It was just like every other day for Uzumaki Naruto. Another day into the unforeseeable future. Another day in a job he loves. Even though he loves his job he still longs for the days of his past. And as much as he longs for it he hates that he sometimes misses it.

The days when there were no deadlines. The days now, when the usually light mask he wore went from silver to lead and the grin nearly dies on his face. The day went as usual. He woke up to a blaring alarm that though waking him up early made sure he always arrived right before he was late, as planned. He swung his feet out from the warm comforter.

The dark wooden floors were cold on his feet as he stripped off his dark blue boxers and walked into his bathroom. Small but not to the point of being abnormally so. A glass shower stall that was always a pain to clean. Stark white tiles, mocking him with their innocence which made them in a way, not so much innocent any more than a hypocritical malice. A large mirror overtook the wall opposite the shower stall. Bright white light flashed down into Naruto's still sleep affected eyes. He was in that transparent stall. Dove bar soap and Old Spice shampoo, two in one. Dove trying to keep the past away and the Old Spice a nostalgic indulgence.

He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a white towel around his waist after drying of. Tattoos on his back, stomach and shoulder. Whisker-like scars forever etched into his face with a steel blade and scar tissue causing discolored imprints to brand themselves into his skin. The scars instead of raising themselves sunk into the skin of his round cheek, a mark of honor and of shame. He continued into his bedroom. He put on black silk slacks, black leather shoes, leather belt, black with Silver links. Looking hips down he could almost imagine the old days, his days as a predator, prowling his territory, keeping his cohorts in line. He proceeded to put on the white cotton button-down, untucked, collar unbuttoned and uneven. A clever ploy of personal inattention. A rumpled unbuttoned black, silk suit jacket followed. Naruto then looked at the neon orange tie in disgust. He then took it as a necessary evil and tied it in a simple knot.

Not even a half-Windsor, and certainly not in a trinity knot. He must look unassuming, a new way, and to be unassuming one must act a few beers short of a six pack. He proceeded back to the bathroom. He opened the drawer underneath the single porcelain vanity. He pulled out foundation. He applied it to his cheeks hiding any marks previously seen. He thought back to his tattoos. The nine-tailed fox in all its ethereal, proud glory on his well-toned back. Curled up but fangs bared in a sneer, disgusted at the world. Jasmine flowers dotted over hidden bicep muscles. And a "holy seal" on his lithe stomach. A piece that inflamed the rumors that he was some sort of demon. The spiral and characters that had the more superstitious pissing in their pants at his name and face.

He was never a demon. True he was merciless, unnecessarily cruel. His eyes had often flashed red in extreme anger, but what can he say? It was a condition. He never had any feral claws. His claws were a pair of brass knuckles he had always taken with him. It was the one thing he still carried in his pocket. His "supernatural powers" an illegal pistol or a hidden switchblade. His aura, intimidation and a proceeding reputation and infamy. He hmphed in the mirror at the thought. The scars were from his early days, only 13 years of age, when he was a single delinquent, no allies and, not having the thought to use his actually large intellect. Fought too many at a time. After the scars were inflicted on his face he became determined. He worked up allies, money, territory, luxury. After that he took the six men who had held him down and marked him, shot them in the face and dumped their bodies into Tokyo Bay.

The reason he stopped? The reason he gave it all up? His friend, the man who tried to save him, Iruka-sensei had gotten a scar cut across his nose and cheekbones as a message to Naruto. The kanji for "Kurama-sama" scratched and burned into Iruka's apartment door. Naruto gave it up, gave up the lofty and lonely position to keep safe the one person to whom he owed any debt.

Not that it mattered he had slipped under the radar. He no longer paid for expensive suits, cologne, apartments, got a regular job. Not that it mattered people whom he previously owned or did business with still recognized by his street name, Kurama, stilled referred to him as "Kurama-sama", and treated him with the respect not many people would give to an artist in the advertising department of an international corporation. Thinking back on all this, Naruto grabbed his keys and messenger bag full of painted and unpainted sketches. AS he turned the door knob, he put on the mask of the strong, happy, and ditzy, blissfully ignorant and oblivious. Naruto never heard bells toll for anything but funerals, and in Uzumaki Naruto's opinion:

The Bells Only Toll for the Weak.