I Shall Not Want

A/N: A short chapter today. It's not boring! It's incredibly exciting! Woo! You should read it and make comments! Yes, I'm being very silly. It's good to be silly sometimes, isn't it? If it's not, I'm in a lot of trouble. But anyway, there's a bit of disturbing imagery in this part, I'm not sure how tame or gross it is. Just a bit of a warning. And so you don't get too horribly confused, here's a little key to Kakashi and Iruka's alter-egos:

Kakashi = Captain Jackal, Lieutenant Janak, Captain Vogelscheuche
Iruka = Dagon, Lieutenant Ravi, Delphin, Sonnenschein

I don't use all these names in this chapter, but I figured I'd put them down anyway. And though I don't think there's any German in this chapter, if you ever notice me butchering German or any other language, please let me know!

Another thing: the caste system I'm using for Kurocha is based on an outdated system from India. I don't claim to know much about India, so if you have any thoughts about it, find it fallacious, inappropriate, or some such, don't hesitate to comment. I might not change anything, but it's good to have input.

Love and Rockets to the betas, bronzetigress, cjandre and skatervalentine.


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Part 9: We Didn't Start the Fire

One of the many things Ibiki taught Iruka during his ANBU boot camp was that, on an undercover mission, ANBU are singular actors. Certainly every ninja has to be an actor at some point, particularly when undercover, but ANBU are a little different. An ANBU acting is not a person pretending to be someone else, or—most effectively—pretending to be themselves. An ANBU acting is a blank slate playing at being a human.

Ibiki described the most effective ANBU actor as someone for whom living the ordinary parts of their life was a kind of method acting, a study in the business of being human. For an ANBU to actually be human is, Ibiki said, extremely inadvisable. Humanity is for when one is off-duty, which—ideally--an ANBU never really is.

It reminds Iruka rather a lot of Sai, the way the man studies so diligently to fit in with those around him, those he professes to like. Iruka had gone on a few missions with Sai as a chuunin, and he knows that Sai is an even better actor when he has no personal stake in things, when he doesn't care. Kakashi is nearly the same; a brilliant actor when he has no emotional stake, but with the added contrast of being a miserable one when he does.

Of course, Kakashi only lets himself have an emotional stake in things when he feels relatively safe. Jackal, as far as Iruka can tell, is perfectly cold inside even as he gives their pretty precinct captain a relaxed, flirtatious grin and slouches his way down the station corridor in the morning, radiating casual cheer.

Dagon has not yet achieved that effortless chill. He isn't entirely sure he wants to. At least, not until he sees his first shudderling.

It is, as Dagon expects, a stifling afternoon, oppressive with heat and the proximity of millions. He and Kakashi are following one of their fellow detectives around their assigned district, weaving among the plentiful foot traffic, bicycles, rickshaws, carts drawn by a breed of sturdy, wide-hoofed horses, and the occasional car or truck. Motor vehicles are a luxury only the wealthy can afford, and most of that sort don't come into this district, near as it is to the slums. But there are those who have business in this place, most likely as unsavory as the setting where it occurs, so on occasion bursts of annoyed honking chase the throngs of pedestrians, bikes, and horses to the sides of the road. Not that anyone's in a hurry to get out of the way of some rich bastard sitting in an air-conditioned car.

Dagon had originally thought their chances of finding out who their target was would be better if at least one of them—Jackal, obviously—held a higher rank than lieutenant, but according to Schuldig that would mean more difficulty for not much more return. There are several lieutenants in each district, but only one captain, so it would be difficult to suddenly displace one. Lieutenant is a high enough rank that they can insinuate themselves with the higher-ups, and low enough that they don't attract a lot of attention or get caught up in all the politics surrounding the police institution. But even so, it involves a bit of grunt work.

Dagon follows his fellow lieutenant, Pavan, with a smile plastered on his face that feels like his ANBU mask. Not because he feels any particular need for such a thing, but just to get in the practice of detachment. He is pleased with his progress before he remembers that ego will just get in the way, and tries to feel nothing, while still being friendly and personable. Then he sees the child.

The child is sitting on the edge of the street, humming into a reed pipe, looking very small and nearly invisible in the press of people who barely part enough to leave room for it. Dagon can't tell what sex it is; it has luminous black eyes, long curly hair, and cheeks replete with baby fat, filth, and long, ugly scarring. It is also missing its left hand, the stump of its arm ending in blackened bandages that have gone far too long without changing. Dagon can see the gangrene setting in above the wrappings, creeping up the elbow. Its other disfigurements have been ill-treated as well. The child will be dead soon. Even if it were to receive proper care now, at this point the child would at the least lose an arm and pieces of its face—probably an eye, too, now that he looks closer. He can only imagine the pain that the child is suffering, and Dagon's been through more than his share of agonies.

