Weird things happen in the world. Civil wars break out, money gets wasted, killers go out and harm purposelessly. Maybe in some sense these things are not so weird; maybe they are just misunderstood. Shinbatsu thought about the happenings of the past night in this context. Had the 'businessmen' he had put into coffins been misunderstood?
It's one thing to rise to prominence in the world. It's one thing to monopolize the control of water flow through the village of Sunagakure between three companies and to merge them. It's a totally other thing to manipulate what goes into the water, and, in turn, into everybody's bodies. What had begun as an investigation into Sunagakure's underworld had gone awry, and Shinbatsu found himself on a roller coaster of craziness and vague clues sending him from one site to another. People all seemed to know what was going on, but nobody seemed to genuinely believe it, and certainly nobody seemed to care enough to take action. It was really fortunate that the government heard of the action and sent one of their shinobi to handle the matter. Had Shinbatsu not turned up when he did, things might have been ugly.
But what was to say that they hadn't turned ugly? Seventeen bodies in the morgue sounded ugly to him. Six Sand shinobi joining their ancestors sounded ugly to him. Who was he to judge? Would it have been better off if he'd simply let these guys do whatever they wanted with the water supply? The classical problem of the train track and the fork; on the rail the train was going along, there was a family, and on the other there was a single person, and all he had to do was hit the switch.
He had hit the switch. Now he just wanted to know if it had been the right thing to do. Distraught, Shinbatsu bent forward in his seat, planting his face into his hands. He was going to report the whole mission soon, and he was not even sure it was believable. He did not have much evidence that things went down as he would say they did. Then again, he never had much evidence when he reported missions: the village seemed to take everything he said as the truth. His hands ran down his face, and as he stretched the skin downward, he inhaled heavily and eventually let out an exasperated sigh. His arms fell and crossed over his knees. Shortly, he was called into the office, and he reported everything just as it had happened. He recited the tracking, everything he had discovered, the people he had interrogated, his interrogation methods, and everything else that he could remember. He recited the damage done to village property as the battle ensued and the costs it would take to repair it all. He informed them of the lives he had taken and the injuries he had sustained over the course of the battle. The thought struck him again. Seventeen bodies in the morgue. And this was the pretty outcome.
[MFT]
It's one thing to rise to prominence in the world. It's one thing to monopolize the control of water flow through the village of Sunagakure between three companies and to merge them. It's a totally other thing to manipulate what goes into the water, and, in turn, into everybody's bodies. What had begun as an investigation into Sunagakure's underworld had gone awry, and Shinbatsu found himself on a roller coaster of craziness and vague clues sending him from one site to another. People all seemed to know what was going on, but nobody seemed to genuinely believe it, and certainly nobody seemed to care enough to take action. It was really fortunate that the government heard of the action and sent one of their shinobi to handle the matter. Had Shinbatsu not turned up when he did, things might have been ugly.
But what was to say that they hadn't turned ugly? Seventeen bodies in the morgue sounded ugly to him. Six Sand shinobi joining their ancestors sounded ugly to him. Who was he to judge? Would it have been better off if he'd simply let these guys do whatever they wanted with the water supply? The classical problem of the train track and the fork; on the rail the train was going along, there was a family, and on the other there was a single person, and all he had to do was hit the switch.
He had hit the switch. Now he just wanted to know if it had been the right thing to do. Distraught, Shinbatsu bent forward in his seat, planting his face into his hands. He was going to report the whole mission soon, and he was not even sure it was believable. He did not have much evidence that things went down as he would say they did. Then again, he never had much evidence when he reported missions: the village seemed to take everything he said as the truth. His hands ran down his face, and as he stretched the skin downward, he inhaled heavily and eventually let out an exasperated sigh. His arms fell and crossed over his knees. Shortly, he was called into the office, and he reported everything just as it had happened. He recited the tracking, everything he had discovered, the people he had interrogated, his interrogation methods, and everything else that he could remember. He recited the damage done to village property as the battle ensued and the costs it would take to repair it all. He informed them of the lives he had taken and the injuries he had sustained over the course of the battle. The thought struck him again. Seventeen bodies in the morgue. And this was the pretty outcome.
[MFT]