Gaara sits at the large round table and folds his hands before him as his most trusted advisors speak.
"On the matter of the freed nin, I believe the language barrier to be nothing but an act." The older council man says solumnly as he flips through the med-nin's report. "That left leg is very like what the Village Hidden in Sound had installed in their chunin."
Gaara listens, and nods before he slides his eyes to Temari.
"Golden eyes are very rare, and the only nin known to have had them was the Snake Sannin." She says with narrowed eyes "Perhaps he is related in some way.."
"..or he was experimented on. Orochimaru was well known for his body modification techniques. If this child is a missing nin from there, then he would be a valuable commodity..." Interrupts their old teacher.
Gaara is expressionless as he rises to his feet, and shoulders his gourd.
"As always, I will take your concerns under advisement. " Gaara says and lifts his gaze to Kankuro. "However this matter can wait until after the Kage Summit is over."
"Yeah, I suppose that you're right. Even after all the drugs they've pumped into him, he has next to no chakra." Kankuro says with a confident shrug. "What kind of damage could he do if that poison's left him too weak to even stand, much less gather chakra?"
Gaara turns from the table, a silent action which wordlessly adjorns the meeting. He entrusts the council with the protection of the village as he accompanies his siblings to the balcony, and with chakra enhanced strength, leaps off the edge into the setting sun.
---ooo--
His nose itches, and Ed wrinkles it up in a feeble attempt to stop the incessant tickle. By instinct his muscles twitch, and to his astonishment, his fingers scratch his irritated skin.
He awakes to dull darkness, and mindful of the many tubes in the tender skin, carefully rubs his right wrist with his left hand in wonder. He feels the rough binding on his arms, but the straps that were looped to the bedside hang loose.
He listens to the silence, and idly watches a leaf of paper fluttering on the bedside table. The paper looks annoited with many mysterious markings, and he reaches for it. His blood pounds in his ears as he lifts it to his face. In the shadows, he can make out the stained rings from someone's beverage on the forgotten sheet, but the orderly scribbles remain a mystery.
He pulls himself up to sit, and not unexpectedly, the world spins. The alarms remain silent, and the halls beyond his closed door whisper quiet nothings. With a determined grimmace, he tries to swing his feet over to stand.
He tugs against something, and hears the muffled clinking of metal beneath the sheets as he scowls. He lifts the bedding and scoots down to the end. His ankles are bound, but the knots about the living flesh of his right are easy enough to untie. He then turns his attention to the chain, feels the structure with his bare hands, and looks deeper.
"Simple..iron and aluminium.." He mutters, and touches his fingers together.
The pattern shines brightly in his mind, and the tiny crackle of the discharge as he cut through the metal lights up the room for a heartbeat. He holds his breath at looks to the door.
He has no idea what time it is, but judges it is late enough to be past the night watch's last round. He grasps an irritating tube, and gently pulls the dripping needle free. By the forth one, his clumsy fingers fumble at the terrifying sight. His breath quickens as he continues the horrible, necessary task. Needles... Why always needles..?
An alarm rings out and he hunches down. He grabs a handful, just yanks, and slides to his wobbly feet. He sways as the world pounds and spins at once. He takes one step on the cold tile. Then another. The world tilts, and he bangs hard against the side table.
His gut freezes as he hears a click of metal at the door, and leans on his hands as he blearily watches the plane of wood swing inwards.
He takes a breath, slaps his hands together, and with a wild guess, slams both palms against the wall. The pattern shined so brightly in his head that he grins. He has guessed correctly.
An elderich wind rises up from below and blows his long curtain of golden hair clear off his neck. Flashes of blue lightening dance through the air, and he sees panicked faces looking on past the door. He no longer has to worry much about not being able to stand. The floor beneath him rumbles and shifts, and like a tidal wave, envelope him in the cool darkness of his own making, tunneling his way downward, towards his freedom. Towards someone terribly important named "Al".
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