His agonies were always alleviated by proper medical care, though.

Dagon struggles for dissociation, but can't help wondering how all these jaded onlookers can just walk past such a spectacle without a single glance. Jackal, casually slouched and strolling as though he's at home in Konoha—book included, though it's not pornographic for once—doesn't even appear to notice the child.

Pavan nudges him. “Hey, Ravi, you act like they didn't have shudderlings in your district.”

Pavan's partner, Vidya, fingers her tonfa idly as she narrows her dark brown eyes at him. “It's only a Dalit. What are you so upset about?”

Realizing he isn't hiding his horror at the child's condition anywhere near as well as he should, Dagon forces a laugh. He knows from his research of the area that the Dalits are the lowest caste in Kurocha, the untouchables whose very shadows soil the oiled and painted skins of the upper castes. To show concern for them, or take any notice of them at all, simply isn't done. It's obvious that the child is only out piping on the street to earn money from tourists—who aren't plentiful in this district, but do exist, standing out with their lighter skin and odd clothing—since no one else would take any notice. For Iruka to be horrified is at best confusing, and at worst, suspicious.

“I'm used to children with better hygiene, is all,” he says, trying to project more confidence than he feels. He makes a mental note to go over the physical differences between the castes with Jackal later, so he can spot them more easily. Not that he thinks a child in such a situation could be from a higher caste, but it would still be prudent. He's used to a hierarchy, but not to the dehumanization of Kurocha's system, so he acknowledges the need to be more careful.

Pavan and Vidya are apparently satisfied enough with his answer, or at any rate become distracted enough by an argument that breaks out loudly across the street. As they look into it—more interested in being entertained than keeping the peace, it seems—Dagon takes the opportunity to send a question to Jackal and Schuldig. ::What's a shudderling?::

Jackal answers him promptly. ::Dalit kids are often orphans, for various reasons. There are people who...harvest those kids, I guess you could say. Kurocha gets a lot of tourists, as you may have read in your research, it being a big exotic city. We don't get to see the pleasant parts of the city, but you must have seen a few tourists walking around here on the wild side.::

::Of course.::

::And tourists always have money. Sometimes the orphans are trained to steal it, kill for it or whatever, but that can cause problems for their handlers. More often, they're trained to sing, or dance, or play instruments for money. Less hassle that way. And tourists are most inclined to give money to sick or disfigured children, from their misguided belief that the money will be used for the child's benefit. So--::

::You're saying--:: Dagon's jaw is hurting where he's clenching it under his brittle smile, and he forces his face to relax. He's grateful for his uniform and his weapons, since they keep the crowds from pressing in around him, and give him precious breathing room. ::You mean that child was mutilated on purpose to bring in more money? The hand, the gangrene, everything?::

Jackal scratches his head and whistles tunelessly up at the washed-out blue sky. ::That particular child, I couldn't say. But it's more likely than not. In most large cities where this kind of thing happens, they don't do much more than blind a kid, or cut his tongue out, maybe break a bone or two. Not enough disfigurement to inspire real revulsion. But here in Kurocha, it's become something of a...tradition isn't the right word, but it fits well enough, I guess. It's a convention to cut the kids up enough to induce shudders in tourists. Competition with panhandling lepers, maybe.::

Dagon punches Jackal playfully on the shoulder. “Pay attention, Janak; you can't learn the ropes by watching the sky.” ::That was a horrible joke, Captain.::

Jackal raises a brow at him. “I can't learn the ropes by watching Pavan egging on a street brawl, either,” he drawls. ::I haven't made any jokes.::

::You really think...never mind. I don't want to know,:: Dagon decides. ::So that's why they're called shudderlings? Morbid.::

The noise from the brawl begins to die down; Pavan hasn't really been inciting riot, just getting the participants to pay attention to him by a combination of aggression and cheek. It works well, Dagon notes, as all parties back down and begin to disperse.

::Shudderlings may not be the most horrible thing you see while you're here, Delphin,:: Dagon hears. He doesn't know how he can tell from hearing a thought, but Schuldig sounds slightly breathless. ::You have to be prepared for anything, in a city like this.::

::Something worse than mutilating children for fun and profit? I'll keep that in mind,:: Dagon sends, slightly sardonic.

