Chapter Text
He was working with lung cells from his latest Konoha-sanctioned project when the interruption arrived. He paused, straightened, and turned around slowly.
The chūnin standing at the door cowered.
“O-Orochimaru-sama,” the annoyance stuttered, bowing. “You’re requested in the emergency ward, room E47. It’s an—an e-emergency.”
“Evidently.” Orochimaru gave him a scornful stare. “Or you wouldn’t have interrupted me.”
The chūnin appeared to be one word away from his knees giving out.
“Well?” Orochimaru asked, his voice dripping acid. “Who requested me? What’s the emergency?” Imbeciles like these were what he despised the most.
“The Sandaime,” the chūnin hurried to answer. “I’m, I’m not sure of the exact situation—they won’t tell me—but it’s very urgent.”
Hiruzen. Irritation coiled in Orochimaru’s chest. He wasn’t some trained dog, to perform tricks and show up at his master’s every beck and call.
The chūnin sweated. “Orochimaru-sama—”
Unfortunately, with the recent rumours swirling around him and his suspicious behaviour, Orochimaru was in far too precarious of a position right now to test Hiruzen’s softheartedness any further.
“I’ll be there,” Orochimaru snapped. “Now leave.”
“Y-Yes!” the chūnin squeaked. He vanished in a puff of smoke.
Making a noise of displeasure, Orochimaru swept his hand over the cell culture dishes and activated the seals to temporarily preserve them. Whatever Hiruzen had sitting for him in E47, it had best be worth his time.
He flickered away.
E47. The room specialized for medical emergencies requiring only the most chakra-intensive and complex of sealing work. To be summoned there was an unusual development.
The moment Orochimaru arrived in the room of shifting black ink and glowing seal arrays, a hush fell over its five conscious occupants. This behaviour was something he was well-accustomed to, by now.
What he didn’t expect was for one of those occupants to have the distressed blue eyes of Namikaze Minato.
“Orochimaru-sama,” the Yellow Flash said instantly, his entire body tense as if ready for battle. “Thank you so much for coming here.”
Orochimaru raised an eyebrow. “Not at all.” His eyes fell to behind Minato. “And what’s this?”
At the centre of a triangular formation of three intensely concentrating medic-nin sealers, a limp figure occupied the sealing table. Orochimaru eyed the figure. A child. Female. Straight brown hair, in slight disarray. Rectangular, purple markings on her cheeks—the Nohara clan. A ragged hole in the fabric of her shirt, exposing the gaping wound in her chest. She wasn’t breathing; in her state, it would have been impossible. Instead, the seals covering her like a blanket of ink were keeping her in a state of stasis.
“Nohara Rin, one of my students,” Minato said heavily, as Orochimaru analyzed the intricately-woven seals with growing interest. Minato’s personal handiwork, it seemed. “She was stabbed through the heart with—with a lightning jutsu.” He hesitated. “Not many know this, but she was temporarily the jinchūriki of the Sanbi.”
“Oh?” Orochimaru murmured. It seemed the lifeless body in the centre of the room was growing more interesting by the second.
Minato grimaced, and as if realizing how much he needed to explain, his next words came in a rush. “It was a failed plot by Kiri—thankfully, at least, the Sanbi’s restorative chakra was able to mostly reform her organs, before the Sanbi was able to escape her body due to her body shutting down and Kiri’s seals weakening.”
Yes, there were also chakra network stabilization seals layered overtop the stasis seals, weren’t there? As would be necessary to attempt to save the life of a former jinchūriki. Orochimaru strode forwards, ignoring the weak protests of the medic-nin around him. He needed to get a closer look.
