The room smelled empty, distinctly void of any particular scent. Only his own sweat stood out, pungent in the distilled air. His breath, though deep and even to mimic sleep, was the only noise aside from his heartbeat, which he began to count immediately upon waking. He did not try to reach out with his chakra, all too familiar with the clasp of cuffs around his wrists; probably more than he comfortably should. This was not the first time he had been abducted and he doubted it would be the last. Loathe as he was to admit it, he did not have the advantage of being the strongest shinobi ever to walk the earth like his brother, or even like that blasted Uchiha. Although, following their respective deaths, he could technically claim the title for himself for the time being, but the fact of the matter remained: he was regrettably susceptible to petty ploys such as that which he found himself in now.
The chakra suppressant cuffs did not disrupt his chakra in totality. He could clearly feel his own passageways, though he could not exert chakra beyond them. He took the opportunity to perform a self-examination of his extremities. His limbs all appeared to be present, absent of any injuries beyond mild bruising he suspected occurred during the process of bringing him here. Speaking of, he found he couldn’t quite remember what led to his capture. That was worrying. The seal along his chin neutralized any drugs he ingested, so they must have injected something directly into his system. A talented medic must have been amoung them to have erased any signs of an injection. He speculated that that very same medic must have been the one to abduct him. Even with the ability to heal, Tobirama was hard-pressed to believe that they could have captured him without a fight should he have been awake, only to erase his memory thereafter. The medic had to have snuck up on him while he was sleeping, which he thought unlikely, but he could not imagine any other way that he could have been drugged. Unless…
Unless they made contact with him the day before. He tried to retrace his steps to the best of his ability, pulling on every detail to piece together the scheme that landed him here. He had gone straight to the Hokage building after waking up and remained there for the majority of the day doing paperwork. As far as he could remember, he never encountered anything that could have given direct contact with his bloodstream, not even a papercut. He was always careful with his ink, meticulous to the point of obsession to ensure that he didn’t stain anything, including his own skin. After work, which lasted well into the night, if he recalled, he went straight home and made his own supper. For all of that, not once had he run the risk of being drugged. There was no possibility—
His eyes snapped open in spite of the blindfold he could feel around his head. Even so, he was not unaware of the presence lingering in the far corner of the room, silent up until this point. Tobirama could not pinpoint what exactly tipped him off, be it a shift in the air or the faintest noise. He surmised that his impression of sleep had done little in his favour by the deep chuckle that reached his ears, echoing off the walls around him. He lifted his head from its slack position between his shoulders, facing the general direction he thought the presence was in.
“The bath,” he said without any pretense. He could all but hear the smile in his captor’s voice.
“That is correct, Tobirama Senju. While you were soaking after a long day of work, we were lying in wait.”
Tobirama caught the word “we” and tucked it away in the back of his mind for later.
“You’re quite skilled. I didn’t notice a single thing amiss,” he admitted. Even thinking back now, he couldn’t place a single detail that could have tipped him off.
“Why, thank you, Lord Hokage. That means a lot, coming from you.” Tobirama snorted. “Although, I can’t reasonably allow such praise. Our operation left much to be desired; that you didn’t notice anything says a little more about yourself than us, I’m afraid.” Though his expression remained carefully schooled, inwardly the Senju searched for an answer to what that could mean. He needn’t have worried, as it seemed. “I fear age may be taking its toll on you, or perhaps your role as Hokage is more overwhelming than you’ve let on.
“My...associate never left the premises, you see. I’m rather surprised you didn’t sense them. I understand you must have been very tired.” The voice had traveled closer as it spoke, the tap of shoes against the floor slow and measured.
Tobirama focused less on what his captor was saying and more on the sound of his shoes. If he weren’t mistaken they were standard shinobi sandals and the noise they made against the floor gave the impression of wood. Unpolished, likely old and worn. It sounded somewhat hollow, suggesting a space beneath; perhaps a basement, or a second floor on ground level. If not for the insulation of the walls, muffling any and all noise from the outside—and lack of windows, from the feel of it—he might have been able to determine his level of altitude. As a last-ditch effort, he attempted to pop his ears, silently noting his success in doing so.
The footsteps stopped in front of him, the voice having fallen silent. A gloved hand grabbed his cheeks roughly, shocking in light of the calm mannerism just seconds before. His head was turned this way and that as if he were being examined. Disregarding that thought, Tobirama realized he’d lost count of his heartbeat and began again, estimating the difference to be about a minute since he last counted.
“You seem to be taking well to the narcotic. It shouldn’t be long now,” the voice said, releasing his grip. Tobirama’s eyes narrowed behind the blindfold.
