Who am I? Ask the man who has copied others most of his life, he'll tell you. He'll tell you lots of things. He'll tell you about the hideous things no ordinary human should view without shedding a tear from their eye. Oh, he'll tell you alright, about the people he has heartlessly murdered. He'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'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 />
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's someone you grew to love as a friend, well, then it becomes something much more.