Capítulo 8: Memories, Mischief and Naruto
A raw wind blew, laying a coat of fine ice along the street. There was no life, death, or anything else you'd expect in the once-bustling city of Manhattan. The place looked barren, devoid of everything and anything at once.
Taking in the desolate streets once more, she jumps from her perch and enters one of the more structurally sound buildings. Coming face-to-face with her band of merry soldiers again, she had to admit that even now, as they were facing hardships, she didn't know what she'd do without some of these people.
They were all so full of adrenaline and spirit that they made this whole venture much easier to pull off. She could never say 'no' to them, though. They may be idiots, but that didn't stop her from liking them.
She watches as they rush around and make last-minute preparations for their next raid. They all had the same determined eyes as usual, but she also noticed how each one of them had their own special air of purpose that gave her confidence even as they all shared the same burdens. She always admired that about these guys.
They were individuals who didn't fear doing what needed to be done, even if it meant putting themselves in danger. She hoped that when this was all over, she could lead them to a new beginning. She couldn't wait for the day. For now, she would have to settle on helping them prepare for it instead.
"It took you long enough," Matthew, one of her greatest allies and an even greater assassin, muttered, fixing her with basilisk eyes.
"You should've been here an hour ago," His brother Mateo continues with a sigh.
She laughed, sending the two her most disarming smile: "When you're on first watch and then have to do reconnaissance, then you can come talk to me about being late; until then, kindly fuck off."
Look at her leader, one of the most feared people in the world, getting berated for being late to her own meeting. Oh, the irony. She allows everyone their fair share of grumbling as her gaze wanders the room.
Her co-leaders were arguing again. She rolled her eyes.
Malia was attempting to strong-arm Nathaniel into sharpening her sword, and he was making it his mission to ignore her. She smiled even in these dire situations; those two always had that effect on her.
She turned her attention back to the people in the room. Walking over to stand on a small crate in the center.
"Gather around, gather around, she said. "I've just returned from scouting the enemy stronghold, and it's safe to say this will be one of our biggest raids yet."
The group began to murmur as she continued. "It would seem that they're the ones who looted the city and have taken residence in Freedom Tower, which has held up despite the battles throughout the city. They have enough food in there to feed themselves for a year and still have plenty to spare. On top of that, they seem to be creating a criminal syndicate below the tower, creating tunnels and rooms in an attempt to connect themselves to the city catacombs. It's a miracle that they haven't found us yet, both figuratively and literally.
With that being said, prepare your artifacts, sharpen your weapons, and get a good few hours of sleep, for we set out at dawn."
The cheers echoed off the walls and bounced off tunnels old and new before everyone set out, leaving her and her captains in the empty hall. If this raid worked, they'd be able to feed the masses that had taken refuge under the city and take one step further to stabilize it.
"That was some scouting mission!" Malia laughed as she and Nathaniel walked over to her. "You've been planning it for what? A month now, and you've come up with all this on your first go. I knew there was a reason you were our leader."
Nathaniel laughed "Besides the fact that she's the oldest of the three of us, she can command a room full of grown men with her presence alone and would be the least likely to make decisions that might lead to us getting killed."
They laugh in agreement before Malia takes another look around the hall. It seemed like they were finally alone, with only her and her co-leads in the building. They shared glances, knowing full well where she wanted to take this conversation, but kept quiet, letting her have her say.
"I know we have an amazing advantage over any enemies that might try to attack us, but you guys shouldn't forget we're not invincible. We aren't immortal. So many people have already died while fighting this war. People have lost friends and loved ones, and I'm willing to bet that we will lose more too if this plan falls through.
Nathaniel took a breath, taking in her and Malia's expressions with a firm nod. "You're right; we'll need to be prepared. We don't want to get complacent and think we'll survive and get to live forever."
"I agree, Matthew chimed in, waltzing into the room with Mateo by his side. "I'm surprised we managed to pull it off; I don't think anyone has seen or heard from the enemy for weeks."
"That makes this all the more dangerous, Malia sighs. So come on, let's head to the barracks and make our last-minute prep."
"Alright," she replied, turning to Nathaniel and asking, "Are you coming or do you wanna stay back?"
