קгєץ 🕷 [ⲛⲁⲅⳙⲏⳕⲛⲁ]

Beneath A Street Light

Chapter Five

Beneath A Street Light

༒༻𝕹𝖆𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖔༺༒

Twelve Years Later

March 12, 2012

Iwa sucked.

Boring town, boring people, boring weather, Naruto had more fun watching paint dry.

He hated doing business here.

Every house and building looked carved out of stone, no color, no personality, no life. It was the complete opposite of Konoha, down trodden and dead, destitution a feature rather than sporadic pockets hidden away from those on the right side of the poverty line. Being amongst such a cesspool should appeal to his lawless self, however, Naruto preferred lively, unsuspecting communities, places where the hunt was difficult but when successful, resulted in catastrophic panic.

In Iwa, bad news was just another day in the city.

He glared at the water stained ceiling.

Boring.

Sooner he got out of here, the better, this assignment was boring enough as it was.

He turned his head on his flat pillow and read the crimson numbers on the digital clock placed on his bedside.

12:47 a.m.

He clicked his teeth, rolled out of bed and grabbed his duffel bag.

Pulling out his 'uniform', he laid his clothes on the bed and stripped down. He slipped a skin tight, black, long sleeved shirt over his head, tugging the stretchy fabric firmly over his muscled torso, stepped into a matching pair of form fitting pants, buttoned and zipped then reached for his tools.

Dressed, he scooped his dual Glocks from their case and loaded the magazines, each bullet clinking pleasantly, drawing a small grin to his lips despite his boredom. He moved slow, savoring the moment, sliding a reverent thumb over every cartridge, as though fusing his very essence into each deadly projectile. Sasuke didn't understand Naruto's obsession with loading his guns 'like a meticulous creep' before a mission, why he didn't just use a clip and save himself time.

Work smarter not harder.

Fuck efficiency, this part of his prep had nothing to do with it.

This was about pleasure, creating a slight buzz ahead of time.

There was just something about manually loading cartridge's into that first magazine that Naruto loved absolutely relished.

Like some kinda religious ritual at this point.

Once the mag was filled, he slammed it inside both pistols with a satisfying click, checked the safety and set them aside.

He hooked his favorite hunting knife at his hip, looped his arms through his gun holster and filled the empty slots with the heavy weight of steel, he stuffed the pockets lining his pants with his mini lock pick kit, a burner phone, a small flashlight, garrote, zip-cuffs and other necessities ranging from deadly to benign. Satisfied he had what he needed for work, Naruto grabbed his fitted balaclava half mask, pulled it over his head then covered his hard chin, chiseled jaw, and scarred cheeks.

He slipped on his gloves next, grabbed his long coat and was out the door, locking his dingy hotel room behind him.

Chilly night air ruffled his messy black locks, whistling in his ears and blowing trash around the ground. It was quiet out, only a few dirty hotel windows glowing with lights, muffled televisions drowning on as he walked down a deserted hall that would take him to the very back of the trashy lodging. Charlton Motel was a run down piece of shit that catered to tweakers looking for a place to OD, prostitutes that needed a place to work, and out of towners unfortunate enough to book a room in the mustard colored prison wanna-be. The places was so desolate and uniform, all it needed was bars on it's dingy ass windows and Naruto wouldn't be able to tell the difference from a cell block.