Minato immediately stepped aside to let him pass. “She couldn’t have been a jinchūriki for more than a couple of hours—twelve at most. Her chakra network wouldn’t have built up that much of a dependence on the Sanbi, not in so short a time. She should be able to survive, if—”
“If this little injury of hers can be healed.” Standing next to the child, Orochimaru could glean a much clearer picture of just how severe her wound was. The core essentials were still there, though very hastily and haphazardly patched. Yet even so, major blood vessels were ruptured and heart tissue torn; skin was missing altogether. It was a miracle that mere seals were able to keep her alive.
But perhaps it wasn’t entirely a miracle.
Orochimaru eyed the girl again, more critically this time. Nohara, Nohara. Was that not the name of a clan that the Senju line had once married into, generations back? Did the girl’s features not seem so incredibly familiar, perhaps reminiscent of one Senju Hashirama? And to be able to cling on to life despite her state—an impressive healing factor, evidently.
More thoughts—ones of a slightly more unscrupulous nature—rolled around in his mind.
Perhaps…
He turned to Minato, who, judging by his tightly pressed lips and white knuckles, was clearly frustrated with Orochimaru’s long silence. Nevertheless, he held his tongue like the good little anxious sensei he was, and waited for Orochimaru to speak.
“You realize that there is no simple fix for a hole through the centre of one’s chest,” Orochimaru said, greatly entertained. “In fact, I do believe that she will be dead within a matter of minutes, regardless of how many seals you layer onto her.” He turned back to take closer note of the frankly fascinating seal arrays criss-crossing the girl’s body.
As he did so, he smiled. He could hear Minato’s breath catch, and it was endearing, really. This Nohara Rin—one of his former students, was it?
“You’re the only person who might be able to save Rin,” Minato said, as desperate and despairing as Orochimaru had ever seen him. It was almost fascinating, having the opportunity to see the ever-composed Yellow Flash in the midst of a breakdown. “The Hokage tells me that recovery from extensive injury has been a large focus in some of your more experimental research. Please, if there’s anything at all you can try…” His words trailed off, blue eyes pleading.
Orochimaru’s smile widened. “Well, I do like a good challenge.” He inclined his head towards the girl. “If I may transport her to my private labs? Her condition requires immediate attention.”
The request was only a perfunctory motion, of course. Minato wouldn’t refuse.
“Of course,” Minato said immediately, his shoulders sagging just a touch in relief. “I’m in your debt.” There was still an edge to the way he looked at Orochimaru, watchful and wary, but it was overshadowed by desperation and determination. “Do you need my help transporting her?”
“No, I have my own methods.” Orochimaru would sooner outright confess to his crimes than allow the Hokage’s pet to place a Hiraishin marker within a hundred feet of his private research facilities. He knelt down by the girl’s side and placed a hand on her chest, just under the raw, open wound.
His lips curved upwards.
A more perfect opportunity could not have fallen into his hands.
As of late, the time he spent in his Otogakure labs was almost always maddening, yielding nothing but failure after failure.
That was not the case today.
Orochimaru stood in front of a simple surgical table, his hands clasped behind his back. He was smiling, something he found that he had been doing disproportionately often in the few hours since he had been called to aid Minato’s student.
Had it really been only five hours? Because the improvement that Nohara Rin had showed in that short amount of time was astounding.
“It’s quite incredible,” Kabuto said from beside him, nodding at the figure on the table. “The Hashirama cells you instructed me to graft to the site of injury are more than just compatible. They seem to be responsible for a nearly tripled rate of physical recovery and chakra restoration for a kunoichi of her age.” He handed Orochimaru a clipboard of her vital readings. “Of course, we can’t know for certain whether or not an accelerated healing factor was something she already possessed before the graft. But considering she was near-dead when you brought her here, it seems safe to assume the cells are responsible.”
Orochimaru’s eyes skimmed over the various statistics, and let out a slow laugh. “Just as incredible as you say.” He gave Kabuto a sharp smile. “Did you know that this girl’s second cousin, four times removed, is Senju Hashirama?” A interesting tidbit of information he had gleaned from a trip to the Konoha archives.
