Spy Games
folder
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
880
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Naruto › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
880
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Naruto, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Prologue
A/N: As you might have guessed, this is my first fic... so I'm mostly just testing the waters. Comments and feedback would be much appreciated :D
And, because not all of the warnings were posted: Yaoi, AU/AR, OC, Violence, character death, etc.
A plume of black smoke rose from the exhaust of the Behemoth and the air was momentarily filled with the roar of its engine as it drove past. But the reporter, flanked on either side by soldiers of the Tullian First Cohort, continued his monologue in the same monotonous tone as if there hadn’t been any interruption at all, though one could hardly blame him. The air was so full of noise and smoke that one could easily believe that there hadn’t been. Behind him and his ‘entourage’ were others of the first legion. As one of their number blew some patriotic tune on his horn and another struck a quick beat on his drum, the rest, with much pomp and circumstance, made a show of raising the Empire’s flag above the state building in the background. In all, it would be an inspiring sight to the war's supporters, but the boy sitting a few feet away in the blasted-out remains of what he supposed had once been some corner bistro turned away with a quiet, cynical laugh. It wasn’t as if he was an anarchist, or a rebel… No, in truth, he loved the Empire, or at the very least, its ideals. But this spectacle made a mockery of all that flag was supposed to represent—save, perhaps, for martial supremacy. He couldn’t stand to watch it anymore, and as he had no present means of correcting the transgression, he resigned himself to the rest of the street’s marked scenery.
Before him, the street, filthy with the soot of a thousand fires, shattered glass, and rubble, merged into a vast eight-lane expanse that he knew would lead from the state building to the city’s financial district, and then on towards the main gate and the thus-far unconquered villages beyond. The gridlocked and abandoned cars gave testament to its ultimate uselessness. Despite its breadth, almost none had managed to escape by its way. To his left was a row of apartments, but the boy did not spare them too much of his attention, for he had found another object of interest. Standing to the side of a twisted decorative fence, and just at the edge of the sidewalk, was a girl. She was around his age and, he supposed, moderately attractive. But her most striking feature was her eyes. Both so pale that, had she not been glancing up towards the legionnaires and then back down again over and over as if in indecision, he would have thought her to be blind. From there, his eyes traveled down to her oddly fitting jacket… hard in places that should have been soft… rigid in places where there should be curves…
With sudden realization, the boy stood, caught her attention, and then slowly pulled a handgun from under his own coat and lowered it to the ground. When their gazes—hers fearful, his almost pleading—met and locked, each took a hesitant step toward the building behind her. He meant to speak with her, convince her otherwise, but it was not to be. The first legionnaires had finished their ceremony.
“Insurgé!”
The boy never heard the sound of the many automatic rifles to his right over the concussive force of the explosion. He may not have even lived to learn that any weapons had, indeed, been fired were it not for his protective vest and relative distance from the blast. Had the girl not stopped at the street’s edge, the nails and other shrapnel she had been carrying would have been enough to put them all out of commission.
And suddenly the reporter was excited… now he had seen the ‘valor’ of the empire’s fighting men he had been prattling on about. But the boy in the corner bistro had had enough. Nothing could be done now, and he would be fooling himself to think otherwise. This… this had proven it. After one doleful glance at the red stain across the street, he turned and walked in to the coming evening.
And, because not all of the warnings were posted: Yaoi, AU/AR, OC, Violence, character death, etc.
Prologue
A plume of black smoke rose from the exhaust of the Behemoth and the air was momentarily filled with the roar of its engine as it drove past. But the reporter, flanked on either side by soldiers of the Tullian First Cohort, continued his monologue in the same monotonous tone as if there hadn’t been any interruption at all, though one could hardly blame him. The air was so full of noise and smoke that one could easily believe that there hadn’t been. Behind him and his ‘entourage’ were others of the first legion. As one of their number blew some patriotic tune on his horn and another struck a quick beat on his drum, the rest, with much pomp and circumstance, made a show of raising the Empire’s flag above the state building in the background. In all, it would be an inspiring sight to the war's supporters, but the boy sitting a few feet away in the blasted-out remains of what he supposed had once been some corner bistro turned away with a quiet, cynical laugh. It wasn’t as if he was an anarchist, or a rebel… No, in truth, he loved the Empire, or at the very least, its ideals. But this spectacle made a mockery of all that flag was supposed to represent—save, perhaps, for martial supremacy. He couldn’t stand to watch it anymore, and as he had no present means of correcting the transgression, he resigned himself to the rest of the street’s marked scenery.
Before him, the street, filthy with the soot of a thousand fires, shattered glass, and rubble, merged into a vast eight-lane expanse that he knew would lead from the state building to the city’s financial district, and then on towards the main gate and the thus-far unconquered villages beyond. The gridlocked and abandoned cars gave testament to its ultimate uselessness. Despite its breadth, almost none had managed to escape by its way. To his left was a row of apartments, but the boy did not spare them too much of his attention, for he had found another object of interest. Standing to the side of a twisted decorative fence, and just at the edge of the sidewalk, was a girl. She was around his age and, he supposed, moderately attractive. But her most striking feature was her eyes. Both so pale that, had she not been glancing up towards the legionnaires and then back down again over and over as if in indecision, he would have thought her to be blind. From there, his eyes traveled down to her oddly fitting jacket… hard in places that should have been soft… rigid in places where there should be curves…
With sudden realization, the boy stood, caught her attention, and then slowly pulled a handgun from under his own coat and lowered it to the ground. When their gazes—hers fearful, his almost pleading—met and locked, each took a hesitant step toward the building behind her. He meant to speak with her, convince her otherwise, but it was not to be. The first legionnaires had finished their ceremony.
“Insurgé!”
The boy never heard the sound of the many automatic rifles to his right over the concussive force of the explosion. He may not have even lived to learn that any weapons had, indeed, been fired were it not for his protective vest and relative distance from the blast. Had the girl not stopped at the street’s edge, the nails and other shrapnel she had been carrying would have been enough to put them all out of commission.
And suddenly the reporter was excited… now he had seen the ‘valor’ of the empire’s fighting men he had been prattling on about. But the boy in the corner bistro had had enough. Nothing could be done now, and he would be fooling himself to think otherwise. This… this had proven it. After one doleful glance at the red stain across the street, he turned and walked in to the coming evening.