"That's quite an accusation," Obito said finally, his voice dropping to a register Sasuke had never heard before—something primal and dangerous beneath the corporate veneer. "Is this why you've really come? To throw these... fantasies at me?"
In Sasuke's ear, Shikamaru's voice crackled with urgency: "Ninety-nine percent. Just a few more seconds."
Sasuke leaned forward, the pain beneath his sternum pulsing in time with his heartbeat. "Not fantasies. Truth." Each word emerged like a stone cast into still water. "I've heard the recording. Seen the documents."
A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Obito's face, there and gone so quickly most would have missed it. But Sasuke had spent years studying his uncle's expressions, learning to read the minute tells that betrayed the thoughts behind that careful mask.
"One hundred percent," Shikamaru whispered triumphantly in his ear. "We've got everything. Gaara and Kiba are clear. Mission accomplished. Get out of there."
Relief washed through him, immediately tempered by the knowledge that the most dangerous part of his mission had just begun—the extraction. He pushed himself to his feet, carefully gauging the distance to the door.
"I have class," he said, the excuse sounding hollow even to his own ears. "This conversation has been... enlightening. But I should go."
Obito made no move to stop him, merely watching as Sasuke took his first step toward the door. "Of course," he said, voice smooth as polished stone. "I'm curious, Sasuke," Obito called after him, voice carrying a new edge that froze Sasuke in place. "Why you allowed yourself to get caught up with an Omega?"
The question struck like a physical blow. Sasuke's fingers tightened on the door handle, the metal cool against his suddenly clammy palm. In his ear, Shikamaru's sharp intake of breath was the only sound.
Sasuke's hand froze on the door handle. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said without turning, forcing each word through clenched teeth as fire spread beneath his ribs.
"I've seen him, you know," Obito continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Touched him. Even... tasted him." His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip, the gesture deliberately provocative. "His skin has a particular flavor when he's afraid. Did you notice that during your time together? Or were you too consumed by your own pleasure to appreciate the subtleties?"
Shikamaru was saying something in his ear, but Sasuke's mind fractured between listening and lunging forward. His vision pulsed between crimson rage and crystal clarity. Blood roared in his ears as his fingers twitched, trying to think of the best way to get to his Uncle. Obito stood there, grin in place, looking too much like family to kill without hesitation.
"He calls your name sometimes," Obito murmured, eyes gleaming with malicious pleasure. "During the procedures. When the pain becomes too much for even his stubborn will to bear. Sasuke, he cries. Please, Sasuke. Help me, Sasuke." He mimicked Naruto's voice with cruel precision. "It's quite touching, really. His faith in you. His belief that you'll somehow save him."
"Sasuke, don't—" Shikamaru's voice cut through the fog, but it was too late.
"Shut up!" Sasuke yelled ready to pounce.
From a side door—one Sasuke hadn't even noticed, concealed within the paneling—three armed security personnel entered, their movements efficient and practiced. They positioned themselves between Sasuke and both exits, hands hovering near holstered weapons.
Sasuke's vision tunneled to a crimson pinpoint, his pupils dilating until black consumed red. "I will rip your fucking throat," he snarled, voice dropping to a guttural frequency that vibrated through the floorboards. The guards' weapons clicked behind him—safeties disengaging—but the sound barely registered through the roaring in his ears. If they killed him now, he'd use his last breath to tear Obito's jugular open.
"There it is," Obito murmured, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Such passion for an Omega. A Uchiha reduced to this." He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Your father would be ashamed."
That did it, the taunt pushed Sasuke's forward. He lunged forward, months of Akatsuki training coalescing into perfect, focused violence. His first strike connected with Obito's jaw, snapping the older man's head back with enough force to send him staggering. The second never landed.
"Sasuke!" Shikamaru's voice cut through his earpiece, urgent and tinged with alarm. "What's happening? Report!"
Security personnel moved with practiced efficiency, the first guard catching Sasuke's arm mid-swing while the second delivered a precise blow to his kidney. Pain exploded through his side, but training took over where conscious thought failed. Sasuke dropped his weight, using the guard's grip against him to pull the man off balance, then drove an elbow into his solar plexus with enough force to fold him in half.
The third guard approached from behind, but Sasuke was already moving, spinning into a kick that connected with the man's temple. The guard crumpled, weapon clattering to the floor. Sasuke dove for it, fingers closing around cold metal before the remaining guard tackled him from behind, driving him into the polished hardwood with enough force to drive the air from his lungs.
