Requisition

AU. Brothels are businesses that are privately-owned, but government-mandated in the hopes of decreasing public crime. Anyone can be claimed for service and people can be sent there to disappear. Anyone can use them on a sliding-scale fee. Anything can be done other than murder. It's not a nice way to live. But it's a business. And a place to hold secrets.

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Warning: Pedophilia, violence, language, mentions of rape and severe abuse against children.
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Requisition Class B: Kid on the street. Discovered sleeping by the owner and brought back for entrance.

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1.

Lauren Harper was the client that always made Naruto sad, even though he didn’t completely understand why. She was one of only two females that he ever had to work with, but she was never cruel and she was never interested in him for the same reason that his other clients seemed to be interested in.

She was pretty and young, with auburn hair and big blue eyes and she’d visit him once a week. She’d sit on the bed and held her arms out so he could crawl into her lap and then she’d rock him until he’d fall asleep. Sometimes she’d bring a dog-eared children’s book to read to him and they’d occasionally work on their ABC’s or numbers.

And then at the end of it all she would just hold onto him and sometimes start crying, her tears dripping onto his bright blond hair. She’d kiss his cheek or forehead, or sometimes both and start crying in earnest as he was escorted out of the room at the end of the session.

She’d tell him that she loved him.

It made his throat ache. And Naruto didn’t cry anymore.

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0.

Lauren Harper was 28 years old. And when she was 26, her son Colin had disappeared from their front yard as he’d been playing.

She had walked out of their little house and into the yard to get him for lunch. And he had been gone.

Colin was- had been six.

It had been two years and Colin’s body had never been found.

Colin had had blond hair and blue eyes.

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2.

Hinata was trembling as one of the medics sewed the laceration around her brow. Shizune was away so stitches were necessary until her return. Ino sat behind Hinata, holding onto her and soothing her more.

This was how the children learned to cope. It was the easiest to find someone else and help them, comfort them, and in doing so it made them feel as though they were strong and somehow in a bit of control.

“Don’t cry, it’ll just make it hurt,” Ino said.

She was only looking to help for a moment. Hinata would be injured during her next appointment.

Ino actually wished that Naruto was around to help comfort Hinata. Naruto was so good at this kind of thing, he was the only one that could truly make people better or happier. To change a bit. The only other thing that changed them was this place itself. This place could change anyone.

But Naruto wasn’t around. He was with Sasuke. And Sasuke was hidden in their room, wrapped up in their blanket, sweating profusely. Naruto kept trying to help him, but it must have not been working because neither of them left the room. And Sasuke had to be carried to his appointments anymore.

It was strange that Naruto was the only one who was trying to help. Not even the attendants were involved. The couple workers who had tried had been coldly rebuffed by Sasuke and they were fine with leaving the boy alone after that.

Except Naruto.

“It’ll be okay,” Ino repeated to Hinata, “Shizune will be able to fix this.”

Neji watched with cold disgust. He hated this. He hated weakness. Therefore he hated his cousin. Completely. As much as he hated everything. But at least he could understand the rest of it. If fate wanted to screw him over, if this was the kind of justice that he was faced with then fuck the rest of them.

It was Hinata who disgusted him, who he could barely stand to look at. She kept staring at the world around her, frightened, needing comfort. Waiting as though someone would right it all for her. But that wasn’t the way that fate worked. It wasn’t an even-handed thing, fate was weighted only by itself and there was no reason that it would work in her favor. Anyone with the slightest bit of logic could understand that.

What could fix this insult, this humiliation?

Sure. Shizune would heal the slash on Hinata’s face. And there’d be another slash by tomorrow evening. Maybe it would take out Hinata’s eyes that time. Maybe someone would be so thrilled by the sight of her blood that they’d go ahead and gut her like some stupid, worthless animal.

Maybe they’d do it to him. Maybe to that sunny fool Naruto.

Like fate cared about any of them.

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3.

“What hurts?” Naruto whispered to Sasuke.

Sasuke didn’t answer, there was nothing he was willing to say.

“Everything?” Naruto asked.

Yes. He wanted to breathe fire, to burn everything to the ground.

“Don’t leave me,” Sasuke managed finally.

Sasuke knew. Naruto would be the only one to keep him okay. Without Naruto, he would fall out of control and he didn’t want it all to end.

Though he did want it all to end. Maybe he could keep Naruto with him.

“I won’t. I promise.”

He didn’t bother responding.

“Let me get an attendant. We’re supposed to tell them if we’re in pain.”

“No.”