Kabuto didn’t visibly react. “Really?” he said, in a mildly curious tone of voice. “Then…”
“Yes. We’ll run one more trial,” Orochimaru said, anticipation lacing his words. He set the clipboard down and turned to Kabuto. “There’s still some of the injection remaining, is there not?”
“Yes, Orochimaru-sama.”
“Good; begin now. Use up all of it. If this doesn’t work—even with the girl’s heritage—then nothing will.”
Kabuto gave a nod.
The other sixty trials had been abject failures, but something told Orochimaru that this one would be a success.
Before Orochimaru had even come to a full stop in front of the apartment door, the door flew open.
“Orochimaru-sama!” Minato blurted out. “How is—” He saw Orochimaru’s sombre expression, and the words died on his tongue. He froze.
“Minato-san. Rin died of heart failure a few moments ago.” Orochimaru paused and counted two seconds, which he deemed was long enough of a “respectful silence”. “I apologize that I couldn’t save her.”
A much, much longer silence passed. Minato stared at Orochimaru with a pale, horrified expression. He hadn’t moved an inch, one hand still on the doorknob and gripping it so tightly that Orochimaru idly wondered if it would crumple under the force.
Six seconds passed. Orochimaru waited, careful to keep his impatience hidden.
Minato swallowed. “Let me see her body.”
“Are you certain?” Orochimaru raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a very pretty sight.”
Minato nodded, his mouth set in a thin line. He let go of the doorknob—Orochimaru was almost surprised to see that the doorknob was undamaged—stepped forwards, and shut the door behind him.
Orochimaru tilted his head. “Very well, then. Do you know where my lab under Konoha’s hospital is?”
He watched Minato stare at the girl’s body. She was wracked with bulbous, flesh-like growths that were as white as the thin hospital gown she wore. They covered nearly every inch of her skin, to the point where she was likely unrecognizable to anyone but close friends and family members. The normally unflappable shinobi looked sick, his face pallid.
Orochimaru wanted to laugh; this afternoon’s turn of events had been nothing short of pure entertainment. But he held it in, letting himself be content with observing Minato’s horror.
“Has Hiruzen mentioned to you the specifics of my project?” Orochimaru asked conversationally. “I’ve been working with a very… unique cell line. It has a remarkable healing capacity, but isn’t compatible with everyone. Regrettably, Rin’s body rejected it.”
“Rin,” Minato whispered.
Almost as if he had been jolted out of a trance, he rushed to the girl’s side and placed two fingers on the side of her neck. When he couldn’t feel a pulse, he jerked away as if he had been administered an electric shock. He took a slow step back.
Was Minato’s breathing… uneven? A slight smirk pulled at Orochimaru’s lips.
“I can’t believe it.” Minato’s shoulders trembled. “How could—” He took a steadying breath. “I should have been there,” he said quietly. “I should have kept them safe. I could have kept them safe. What kind of sensei am I, that my students keep dying, one by one, on my watch?”
Had others on Minato’s team also died? Orochimaru probed his memory. The Hatake boy? No, Orochimaru would have taken greater note if that had occurred.
Ah, yes—the loud-mouthed Uchiha boy. Orochimaru had briefly considered using him for his cursed seal experiments—the boy was certainly idiotic enough for it to be easy. But Uchiha Obito’s hopeless personality and complete lack of talent had led that idea to be immediately discarded.
“You have quite the bad luck, it seems,” Orochimaru said, amused. He watched Minato a bit longer. “If you’re done here, Minato-san, I’ll be taking her to the morgue for cremation. The risk of her body being used or examined by enemy shinobi, you understand.” It was a shame Minato couldn’t appreciate the irony in Orochimaru’s words.
Minato nodded, then tore his eyes away from the girl to speak more directly at Orochimaru. “I’ll… I’ll be going, then. Thank you for trying to save her,” he said mechanically. He bowed, ever-polite even in mourning.
