A parchment covered with intricate mechanical principles fell into the muddy water.
A layer of green industrial waste oil floated in the puddle. The edges of the paper were soaked in dirty water, and the parchment quickly softened and swelled. The black charcoal pencil lines were blurred by the water, leaving slightly rough edges.
The bottom right corner of the paper just happened to brush against Sasori of the Red Sands.
The rough parchment, carrying a bit of sand, scraped against the wound on his face that had just been cut by sawdust. It stung a little.
Scorpion's face was pressed against the cold cement floor. Sewage smeared his right eye.
He turned his head with difficulty. His neck was pressed hard against the Jōkan's knee, and his bones made a soft "crack" sound.
My gaze swept past the tip of my nose and over the blueprint.
Just one glance.
His breathing stopped.
The diagram on it shows the formula for Chakra is converted into piston kinetic energy through the Four Symbols Seal Valve.
Next to it is a rough cross-sectional diagram of a gearbox. The proportions of various gear meshing are written densely.
Scorpion's eyes widened. The red blood vessels in the whites of his eyes instantly burst open.
He was a genius carpenter. He knew how to carve diamond wood into the most intricate joints. He knew how to use Chakra Threads to guide the puppet's blade.
But the ideas in his head suddenly seemed like a crude joke in front of this piece of paper stained with mud.
That's a completely different system of violence.
Chakra isn't used to pull strings; it's used to start fires.
Steel pistons replaced wooden joints. The force of several tons was amplified tenfold instantly through the meshing of a set of gears and transmitted to the robotic arm.
The carpenter's mindset was completely crushed.
His artistic beliefs, built up over decades, shattered before these few lines of crude and direct steel-transmission formulas.
This is called power. This is called absolute kinetic energy.
Scorpion's chest heaved violently, causing the knees of the Jōkan pressing against his back to wobble.
He made rapid, panting sounds, like a person dying of thirst in the desert who had finally found a spring.
"Let me see the whole thing!"
Scorpion's throat was cracked. His voice was so hoarse it sounded like two pieces of raw iron grinding against each other.
He struggled violently, desperately trying to untangle his hands, which were bound behind his back.
The thick, black iron chain dug deep into the flesh of his arm, leaving two deep purple gashes in his skin.
He didn't cry out in pain at all.
He desperately pressed his head down, almost burying his nose in the mud, just to see the hydraulic transmission parameters on the blueprint that were covered by sludge.
"Behave yourself!" the Uchiha Jōkan was pressing him down shouted.
With a sudden burst of force, his knee slammed into the scorpion's spine.
The scorpion groaned in pain, but its movements didn't stop.
He tilted his mud-covered face up. The veins on his neck bulged out like writhing earthworms.
His amber eyes were bloodshot as he stared intently at Shu Shiraishi standing in front of him.
"Let me touch that mech."
Scorpion gritted his teeth. His lips were broken, and blood flowed into the muddy water on his chin.
He gestured with his chin toward the five-meter-tall, bluish-gray steel behemoth in the distance.
Give me the complete blueprints.
Sasori's eyes were filled with a mad, fanatical fervor, devoid of any ninja backbone.
"I'll do anything you want. I'll even go back and kill the Kazekage."
Shu Shiraishi stood under the dim light of an incandescent bulb, his hands in the pockets of his black jacket.
He looked down at the red-haired boy at his feet, panting heavily and acting like a mad dog, desperate for a bone.
Dealing with this kind of technology fanatic doesn't require any brainwashing with the Will of Fire.
Give him blueprints that are more advanced than he understands, and he'll turn into the most vicious dog.
Shu Shiraishi twitched the corner of his mouth and let out a very short, cold laugh.
He withdrew his right hand, pressing his thumb onto his middle finger.
"Snap."
A crisp snap of fingers echoed in the workshop.
No nonsense.
The Uchiha Jōkan who was pressing down on Sasori immediately released his knee, stood up, and took half a step back.