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4.

Kakuzu was an observant person so it was strange that he didn’t notice the man at first. He didn’t notice until the other man appeared in front of him and slammed into him hard. Kakuzu was knocked backward and he had to step quickly to keep from tumbling to the ground. Even so, he’d hit his forehead hard against the other man’s and he had the suspicion that a nasty bruise was sure to form.

“Jeez, watch it,” the man said, his tone almost unconcerned.

Kakuzu’s head snapped up, ready to burn holes into this dead man talking. The man was startlingly distinctive in an understated way. It was strange to see silver hair on someone that young, and there was an old scar running vertically through an oddly colored eye, only to disappear below a strip of cloth. What was odder was that he seemed almost normal, as though he fit seamlessly into this environment.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Kakuzu said slowly and quietly.

The man appeared to smile though it was hard to tell when his mouth wasn’t visible. “I’m telling you to watch where you’re walking,” he said in that same easy tone.

“Good god, I’m sick of little bastards. Not that I mind killing you,” Kakuzu said, reaching casually for today’s weapon of choice, a knife with a five-inch blade.

“A gun would have been a better choice. Bullets are a bit harder for me to dodge,” the man told him carelessly, “That knife is going to be no problem.”

The man grinned at him.

Actually it seemed silly to call him a man. He was just some teenager, no older than nineteen. Stupid punk.

Kakuzu wasn’t one to waste energy or resources when it wasn’t necessary and so there was no style to the sharp jab he made with the knife. It only needed to pierce internal organs in order to be fatal. In this part of the city.

There was no way in the hell that the man should have been able to grab his wrist as he moved. He could feel the fingers change immediately to start twisting his hand, moving instantly to break his wrist. Kakuzu threw himself backwards, switching the blade from his right hand to his left. They stood several feet apart and Kakuzu took a better look at this foolish teenager.

The kid stood, his feet connected well to the ground though his stance was light enough to move at that startlingly fast pace. His hands were loose and he made no twitch towards some hidden weapon. The kid was literally just fighting with nothing more than himself.

“You can leave now if you want,” the kid offered.

What a stupid little fuck. As though he had any say in what was happening. Kakuzu would make sure that the little shit died, as violently as possible. The only question was whether to report what he did or not.

Kakuzu didn’t notice the interest in the punk’s eyes as he watched the big, lumbering man make his decision. There was a strong gleam of fluid intelligence that completely disappeared as he shifted his stance, casually rolling a small rock onto the tip of one shoe and balancing it.

Kakuzu weighted the knife in his palm and then flung it with all the accuracy that cold precision could offer and pulled out the gun that he always carried as well. The kid had admitted to having trouble with bullets.

It was clear that the kid had been expecting the knife and, irritatingly enough, the gun as well. He didn’t shift away from the knife as much as an untrained person would have, letting it clatter against the wall. Then with a move that was hard to follow he dropped into a crouch, sweeping the knife into his right hand while taking up the rock in his left. Kakuzu had been aiming further to the left, assuming that the boy would jump into the direction of his steady leg, the one not balancing the rock, and in the half-second that it took to readjust to the right the kid sent the knife sailing back at him.

With a grunt and curse Kakuzu stumbled back and to the left, the quick move catching him off-guard. He fired the gun as the knife whizzed by his head with the sharp sound of cutting through air. The kid was much stronger than he appeared if he had the strength to throw that hard. He appeared unconcerned as a bullet grazed right above the juncture of his neck and shoulder which was completely unexpected.

Goddammit all to hell. Kakuzu knew now that he had badly underestimated the kid which was once of the worst disadvantages that a person could give themselves in a battle.

The kid moved towards him blindingly quickly and let the rock fly, aimed at him face and Kakuzu had to take a second to block it with his forearm and the kid was on him, hand on his shoulder for the lightest half-moment, sweeping his leg behind Kakuzu’s knees, drawing him forward.

Kakuzu slipped his arm under the boy’s outstretched arm, curling it up to his shoulder and locking it while shoving the kid forward, sliding behind him and slamming his elbow in between the kid’s shoulders. The kid threw himself forward, something Kakuzu had been expecting this time; he’d simply been buying time. And the kid’s movement was the time that he’d needed to swing his arm forward, catching the boy in the side of his head with the butt of his gun.

He staggered but didn’t lose his balance, to Kakuzu’s annoyance. Kakuzu righted his arm and squeezed the trigger of the gun, the loud shock of the blast startling the world around them once again. The boy simply vanished, reappearing a foot to the left. There was blood running from the side of his head, darkening his hair and dripping off his jaw.

