappeared at the far end of a diverging catwalk.
"I've got her," Asuma growled. He bolted after her, his boots clanging heavily on the metal.
The walkway shuddered under his weight, the vibrations traveling through the soles of my boots.
"Wait! Don't split up!" I shouted, reaching out.
But Anko was already moving. She wasn't going to let Asuma walk into a trap alone. "Cover the rear!" she barked at us, sprinting into the steam after him.
CLANG.
A massive security gate slammed down between us and the teachers. The sound was like a gunshot. We were cut off.
Rust flakes rained down from the ceiling like red snow, shaken loose by the impact.
"Troublesome," Shikamaru hissed, his back instantly pressing against Chōji's.
Before we could regroup, the floor beneath us shook.
A section of the wall to our left tore open. Not a door—the metal plating itself was sheared away by a massive blade.
A man stepped through the jagged opening. He was huge, his face obscured by a mask, wielding a sword that looked like a slab of raw iron. Hanzaki.
"Intruders," he grunted. His voice sounded like gravel in a blender. "Authorization revoked."
He swung the sword. It wasn't a technique; it was pure kinetic force.
The air pressure dropped ahead of the swing, a vacuum of kinetic energy that sucked the breath right out of my lungs.
"Expansion Jutsu!" Chōji yelled.
His arm inflated to the size of a tree trunk. He caught the blade on his forearm guard, the impact sending a shockwave that blew the dust off the pipes overhead. CRUNCH.
"Go!" Shikamaru ordered, his shadow already stretching out to catch the big guy's feet. "Ino, Chōji, we hold the line here! Naruto, Sylvie, flank left! Don't let them box us in!"
"But—" I started.
"GO!" Ino screamed, throwing a kunai that sparked against Hanzaki's armor.
Naruto grabbed my wrist. "Come on, Sylvie-chan!"
We broke left, sprinting down a narrow maintenance tunnel that smelled of grease and ozone.
The walls here were slick with condensation that felt oily to the touch, staining my sleeves as we brushed past.
We ran until the sounds of Chōji's battle faded into the background thrum of the factory. The tunnel opened up into a storage bay filled with crates of what looked like rejected prosthetic limbs—metal arms and legs piled in heaps like macabre firewood. Light caught a polished metal fingertip, making it gleam like a hollow eye in the darkness.
Zip.
A kunai struck the ground inches from Naruto's toe.
We froze, back-to-back.
"There!" Naruto pointed.
Perched on top of a stack of crates was a small figure. They wore a baggy orange tunic and a strange mask that doubled as a hat, obscuring their entire face. Sasame.
"Leave," the figure warned. The voice was muffled, androgenous. "Or be recycled."
"Recycle this!" Naruto yelled, throwing a shuriken.
The figure dodged effortlessly, flipping backward with a grace that didn't match the bulky clothes. They landed on a conveyor belt and ran deeper into the bay.
"Get back here!" Naruto roared, giving chase.
"Naruto, wait!" I called out, pushing my glasses up my nose. "It's a bait!"
But he was already gone. I cursed and sprinted after him, my boots slipping slightly on the oil-slicked concrete. The smell of rubber burned by friction filled the air as my heels fought for traction.
The chase led us through a maze of machinery. The figure kept stopping, throwing paper bombs that... missed.
BOOM.
An explosion rocked a pile of scrap metal to my right.
BOOM.
Another one hit the ceiling to my left.
Shrapnel pinged against the metal crates—tink-tink-tink—like hail on a tin roof.
I skidded to a halt, analyzing the trajectory.
They aren't trying to hit us, I realized. The aim is too wide. The force is too low. They're herding us away from the main shaft.
"Naruto!" I yelled, putting on a burst of speed. "Don't kill them! They're pulling their punches!"
Naruto cornered the figure against a dead-end blast door. The masked ninja pulled out a cluster of sharp, paper-like blades—Kamikiri tags.
"Stay back!" the figure shouted, throwing the tags.
They fluttered through the air, sharp as razors. Naruto didn't dodge. He just summoned a clone.
POOF.
The clone took the hits, vanishing in a puff of smoke. The real Naruto lunged through the cloud, tackling the figure to the ground.
"Gotcha!" Naruto yelled, pinning the ninja's wrists to the cold floor.
The figure struggled, thrashing wildly. "Let go! You don't understand!"
"Who are you?!" Naruto demanded. "One of Orochimaru's creeps?"
He reached down and ripped the strange hat-mask off.
Long, reddish-brown hair spilled out, cascading onto the dirty concrete.
The strands caught the dim light, copper-red and shockingly vibrant against the monochrome gray of the factory floor.
The face beneath was soft. Huge eyes, wide with terror. A delicate jawline.
It was a girl. And she looked terrified.
Naruto froze. His grip loosened. His blue eyes went wide, staring at her face, then her hair, then back to her face.
The trauma of the Land of Waves—of Haku—flashed across his expression.
"AGAIN?!" Naruto screamed, throwing his hands in the air. "WHY IS EVERYONE A GIRL?!"
The echo of his shout bounced off the metal walls, dying quickly in the vast, damp space.
"I... I am Sasame," the girl whispered, rubbing her wrists where Naruto had pinned her. She looked up at us, her eyes wet. "Please... I'm not your enemy. I'm looking for my cousin."
I stepped forward, sensing her chakra. It was erratic, fearful. Not the cold, predatory signature of the Sound ninja we had met before.
"She's telling the truth, Naruto," I said, lowering my guard. "She was leading us away from the guards."
I looked around the bleak, rusted warehouse.
"She's not a soldier," I said softly. "She's a prisoner who learned how to run."
The only sound left was the hum of the ventilation fans and the ragged, terrified hitch of her breath.