“ What? ”
“We’ll see real results in another hour or so. Do try to relax until then. I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”
Footsteps faded in the direction they came, ignoring Tobirama’s protests. What narcotic? When had they drugged him again? Was it in the bathwater too? How could he gauge the effects of a narcotic without seeing his eyes?
Cursing under his breath, Tobirama began counting once more. How long had it been since he awoke? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Longer? He wasn’t sure and he could already feel it eating away at his nerves. Simple, meaningless talk like that shouldn’t have gotten to him so easily. Taking a measured breath, Tobirama reasoned with himself. His captor was more than likely lying to rattle him. He was under no narcotic. He would be fine in an hour or so, much to that bastard’s displeasure. Tobirama was unfortunately well-acquainted with these lowly tactics. It would take more than a few foreboding words to crack him.
An hour later, he snapped to attention as he felt that same presence from before. The ache in his arms had become prevalent. Several times had he tried to pry them from the confines tying them to the back of the chair on which he sat to little avail. The knotwork was admirable; Tobirama had seen few examples of such craftsmanship in his time and not once since the formation of the hidden villages.
“How are you feeling, Tobirama? You look...well,” the voice said. Tobirama didn’t bother to hide his smirk.
“I feel well,” he agreed. “Perhaps that ‘narcotic’ of yours wasn’t up to par?”
His captor answered with a chuckle. “Perhaps. We’ll give it a while longer. Occasionally, it has a...delayed effect. I’ll be interested to see how you handle that.”
“I’ll be interested to see if anything happens at all,” Tobirama retorted. “If you’re trying to provoke a nervous breakdown, you can forget it. It hasn’t worked before and it won’t work now.” With any luck, this would pressure the man to get to the point already. Most who came for him didn’t have half as much patience as he. More often than not, they would crack long before he ever came close.
“Oh, don’t mock me.” A finger slid under his chin, tilting up his head with little finesse. “I’m no fool, Tobirama. I know you better than you think. That is why I’ve decided not to play games with you.” The finger traced down the column of flesh, catching on the dip of his collarbone and pressing forward. “Trust me when I say I have no intentions of going about this with any semblance of tradition. What I want, I know you won’t give me. Not while you’re in your right mind, that is.” The pressure on his throat disappeared and Tobirama’s skin felt cold in the absence of heat. Only then did he realize he was without his collar. The temperature of the room finally seemed to sink into his skin, raising goosebumps along his arms and down the back of his neck. He thought it must have gotten cooler than when he awoke.
The footsteps retreated once more. Tobirama was at a loss for a retort.
“Try to behave, now. I’d hate to have to punish you.”
Time seemed to drag by after that. Every beat of his heart felt too slow, every breath too deep. Sleep was far from reach, as if he would ever deign to drop his guard any lower. Not that he wasn’t almost entirely vulnerable in his current state, but it was the principle that mattered. If he could hold out until this sick bloke got tired of messing with him, he might just be able to escape before this situation took a turn for the worst.
Where is my rescue team? he wondered idly. He was not so vain to think the village would rush to issue a search and rescue mission at the first sign of his absence, but he couldn’t quite discern how long he had been gone. He had no way of knowing how long he had been unconscious, let alone know with certainty how much time had passed since he woke up. Surely the village knew him well enough by now that he should not take long to escape a kidnapping attempt. He, himself, was rather perturbed that he had not found a way to get out of his confines yet. The chakra suppressants were of decent quality, despite not disrupting his chakra entirely.
What kept him from taking further measures was the blindfold. He had no idea of his surroundings save for what he had been able to deduce from sound alone. That in itself was of little use; his captor could have easily manipulated the environment such that it only seemed a certain way to certain senses. Well, the task was not an easy one, but the man in question had proven quite talented already, not to mention whoever his accomplice was. Needless to say, he was in a bind and admitting that was discouraging by itself.
Roughly twenty minutes passed, according to his heartbeat. Tobirama had had to restart multiple times over due to unwarranted spikes of anxiety. He knew his reaction was not at all unreasonable, but with each time he had to start over, he grew more frustrated with himself. Now, of all times, was it imperative that he kept a level head and yet he was slipping little by little. The longer he sat there, motionless, hearing nothing and seeing nothing, the more he began to worry. Did the village even know he was gone? It could very well be the very same night he had gone to sleep after his bath, prompting him to wonder if any ANBU had thought to check up on him. With his luck, they put so much trust in him that the thought of his encountering something he couldn’t handle never crossed their minds. He couldn’t exactly blame them. By all rights he should be more than capable of…
A shiver ran down his spine. Not a cold shiver, but as if something had slithered down his back, like ice water pouring down his vertebrae. He straightened his posture, shifting in his seat as a ghost of the sensation spread out along his back and around his chest. It made his hair stand on edge, more chill bumps rising on his skin. He felt that if he had his vision, he would see his breath form frost in the air.