He looks between them and smiles. "I think you'll manage without me for a few minutes. I'll talk to our weaponsmith and come right up."
"Alright, we'll see you in a few," she tells him as she walks away with the rest of her crew.
After they enter the barracks, Matthew asks, "So is this a group operation to split up or..."
"We'll be going in four groups so we can cover more ground quickly and efficiently and still be in range for contact through the receivers if anything goes wrong," Nathaniel answers, running up behind them and taking command of the discussion once more.
Marcella watches herself converse with them and screams. She screams at them to change the plan and their roles in it, to question the loyalty of the man who smiles and stands with them as if he is not the traitor in their mists.
Her memories of this battle, preparation, and all are vivid, so much so that she'd think it real if the wolf by her side had not whispered the sad truth in her ears.
It is only a dream.
She looks down at herself—the one from her past and the one from her present. She remembers twenty-one years as a young adult, and she remembers the mere four years she has lived as this child.
It mixes and mashes together into a distortion of the two until she just is, both old and new.
She thinks of her world as a world of objects imbued with power. Giving users the ability to both create and destroy. Once simple objects became extensions of their former selves,
How these objects, these artifacts, extended the fields of science, medicine, and so much more, aiding in the end of a once peaceful world
Scientists could create things they thought impossible or improbable by making and recreating ideas they had once brushed aside as mere passing thoughts.
Soldiers could continue fighting even if they were once at death's door.
Doctors could cure diseases once thought to be incurable without risking the lives of those they sought to cure.
It was wonderful at first; it truly was, but then one bad apple poisoned the entire orchard.
One thing led to another and another, and people fought, killed, and eventually died, fighting for objects that had meant nothing in their once mundane lives in hopes of fulfilling the goals they had for themselves.
You could save or destroy the lives of thousands with a single object, but it all depended on who owned it.
Some used them to monopolize people into believing they could do things they couldn't.
Others used them to try to end the monopoly.
But in the end, when both sides had lost more than they bargained for, they realized too late that nothing, not even the artifacts that could save lives, could bring back the dead.
Poor broken souls who had lost far too much had learned the hard way that you could not undo what had already been done.
She compares it to the world she lives in now and thinks that maybe there's hope for her. She may intertwine the two, somehow making parts of her past her present.
Make sure her past, the past she lived in, aids her in creating a better future in her new world.
She glances back down at her past self, watching the scene unfold, and wishes she knew then what she knows now.
Athena moves forward, followed by a team of twenty men and women in masks, guns in hand, and knives at their waists.
She motions forward, watching her team scale the mass of glass and metal as she keeps a lookout.
What happens next has Marcella closing her eyes from above.
Athena holds a hand to her receiver, listening to the calls of her team.
"Noire here; point D over."
"Blanche: point B over."
"Bleu, point C over."
...
"Violet, do you copy?" she muttered quietly.
.....
Violet, do you copy?"
There was static, then laughter. The sound echoed in the three commanders' ears.
"You're too late." Mateo laughed, causing a dull chill to run down her spine. "You're too damn late. They're all dead!"
Marcella watches her past self order a retreat and gets an echoing silence in response. She watches as she scales the tower wall and enters through the window she had ordered her soldiers through, being met with a brutal slaughter.
Mateo laughed as he stood over the bodies of his brother and comrades. She took a step forward to attack him, to kill him, to do something to aid her in gaining some semblance of control, but was stopped by the tightened grip of a hand on her ankle.
Matthew looked up at her, his grip tight and his voice hollow, begging her not to kill his brother despite the bloody hole in his chest.
And Mateo, without a care for his brother's pleas despite his betrayal, stepped forward faster than she could follow and thrust his sword into the man's heart.
Marcella remembers the blur of memories that followed. How she moved without thinking and removed the traitor's head from his body.
How she was on the verge of dismantling said body before more static echoed in her ear.
She remembers screams of terror, fear, hatred, and rage as she, with anger fueling her thoughts and a single goal in mind, continued the raid and, in the process, slaughtered every man and woman who got in her way.