Orochimaru dipped his head in acknowledgement, and watched Minato flicker away. He counted ten seconds this time, until he was certain Minato had completely left and would not be back.
Then a slow smile crossed his face.
With a lazy, one-handed seal, the jutsu cloaking the girl’s chakra disappeared. Orochimaru strode forwards to inspect the girl’s pulse. It was faint—already, her body was recuperating from the snake venom. He had been right to give her a much higher dosage in light of her bolstered immune system. The Hashirama cell injections, too, were something that her body was responding nicely to. Her currently grotesque appearance, the first stage of the treatment, was an auspicious sign that her body was rapidly replacing her cells with new, Mokuton-compatible ones.
Orochimaru licked his lips with a grin. The thrill of a successful experiment was more intoxicating than any bottle of sake.
Nohara Rin was not going to be cremated any time soon.
He was in the middle of taking measurements on the hand-mouths of a recently-captured, drugged Iwagakure shinobi when he felt the sensors trigger. He let the limp hand fall unceremoniously to the table.
“Anko, continue running the tests,” he said smoothly. “I’ll be back shortly.”
His assistant blinked up at him, startled. “But—but I’ve never—”
“You’ve observed for long enough to know what to do. Just ensure our guest of honour doesn’t wake up.”
He left Anko coughing on smoke and empty air.
It was a good thing that Orochimaru had moved the girl to his lab in the caves under Konoha, rather than back to Oto. From the control room screens, he watched her frantic struggles to break out of her room.
He hadn’t expected her to wake so soon. Thirty-seven days since the treatment had begun, and her body was apparently already functional enough—and her new immune system heightened enough—to wake her out of her drugged sleep.
“Let me out of here!” came her voice from the speakers. She glared into the security camera at Orochimaru. “I know you’re watching, whoever you are!”
The ambient chakra monitor for her room spiked, and Orochimaru decided to intervene before she tried to destroy his equipment as a means to get his attention.
She was still facing the security camera when he materialized behind her in a mass of swarming snakes.
“Ah, Rin-chan,” he said, putting on a nice smile. “I’m very happy to see that you’re awake.”
She spun around much too slowly, obviously still lethargic from the drugs. “Orochimaru-sama?” Her posture relaxed, to Orochimaru’s amusement. “What’s going on? Where’s Kakashi? Why am I here? I thought I—” Her voice caught. “I thought I died.”
“I don’t think you realize how much this will change things,” Orochimaru mused, mostly to himself. “Danzō, for one, will be ecstatic to hear the good news.” He paused, evaluating her. “That is, if you have Mokuton. But I’m certain it will manifest itself soon enough.”
“Moku—” The girl blinked in confusion, then shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Never mind. Where’s Minato-sensei?”
Orochimaru laughed, loud and delighted, and the girl shrunk back, her brows furrowing. “Why, I told him you were dead, Rin-chan. He was quite distressed to hear it.”
The girl’s already uncertain expression clouded even further with a hint of suspicion, a hint of fear. “What?”
“Don’t worry,” Orochimaru purred. “You can trust me. I’m a Sannin, aren’t I?” He advanced towards her, smirk on his face.
“Take me to Sensei,” she said shakily. She backed away until her back hit the corner of the room. Her eyes tightened, and she settled into a defensive stance, her fists clenched.
Orochimaru grinned, sharp teeth showing, licking his lips in a show of his unnaturally long tongue. He let his eyes flash, dropping all pretenses of being nice or amiable, and revelled in the look of revulsion on the girl’s face.
“I’m afraid he’s far, far away,” he said patronizingly. She froze as he reached a hand out, but he only patted her head. “Now, be a good girl and go to sleep, will you?”
The girl tensed, as if about to throw a punch or dart away. But before she could do so, Orochimaru’s snake bit her on the neck and she crashed to the ground.
He surveyed her with a pleased smile. Anko would be on her own for a while—Orochimaru had many, much more important tests to run, now.
