The first sensation wasn't sight or sound—it was the crushing weight of absolute darkness pressing down like a physical force. The air tasted metallic, sharp against his tongue, mixed with the musty scent of old stone and something else he couldn't identify. Something that made his stomach turn.
When consciousness finally clawed its way through the fog in his mind, he found himself lying on cold concrete. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he tried to move. His arms felt like they were made of lead, his chest burned with each breath, and his head pounded with a rhythm that matched his racing heartbeat.
'What happened to me?'
He forced himself to sit up, a groan escaping his lips. The sound echoed strangely in whatever space he occupied. As he moved, something cold and smooth brushed against his cheek, making him flinch.
His trembling fingers reached up and found the source—a mask. Not just any mask, but one that felt almost alive under his touch. The surface was smooth like porcelain but warm, as if it had absorbed body heat. The shape was animal-like, with pointed ears and a narrow snout. A fox? No, the proportions were wrong. More like a weasel or ferret.
The moment his fingers found the leather straps holding it in place, muscle memory he didn't remember having guided his movements. He pulled the mask away from his face, and cool air hit his skin like a splash of cold water.
He stared at the mask in his hands, his reflection distorted in its glossy surface. The craftsmanship was incredible—every detail carved with precision, from the whisker marks to the subtle expression that seemed almost mocking.
"This can't be real," he whispered, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar to his own ears.
But even as he said it, memories crashed back like a tidal wave. The screech of tires on wet asphalt. The blinding headlights of an eighteen-wheeler barreling toward him. The sickening crunch of metal and glass. Then pain—the kind that felt absolute, final, like his soul being torn from his body.
And then... nothing.
Until now.
He looked down at himself and felt his breath catch in his throat. Gone were his jeans and t-shirt. Instead, he wore a uniform he'd only seen in anime—black tactical gear that fit his body perfectly, as if it had been tailored specifically for him. A flak vest covered his chest, its surface marked with wear that told stories of battles he couldn't remember. Fingerless gloves covered his hands, and when he looked closer, he could see calluses on his palms and fingertips that spoke of weapon training and hard labor.
Behind his back, he felt the weight of something he'd never carried before—a short sword in a leather sheath. The weight distribution was perfect, balanced in a way that felt natural despite being completely foreign.
On his left sleeve, symbols were etched in silver thread. He recognized them immediately, and the realization hit him like a physical blow.
"Anbu," he breathed.
The word felt strange on his tongue, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it belonged there. The Anbu Black Ops—the elite assassination unit of Konohagakure. The shadow operatives who served directly under the Hokage, carrying out missions too dark for regular shinobi.
He was inside the Naruto universe. Somehow, impossibly, he had been reborn into the world he'd watched countless times from the safety of his bedroom.
Before he could fully process this revelation, three sharp knocks echoed through the small room. Each one was precisely spaced, military in its efficiency.
"Kuro," a voice called through what must have been a door. The tone was clipped, professional, with an edge of impatience that made it clear delays wouldn't be tolerated. "Mission briefing. Five minutes. Don't be late."
'Kuro.' The name resonated in his mind, fitting into place like the final piece of a puzzle he didn't know he was solving. That was his name here—his new identity in this strange new existence.
His body moved without conscious thought, muscle memory taking over where his confused mind faltered. He stood, secured the mask to his belt with practiced movements, and checked his gear with the efficiency of someone who had done this routine hundreds of times before.
Yet none of it felt familiar to his conscious mind. It was as if he was a passenger in his own body, watching someone else's reflexes guide his movements.
The room around him was sparse—concrete walls, a single cot, a small table with basic supplies. No windows. No personal belongings. It was the kind of place designed for someone who wasn't supposed to exist, someone whose identity was meant to be forgotten the moment they left the room.
He found a small mirror mounted on one wall and approached it hesitantly. The face that looked back at him was a stranger's, yet it felt like his own. Young, probably sixteen or seventeen, with pale skin that looked like it rarely saw sunlight. Dark circles ringed his gray eyes—eyes the color of storm clouds, cold and distant. His hair was an unusual shade of gray despite his youth, cut short and practical, with longer strands that he instinctively pulled back into a small ponytail.
Everything about his appearance was deliberately unremarkable. This was a face designed to blend into crowds, to be forgotten moments after being seen. A ghost among the living.
'Is that why they call me Kuro?' he wondered. 'Black? Darkness?'
The name fit. In this world of bright-haired protagonists and distinctive appearances, he was designed to disappear.
Five minutes later, he found himself on a rooftop that overlooked the sprawling village of Konohagakure. The Hidden Leaf stretched out below them, its buildings and streets lit by the soft glow of evening lamps. In the distance, the faces of the Hokage Monument watched over the village like eternal guardians.
Three other figures waited for him, each wearing the distinctive masks and black uniforms of Anbu operatives. Despite the masks, he could sense their personalities through their body language and the way they carried themselves.
The leader stood at the center, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a hawk mask with intricate feather patterns carved into the surface. His stance radiated authority and barely contained impatience. When he spoke, his voice was sharp and professional.
"We have a mission in the Land of Rivers," he began without preamble, unfolding a map and spreading it across a wooden crate. "Intelligence reports indicate a cell of rogue shinobi from Kusagakure has been operating in the border region. They've been intercepting merchant caravans and selling information to enemy villages."
He traced a route on the map with one gloved finger. "Our orders are simple: locate, intercept, and eliminate. No survivors, minimal noise, no evidence left behind. This is a black operation—we were never there."
The other two Anbu nodded. One wore a cat mask and moved with fluid grace that suggested specialized taijutsu training. The other's bear mask couldn't hide the bulky frame of someone built for raw power rather than stealth.
Hawk's attention turned to Kuro, and even through the mask, he could feel the weight of disapproval in that gaze.
"Kuro, you'll maintain distance and observe," the team leader instructed, his tone making it clear this wasn't a suggestion. "This is a reconnaissance mission for you. No heroics, no improvisation, no mistakes. Your job is to watch and learn."
The dismissal in his voice was obvious, and the other two Anbu didn't bother hiding their reactions. Cat let out a soft snort of amusement, while Bear shook his head in what could have been disappointment or disgust.
"Try not to trip over your own sword this time," Cat muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
Heat flooded Kuro's cheeks behind his mask, but he forced himself to remain silent. The comment stung because it felt true—he could feel the weight of the blade on his back, but he had no memory of ever drawing it, much less using it effectively.
'What kind of Anbu am I?' he wondered, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. 'What happened to make them lose faith in me?'
***
This is my first attempt in making a Naruto fanfiction, they may be faults here and there so I would grateful if you point them out.
Enjoy!