“Bye,” he said with a quick grin and half wave, a simple splaying of his fingers. Kakuzu fired directly at him and couldn’t even find it in him to be surprised when the kid vanished once again.

He swung around, completely prepared to find the kid with a knife to his head.

He wasn’t there.

And after two minutes of thorough and expert sensing and waiting, Kakuzu knew that the kid had actually left.

Fucking hell? What the fuck had that been? What kid had those kind of reactions? That took formal training, not just the experience of living in this shit-heap. And no kid with the money that that required would be here unless he was a druggie or simply a cocky, stupid-as-hell son-of-a-bitch looking to prove something irrelevant.

Kakuzu ignored the throbbing in his forearm. The hit that the kid got with that rock had been just as powerful as the knife-throw. His ulna was cracked at the very least and he’d have to fucking pay someone to fix it for him. And Kakuzu hated having to spend money for anything. His way of life was to hoard.

So, he decided, that kid was dead. He’d find out who the fuck he was and Kakuzu would make sure that the little bastard paid and paid dearly.

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5.

Iruka had been visited by more powerful people in the last month than he had ever even seen throughout his life. He was threatened, offered unimaginable amounts of money, and was finally visited by Hiashi Hyuuga himself.

The man had harsh tight lines desecrating his face and he looked as though he hadn’t slept since the children had been taken away.

“What can you do to get them back to me?” Hiashi asked Iruka coldly.

The situation made Iruka sick. “Nothing. I’ve filed all of the appeals. I’ve forwarded them, I’ve done what I can. I do not have that kind of power.”

Hiashi didn’t seem surprised. “Who can help?”

“Everyone with the power to help has been well-paid for their power,” Iruka said helplessly. “Just… just keep protesting with the legal action. You may be able to get them out early.”

Hiashi watched him with such a blatantly contemptuous expression that it made Iruka look away. His advice was worthless to the point of being stupid.

“You can visit the… institution,” Hiashi said flatly, “Correct?”

Iruka nodded.

“Give them poison.”

Iruka glanced back at Hiashi sharply. “What?”

Hiashi’s expression was unrepentant. He took his hand out of his pocket and unceremoniously dropped a packet with two small pills onto Iruka’s wooden kitchen table. “It’s painless. Neji will take it. He’ll get Hinata to as well.”

“You want me to help two seven-year-olds kill themselves?” Iruka said slowly.

Hiashi’s expression returned to that cold contempt. “It’s better that they die.”

“There’s care for them,” Iruka said, his tone soft though hardly comforting, “They’ll make it until the discharge time.”

Hiashi spoke with disgust. “Your paperwork is a cold break from reality, isn’t it? Neither I nor any of my workers or family can see them. But there have been letters from those that hate me and my clan. Describing what they’ve done to those children…” Hiashi’s expression broke for the slightest fraction of a second. Not to tears, but to a deeper vein of pain. “It won’t stop any time soon.”

Despite what Hiashi might imply, Iruka knew the reality of what happened in these places. He had processed too many requests and filed too many complaints. He’d dealt with the paperwork of murdered clients and seen the photos of the mutilated corpses. All the mild-mannered-ness in the world didn’t detract from the fact that Iruka lived in reality. More so than Hiashi ever had.

“If you manage to kill those two, they will requisition your other child,” Iruka said.

Hiashi didn’t react for a moment, then his fist curled tightly. Otherwise his face remained blank. He left without speaking another word or giving any other acknowledgement.

Done.

6.

Her tolerance was so high anymore that it took true effort to drink into blackouts.

She’d begun all of this when her brother had died. It had been painful to be alone and to have made that investment and placed all of that faith into a child that died and ceased to exist anymore. She’d thought that a goodbye would have made it easier and regretted with her entire being that she had been gone.

The death of her fiancé proved to her that having a goodbye made nothing easier. The fact was that he was dead. He didn’t care about her anymore. He didn’t breathe, think, or feel anymore. She didn’t believe in any of that stupidity about someone watching over her. If either of them existed in any way then they wouldn’t have abandoned her completely.

And so that was it. She was finished putting her faith in anyone. She didn’t have any faith left to give. There were only debts to be paid.

Not the physical ones, the ones that the government had managed to trap her with. The enormous amount that she owed because of how foolishly careless she’d been.

The simple fact was that there were people that she owed.

The boy at the brothel.