The guard's weight crushed down on him—two hundred pounds of tactical muscle driving the air from his lungs in a violent rush. Sasuke's ribs creaked under the pressure. He bucked wildly, managing to twist just enough to slam his elbow backward into the guard's throat. Cartilage gave way with a satisfying crunch. The man gagged but didn't release his iron grip.
"Shikamaru," Sasuke choked out, blood and saliva mixing in his mouth from where his teeth had cut his cheek. His vision pulsed red-black at the edges. "Gaara? Kiba?"
Through the chaos, he glimpsed Obito dabbing his split lip with surgical precision, the white monogrammed handkerchief blooming crimson where it touched skin. His uncle's eyes gleamed with cold fascination, like a child watching an insect struggle in a spider's web.
"Clear. Extraction underway," Shikamaru's voice crackled, distorted by static and urgency. "Data secured. Sasuke, get the fuck out NOW!"
A knee slammed into Sasuke's spine with bone-shattering force. Something popped—vertebrae shifting. White-hot agony exploded up his back. His arms were wrenched behind him so violently his shoulder socket threatened to dislocate. Plastic zip ties bit through skin, blood slicking his wrists as they were cinched tight enough to cut off circulation. The bond-pain in his chest detonated, a nuclear blast of anguish that obliterated thought. His lungs seized, unable to draw breath as dual agonies fought for dominance in his failing body.
"I expected better," Obito observed, moving back into Sasuke's field of vision. "Itachi would have lasted longer."
The comparison stung more than the physical pain. Sasuke snarled, renewing his struggles despite the futility. One of the guards—the one whose temple he'd kicked—had regained consciousness and now approached with a hypodermic needle in hand, its contents clear and somehow more threatening for their transparency.
"Don't bother fighting," Obito advised, crouching to meet Sasuke's gaze directly. "The sedative works quite quickly. Part of Orochimaru's newer formulations, specifically designed for Alpha metabolism."
The needle slid into Sasuke's neck, the sharp prick followed by a cold sensation that spread outward with alarming speed. Almost immediately, his muscles began to feel heavy, his thoughts sluggish and disconnected. He fought against the effect, trying to maintain focus as the room tilted and spun around him.
Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision like ink in water, and Sasuke's thoughts scattered like frightened birds. Death seemed possible—likely even—but the thought barely registered against the hollow ache where Naruto should be. His chest burned with it. If these were his final moments, he wanted them filled with blue eyes, with sunshine hair between his fingers, with that ridiculous laugh. Even as consciousness slipped away, his heart called out a single name, over and over, a desperate prayer to whatever gods might be listening: Naruto, Naruto, Naruto.
The guards released their hold, confident the sedative had done its work. Sasuke lay on his side, unable to coordinate his limbs enough to rise, his vision blurring at the edges. Through the haze, he watched as Obito moved to his desk, picking up a sleek phone and pressing a single button.
"He's ready," Obito said into the receiver. "Yes. Minimal resistance. We will bring him now."
—
Rain had transformed the city into a smeared watercolor, buildings bleeding into the gray sky as water sheeted down in relentless waves. From the safety of an unmarked van parked three blocks from Uchiha Corporation headquarters, Shikamaru hunched over multiple screens displaying security feeds, his face illuminated by their blue glow. He'd managed to maintain access to the building's internal cameras even after Sasuke's violent confrontation with Obito—a small digital miracle that might just save the Uchiha heir's life.
"They're at the service exit," Shikamaru murmured into his headset, fingers flying across his keyboard as he cycled through camera angles. "East side, maintenance level B2."
Across the street, concealed in the shadow of a delivery truck, Gaara and Kiba emerged from an emergency stairwell, their maintenance uniforms soaked within seconds of stepping into the downpour. The USB drive containing Uchiha Corporation's secrets—and hopefully Naruto's location—was secured in a waterproof pouch taped to Gaara's inner thigh, the most secure place they could devise for something so small yet so crucial.
"Extraction point three," Gaara said quietly into his comm unit, his pale eyes scanning the street for surveillance. "Clear so far."
"Copy that," came Kisame's gravelly response. "Black sedan approaching your position from the north."
The vehicle appeared through the curtain of rain, moving slowly along the curb until it pulled alongside them. The passenger window lowered just enough for Itachi's face to become visible, his dark eyes scanning their appearances for signs of injury or pursuit. Satisfied, he unlocked the doors with a soft click.
