Captor

Amarah Kendrick's evening routine hadn't varied in three years: come home from her shift at the hospital, heat up whatever leftovers remained from her meal prep Sunday, and lose herself in medical journals until exhaustion claimed her. Tonight should have been no different. But as she reached for her keys, a sound like glass breaking shattered the silence of her front porch.

She turned, keys clutched between her fingers as an improvised weapon, and found herself staring into a single crimson eye that seemed to glow in the darkness. The man it belonged to wore an orange spiral mask, and in his grip was a young girl with pink hair, suspended by her throat.

"You're going to let us in," the masked man said, his voice eerily calm. "Or I'll snap her neck."

The girl's green eyes were wide with terror, tears streaming down her face as she clawed weakly at the hand around her throat. Behind the man lay two unconscious children – a boy with spiky blonde hair and another with dark hair, both no older than twelve.

Amarah's hand trembled as she unlocked her door. Her medical training screamed at her to help the children, even as her instincts urged her to run. But there was nowhere to run. That red eye had paralyzed her with something beyond normal fear.

The masked man shoved past her, dragging the girl inside. He tossed her roughly onto the couch before returning to retrieve the unconscious boys, carrying them in like sacks of flour. Amarah remained frozen by the door, her mind racing through possible scenarios, each one worse than the last.

"Close the door," he commanded. When she hesitated, he appeared before her in an instant, impossibly fast. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw with crushing force. "I won't repeat myself again."

She closed the door.

"Sit."

Amarah sank into an armchair, her eyes fixed on the children. The pink-haired girl had crawled to her unconscious companions, checking their pulses with shaking hands. Despite her obvious terror, her movements were practiced, clinical.

"They're chakra exhausted," the girl whispered, her voice hoarse. "Sasuke-kun's worse than Naruto."

The masked man ignored her, addressing Amarah instead. "You live alone. No family nearby. No close friends. Perfect." He tilted his head, studying her. "You're a medical professional. You'll tend to their injuries when needed."

"Who are you?" Amarah managed to ask, hating how her voice shook. "What do you want?"

"My name is irrelevant. As for what I want..." He glanced at the children. "These three are valuable assets. You will house them. Feed them. Treat their injuries. If you refuse, if you try to contact authorities, if you attempt to help them escape..." He made a gesture, and suddenly the pink-haired girl was writhing on the floor, clutching her head and screaming. "I can make things very unpleasant."

"Stop!" Amarah surged to her feet. "She's just a child!"

The masked man released whatever technique he was using, and the girl's screams subsided to whimpers. "Children are remarkably resilient. They can endure quite a lot of pain without dying. Would you like a demonstration?"

"No," Amarah whispered. "I'll help. Just... don't hurt them."

The man's laugh was cold. "Their well-being depends entirely on your cooperation, Miss Kendrick. I'll return tomorrow with supplies. Remember – I'll be watching."

He stepped backward, and reality seemed to twist around him like a whirlpool, until he vanished entirely. Amarah stared at the empty space where he'd been, wondering if she'd lost her mind.

A soft sob broke through her shock. The pink-haired girl had curled into herself, shoulders shaking. Amarah moved slowly, not wanting to frighten her further.

"I'm Amarah," she said softly, kneeling beside the children. "Can you tell me your name?"

The girl looked up, tear-streaked face a mask of confusion and fear. "S-Sakura," she whispered. "Haruno Sakura. This is Uzumaki Naruto and Uchiha Sasuke. We're... we're not supposed to be here. This isn't our world."

Amarah's first instinct was to dismiss such a claim, but she'd just watched a man disappear into thin air. "What do you mean, not your world?"

"I don't know what happened," Sakura's voice cracked. "We were on a mission, just D-rank, nothing dangerous. Then there was this light, and when we woke up..." She gestured helplessly at their surroundings. "Everything's wrong. The chakra feels wrong. Naruto can barely access the Kyuubi's chakra. Even simple jutsu are harder. And that man..." She shuddered. "He's been waiting for us. Like he knew we'd appear."

The blonde boy – Naruto – stirred, letting out a pained groan. His eyes fluttered open, revealing startling blue irises. "Sakura-chan?" he mumbled. "Where..."

"Don't move," Sakura said quickly. "You're chakra exhausted."

Naruto tried to sit up anyway, then immediately fell back with a wince. His eyes landed on Amarah, and despite his obvious weakness, he tried to position himself between her and his companions. "Who're you? Where are we?"

"She's..." Sakura hesitated. "He's making her help us."

Understanding dawned in Naruto's eyes, followed by a flash of anger that seemed too old for his young face. "That bastard in the mask. When I get my hands on him..."

"You'll do nothing," Amarah said firmly, medical training kicking in. "You're both obviously exhausted. The dark-haired boy – Sasuke? – needs immediate rest. I have a guest room and a pullout couch. Let me help you get settled, and then we can talk more."

Naruto looked ready to argue, but Sakura placed a hand on his arm. "We don't have a choice right now," she said quietly. "We need to recover our strength."

Amarah helped them carry Sasuke to the guest room, noting how both conscious children remained tense at her touch. They worked together to settle their unconscious companion on the bed, and Amarah couldn't help but notice the practiced way they checked him for injuries.

What kind of world did these children come from, where such skills were necessary?

"The couch pulls out," she told them. "I'll get extra blankets. Are either of you hungry?"

They exchanged glances, and she saw the moment their pride warred with their obvious hunger. Finally, Naruto nodded.

"I'll make something simple," Amarah said. "Something that won't upset empty stomachs."

As she headed for the kitchen, she heard Sakura whisper, "We can't trust her."

"I know," Naruto replied. "But we can't trust anyone right now."

Amarah's hands shook as she prepared rice and mild broth. Her life had just become infinitely more complicated, and possibly much shorter. But looking at those children – trained like soldiers but still so obviously young and frightened – she knew she couldn't turn them away.

Even if it cost her everything.

The masked man's presence lingered like a shadow over her home, and Amarah knew with bone-deep certainty that this was only the beginning. Whatever game he was playing, whatever his true purpose, she and these children were now pieces on his board.

She could only hope they'd survive his game long enough to find a way out.

As she carried the food back to the living room, she heard Naruto's voice again, barely a whisper: "We'll protect each other. That's a promise."

Amarah silently added her own promise to his. Whatever came next, she wouldn't let these children face it alone.