Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Naruto characters. They belong to Masashi Kishimoto.

Also, this story takes place in a slight AU. Since I don't know the ending to Naruto, I can only make educated guesses on how the Naruto world will be in the future. Any inaccuracies will be fixed as more of the manga is published and translated

Altered Carbon-chapter one

Sand.

So much sand.

Too much of it.

Everywhere he looked, it was the same, mundane expanse of timeless golden granules. He couldn't escape it, couldn't rid himself of it, no matter how hard he tried or how much he wanted to. Closing his eyes did nothing, for the image of the vast, white seas were burned into his mind; the very idea of it could be seen from behind tightly shut lids.

He breathed in deeply, throat parched as always, and then snorted immediately afterwards as several tiny specks of silicon and rock shot up his flared nostrils.

It was all starting to get to him, a deep, embittered hatred for this place that had been broiling for 19 years now and was finally threatening to bubble over and spill across the floor.

Things were never gentle or peaceful or serene here. By day the entire country was at the whims of the blazing sun, that eternal light in the sky that bombarded all that lay below it, burned skin and ruined crops. But things were no better at night, when the icy moon and still air allowed the temperature to perilously plummet into a deathly chill. Never were there calming rains or springtime showers, only wild and violent sandstorms and brutal lightning. The air was never filled with the mingling scents of flowers or of the river as the wicked heat obliterated all of the blossoms and dried up any lakes or ponds.

But there would always be the sand, the mountains, valleys, fields and streams of sand.

Never-ending and omnipotent.

Standing on the high tower of the Kazekage Mansion, the young man continued his scheduled watch over Sunagakure, the village hidden in the sand. It was time to leave his post, but for some reason his replacement for tonight was late. He didn't want to stand here a moment longer then he was required to, but then again, he was even more disinclined to directly disobey the Kazekage. This place had seen enough of war and betrayal; it didn't need anymore disturbances. It was one of his many duties to safeguard all of the mansion's entrances for stalking figures or unsavory foreigners, anyone who would want to stick an assassin's blade into the village leader's throat.

Not like he can't keep an eye out for himself… the man grumbled, glancing at the quickly setting sun, tapping one his sandaled feet impatiently. He thought of the Kazekage's strength in battle, those cool, cold eyes that could pin the strongest of shinobi with their paralyzing influence. There really wasn't any need to protect Gaara. Even without the Shukaku embedded in his body anymore, the young leader was still as potent and at times cruel. He would not hesitate in drawing blood if it guaranteed the protection of his people and his village.

It was amazing to think how much the red-haired boy had changed. So many years ago, Gaara had just been some punk, screwed-up kid with enough emotional instability to incapacitate an entire small country. There was little that could whet his appetite for blood and death back then, only the sight of someone dying by his own two hands, the sickly sweet sensation of a man's ribs cracking, organs being punctured.

But now things were different. "Caring" was probably too strong of a word, but at least now the Kazekage was more emotional and responsive to the feelings of those around him, enough to exhibit clear signs of distress and worry when the situation called for it. He wasn't just some vessel for the Shukaku, some failed experiment that his own father had tried to exterminate. This much was clear just by looking in those misty blue eyes tinged with green.

Uzumaki Naruto…you've done more for this village than you could ever imagine… the shinobi contemplated, thinking about that exuberant, annoying yellow-haired brat that dreamed of becoming the next Hokage. While the boy exuded talent and the drive to outshine all those around him, there was no doubting that the Konoha shinobi still lacked the assertiveness and subtle elegance required of a massively influential shinobi politician.

Still, it will be an interesting day when both of you are wearing the Kage's robes…

Even with so much change and revolution, it was amazing how immobile the world still felt. Sure, new leaders were now taking their positions while their elders prepared for retirement. And of course, the threats of several nefarious foes were now at rest, paving the way for a more peaceful coexistence between the usually prickly and disconcerted nations.

But still, the young man could never shake that biting feeling that at least for him and perhaps for no one else, life as he knew it was at a festering standstill.

He was still just a jonin, still living here, still pulling stupid missions day in and day out.

Sighing, wondering where in the hell his relief was, he reached deep in the pockets of his black pants, fingers idly searching for a little cardboard box. He closed his hand around something and with a satisfied smirk, he pulled out the carton of cigarettes, half empty even though it had just been purchased that same afternoon.

Without thinking, the exhausted shinobi pulled one of the nicotine sticks out and placed it unceremoniously between his dry, blistered lips, the purple paint on his face slightly smudged from the unforgiving heat. Fire pulsated weakly from his cheap, plastic lighter as he struggled to light the cigarette in the active breeze of the evening, cupping his one hand to shield it from the wind and then cursing slightly when he accidentally burned himself.

Wait until the wind dies down, you dumb ass, shaking his sore fingers in the air, he checked to make sure no one had seen his folly before trying again. This time he successfully managed to ignite the cigarette's tip, the cherry-top glowing brightly like his own personal firefly.

He inhaled deeply, his feral eyes squinting and becoming teary and wet as the smoke wafted into them. Holding back a gagging cough that rattled deep in his lungs, the young man let out a massive puff of carcinogenic air. Slowly his nerves began to unwind as the nicotine filtered into his bloodstream, soothed that aching craving that had been gnawing at him for what had felt like hours.

