Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Wake the hell up!" barked a rough voice outside the tent flap. "We're under attack! Everyone to your positions!"
Inside, five men snapped awake instantly. No wasted words. No useless panic. Just sharp, precise movements. The whistling of projectiles cutting through the air marked their rhythm, but their composure chilled the blood.
"Commander, we're ready. Orders?" asked one of them, dressed in black and armed to the teeth. Only his eyes were visible through his balaclava cold, razor-sharp.
The others stood still, silent like ghosts waiting for a signal.
The leader, young, barely in his twenties, put down his radio. He had the kind of presence that commanded silence. Not by force. By nature.
"The rebels have gone on the offensive. They've surrounded the camp. Sectors 1 and 2 have fallen."
His voice was icy, unshaken. Not a trace of emotion.
"Useless bastards..." muttered one soldier with a sigh.
"No panic. Our pay just doubled," the leader said with a smirk.
"Now that's good news. That's our boss alright… always thinking ahead," another one chuckled, blowing a puff of smoke into the tense air.
"Four and Five, head to Sector 3. Two and Three, escort the evac team. We regroup at Point Charlie. That's all."
A flicker of irritation passed through the group, but no one dared complain. When he spoke, you obeyed.
Without another word, the team scattered. The mission had begun.
---
[A Few Minutes Later – Front Line]
Ratatatatata!
Bullets screamed in every direction. Bodies dropped. The ground quaked under explosions. Taken by surprise, the soldiers hadn't even had time to fight back.
"Number One!" shouted an officer, soaked in mud and blood whose blood, it was impossible to tell.
A black-clad figure appeared in his line of sight, like a specter.
"What's the situation?" asked Number One.
"Those bastards hit during the night, in squads. With all this damn jungle, we can't see shit! We're trapped!"
A bullet cracked against a wall near them. The officer flinched.
"Gather the wounded. There's a fallback zone in Sector 3. Head there."
The officer nodded. A spark of hope flickered in his eyes briefly. Then reality hit.
"And you? What will you do?"
Number One loaded his rifle and replied without looking back,
"My job."
Then he disappeared into the vegetation like a predator.
"Fall back! Head to Sector 3! Reinforcements are here!"
The survivors retreated in a rush. Meanwhile, deep in the jungle… the hunt had begun.
---
[Sector 3 – Minutes Later]
"Number Four, report," said the commander as he pulled his knife from the last rebel's throat, joining his fallen comrades.
"Chhhh… Commander, we're making progress. Almost clear."
"Good. Meet me back at the camp."
He cut the radio.
Then... he froze.
Something was wrong.
The wind had shifted.
The silence lasted only an instant… Too brief. Too fake.
Footsteps.
Crushed leaves.
Shifting shadows.
Number One narrowed his eyes. His instincts screamed. He was no longer the hunter.
He was the prey.
A breath. A whistle.
Bang!
A bullet ricocheted off a tree trunk inches from his head.
"Shit..."
He rolled across the ground, diving behind a bush.
Too precise. Too coordinated.
He was surrounded.
But there was no fear in his eyes.
He pulled the pin on a grenade and threw it sideways.
BOOM!
Screams. Shrapnel. An opening.
He charged, firing. Three enemies down.
A roll. Two more killed with silent shots.
"He's a monster…" gasped a rebel before his throat was slit.
But there were too many.
A bullet hit his shoulder. Another struck his side. He staggered, but didn't fall.
He roared. Slaughtered three more.
Then a final shot pierced his chest.
Blackness.
---
[Moments Later]
A jolt.
He gasped, lungs on fire.
A white ceiling. Harsh lights. A steady beep.
He was... alive?
A bed. A hospital?
He reached for his chest.
No wound. No pain.
Just a blinding headache, as if his skull were cracking open.
"That wasn't... a dream. I died. I…"
He looked at his hand.
Younger. Thinner.
He jumped out of bed and rushed to the mirror on the bathroom door.
He froze.
Black hair. Brown eyes. An unfamiliar face.
"This… isn't me…"
And then, a flood of memories.
Names. Images. Feelings.
Konoha. Naruto. Sasuke. Kakashi. The Academy. The teams…
He stepped back.
"Fuck..."
He collapsed to the floor, trembling. This wasn't a dream.
It was real.
Or at least… as real as this world.
His gaze drifted to the window.
Traditional buildings. White coats. The Konoha symbol.
"Konoha… hospital…"
His heart pounded.
"I'm in Naruto…?"
As if in answer, a gentle voice called out.
"You're awake? The doctor's on his way, Takashi."
Takashi.
That was his name now.
Something or someone had brought him here.
And this body… this life… no longer belonged to him.
He clenched the sheets, eyes fixed on the daylight pouring in.
"What the hell is going on?"