Hoshigaki

Breathe In and Bleed

Last came Sakura. They'd stripped her down to a sports bra and spandex shorts and fastened leather pauldrons on each shoulder, the belt straps crossing over her chest in an 'x' shape. Her katana they'd taken but they'd allowed her to keep her kusari-fundo, the coils in a white-knuckle grip. The laughter in the arena only grew louder as her greaves clinked together with every step she took.

Of course they'd laugh. Nothing funnier than a brat with a muzzle on her face, right?

The announcer twirled once and spread her arms out wide. "Mice, let's meet your cats and get this show. On. The. ROAD!"

And the four of them stood there drowned in the screams of the audience, a mouse branded running up the backs of their necks.

::

The living quarters they were shoved into was... nicer than they expected. Not that they'd known they were going to be kept to fight until they died, that putting on a show meant good money, that not meeting their weekly quotas from their performances meant participation would double in the next rounds.

The CEO wasn't all that detailed when she sang them a summary of the rules, but her eyes didn't match her brilliant smile as threat circled her pupils and her gaze combed over each and every one of them.

But her smile was almost as ugly as Sai's. They said nothing as she swayed off to who knows where, yanking Akamaru along as the latter could only throw a small, shaky nod over his shoulder.

Kiba's blood boiled that much hotter.

As the heavy metal door slammed closed behind her, the four of them were left alone and coherent in what could only be described as a fancy rock box. There was a single full-sized bed pushed up against once corner, ratty and stripped, and a toilet missing its seat sat beside a sink that only ran cold water. The only opening was a window covered in electric bars, and its only view was the screaming arena with two new fighters and four dead bodies littered in the dirt.

Shino picked up one of the stained towels tossed onto the bed and wiped the blood splatter off his face with a grimace. The coliseum set them up with four "cats" to kill them, but they'd all been low genin at best and the match wouldn't be called until one side was wiped out.

So, Sai cut off the head of the first one.

After a beat, Sakura snapped the neck of the second.

Kiba strangled the third.

And he'd gutted the fourth, cheers ringing in his ears.

(He'd never felt so sick in their struggle to survive.)

"So you're all a little more skilled than the scouts anticipated. This is good—it'll mean the company won't have to trap more mice for some time."

Someone else strode through the door and let it fall closed behind them.

A woman, early thirties maybe, observed them languidly. The hakama she donned was disgustingly familiar and the sight of her thick tan tunic made the brand at the back of Shino's neck throb. Her desert wear was apparent now if the off-white scarf bunched at her neck said anything about it.

Sakura's eyes roved around the room before they landed on the stranger. "Wind Country?"

"Sunagakure, if you want to be more specific," the woman smiled, pronouncing the crows feet at the corner of her eyes. "What gave me away? The outfit? The tan? The sand in my sandals?"

"Your hair."

Her smile grew. "Yes, red is quite common among my people, isn't it?" She swept over their dripping appearances, her short hair like fire against her scalp. "I am Oosuna Nezumi, no relation to Nezu and Co., though it's quite the coincidence. I am to be your overseer until the last of you drops, though I hope it's not for a while. After your display, I have a feeling the Mice might make a comeback as a fan favorite."