She went to the syndicate, leading every wronged being to freedom and watching as the entire building burned from the highest spire of their base.
They won the raid that day, but not without cost.
*****
She wakes up to the sun in her eyes and a sheet around her body. She tosses it aside, lying flat against her mattress and staring at the ceiling as her thoughts run wild.
I understand that your past is dark and that it brings you both pain and unbridled joy to remember, but you must not dwell on these thoughts.
She sighed, running her hand through her tangled locks.
I thank you for your words, Wolf, but it is much harder than you make it seem. I cannot simply stop dwelling on the past, just as you cannot simply leave my mind.
That memory, as maddening as it is and as awful as it was, is one of many reminders that this world and her own are vastly different while at the same time being eerily similar in their complexity.
It helps ground her and reminds her of who she is.
She is Marcella and Athena; to think otherwise would mean to disregard everything that made her who she was—the new world and new body be damned.
She was just as much one as she was the other, no matter how much being in this world seemed to distort that reality.
Marcella grabs the covers she tossed aside and places them beside her before coming out of bed and walking over to her closet to pick out some clothes.
What do you plan to do today?
Stepping into the bathroom and out of her sleepwear, she sighs.
I honestly have no clue. I'll probably wander the village for a while and maybe play a game with Mom.
In her head, she could see the spiritual image of him nodding before she stepped into the shower.
The wolf was right; she should stop dwelling on her not-so-perfect past, at least for a little while.
*****
Walking down the streets of Konohagakure, half in idle curiosity and half in suspicion, She thinks that it was both a horrible and great idea to play a village-wide game of tag with her mother.
The crowds of civilians and ninjas alike were a great cover for her four-year-old self, even if half the ninjas who caught her eye seemed to be in on their game.
Her eyes skim over the crowd from her place on a merchant stall.
Her mother had disappeared halfway into their chase, reappearing in random areas that seemed to be desolate or had fewer people.
She watched her eyes narrow as a shadow disappeared behind one of the fruit carts, and she immediately jumped from her perch and into another crowd.
Marcella half-heartedly weaved through civilians and ran down narrow pathways, sending her mother a cheeky smirk and letting out a hearty laugh as she followed behind her.
Jumping out of the alleyway and into another crowd, she made a point of trying to lose her mother this time before entering a random cleaning and settling herself against a large, shady tree.
Her lungs ached with the effort she put into outrunning her, so, with no sign of her tracker, she settled herself against the tree to catch her breath.
It only takes a few minutes before she knows she's been found. She can feel it in the not-so-subtle shift in the air before callused hands block her view.
"Hello there, Ella." Her dad laughed, removing his hands from her eyes and scooping her up to place her on his shoulder as he walked out of the clearing.
"You gave your Kaasan quite the chase," he chuckled, brown locks falling from his hair.
With a huff and a small laugh, she tucks the stray strands behind his ear. "That was the point, Tou-san, though I didn't think she'd disappear mid-chase. So that was kind of surprising."
He hums, and she has a feeling he's quirking his eyebrows at her.
"Is that so? Well, she should be here in a second."
Just as he finished his sentence, a slender pair of arms wrapped around her middle, dragging her from one pair of shoulders to the next.
"Hello, darling." Her mother, Reiko, smiles, pushing dainty fingers into her sides and causing a bout of squirmish laughter to escape her from her new perch.
They continue walking as her childish laughter echoes through the streets, cheeky waves and amused chuckles being sent their way as her laughter continues.
Finally, as if sensing her limit, the woman's fingers move from her side instead of tightening on her legs as she calms down from the unexpected attack.
She glances down at the two as they fall into idle conversation and sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. These genes are ridiculous.
From nightmares and daring chases to the effects of the gene pool, you know I shouldn't even be surprised.
She rolls her eyes as an amused huff echoes in her head.
Can you blame me? It's like someone saw these too-pretty people and said, 'Hey, I'm gonna use that to make something prettier.
I could be the byproduct of someone's pretty fantasy.
You sound like a child obsessed with her and her parent's beauty, but OK. If you say so,
She rolls her eyes at the sarcasm in his tone but says nothing as she continues to admire her parents.