She needed to make certain of who it was. She hoped that she wasn’t right, good god, she was sick of always being right, and if it turned out that she was… then she’d fucked up badly.

Again.

The last time that she’d seen that boy (that little screaming infant), there’d been a scar, a deep line carved into his cheek, the blood flowing down in thin, almost watery torrents.

There’d been a knife as well.

Despite the amount of effort, the amount of alcohol, Tsunade managed to drink herself into oblivion.

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7.

“Hey kiddo. It’s time for another checkup,” Sherry said with a smile to Naruto, running her hand affectionately over his head, smoothing down the always, always wild blond hair.

Naruto stood up from where he’d been playing with blocks and took her hand. “So I’m seven now?” he said as they passed through the doorway.

There was an attendant leading both Neji and Hinata up the stairs to the infirmary. Naruto knew that they sometimes had appointments together and he felt bad for them. He’d had appointments with other fulfillers before and it had been incredibly uncomfortable. After the first one with Ino they’d avoided each other for weeks. And Naruto wasn’t sure how Sasuke acted on his own, but he knew that when he was in the room as well Sasuke acted so coldly and defiantly that he’d get terribly injured. Seeing Sasuke bleeding freely from a completely shattered jaw had made him feel sick enough to cry.

People were strange, with all of the things that they wanted. Naruto didn’t quite understand it. He didn’t want to see anyone hurt. But everyone else seemed to.

“Yes. So how about a cake? A chocolate one this time,” Sherry said, slowing down a little to let the Hyuuga children disappear before continuing up the staircase with Naruto.

Chocolate reminded him Ian and Edgar. They never hurt him.

“I don’t want chocolate,” he said.

Sherry nodded. “White cake it is, then.”

The physical examination was fine. Even without the help of the medics, Naruto always seemed to heal better than the other children or workers in general. Sherry was extremely pleased to see that he was retaining that sweetness and obedience. Most of the time the kids would lose it pretty quickly and there were clients who wanted that sweetness.

It was time to restart the sessions with Edgar and Ian, Sherry decided.

“Can you fix my face?” Naruto asked.

Dr. Lawrence looked up startled and Sherry’s gaze swung to Naruto. “What’s wrong with your face?” Sherry asked gently.

“The scars,” he said.

Dr. Lawrence took his chin in hand and soothingly examined the scarred skin. “These are old injuries, kiddo. They’re as healed as they can be.”

“I don’t want to go to the scarred section,” Naruto said.

“There’s no need to worry about that,” Sherry said, “You’re not going to go to that section.”

“How did I get them?” he asked.

Sherry shifted. Dr. Lawrence smiled lightly. “I don’t know for sure. But you didn’t have a home before you came here, so you could have gotten them from someone or something there. That’s why it’s better here. We can take care of you.”

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8.

Naruto was startled to see Ian as he exited the infirmary with Sherry. Ian was being half-supported by an attendant as he staggered towards the surgical room. There was blood soaking his shirt so that it clung wetly to his chest as well as blood pouring from his nose to cover his lips. Ian made a gagging sound and dropped forward, opening his mouth so that red-tinged saliva could fall out along with the hard white pieces of his broken teeth. The cloth wrapped around his left hand was beginning to drip because of how drenched it was. His expression was that of sedated agony.

Kabuto was there to greet him though he made no effort to help support him. “How disgusting,” he commented lightly.

Sherry made no acknowledgment, but she picked Naruto up then, pressing his head into her shoulder as she headed directly to the stairs again. “Let’s get you that cake, birthday-boy.”

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A/N

Hey, I’m actually here. See, I don’t abandon stories. And I give you no option but to forgive me. I spent the last two months taking four classes and one week ago I finally graduated from my University. Then I spent this last week allowing the mush of my brain to regroup into usable matter.

Anyway, thank you all so MUCH for the reviews! I absolutely love reading your feedback and I sincerely hope that you continue to share your thoughts.

Oh, and one my reviewers asked where I got the inspiration for all of the terrible violence in these, particularly, if I was a child abuser or someone with a prison sentence. Which kinda made my night to read that, not gonna lie.

The major influences for the type of violence and the type of institutions are that of the Marc Detroux case in Switzerland, the Rape of Nanking during WWII, and the Bosnian crisis of the early nineties. I’ve actually enormously softened the incredible violence of the three. And for some of the reactions and the movements for the mind and the profiles of the pedophiles themselves, I am drawing off of my degree, Psychology.

Thanks to my beta: The Laughing Fool.

Please fellow country-folk, lend me your thoughts! Thanks again!

-CR