This isn't me... It's not the real me...

"...Please, mind your own business."

Orochimaru died; It all went to hell in a handbasket.

♪ out of the serpent’s coils;

If there was ever a time Kabuto felt so invisible that he may as well have turned to ash in his seat, perfectly stringent body resisting any movement in the slightest as his golden eyes stare into space, it would perhaps be the evening of the twenty-eighth of the second month of this year. The scales that once gleamed in the sunlight, ominous enough to scare away most combatants without him even having to open his sarcastic mouth, are now pasty, pale and dulled, no matter how much he constantly takes care of his personal hygiene each day by rote. Those golden orbs, borrowed from a master who once lit up with joy at pouring confetti down the large collar of the medic's purple outfit, now lack any sparkle or luster, not even in the face of a thrilling adversary, or a new scientific discovery. In fact, those golden eyes sting terribly now, and he knows not why.

Actually...he does know. Kabuto has far more of an inkling as to what's caused him to land in such a rut that he's entirely reluctant to face it, even in his mind, even in the deafening silence of his bedroom.

Something feels missing, something feels saddening, and he can accurately pinpoint that as a longing sensation, nagging him and nipping at his chest at all hours of the night and day, invading even his subconscious. He misses him. It's the first year, the very first year in so, so long, that the serpentine Sannin is not present to celebrate his little "Kabuto-kun~"'s birthday. Well, pseudo-birthday, as his master always joked offhandedly. Now, Kabuto was never one for celebration. Even in the orphanage, there was little to-do about something such as a birthday-- a small cake, perhaps, a balloon, a song, but nothing over-the-top--...but even then, he had someone with him. He had people around him, attention, and when he was so young and confused about himself, and somewhat bratty to say the least, Kabuto has insisted that company stay far from him. He valued his space and solitude.

Now, his space and solitude is all he has.

It's such a hollow feeling right in the center of his chest, like something had been ripped out to replace his own blood with that of his master, that he has to sacrifice his own person for the sake of the other, the one man who saved him from...well, himself. Kabuto Yakushi is one who never thought he would seek for attention, for caring, for anybody to pay him a single glance...that is, until now. The ache in his chest amplifies with each breath, stealing his throat and constricting it like he's been physically strangled. With it comes a panic.

He's alone. He's utterly alone. Nobody will say even a quick, half-hearted 'Happy Birthday' in passing anymore, nobody. Does he deserve that? Yes, absolutely. Does he regret his actions for just a moment? Without a single doubt. Does Kabuto really wish to delve into such petty trivialities? Nope. But he can't help it. The silence is too harsh, so harsh that it makes him wince eventually, his hazy, moist gaze finally breaking from a blank stare to the far wall of this dim space. 

Even the lesser ninja in the service of his master are all gone now, leaving the base abandoned save for this one ghost of a man, trapped by his thoughts. Even they feared him, and he knew it, yet they still...respected him, paid him attention, little bits of it at a time. He kept them in line, of course, as per his job, and he felt little to no remorse in doing so, yet Kabuto feels such a harsh stab in his gut that it nearly makes him double over.

Regret. He regrets so many things to this point, too many to be spoken or even thought out completely. There's an ocean of blood dripping from his fingertips, and now it's threatening to rise and consume him whole before he can even try to recreate the perfection of his Orochimaru--

"NO!"

His voice sounds foreign when it echoes in a scream, wracked by pain and suffering no human should bear. But then again, he reminds himself bitterly, he is barely human now. He's a creature of evil, causing nothing but trouble, mischief, all for his own selfish goals.

"Selfish? Oh no no, not at all! It's not for me!"

The mirror on the far wall catches his eye, and the distraught medical ninja feels such a surge of nausea that he has to swallow, scream again to keep it away. 

"Can't you see it's all for him?!"

And yet when he looks into that glass... His reflection looks right back at him and retaliates with a soft spoken question, one lacking any conviction at all.

"But what are you doing for yourself?"

And the answer scares him to the core for that second, because he knows that answer all too well. Kabuto is an intelligent man, but not when it comes to matters of morality, and this is his ultimate downfall, and there's nothing that can help him from spiraling into his own personal hell.

"Well, nobody said it would be easy!"

That's correct. This silver-haired man is never one to take an easy way out, to outright give up. Those types of phrases are not even in his headstrong personality. It's fucked him over now, hasn't it?

"I-I can't do this...!"

The last cry from his lips is more of a chant, for following that initial point when that harsh, low voice breaks pathetically with unshed tears creeping up steadily to blur his vision in spite of his lenses still sitting on his nose.

Hands caked with blood which stains from so many years in the past reach up and grab his silver locks, straining the strands from the roots in his scalp, just to make sure he can feel something. Just to make sure that he's alive, that he isn't one of his own mindless Edo Tensei soldiers quite yet. The jerk hurts him, and makes him recoil against his own grip, but yet it only tightens, as if someone is threatening to pull his brain literally from his skull. 

It hurts.

All the memories of those small smiles, happy birthdays at the orphanage, working at this very base, all the birthdays he missed while hiding out covertly in countries not his own as a slave to espionage, all the times he actually smiled, and he meant it.

It feels so long ago. Too long ago.

"I c-can't...I can't do this."

By the time he feels the tears rolling down his cheeks, hot and stinging the numb skin of his face, Kabuto can barely breathe, choking in the throes of panic on his own words, his own thoughts.

"H-Happy--"

A harsh cough, one pained and hushed by the click of teeth together, to resist the pained cry that yearns to rush forth and fill the room.

"B-Birthday...t-t-to...me..."

The sing-song lilt he intends is perfectly lost, swallowed by the mouth of his own reflection in the mirror, just as each cadence hits the air.

"H-Happy B-B-Birthday to...m-me..."

Trembling with emotion, panic, fear, a hand messily rubs at his face as if it'll be adequate enough to clear the waterfall.

"H-Happy Birthday....

y-you...

monster...

H-Happy Birthday...t-to..."

Silence.

....

His sclera nearly flare with a shade of red, lips tight with a hiss.

"I…"

After just a moment’s pause, the silver-haired purses his lips, which downturn into a frown in mere seconds, along with a purely skeptical, sharp golden gaze.

out of the serpent's coils;