Kiba slid into the backseat, immediately shaking water from his hair like the canine his family had been named for. "Got what we came for," he announced, voice pitched low with the thrill of success. "Shikamaru has the feed. Where's Sasuke?"
Itachi's eyes flickered to the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the curb, merging seamlessly into the sparse midday traffic. "Still inside. Shikamaru's tracking him now."
In the monitoring van, Shikamaru's expression had darkened as he watched the scene unfolding on his screens. Security footage showed Obito's office—now empty save for overturned furniture and unconscious guards—before switching to an elevator camera where Sasuke's limp body was being carried between two burly security officers. His head lolled against his chest, blood from a cut above his eyebrow tracking a crimson path down his temple.
"They've sedated him," Shikamaru reported, voice tight. "Heavy dose of something. He's completely out." His fingers tapped commands into the system, following the elevator's descent through the building. "They're taking him down to the parking garage. B3 level."
Through the network of comms, this information reached Itachi simultaneously. His only visible reaction was a slight tightening of his fingers on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening against the leather. To the untrained eye, he appeared almost indifferent to his brother's predicament. Those who knew him better recognized the controlled fury in the minute tightening of his jaw, the dangerous stillness that had fallen over his entire body.
"Status report," Itachi said, his voice betraying none of the emotion churning beneath his composed exterior.
"Six guards total," Shikamaru replied, eyes never leaving the screens. "Obito's with them. His nose is... definitely broken. Nice work, Sasuke." A hint of grim satisfaction colored his tone. "They're loading him into a vehicle now—black SUV, corporate plates."
"Heading where?" Konan's voice cut through the comm system, cool and precise.
Shikamaru's hands moved across his keyboard, pulling up building schematics that overlaid the security feeds. "Based on their position and the vehicle... they'll exit through the private garage tunnel. Emerges on 14th Street, between the financial building and that construction site."
"Perfect," Pain's voice whispered through their earpieces, the first time he'd spoken since the operation began. Despite his physical absence from the field, his strategic mind had been mapping contingencies since the moment Sasuke entered Uchiha headquarters. "Converge on exit point in two minutes. Itachi, take position at the south end. Konan, bring the secondary vehicle to the north approach. Kisame and Deidara, create the diversion at the tunnel mouth."
The various Akatsuki teams acknowledged the orders with minimal chatter, vehicles repositioning around the perimeter of the massive corporate tower. Rain continued to pound the pavement, providing both cover and complication as visibility diminished further.
Itachi's sedan slid into position at the southern end of 14th Street, engine idling quietly as he stepped out into the deluge. Water plastered his hair against his skull within seconds, but he showed no sign of discomfort as he melted into the shadows beside a construction scaffold. Gaara positioned himself on the opposite side of the street, his red hair now hidden beneath a dark cap, while Kiba crouched behind a dumpster, prepared to move at Itachi's signal.
Through their earpieces, they heard Shikamaru's running commentary tracking the SUV's progress through the underground tunnel. "Fifty meters from exit... thirty... they're slowing at the security checkpoint."
On his monitor, Shikamaru watched as Obito leaned forward to speak with the guard at the tunnel's exit booth. The guard's eyes widened at whatever instruction he received, nodding vigorously before pressing a button to raise the barrier.
"Checkpoint cleared," Shikamaru reported, tension evident in his voice. "Exiting in ten... nine... eight..."
Itachi pressed himself flatter against the wall, his dark eyes fixed on the tunnel entrance where rain cascaded down like a translucent curtain. His brother was in there—unconscious, helpless, at the mercy of the uncle who had orchestrated their parents' murder. The parallels to that night eight years ago were not lost on him—another Uchiha betrayal, another family member in mortal danger, another chance for Itachi to either save or fail someone he loved.
This time would be different.
"Three... two... one..."
The black SUV emerged from the tunnel like a sleek predator, tires spraying water as it accelerated onto the rain-slicked street. Through the tinted windows, the silhouettes of guards were visible surrounding a slumped figure in the backseat—Sasuke, still unconscious, head rolling with the vehicle's movement.
Itachi touched his earpiece once. "Now."
The Akatsuki surged into motion like a single organism with many limbs, converging on the vehicle from multiple directions. From his vantage point, Itachi could see Kisame stepping into the street fifty yards ahead, his massive frame impossible to miss even through the curtain of rain. Further north, Konan's black van accelerated from a side street, positioned to cut off the SUV's forward progress.
