Awaiting The Guillotine



Four Knocks, One Answer
Knock, Knock, Knock....Knock. The pause between the third and fourth knock was a sign to every citizen in Konoha; it was a universal call that meant to get up regardless of the time. Unfortunately for many, this call was one that arrived either late at night or very early in the morning. For Sannoto, it was always a horribly perfect combination of both: One O’Clock in the morning. He groaned and rolled over slowly cracking his eyes open. His wife’s eyes flickered into life, emitting a red glow that slightly illuminated the surface of the bed.

“Ten seconds,” she murmured quietly. Immediately, her soft warm hands clutched his arm and rapid tapping followed after the initial touch. “Honey, we have twenty more seconds.” The amplitude of her voice was rather quiet, but her tone was drenched in urgency. The two rush two flights of stairs of their three story house to the mahogany front door decorated with the word “Welcome”. When Ayame cracked the door open, the word “Welcome” failed to follow. A hand slides between the crack and forces the door to grant them access to the living room of the two shinobi. Two masked figures with rather dark attire enter the home swiftly and closes the door behind them.

“Lord Sannoto,” one of the masked shinobi speaks. Her voice was devoid of all emotion. They beat that out of them these days. The honorable hokage was a member of this organization at point in time and the training she was subject to was the reason that she was revered as cold-hearted in her past, but also a reason that she is worshipped as a goddess of shinobi. Her ability to conduct any action without hesitating is admired by few, heavily desired by many. Today’s ANBU were subject to similarly gruesome training and many died. Those who managed to survive rarely ever were the same prior to entering the organization. They weren’t people anymore. They were lethal weapons who obeyed every command that their leader spoke despite how harsh, how unnecessary it may be. In their eyes, the words of the hokage were absolute.

“Yes?”

“You have been assigned a mission.”

“I told you guys and your hokage several times that I’m retired. I don’t partake in missions anymore,”

“It’s not one you can refuse. It’s an order from the someone the hokage greatly respects. The daimyo,” the other ANBU member chirps in. His voice, unlike the female, possesses tinges of urgency. That’s emotion. He wouldn’t be alive long.

“Did you alert the daimyo that he’s retired?” Ayame quickly remarked. “He has real responsibilities now. He has a daughter to spend time with, a son to continue raising, a student to teach, and a wife to continue caring for. He—“

“Who the fuck do you think you are to deny the presence of the daimyo?” a voice declares from outside the door. The wooden door slams against the surface of their floor and upon it walked several other figures. They were shinobi, but their allegiance was not to the hokage, but rather to the daimyo. You could tell by the land of fire’s insignia engraved on their flap jackets.

“Now, you must be the daimyo’s pets,” Ayame commented.

“What did you just—“the shinobi took a step forward towards the woman, but a single blink was all it took. Sannoto stood before the approaching ninja before he could utter his final word or take another step. The daimyo’s ninja’s eyes widened, his hands trembled slightly and his rather serious smug started to fall apart. It was obvious that he had never witnessed such speed in his presence directly. It was almost instantaneous. Very few shinobi could argue that they’ve seen such speed and lived.

“Tell the daimyo that I’m retired,” Sannoto quickly ordered.

“You think you’re the shit. Don’t you? Most ninja would kill to have the daimyo personally request them?” another one of the daimyo’s ninja chipped in.

“Too bad, I don’t kill. Now please leave my home.” Sannoto glanced towards the two ANBU standing to the side. “All of you.”

“You’ll regret this.” Retreating stomps followed those words. Everyone but the husband and wife remained. The cold air of the brisk winter crept into his house, freezing the air and draining his home of all warmth. Her hand crept under his arm with the back of her hand smushed between his warm, muscular body and his limb. Her head gently rested against the side of such limb. “What are we going to do?”

“I’ll figure it out in the morning. I promise.” With that, the room fell silent.