::See that you do,:: sends Jackal. ::In the meantime, turn your attention elsewhere. We have a job to do.::

Dagon tamps down a spike of irritation. ::Yes, Captain.::

“Is there a fire somewhere?” Jackal asks Vidya.

The stocky woman narrows her eyes and cocks her head, as though listening to something other than the monotonous din around her, hands softly stroking the handles of her weapons. Dagon doesn't like the way her hands hover lovingly around her tonfa at all times, as though she'd like nothing better than to beat someone senseless with them. “Now that you mention it, it sounds like there are fire engines somewhere. I can't tell where; they're far away.”

Dagon can't hear anything of the sort; he thinks it's probably just that he's not used to his over-stimulated ears having to pick out sounds in a huge city like this. At least, he hopes that's the problem.

Jackal gets a gleeful look on his face and claps his hands like an excited child. “I love fire! Can we go have a look?”

Pavan and Vidya exchange a glance, and Pavan looks over at Dagon with an expression that asks, 'Is he always like this?' Dagon rolls his eyes and shrugs, wondering what it is about this fire that's caught Jackal's attention.

“If it's not too far away, sure,” Pavan says. “But I can't really tell—”

“There's smoke,” Jackal says, pointing away to the east. Dagon follows his finger, but can't see anything besides the buildings. He moves further into the middle of the street, around a man charcoal-grilling what looks like skewers of exquisite-smelling chicken and dodging a herd of cyclists, and finally sees a patch of blue sky with a dark grey tinge to it.

Jackal is already moving like quicksilver through the crowds; Vidya and Pavan are having a hard time following him. Dagon hurries to bring up the rear, trying hard to focus his senses while keeping up with his comrades. Now that he knows it's there, he can smell smoke on the air, and hear the distant clang of fire engines.

The fire is not 'nearby', it's almost thirty blocks away, but Jackal moves too quickly for Pavan to call a halt to their progress. He and Vidya seem curious, as well. As they approach, the mood among the pedestrians seems to sour and dampen. The ash and soot blowing through the streets is worse than sand; it's adhesive and carries the stench of something lost. Dagon wishes he had a scarf to tie over his face so he doesn't have to breathe it all in.

The fire is out by the time Dagon finally sets eyes on the ruined city block. It must have been quite an inferno; the whole block is leveled. Firefighters are still running in and out of the ruins, but most of the drama of the fire is past. Dagon is unsure, though, about drama among the onlookers—there is a darkness hanging over them that makes him wonder just what exactly was destroyed here.

He would ask, but he's having a much harder time getting through the crowds now—they're not moving, they're just crowding the barricades the police have set up around the perimeter. Many of them look at him mutinously as he shoves past, towards the blockade. He notices several people crying, as well, and wonders if there were people in the buildings when they burned down.

::This block was owned by a Bandu temple,:: Jackal informs him. He can see Jackal several yards ahead of him, talking to another officer. ::The temple and its outbuildings have all been completely destroyed.::

That explains the heavy tension and near-silence smothering the crowds. It feels like the proverbial calm before the storm. Dagon approaches some officers and offers to help with crowd control, and his offer is accepted gratefully. One doesn't have to be a ninja to know that this assemblage is a powder keg. He can see the Zorossi and the Bandu, already self-segregated, beginning to square off. ::The Bandu think the Zorossi are responsible?:: he asks Jackal, as he draws on his stern-but-kind authoritarian aura that years of teaching has perfected, talking down the more agitated individuals. He notices that the Zorossi shrink away from him, and from any other police officers. His fellow officers do not approach any of the Zorossi, either. Probably because they are mostly Dalits, Dagon supposes. Though he doesn't like it, he avoids the Zorossi as well.

::Yes, they do,:: Jackal replies after a moment. Dagon can see his Captain talking to the firefighters, inspecting the outskirts of the rubble. ::Schuldig, can you read the situation over here?::

Dagon knows that Schuldig must be bombarded with random thoughts from the millions of people surrounding them. He doesn't know how Schuldig could wade through that mess to pick out groups of thoughts or individual thoughts, but Schuldig has assured them that it's a skill he's honed from birth.

::Already on it, Captain,:: Schuldig sends. ::As far as I can tell, no one in a five or six mile radius set that fire. You'd have to do a full arson investigation to be sure, but from the tone I'm picking up, either the fire was an accident or the people who set it were killed in the blaze. Accident is most likely. Not that you'll ever get the Bandu to accept something like that. This is probably going to blow up sooner or later, Captain. I don't think it'll be tonight, but soon. Tomorrow, maybe.::

::Have you picked up on anything that might imply this has anything to do with our target?:: Jackal asks.