After a few more puffs, the shinobi looked at the stick of wrapped paper and tobacco held delicately in his fingers. His eyes slanted suddenly as a rush of either anger or regret flooded into his brain, causing him to fling the half-smoked cigarette over the adobe ledge of the mansion's rooftop. A twisted part of him hoped it landed in someone's hair so that he didn't have to suffer alone and he snickered a little at the thought of seeing a random person's head catching on fire.

Mouth opening in a carnivorous yawn, the boy craned his next back to see the little lights of the sky starting to glow. For a second he basked in their ephemeral beauty before his mind returned to reality as another phlegm-induced cough hitched itself in the back of his throat.

Why had he started this sad habit, this loving and loathing? It wasn't just cigarettes…he'd done worse to himself, so many things that even he couldn't quite explain. The cause hadn't been a single event, but rather a string of them, one leading into the next, denting him, hurting him, until finally…

I guess I can't blame her… the shinobi grimaced as he considered lighting up another cigarette, his hands already moving to his pocket again while his thoughts meandered into the past.

The sky had been so beautiful, the air so warm. Back then, he had thought nothing could ruin that day. Everything had been going so perfectly. And then…then…

"You really should try to stop that, you know."

The boy turned towards the source of the rather impetuous vice, a second cancer-stick dangling in his lips.

It wasn't like the adults to shove their "words of wisdom" down his throat, telling him to stop or at least cut back. They didn't care, as long as he did his job, completed his missions. He was a ninja, and as such he was expected to take a few hits. Was it really all that different if the damage dealt to his body was self-inflicted?

There were few who cared enough to try and stop his habit.

"You smell like shit every time you come over," the boy growled as a blond-headed kunoichi approached him slowly, hands crossed in front of her arrogantly. Try as she might, the girl could not hide her concern under any amount of hot-headedness.

She was soon only a few feet away, and in the waning light, he could barely make out those four tell-tale pigtails sprouting from the back of her head. However, there was more then enough illumination to see the scowl of disapproval plastered on the girl's face, a look that the boy resented very much.

"Screw you, Temari. Besides, I don't think you have any room to bitch…you're nearly fifteen minutes late!" casually lighting up the cigarette much to the older girl's detest, the young boy started to stroll away from his post, grabbing a large object bound in bandages on his way and slinging it over his shoulder nonchalantly. On nights when he had to pull sentry duty, Kankuro more then often only carried one of his puppets with him, instead of all three.

Temari made a snarling noise under her breath. With a devilish smirk, her younger sibling suddenly felt the urge to push the kunoichi's buttons just a tad more. She pierced him with a dangerous gaze from her icy eyes as he opened his lips to speak.

"What, is that lover-boy of yours in town, again?"

He took another puff as he awaited the girl's response, blowing a cloud of smoke treacherously close to the girl's face. He was certain that whatever she was going to say or do would be most volatile. There wasn't a single girl in the world who could bitch like Temari could. When angered, none of her wrath was spared, not even to her own brother.

"Kankuro, don't be such a bastard..." fighting to keep her cool, Temari realized that the older of her younger brothers was testing her. It was a common occurrence to say the least, ordinary around siblings, but lately she had noticed that her brother's acidic nature was becoming increasingly more pungent. There was more to his frequent ill temper than a simple addiction to smoking. She had seen him cursing to himself and punching walls until the knuckles on his gloves were worn through. His favorite weapon, Karasu, wasn't even getting his full attention, and had fallen into a slight state of disrepair.

"I remember when you were happy for me and Shikamaru…"

For a moment, the younger sibling thought he could detect a flicker of sorrow in his sister's words, see a flash of something besides frustration run across her normally sour face. There was a kind soul in there, somewhere, but the years had done much to cause Temari to hide her soft affections underneath a veneer of austerity, reserving her better self for either her only living relatives or her beloved Konoha shadow-wielder.

The years had done much to them all, indeed.

Looking back at his sister, still breathing in the heavy fumes of his cigarette, Kankuro realized that he wasn't going to get a fight out of her tonight.

"Look, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…" he started, unused to apologizing but still trying to put up a brave front. Shoving his hands into his pockets undecidedly, the boy continued softly, "I know you're worried about me…but you can't always mother me like this. I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm not your baby brother now."

"I know, but the least you can do is appreciate my concern, not scorn me for it," Temari replied coolly, eying the belligerent young man carefully, looking past his kabuki face-paint and cat-eared hood to see her brother for what he was: a ball of anger that was longing for an early death.

"You know, Gaara doesn't like it any more than I do-"

"But he doesn't lecture me about it all the time, Temari!" the boy shot back irritably, shocking the kunoichi enough to cause her to gasp. Turning away from his sister, Kankuro stormed away from his watch-spot, discarding his cigarette onto the baked-mud floor of the tower.

Alternating her gaze from the still smoldering tube of paper-bound tobacco to the backside of the brooding young man walking away from her, Temari instantly regretted their entire conversation.

"What a waste."

((A/N: Well, this is just the start…as you can tell, this takes place a few years after the time jump. I hope that you enjoyed this! I'll hopefully have more chapters soon enough. Please review if you get the chance!))