The Jōkan officer quickly untied the black iron chain wrapped around the scorpion's arm.
The iron chain slid down with a "clatter" and crashed heavily onto the concrete floor, splashing up a few drops of dirty water.
The scorpion regained its freedom of hands.
He didn't rub his arm, which was bleeding from the lacerations.
He braced himself against the floor, which was covered in shards of glass and scrap metal, and scrambled to his feet.
I got up too quickly, and my right leg went numb.
He stumbled forward, his shoulder slamming into a metal tool rack beside him, causing the nuts on the rack to rattle and tumble.
He reached out and grabbed the edge of the shelf to steady himself.
Scorpion reached into his soaked, black sand-colored cloak and groped around for two seconds.
He pulled out a short knife, about half a foot long, with a blackened strip of cloth wrapped around the handle.
The Uchiha Jōkan nearby immediately changed their expressions.
"Clang! Clang!"
The sound of swords being drawn filled the air. More than a dozen straight swords were simultaneously aimed at Scorpion, their blades gleaming coldly.
Scorpion didn't even lift his eyelids. He didn't even look at the knives pointed at him.
He gripped the short sword in his right hand. Raising his left hand, he ripped off the Sunagakure Forehead Protector that was tied to his forehead.
He clutched the iron plate, engraved with an hourglass symbol, tightly in his hand.
Scorpion exerted force with his right hand, aiming the tip of the knife at the hourglass pattern on the iron plate, and slashed down hard.
"Sizzle--"
The ear-piercing scraping sound of metal made one's teeth ache.
The dagger carved a deep horizontal line into the metal plate, slicing the hourglass symbol in two.
A few metal shavings fell onto the leather boots.
Slashing Forehead Protector is a capital offense for betraying the village.
Scorpion didn't even glance at the broken iron plaque. He casually tossed it aside.
The metal sign tumbled in mid-air, passing over the metal frame.
"Thud."
It fell into the stinking ditch in the corner of the workshop that drained waste oil.
A murky bubble rose to the surface and then sank to the bottom.
He threw the dagger in his hand onto the floor, making a crisp "clang".
Having done all this, Scorpion turned his head and looked at Shu Shiraishi.
Shu Shiraishi slightly raised his chin and gestured towards the depths of the hangar.
Scorpion didn't say thank you.
He turned around and strode towards an iron workbench against the wall, where tools were scattered.
He frantically rummaged through the scrap heap, overturning a rusty oil can. Black oil spilled all over the table, running down the table legs.
He grabbed a large iron wrench, about half a foot long. The wrench head was covered in a thick layer of putty.
Then he tore a dirty pair of windproof goggles off the wall nail.
It was fastened directly to his head. The wide black rubber band dug into his red hair.
Scorpion was carrying an iron wrench.
Like a fanatical madman, he rushed headlong into the depths of the hangar without looking back.
The leather boots pounded on the concrete, making hurried, heavy footsteps as they headed straight for the gray-blue Chakra Mecha.
Shu Shiraishi stood still, watching Scorpion climb the iron ladder on the outside of the mecha.
Konoha Heavy Industries Group has gained a top-notch mechanical engineer, who is also a workaholic.
He nodded in satisfaction.
Just then, a series of hurried footsteps came from outside the broken roller shutter door of the workshop.
"Pat. Pat."
A Anbu Ninja wearing a cat-face mask rushed into the workshop.
His military boots were soaked with water. Each step left a wet footprint on the dry cement.
The Anbu ran to within two steps of Shu Shiraishi and slammed one knee heavily to the ground.
He held both hands above his head and handed over a parchment scroll.
The parchment on the scroll was swollen and discolored from being soaked in water.
Shu Shiraishi reached out and took it.
A strong, fishy smell of seawater mingled with the salty stench of seaweed.
It rushed straight into my nasal cavity along the damp scroll.