Now Hatake Kakashi knew many things, but medical aid (with the exception of sewing a wound shut with naught but trip wires in the middle of a battlefield) was not on his list of skill sets. Even so the silver-haired shinobi could tell that Sakura had performed amiably thus far, the slow coil of Ibikiâs mouth as he inspected the bodies of his prey, the most tell-tale indicator. Being a firm man in both his profession and personal life, it took a great deal to get the gruff shinobi to display his thoughts. It was what made Ibiki such an ideal captive, should any Hidden Village be unlucky enough as to grab a hold of him. The fact that the man was smirking now, dark orbs alight with the prospect of re-marking the healed flesh (especially now that a trained professional had given the green light) was not something Kakashi chose to linger on. Instead his grey hue travelled over the bodies in his own time, as if he could still see the way in which the Kunoichiâs mint green chakra urged the fibres and tendons to knit back together.
The second captiveâs red-rimmed eyes lingered in the same direction as the Copy-ninâs; dully scanning his hands and legs, before he erupted into a fit of dry coughs, the bonds securing him in place straining at the tugs and pulls. Once he recovered Kakashi watched as the man then licked his lips, before locking his gaze with the pink-haired female, his features instantly morphing into a pleading expression. Eyebrow arching into the fabric of his headband, Kakashi supposed that it was only natural for the shinobi to seek help from the one who just lessened his pain, as opposed to the mountain of a man who was currently adjusting the equipment for round two. The Hatake could only marvel at the enemyâs cunning in his current state (perhaps yet another testament to the young Harunoâs abilities) and wondered how his former pupil would deal with the added pressure. Guilt after all, was but another weapon to be used.
With that in mind, the JĆninâs gaze graduated back toward the Kunoichi, checking once more for any signs of discomfort as the captive shifted again, finally croaking out a want for some water. Despite her quick to kindle temper and the ability to send most shinobi crumbling into the dirt with just the flick of a finger, Sakura was a compassionate soul and Kakashi was loathe to think the Head interrogator might be pushing all of the wrong buttons. Her back was tense; fists clenched firmly enough at her sides to turn her knuckles white. Even from his vantage point, Kakashi noted the light quiver of her wrists due to the strain. Surprisingly, though devoid of its usual colour, Sakuraâs expression remained controlled, which seemed to be enough for Ibiki. The man in question retraced his steps, scraping the chair he tossed aside back into a corner, before he nodded toward the medic. âYou performed well, Haruno. Take a seat; we will be needing those healing hands of yours before the hour is through.â
Ibiki then looked up at the one-way glass, no doubt signalling to the man on Kakashiâs right, before he started his Jutsu anew, the metallic odour oozing through the vents, as wires sliced back into their victims, effectively undoing all of the Kunoichiâs work. It was unfortunate, but in the days of the Clan Disputes, this prolonging was all a medic-nin was ever good for. Medical personnel did not partake in missions and field-work. There was no code of conduct or âFour Rulesâ to adhere to. There was only âtake and get taken fromâ. Slipping his treasured piece of literature back into the depths of his weapon pouch, Kakashi began to wonder if it was not; so much Ibiki, but the Godaime who organized this little demonstration. As the woman who crafted the new laws, it would be just like Tsunade-sama to ignite a different level of respect for her system and just how crude the Ninja world would be without itâŠ
She knows the captives are the most abominable type of men, and knows that her village wouldnât be subjecting them to such atrocities if they werenât, but this doesnât stop sympathy lancing up her spine with such force itâs almost painful. Surely water would be okay? They wouldnât be much use if they died of dehydration, and sheâs almost fully rationalised easing their suffering to herself when Ibiki finally speaks.
      âYou performed well, Haruno. Take a seat; we will be needing those healing hands of yours before the hour is through.â
Sakura isnât one for hatred. Itâs very rare and very brief that the woman ever despises anyone--- growing up alongside Naruto helped shaped a forgiving nature in the kunoichi, one that helps her to look past most indiscretions (not all, mind). Yet, she canât help but in that moment loathe whoever put her in the dingy room with the smirking sadist. Ignoring his orders isnât an option, however, even if walking feels harder than usual, tense muscles seemingly unwilling to move away from those so obviously in need of her help. It goes against every core instinct she has, and no longer can she keep her abhorrence for the situation completely from her expression. From her corner, green eyes glare (sadly metaphorical) daggers into the back of Ibiki, and even though the rest of her face is smooth and passive, Sakura is certain he knows exactly how she feels about him.
And then the torture begins anew.
The sounds of agony ring in her ears until sheâs sure theyâll start bleeding, fists clenching and flexing on her lap. She darenât move them for fear of giving into the urge to help the captives---- or worse, giving into the urge to smack Ibiki upside his big stupid head.
Even as a biologist, it amazes her the duress the human body can go through without giving up entirely, and with ninjaâs it surpasses the extreme. She herself could likely survive being cut in half should she have her Yin Seal active, yet these men were faring something not dissimilar without any aid from their chakra. She can barely stand to think about it, let alone be in the same room as such a twisted act, but she canât just leave no matter how much she wishes otherwise.
      âHaruno, this man is fading in and out. Câmere and see to that, would you?â Once again, an order disguised as a question, and the sheer weight of her reluctance is almost astounding. She knows how to keep a patient awake--- a practice done rarely outside of torture, and only when slipping into unconsciousness means certain death, and certainly always done in conjunction with painkillers.
She opens her mouth, an excuse of chakra fatigue making it almost to her lips before it dies. What if this is a test? To fail now would be to fail (and embarrass) her Shishou, something Sakura is certain she couldnât live with herself for doing. So, withholding a deep sigh, she stands from her seat to move toward Ibikiâs victims.
âThese are bad, evil menâ, it repeats in her mind with every step toward the table, eyes focusing on the blood stained face of the man sheâs about to wake--- and keep awake. Her fingers almost tremble as she reaches for his temples, a mixture of anger and resentment thrumming through her body in a way she wasnât previously aware she was capable of. With a deep breath, she begins, cool mint leaking from fingertips as the victims eyes open slowly, accompanied by what can only be described as a w h i n e.Â
