Who am I? Ask the man who has copied others most of his life, he&#039;ll tell you. He&#039;ll tell you lots of things. He&#039;ll tell you about the hideous things no ordinary human should view without shedding a tear from their eye. Oh, he&#039;ll tell you alright, about the people he has heartlessly murdered. He&#039;ll say he was just doing his work... ANBU work, more specifically, cleaning up after a job. That was his life. That is why he copied others, that is why he longed for a different persona. The eye his friend gave to him was nothing different than a curse to him, a reminder of his friend&#039;s death. He had killed many, but never realized the people that he had sent to their demise had emotional attachments to others, and the others, shed a tear from their eye.<br />
I am that man. <br />
I was unable to rescue a dying friend. <br />
I was helpless...<br />
Useless...<br />
but I cared. <br />
To care, to feel, that is a gift within itself. It is the gift of emotion, something you cannot see physically. A smile may be visible, but the essence, the very fiber of it... that is not visible. I was trained to not care when a comrade died, but when it&#039;s someone you grew to love as a friend, well, then it becomes something much more.