His toes and fingertips grew hot in contrast, almost scorching. He clenched his jaw and tried to force his body to relax as he felt his muscles draw up and tense. With a few measured breaths, he managed to calm himself, though the sensation remained. All at once, as the two temperatures collided along his limbs, he felt weightless. For a moment he had the impression of falling and jumped when gravity registered with him again. The blackness that obscured his eyes both when closed and opened began to settle deep within him like a vice, obstructing his breathing no matter how he tried to combat it.
He lost count of his heartbeat.
His head twitched to the side when he thought he heard something, only to be met with silence for moment after. He moved restlessly, imagining noises that weren’t there as if his mind had turned against him. Vaguely he conceded that perhaps his captor wasn’t lying about the narcotic. However, the extent of what he was in for was yet beyond him.
The conflicting sensations stopped then with such abruptness that it left him with the suggestion of whiplash. He let out a heavy breath, lips parted. He waited for what felt like minutes for the effects of the drug to return, but they did not. After some time had passed, he allowed himself to relax back in his chair once more. If that were all he had to anticipate, his captor had sorely underestimated him.
Another shiver ran down his spine.
The process repeated three more times, the effects growing stronger with each pass. The imaginary sounds grew more grating on his ears, becoming akin to a high-pitched ringing inside his skull that he couldn’t escape no matter which way he turned his head. His skin tingled with hot and cold, chill bumps crawling up and down his arms and neck. His throat was dry and raw from his laboured breathing, eyes strained from how tightly he shut them.
Now he sat ramrod straight, neck craned and teeth aching with the clench of his jaw. He had balled his hands into fists, toes curled into his sandals. He didn’t notice the presence near him until he felt those hands on his shoulders. He jumped in his seat, eliciting a chuckle from the man behind him. As if on cue, the cycle of the drug receded, leaving him worn and pliant under the deceitfully soothing thumbs that rubbed circles into his muscles.
“My my, this has gone beyond my expectations,” the voice purred too close to his ear. “How are you feeling now, Tobirama? Much better, I hope?”
“Fuck you,” the Senju growled against his better judgement.
“Tsk tsk. Is that any way to speak to the one who has your life in the palm of his hand? As if to emphasize his point, one of the hands slid around his neck, resting there without applying any pressure. “I did tell you to behave, did I not?”
“What do you want? ” Tobirama asked finally. At the very least, he might be able to negotiate something. Bargaining with his captor had never been an option to him in the past, but he had a feeling that this one was unlike the others. Something about his methods struck Tobirama as strange. The man had said himself that he did not plan to operate under traditional terms.
“Ah, I see you’re finally ready to cooperate. That’s lovely.” Cold lips pressed against his cheek and he shied away from the touch, nose scrunching at the lingering impression of the man’s smirk. “Ouch. Not very affectionate, though, are you?” When Tobirama didn’t respond, the man scoffed and removed himself entirely. “Very well. I’ll tell you what I want.”
He followed the sound of footsteps circling around in front of him, his ears clinging to any noise other than the incessant ringing they had been subjected to for the past...however long he had been waiting. Fingers touched his hair and he cringed, then held still when he realized they were reaching for the blindfold. Excitement rushed through his veins at the thought of finally being able to see, to identify this cruel stranger who had managed to put him in such a state without breaking a sweat.
The darkness fell from his eyes, his vision instead filled with a singular, glowing red orb with a startlingly familiar black pattern spinning lazily within.
“ I want you. ”
Tobirama’s blood ran cold and it had nothing to do with the drug. His mind wanted to reject all that stood before him now. He could not tear away his gaze from the one boring into him, but there was no mistaking it. The man who stood before him should have been long dead by all rights. Hashirama killed him himself. In all the years Tobirama had lived with Hashirama, he never knew the man to be a liar. For all his faults, never a liar. Nor, in his maturity, a man who deigned to leave well enough alone in matters of such significance. There was no possibility that Hashirama had left the Valley of the End without absolute certainty that Madara Uchiha was dead.
So why is he standing right in front of me?
“More specifically,” the voice, now jarring in its familiarity, went on without missing a beat, “I want you on your hands and knees, groveling at my feet for mercy and forgiveness before I take your sad, pathetic life as repayment for Izuna’s. Do I make myself clear?”
Tobirama said nothing.
“I said…”
Madara leaned forward until their noses were touching, Sharingan blazing into his eyes with the intensity of a thousand suns. In that moment, Tobirama felt his hope crumble away. Any shred of anticipation for his escape disappeared as realization dawned upon him. He was helpless in the hands of Madara Uchiha, who wanted him dead.
“Do I make myself clear?”
Tobirama would not leave here alive.