"They've spotted Kisame," Shikamaru reported urgently. "Obito's ordering them to turn around."
The SUV's brakes illuminated as the driver attempted to reverse course, only to find Deidara's motorcycle blocking their retreat back into the tunnel. The trap had sprung perfectly, leaving them exactly where the Akatsuki wanted them—surrounded, with nowhere to run.
Itachi emerged from the shadows, walking calmly toward the vehicle as if the rain and chaos were merely inconveniences rather than elements of a precision military operation. His expression revealed nothing of the storm raging inside him, nothing of the desperate need to see his brother's face and confirm he still breathed. Instead, he projected only cold certainty, each step bringing him closer to the vengeance he had waited eight years to exact.
Rain obscured his approach until the last possible second—exactly as planned, exactly as practiced in countless Akatsuki drills. The guard who opened the driver's side door never saw the strike that rendered him unconscious, his body caught before it could hit the pavement and gently lowered to the ground. Kisame's savage grin flashed in the distance as he launched his own assault on the passenger side, less gentle but equally efficient.
The remaining guards reacted with professional quickness, weapons appearing in hands trained to defend corporate secrets rather than survive true combat. Their mistake became apparent as the Akatsuki converged from all directions—not common criminals or corporate spies, but a unit forged through years of high-stakes rescue operations.
Kiba struck next, emerging from behind the dumpster in a low, animal crouch before launching himself at a guard who'd taken aim at Itachi's back. They crashed to the pavement in a spray of rainwater, Kiba's elbow connecting with the guard's temple with. Twenty feet away, Gaara moved with eerie calm through the chaos, he systematically disarmed a security officer twice his size, the man's gun clattering across wet asphalt moments before his consciousness fled.
"Rear passenger side," Shikamaru directed through their earpieces. "Sasuke's there. Obito's trying to use him as cover."
Inside the vehicle, Obito pressed himself against the seat, blood still streaming from his broken nose as he barked orders into his phone. "Lockdown protocol! All units to the tunnel exit!" His free hand gripped Sasuke's collar, using his unconscious nephew as a human shield while he assessed escape routes.
The back door wrenched open, revealing Itachi's face—a mask of perfect calm betrayed only by the murderous intent in his eyes. "Let him go," he said, voice so soft it nearly disappeared beneath the drumming rain, yet carrying a promise of such specific violence that even Obito hesitated.
"You won't shoot," Obito replied, pressing a small handgun against Sasuke's temple. "Not with him in the way."
"I don't need to shoot," Itachi answered.
Before Obito could process the words, a thin blade pressed against his throat from behind—Konan had entered through the opposite door while he focused on Itachi, her movement silent and deadly as she positioned the knife.
"Release him," she ordered, no emotion in her voice. "Or discover how much blood a human body contains."
Obito's gun wavered, then lowered. His fingers uncurled from Sasuke's collar, releasing him into Itachi's waiting arms. With efficient movements, Itachi extracted his brother's limp form from the vehicle, cradling his head to prevent further injury as he backed away from the SUV.
"We have company," Kisame called, his massive frame silhouetted against the tunnel entrance where more security personnel had begun to emerge. "Time to wrap this up."
"Take Sasuke," Itachi ordered, transferring his brother's unconscious body to Kiba and Gaara. "Get him to the van." His eyes never left Obito, who remained frozen under Konan's blade. "I'll handle this."
As Sasuke's unconscious form was carried toward the safety of Konan's waiting vehicle, Itachi reached into the SUV and dragged his uncle out into the rain. Obito stumbled, attempting to regain his footing on the slick pavement, but Itachi's grip on his collar remained uncompromising.
"You think this changes anything?" Obito hissed through bloody teeth. "You're still too late. Orochimaru has everything he needs from your brother's little Omega pet. The protocol is complete."
Itachi's expression didn't change, but his hand tightened imperceptibly on Obito's collar. "Where is Naruto?"
"You'll never find him," Obito smiled, blood from his nose painting his teeth crimson. "But he'll find pieces of your brother if you don't release me right now."
Itachi's answer came in the form of a precisely aimed strike to Obito's solar plexus—not enough to cause serious damage, but sufficient to drive the air from his lungs and fold him over in reflexive pain. As Obito gasped, Itachi produced zip-ties from his pocket and secured his uncle's wrists behind his back.
"More incoming," Shikamaru warned through the comm. "Northeast corner, at least eight guards. Armed."