Her dad: A whopping six and a half inches in height with tall brown hair in wolf cut style, curtain bangs, silverish blue eyes, a well-defined jaw, and that damn ninja outfit without the vest is enough to make any woman with common sense swoon.
Then there's her mom, who's five-foot-eight inches tall, has raven hair that's almost always running down her back in waves if not in a ponytail, seafoam green eyes, and, surprise, an hourglass figure.
A prom king and queen, if she ever saw one. The man who makes all women swoon, and the woman who brings all men to their knees
With these genes, she knows she's gonna look a tad too good in the future, and despite admiring their beauty now, she's not sure if she's gonna be able to handle the repercussions of that beauty.
Marcella loosens her grip on her mother's hair as she stirs in her thoughts.
"Marci-chan," Her father huffs, putting a damper on that particular train of thought. "You're always getting lost in your head; is something in there more interesting than what's out here?"
No," she said, biting her lip and resisting the urge to smile once again.
Her mother snickers at his side as Marcella covers her mouth to stifle a chuckle.
"We're heading to the Hokage's office. Wanna come with?" Her father asks, she nods, and the three start their trek to the Hokage Residence.
******
The Hokage's office is almost the same as she remembers from the series.
The large wooden desk is just as large and just as messy as it had been. Even in the presence of the Anbu guards, she feels almost familiar with it all.
The Hokage himself looks just as she remembers, or as much as she chooses to remember, as kind and grandfatherly as he seemed to be in the world of Naruto.
She remembers this, and she remembers deceit, ignorance, and the spineless old fool who was given the title of Professor but seemed so deluded by the task of simply acknowledging and correcting the full extent of his failures.
His eyes are vacant as they meet hers, despite the warm smile he greets her family with, and she can't help but sigh at the memory that echoes in the expanse of her mind.
'Honestly, girl, I can't stand Hiruzen; his character as a whole just feels like a hastily placed gag.' She remembers telling Malia one morning after she finished watching the chunin exam arc.
'He's not that bad,' She remembers Malia replying as she took a sip of the girl's coffee.
This was before the raids, before the war, before everything fell to shit before their eyes.
'He is too bad; he aided, tolerated, and helped influence all that shit with Kakashi, Itachi, Danzo, Orochimaru, etc., and you're telling me he's not that bad.
He was hot when he was our age, okay? He would've been in the top ten too if he didn't go and get all old.
'He was a Dilf; that's your reasoning, bitch, she says, laughing and throwing a book from the counter at her friend. That's no damn excuse for his bullshit!'
She sighs, and if she tilts her head and squints a bit, it's almost like she can trick herself into believing he's not there. But he is there, and he and her parents are actually in his office.
This must be how Hidan feels when he's on the hunt for a sacrifice, but in this case, she's not Hidan; she's a twenty-one-year-old woman in a four-year-old body who, if given a gun, if they even exist in this world, would've gone on a trigger-happy rampage through the outskirts of Ame, Iwa, and the inner walls of her very own village.
Yes, she thinks a smile unknowingly etching itself onto her face. They'd call it The Trigger Happy Travesty.
Following that thought, she hears the rumbles of laughter in her mindscape.
No matter how many times I witness it, it still surprises me, to the full extent of your knowledge. Even with reincarnation as a rather unprecedented factor, I don't think you should remember as much as you do.
Before she can respond to him, however, she is all too quickly brought back to the present. Her response halted, and the Hokage's smile ever-present despite the silence.
"Hello there, Marcella-Kun. And wasn't that just weird? - It's nice to finally meet you."
She smiles, a chill creeping up her spine as she stills the expression on her features. "Good to see you too, Hokage-sama." He fixes her with that grandfatherly gaze of his, and this time she can't stop the squirm that travels through her body under the man's gaze.
"Are you gonna become a shinobi, Marcella-chan?"
There's a moment of silence. Marcella's patience and the little pity she can feel for the man feel like they're being stretched thin.
The question is asked with an air of curiosity, but Marcella knows better; her parents know better; and the old man in the Hokage hat knows better.
