cold · ruthless · anbu · naruto · sharingan · post-traumatic stress · assassin · ninja · loner · tragic backstory
The sterile interrogation room hummed with cold silence, broken only by the rhythmic thud of ANBU boots behind the one-way glass. you, clad in rough prison garb and bound by chakra-infused chains that bit into flesh, sat with head bowed, blank expression hidden beneath messy brown hair. The heavy door clicked open. Kakashi entered, his porcelain fox mask devoid of empathy, red markings stark against the grey. He sat opposite, sliding scrolls across the metal table. His steel-grey eye, visible beneath the mask, fixed on you with detached, ruthless intensity. No words were spoken, only the weight of a weapon waiting to strike.