::No, but that's not saying much,:: Schuldig replies.

::Let me know if you get something.::

::Will do, Captain.::

“I think this is probably a dead end,” Jackal mutters, suddenly beside Dagon, tapping his tonfa warningly against the barricade. “When Schu picked up on the unrest in this area I had some hopes that it might be a lead, but unless our target has strong religious or political leanings...” He trails off, eye narrowed in thought.

“Let's just focus on keeping this situation from escalating, and go over it later,” Dagon suggests.

He senses more than sees Jackal's nod.

Four hours later, they finally return to their grungy apartment. Dagon has decided crowd control is not much different from classroom control, except usually his classes aren't on the verge of true violence. Rioting, maybe, but not bloody vengeance. The tension of the Bandu didn't unnerve him, though, not like the quiet, almost subservient attitudes of the Zorossi. They seemed to expect that the tides would turn against them sooner than later, and from what Dagon could tell, they probably weren't wrong.

He and his captain sit at their worm-eaten table with the cumin-fragrant skewered lamb and tamarind chutney they picked up for dinner from a street vendor, along with a carton of heavily spiced green mango, and eat quietly. Dagon cannot complain about the taste of the food; it's unlike anything he's ever tasted in Konoha—a far cry from ramen, definitely—but it's all exploding with delicious, savory flavors. Ordinarily Dagon would worry about hygiene and health codes, but since it's obvious that trying to hold to certain standards of cleanliness in Kurocha will most likely result in his dehydration and starvation, he puts it from his mind. Shinobi are enabled, through various vaccinations and other drugs, to withstand many kinds of diseases, parasites and poisons, so he hopes that will be enough to keep them from getting ill in the middle of their mission.

Dagon wonders if he can drop his ANBU facade since they're at home now—as home as they're going to get in this city—but decides to keep it up since Jackal shows no sign of dropping his.

Sucking on his last empty skewer, Dagon decides to put forth an idea, since they're going to stay in mission mode. “Perhaps our target is manipulating the conflict between the two religious factions, Captain? Since it seems odd that such a large-scale fire would accidentally occur in such a strategic location, and it also seems that the Zorossi had nothing to do with it.”

Jackal raises a brow. “It's a thought, but it assumes quite a lot. We have no reason to believe the target has any interest in the Zorossi/Bandu conflict at all. The fire might have been planned to escalate the tensions, but we don't have any evidence leading to our target.”

Another thought strikes Dagon, one he knows is a long shot, but he decides to put it out there anyway. “Maybe, to create difficulty for us, he could've--”

“You're stretching too much, Dagon,” Jackal cuts him off. “One step at a time. Until we have reason to believe otherwise, we're operating under the belief that our target does not know we're here or where we've infiltrated. Us, specifically. We can assume he expects more shinobi, since we've made it clear we're searching for him.” He shakes his head. “We'll keep an eye on the situation, since it's on such a large scale. If our target is as powerful and influential as we think, it's likely he'll get involved at some point, but he's not necessarily in the thick of things already. That's the best we can do at our end, for now. Hopefully soon we'll come up with something more definite.”

Dagon nods. “Yes, Captain.” He gathers up their dinner trash, crumpling it up and tossing it in their kitchen wastebasket. He sits back down with a sigh. “What will we do now?” It's only just past sunset, and he's not tired at all. He doesn't relish the thought of staring at the dingy wallpaper for the next several hours.

Jackal shrugs. “I thought we'd scout around, maybe try to flush out some information on some of the major players in the area. Above-board and underground alike; you can usually find the recon in the same places for both.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dagon says, beginning to get out of his chair.

“Or we could have sex,” Jackal says.

Dagon freezes, eyes narrowing instantly. Naturally, Iruka is almost always happy to have sex with Kakashi, but for Dagon and Jackal...the thought makes his heart do a strange sort of sideways-slicing beat that hurts his chest. A moment of searching Jackal's face, though, reveals that he isn't serious. Dagon's not sure if a little of Kakashi is peering through his ANBU mask, needling Iruka, or if Jackal is acting his part in a play that Dagon should know the lines for. He decides it doesn't matter. “Ha, ha,” he says flatly.

Jackal's mouth quirks up, and Dagon can see Kakashi swimming underneath the surface for just an instant. Then he is gone, and Captain Jackal is up and grabbing jackets for them—even in early summer, the desert is chilly at night.

Dagon strides confidently to the door, smothering Iruka, who misses Kakashi terribly.