The approaching security team fanned out across the mouth of the tunnel, weapons raised as they advanced through the downpour. Unlike the original guards, these moved with the coordination of proper tactical training, creating a semicircle of firepower that tightened with each step.
"Deidara," Pain's voice crackled through the comm system. "Option two."
"About fucking time," came the gleeful response.
Three small objects arced through the rain, landing with soft splashes among the advancing security team. For a heartbeat, nothing happened—then brilliant white light erupted in multiple explosions, accompanied by a sound that split the air like thunder. Flash-bangs, modified to Deidara's exacting specifications, temporarily blinded and disoriented the guards without causing permanent damage.
Through the chaos, Konan launched herself toward the van, skidding across the wet pavement and hurling her body behind the wheel in one fluid motion. She slammed her palm against the side door release, the metal panel flying open with a bang that cut through even the gunfire. "MOVE! NOW!" she roared, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, rain-soaked blue hair plastered against her face like war paint as her eyes, wild with adrenaline, tracked multiple threats through the windshield.
Kisame hauled the thrashing Obito toward the van, his massive hand crushing the man's shoulder until bone threatened to splinter beneath his grip. He ripped a black hood down over Obito's bloodied face, silencing his screams before hurling him into the back like garbage. Inside, Gaara's fingers flew over Sasuke's limp form, cinching straps across his chest with military precision, one hand bracing his lolling head while the other pressed against his throat for a pulse. Kiba crouched at the rear windows, knuckles white around his weapon, eyes wild as he tracked movement through sheets of rain and gunfire.
Itachi was the last to enter, pausing for one final look at the Uchiha tower that loomed through the rain like a monument to everything he had lost—and everything his brother had nearly lost. Then he pulled the van door closed behind him with a decisive thud.
"Go," he ordered.
Konan accelerated away from the scene, navigating the rain-slick streets with precision born of countless getaway operations. In the rear compartment, Obito thrashed against his restraints, muffled curses emerging from beneath the hood. Kisame planted one massive hand on his shoulder, forcing him back down onto the metal floor.
"Be still," he advised, voice pleasant but promising consequences if ignored. "Or I'll make you still."
Obito subsided, though tension radiated from his body like heat from a furnace. Across from him, Sasuke remained unconscious on the gurney, his breathing steady but shallow. Itachi knelt beside his brother, fingers pressing gently against his throat to monitor his pulse.
"His heart rate is elevated," Itachi observed, concern creasing his brow. "Whatever they gave him is putting stress on his system."
"Sakura will know what to do," Gaara replied, voice calm despite the sirens that had begun to wail in the distance.
Through the front windshield, the city blurred into streaks of light and shadow as Konan executed a series of turns designed to shake any potential pursuit. Rain continued to hammer against the metal roof, creating a rhythmic backdrop to their escape that matched the accelerated beating of Sasuke's heart beneath Itachi's careful fingers.
The comm system crackled. "Mission accomplished," Shikamaru's voice came through, uncharacteristically tense with suppressed triumph. "We're en route to base now. Give me two hours with this data and I'll have something concrete."
"And now we have a primary source," Itachi added, glancing toward the hooded figure on the floor. His eyes hardened as he studied his uncle's restrained form, years of carefully banked rage visible for just a moment before disappearing behind his customary mask of control.
"He'll talk," Kisame said, voice casual but eyes calculating as he watched Obito's bound form. "Everyone talks eventually."
The van turned onto the highway on-ramp, merging into the sparse midday traffic as rain continued to fall in sheets. Behind them, emergency lights flashed in the distance—too little, too late to stop what had already happened. Alarms would be ringing throughout the Uchiha Corporation by now, security protocols activated, damage control initiated. But none of that mattered anymore. They had what they came for—the data that would lead them to Naruto, and the man who had orchestrated his capture.
Itachi's attention returned to his brother, one hand resting protectively on Sasuke's shoulder as the sedative continued to work its way through his system. The bond-mark at the base of Sasuke's neck had darkened in the last hour, its edges inflamed—a physical manifestation of the connection straining across whatever distance separated him from Naruto.
"Hold on," Itachi whispered, words meant for his brother alone. "We're going to find him. We're going to bring him home."
Whether Sasuke heard through the chemical haze of sedation, Itachi couldn't know. But as the van carried them deeper into the storm and further from the towering symbol of their family's corruption, Sasuke's pulse steadied beneath his brother's fingertips—as if some part of him, even in unconsciousness, had recognized the promise and chosen to believe.