Thankyou to everyone who reviewed! You are awesome!

Warnings?: Disney references...


"So…you were killed…by an old lady…for calling her…old?" My interrogator forced the question out, and while he was stumbling over his words you almost wish you could see his face, only to see his expression.

You nod simply, anticipating this reaction. You already told the infuriating man that your story was quite unbelievable, but he still insisted on interrupting you at every turn. In your mind, you can almost see the man holding a clip board, and checking things off as you told your story.

Insane/Delusional? Check

It was quite in the room for a short time before you hear;

"Uh-huh…" The interrogator mocked. You send the two way mirror an annoyed look again wondering how many times you have given the infuriating interrogator the 'annoyed look' in the last five minutes. Though you are rather thankful he went along with you anyway;

"So, what happened after the old lady killed you?"

.

.

.

I woke up.

In a place I didn't belong.

Strapped to a relatively uncomfortable chair.

Looking at a very intimidating man.

Who was looking at me with serious eyes and a glare.

I looked at him briefly before whimpering.

He raised one eyebrow before leaning forward and resting his hands on the table between us.

His movement made me actually notice the table.

Which I now realize is covered in torture tools.

I look back at the man who was now looking at me curiously, but none the less still scary.

After a pause the man smiled before setting a hand on one of the tools.

I look at the hand covering the tool, and notice that it is littered with horribly twisted scars.

I yell, "The old lady had it coming!"

Then I faint.

.

.

.

Your "second" interrogator was laughing at you.

"What?!" you snap, your eye twitching and an ugly blush adorning your cheeks. He had no right to laugh! Those first couple days with Ibiki-san were torture! Pun intended.

"You do realize that was mostly just a show to size you up, right?" he explained chuckling. You scrunch your eyebrows in annoyance and purse your lips, before making a noise in the back of your throat that sound suspiciously like a scoff.

"Well, I know that now, no need to rub it in!"

.

.

.

My eye lids felt heavy, a lazy 'I just woke up' heavy. Groaning seemed like a good idea at the moment too, you know that retarded groaning song that people do to express discomfort while waking, but as I prepared myself for my beautiful grunt…I realized something.

Being strapped to a chair does not call for a lazy, drunk sounding grunt. After a neck cracking jerk and a headache inducing blinking of the eyes I took in the two way mirror in front of me that reached the floor. After blinking at my confined self for a moment, I did something, really, anyone would do in my situation;

"EEEiiiiiiiiiiiiii!" I screeched, and squirmed around in my chair to try and break my bonds. I started twisting and turning in my chair, this however, caused me to fall face forward on to the ground…with the chair still attached.

And let me tell you, Flinn Ryder made this look good…I do not make this look good. My only consolation was that even though my butt was in the air facing the two way mirror, the chair was probly covering up most of my humiliation. Even though the chair was the cause of the humiliation in the first place.

My squished face scowled against the floor, and call me paranoid but…;

"I can hear you laughing!" I spat, though with my face becoming very acquainted with the floor, it came out more like; I kwan whear woo whaffing! And thus…my second embarrassment.

I could easily give Donald Duck a run for his money, and judging by the muffled screeches of merriment my handlers knew it too. So I pouted as my face heated up, saying nothing, to save myself more mortification.

After a few silent minutes went by, my neck was starting to hurt really bad…but I didn't dare open my big mouth again. Which is kind of an oxie-moron since my mouth is small; it was my sister who inherited the luscious lips in the family… Jerk.

Thinking of this brought another scowl to my squished face, as I wiggled around to try and get comfy. I had almost succeeded too before the door banged open causing me to shriek. I tried not to complicate my fate too much and start yelling about my fragile heart, considering I must have killed someone with an even more fragile heart.

Looking back, I could have sworn that old lady won our little fist fight. But victims of brutal attacks don't wake up tied to chairs, like some criminal. Unless of course, Gma was a retired mafia person and this was some illegal syndicate out for revenge. Then it would make perfect sense, but I digress.

I grunted when my chair was jerked back into an upright position and spun around to face the front of the room. I whimpered when I saw who it was who 'spun' me.

The scarred man loomed over me threatingly, his bandana shadowing his eyes menacingly. This guy didn't even need a table of torture tools in between us to scare all that has ever been holy and happy out of my pitiful heart.

He pursed his lips in amusement and raised a single eyebrow before his face became a blank mask again. Through my fear I was able to puzzle as to why he made this expression…I did not need too puzzle for very long.

"Though I am flattered, your soul may keep its happiness." The Scared-Man stated. My fear evaporated to horror as I tried and failed to figure out how much my big (small) mouth yammered since I woke up. Before I could bemoan about my third embarrassment in the span of thirty minutes, the man asked a question;

"What is your name, rank, and village?"

My inner turmoil of fear, embarrassment, and horror halted before taking a few steps back. I blinked slowly up at him. My 'brain clogs' gradually started turning after I digested this question; why did it sound….off? It seemed as if…even they didn't know why I was here.

"…" I opened my mouth before clicking it shut again and tilting my head slightly. If I were in one of those crazy Chinese cartoons my brother always watches, a question mark surely would have materialized above my strawberry blond head.

The man decided to glare at me, unsatisfied with my confusion. I squeaked and started to hyperventilate in fear as a little niggling in my brain begged me to do whatever the man said, so I opened my mouth to answer the best I could;

"My name is Joe…and yes I know that's a boy's name, my parents where unsatisfied with the first born being a girl…ummm…I don't know what you mean by rank…but I graduated High School…and I don't live in a village, I live in a city. How are you?" I said this all very quickly and fast taking a big breath at the end of my long sentence.

My answers just seemed to make him glare harder and making me come to a horrifying realization that this man could easily snap my neck if he wanted so I opened my little mouth again;

"Umm…I recently got a haircut but the girl that was cutting it was like totally-"

He cut me off and leaned over looking more intimidating; "How did you come to be here?"

I blinked quickly, trying to figure out exactly what did happened, I decided to lie because though my drive to survive was strong, they probly wouldn't appreciate me beating/killing old ladies.

"An old bag lady didn't kill me with her purse if that's what you're wondering."…He didn't look amused.