But first, he would need to do something about those bothersome memories of Rin’s. Danzō, after all, did not like his soldiers to come with sentiment attached.
“Being a kunoichi, she is already trained,” Orochimaru said reasonably. Like always, the unnecessarily cavernous Root base ensured his words reverberated loud and clear to all the little cockroaches listening in on their conversation. “And with her memories gone, she is perfect for you to mold.”
Danzō’s face was set in an expression of practiced dispassion, but the sharpness in his eye betrayed him. “You’re certain she has Mokuton?”
Orochimaru bristled. “Of course. Do you doubt me?”
“No, but you must understand my skepticism when the other sixty were failures.” Danzō ignored Orochimaru’s cold stare, tapping a finger on his cane. “Even disregarding that, she is a chūnin, barely out of the Academy. Her skills are hardly up to par with what is expected in Root.”
“She uses medical ninjutsu, a skill which I know you’re desperate to have for your violent little soldiers. And if the Mokuton which you’ve hounded me endlessly about is not considered ‘up to par’, then perhaps your old age is finally inhibiting your faculties,” Orochimaru said, growing increasingly irritated that Danzō felt the need to play the imbecile and delay their conversation’s obvious conclusion. “You should be pleased I took the initiative to run another experiment for you, outside of our agreed-upon sixty.”
Danzō stared at him, and Orochimaru narrowed his eyes right back.
“Fine, then.” Danzō’s expression wrinkled as though he were doing Orochimaru some great favour. “And what is it you want, in return for the girl?” he asked in distaste. “More funding, I imagine? More test subjects for your pet projects?”
“In return for the first Mokuton user since the Shodai Hokage himself,” Orochimaru corrected loftily, “I’ll be expecting payment of comparable value, of course.”
He smiled. “Now, then. Let’s discuss the details, shall we?”
Consciousness crept back to her slowly, accompanied by the distinct feeling that something big—something fundamental—was wrong. Her muscles felt sluggish and impossibly heavy, but she tried to sit up anyways—only to feel cuffs restraining her to her bed. There were multiple needles on her arms attached to IV drips, as well as strange tubes and electrodes. Was she in a hospital? This small, dark room with its rough walls and stone composition didn’t seem like a hospital.
And there was something wrong—it niggled at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite remember—
She couldn’t remember.
She couldn’t remember.
And then she was suddenly all too aware of it, of the huge, gaping vacancy in her mind where memories should have been, but weren’t—
Panic coursed through her, lifting some of the wooziness from her mind. She heard footsteps, and then a voice.
“She’s awake,” the voice said, and something in its tone made her stiffen with an inexplicable dread.
She struggled against the grogginess in order to turn her head to the side, and saw that the voice belonged to a man with long black hair, pale skin, and, most strikingly—most unnervingly—slit pupils and yellow eyes. Like a snake. He smiled at her as though she was a particularly entertaining but dumb monkey in a zoo.
“Who am I?” she tried to demand, but the words came out weak and slurred.
From behind him, another man—severe-looking, with bandages over his right eye—appeared. “You are no one,” he said, voice like gravel and face like stone. “You are to be a soldier in Konoha’s Root.” He returned her muddled stare with absolutely zero friendliness in his gaze.
“Let me go,” she said, struggling against her restraints.
“So demanding,” the snake-like man said, clucking his tongue with an amused expression. But he formed the Ram seal with his right hand (Ram? How did she know that?) and the cuffs around her arms and legs clicked open. She immediately removed the tubes and needles (the cannulas, and how did she know that?) from her arms. She sat up, shivering. It was cold.
“What’s going on?” Her voice sounded small and weak. Scared. “Why don’t I remember anything?”
The snake-like man didn’t say anything, but his eyes glittered like he was secretly laughing at her. The other man stepped forwards, pinning her with a single dark eye.
“You possess Mokuton, girl. And with it, you will help Konoha achieve great things.”