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Exchanges with the Enemy [Solo-Self Modded Mission]

The low class and bottom-feeding section of Sunagakure. The ambitious design known as the 'Grand Palais' lies on the outskirts of the Sietch Zensunna. Large slabs of glass used to wall off this monstrous creation on all sides with several entry points allowing this area to at least be monitored to some degree but they were shattered when the cavern that once housed this district collapsed. Now sunlight plagues a region that once used to rely on darkness but the narrow streets and shadows continue allow evil to still linger and lurk. The original plan was to have a place where all the weak or poor could live, but as the place grew more and more crammed, the crime rate, drug use and abuse rose. The Grand Palais has degraded into a criminal infested, darkened slum.

The innards of this area are split into numerous districts; Merchant, Dining, Lodging (cheap) and Entertainment (of an illicit nature).

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Oda Yatamaru
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Exchanges with the Enemy [Solo-Self Modded Mission]

Tue Feb 12, 2019 9:54 am

Everything was ready.

Deep underground, tucked away somewhere no one ever bothered to look anymore, a meeting was about to occur. Darkness. Tightly cramped quarters. Only one path in and out. Highly negotiated. Highly planned. Highly layered.

Yatamaru was flying solo this mission. A tricky situation made more so by all the constraints. He was waiting, thinking, trying to consider what else might, or need to, happen; silence made for good pondering, except for the occasional whimper, mutter, groan, or other such sounds that emanated from three hooded, tied, and gagged bodies that were sitting on the floor. He gave them little notice.

He was not dressed like a typical ANBU. Technically, he wasn’t; not at the moment, at least. He was in cognito, hidden in plain sight, playing the part of his normal, civilian, self. He was dressed in a simple button down shirt, plain brown trousers, nondescript shoes, and gave no appearance of being anyone other than an errand dog of Sunagakure. They did not want the ransomers tipped off as to whom they were dealing with, after all. They thought that giving the ransomers the feeling of superiority, of having the high ground, would make them less likely to try anything funny. They, of course, were the ANBU command unit who had given Yatamaru this assignment. He was to facilitate the transfer of war criminals and stop any potential threats to the smoothness of the operation.

With patience honed through years of operations, Yatamaru sat back against the wall and watched the only entrance there was to this room. It had been chosen as a strategically neutral location, benefiting neither side. A good negotiation, after all, involves everyone losing. He was waiting for their agents, and the prisoner they would bring with them. One of Sunagakure’s best. A top-priority asset. It was why They had been willing to trade three admittedly skilled enemies — a three-man team, consisting of a Nanjirou, Hashigaki, and Exalted — for just one in return.

They could not have stressed more to Yatamaru how important it was he made sure to get their man home.

Yatamaru started to shift in place, noting how long he’d been waiting, when the dull sound of footsteps floated down the intricate underground halls to announce the arrival of his expected guests. He settled into place, continuing to ignore the incapacitated three below him who seemed to have caught onto the fact that something was happening. Two men, wearing all black with bandannas to cover their faces, led a blindfolded man, handcuffed and legs tied together, into the room. Agents of the enemy and the asset — a Sunagakure Citizen. It was Yatamaru’s prime directive to make sure he stayed alive.

”Gentlemen!” The newcomers turned suddenly to face him. They had not seen him; the wall on which he leaned against, cloaked in shadows, hid him from them. His sudden speaking had alerted them of his presence, and they seemed scared. Jumpy. Agitated. ”Don’t get so worked up. Now that you’re here, we can begin.” He leaned forward and kicked off lightly from the wall, slowly sauntering towards his target. Hands up. He directed his gaze down, indicating the three captives he had brought. All according to the arrangements. ”Everything in order? All yours are here, and mine looks fine over there. All’s left to do is trade them, peacefully. That is,” Yatamaru’s eyes slid up to his prime target’s blindfolded face, ”as soon as we both confirm our captives? I don’t like funny business.”

The men, so far, had not said a word. They had not moved, only listened. Now, given the chance of a turn, they stumbled, momentarily, before carrying on. Something, silently, had been communicated. Unknown. Ciphered. Beyond understanding, but not beyond deduction. Yatamaru watched, carefully, as the men grasped hold of the Sunan Citizen, violently jerking him into place as they undid the blindfolds. He was unharmed, apparently, but he appeared dazed. Foggy. Compromised. Still, it was him.

”Your turn, Sunan,” one of them said, their voices modulated and distorted by machines. They never let their guard down, not once. ”Show us them.”

Now began the plan. Yatamaru started with the one on his left and lifted off the hood: the Nanjirou, a man of nondescript features but incredibly toned features from years of practice, was gagged but now able to see, and suddenly began staring, taking in the room quickly and with fevered purpose, looking for any opportunity to come his way. The men negotiating confirmed it was him. They stared at the rest, and in their desire to be done with this and their preoccupation with plans of their own, they let down their guard once. ”All right, then, Sunan. Take him.”

Roughly they shoved the prime target at him. Deftly catching the man, who could not have supported himself otherwise, Yatamaru sensed something wrong. There had been a change in pace. A shift in flow. He looked down at the target — his back had been bombed. Explosive notes. The men had sprung their trap — it was time for him to spring his.

The two men hurried themselves with scooping up the three captives they were here to rescue, hoping to avoid the explosive betrayal they had flung onto Yatamaru. The distraction. Yet they hurried too quickly and failed to notice that one of the captives, the Exalted, was not quite themselves. Yatamaru had traps too. His superiors had approved it, for tactical reasons, but that was merely justification.

As the two men fled, their ‘comrades’ in tow, the whole thing blew up in their face. As the sudden explosion from behind them went off, the last of the explosive notes torn off of the prime target’s body, they found themselves trapped inside an impenetrable trap. The Exalted Human Puppet, a secret trap laid by a suspicious Yatamaru, had imprisoned the two within the [Iron Maiden] puppet jutsu. They were imprisoned. The prime target was safe. And, the other captives were still alive and in custody.

Negotiations fell apart, after that. The betrayal was lauded as an attack against Sunagakure, attempting to gain support against Sunagakure’s enemies, but claims of tampering with the situation were hurled back as criticism against Sunagakure’s handling of the negotiation. Some cited that one of the captives had already been tampered with before the negotiations, but that evidence was buried. The whole thing fizzled out. Empty momentum.

The prime target returned safely to the village. No one heard about the three captives again, nor were they ever identified, and all talk about such a case is regarded as insubstantial. Oda Yatamaru’s name was removed from the record, replaced with a pseudonym, as a professional move to keep his identity in the ANBU a secret.

”My first priority was the safe retrieval of the Prime Target.” Yatamaru was alone, in his workshop, speaking to himself. He had just finished the last alterations. ”My second priority is to eliminate opposing threats. Such a job requires tools of equal caliber.” That made his collection of prime candidates now six. Each one more dangerous than the last. ”You will help me to defend Sunagakure. That is the justice, I suppose, that I bequeath unto you.”

A single word written in Runic Terran script sits upon the nape of each puppet’s neck: سيف خفي, أغنية الأحلام, and درع غريب.

[ooc]
Topic Entered and Left. This mission was approved here: [link]
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