desolate minds

v. holding your fate

In my previous life, I had studied in the medical branch during my time at university. Though my time there had been cut short due to a freak disaster, the information I had learned evolved later on when I met up with a group of scientists and other medical practitioners. We learned from each other and worked together on what was to be a cure to the disease that had taken too many lives; both innocent and corrupted.

I'd say we got far, but the most we really accomplished was stalling the disease; with a dose of the serum we concocted, you'd get to live forty-eight hours longer than the usual "less than twenty-four hours" bullshit everyone else was stuck with. That was the last thing I remember us doing before I killed myself; which was stupid now that I've had all these years to think about it. I shouldn't have given up so easily back then. I could have pushed myself harder to get back to the base, take the serum, and then use the remaining time I had left to help as much as I could. Even after that I could have allowed the others to use me as a test subject.

None of that mattered now though, so thinking about it would only serve to frustrate me. All I could do was look forward and promise myself that I wouldn't give up this time around. No more being fucking weak. I was going to make myself stronger than I was before; not just physically, but mentally. Of course, my past life had already hardened a part of me, but in the end I had still submitted too easily when the end was in sight.

I was getting closer to my goal of "strength" with each passing day. It had been awhile since my slight mental breakdown (after I had seen that image of Kakashi and Sakumo) and Sasori was nine now. I was still only five, but not slacking in the least when it came to my training. Physical training was going smoothly, but what I was more focused on was studying the many venomous and poisonous plants, animals, and even rocks that existed in this world. Some were similar to the ones in my past, while others were completely new to me.

With all of this knowledge, I inched closer and closer to becoming adept in the use of them. I'd learn how to extract them, create them, and intermingle them with other objects (such as weapons, food, and clothing). Not only that, but I wasn't stupid enough to forget about researching the matching antidotes.

Chiyo was quick to notice my interest and, considering her prior knowledge of poisons, was proud to assist me with my newfound skillset. Sasori would give a helping hand every now and then when he was available, but Chiyo knew more than him at the moment, so it made more sense for her to teach me rather than my brother.

This all led to how I was practically becoming a master of poisons at only age five. Of course, to everyone else I seemed to be a genius prodigy, while the truth was that I simply had past knowledge on my side. With some more research and practice, I would become full fledged master by the time I was seven at the least. That's what Chiyo had cackled to me anyway, but I took the words as a challenge and decided I'd try to become one by age six. Telling that to my grandmother only made her laugh harder. She had high hopes for me.

Though poisons were my main focus, it wasn't the only thing I was working on. Chiyo had finally allowed me to work on my trap-making after I proved to be efficient in poisons. For now I was only working on basic Academy-level traps, but soon I'd move on to a whole different level of them. First I'd have to master the simple stuff... and then I'd have to learn fūinjutsu; no pressure. In the beginning, I knew that Chiyo would only expect me to learn basic and relatively easy seals, but eventually I'd have to learn more advanced ones if I wanted my traps to become stronger.

Fūinjutsu wasn't something I was interested in, but if it meant that another one of my skills would become more powerful— then I'd be willing to learn. No matter how much I was dreading the fact... my calligraphy was shitty at best, not quite having gotten the hang of this style of writing just yet. The memory of using pens and pencils was still oddly fresh in my mind. Amazing how something so mundane could remain when I would occasionally forget what my little brother even looked like.