She had a feeling this question would come up sooner or later, maybe on her birthday or before she became, you know, eligible to apply in the first place. To ask this question means she has no choice; it is no longer a matter of if but when she'll become a shinobi.
And by the minuscule tensing of her mother's shoulders and the small breath that leaves her father, they know this too.
Her voice comes out in a slow drawl, a tad terser than she intended in her response.
"Maybe? It depends on what I feel could be right for my life and the impact that would have on those I care for."
She has his attention now, and her response gives him pause and time to reaccess whatever flawed depiction of her he has in that not-so-right head of his.
She wouldn't be surprised if he's pulling whatever he can from that to try and figure her out before she's even grown into the personality she's greeted him with so far.
He nods and turns away, sparing her one final calculating glance before very clearly dismissing her to chat with her parents.
*****
You don't seem to realize how much of your past life you seem to channel when in these situations. 'Wolfie' hums as she and her parents exit the Hokage Residence.
Blame the trauma.
He had never answered her when she asked about the name thing three years ago, and he hasn't even now. She wasn't one to push if not necessary, so she had taken to calling him Wolfie or Wolf for the time being, despite his numerous claims that the name was shit and he didn't like it.
Marcella cracks her neck and rolls her shoulders, letting out a hollow sigh as her thoughts drift into that place they always went when she thought about her new life.
She's four now; last year, when she was three, Hinata was kidnapped, according to the conversation she overheard from her mother. That means Neji's father is most likely dead, and Neji himself is spiraling into that crappy, unconventional thing about fate.
It's technically also around the age where Naruto gets kicked out of the orphanage, so he should be-
No. No, she's not thinking about him right now. She had to physically shake herself free of the thought. She had promised herself not to interfere with the plot until she'd started the academy. There were a few exceptions to the rule, though, that didn't seem to make it any easier. She had met with the Kage, but that was more of an inconvenience and a lack of thought on her part.
He wasn't instrumental to the plot, even if he did have a role to play in its development.
"Hey, watch where you're going," a voice snarls, startling her from her thoughts.
A boy sat before her on the ground, his blonde hair falling into his face as he looked up at her angrily from under his brows. "
"This is not the best time universe," she mutters under her breath as her plans crumble to dust.
Right there, merely three feet away from her, stood the unpredictable ninja himself. She could feel herself stiffen, and a groan made its way up her throat.
The raucous laughter of her tenant echoing in her mind didn't help her feel any better.
She turns to spare a glance at her parents, but when her body fully turns to face them, they're already gone, the only remnants of their presence being the stray leaves floating to the ground.
They had no problem with Naruto having known his parents all those years ago, but to just leave her behind with him without a word would be met with later retribution.
Marcella swallows nervously as she turns her attention back to the boy. The two are already gathering the attention of a few passing civilians.
"I'm sorry"
The words are said with all the sincerity she can give as the boy, Naruto, gets up with a grumble, brushing off his shorts as he did.
"Sure you are."
He turns, ready to bolt down the street and to who knows where, when her hand shoots out and grabs the hem of his shirt.
"Wait!-
He turns to her, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. The two pointedly ignored the glares of the gathering civilians.
"Let me make it up to you."
He looks her up and down skeptically, and she can't help but feel she's being assessed by both him and his tenant.
"Alright, he smiles, and the sight is a thing of beauty. "Meet me at Ichiraku Ramen tomorrow at 12!"
She nods quietly, watching as he turns once again and practically skips down the road and through the crowd of glaring civilians.
One particular civilian walks up to her, smiling now that the boy is gone. "Hi child, be careful of that one," She says, her voice stilted with hate and a concept that she doesn't fully understand. "He's dangerous"
The grumblings and mutters of agreement that ripple through the crowd have Marcella shaking her head in annoyance.
She doesn't even respond, a small hum passing her lips as she walks away from the woman and the dispersing crowd.
Frowning, she looks up at the towering mass that was the Hokage mountain, then back to the empty street the blonde boy had passed through before starting her journey home.
It is only then, in the comfort of her room, with her back to the door and eyes to the floor, that she chooses to acknowledge the extent of her situation.
"Shit," She sighs, and she's sliding down the door, head in her hands. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"
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