Chapter Text
Iruka viewed the pair of dogtags in his hand, tilting them so the light from the crookedly hanging, murky lamp would shine off of them. The number scratched on the surface was a crooked 009720. Whose could they be? By the state of them Iruka would guess the owner was dead; The metal buckled, by heat and some great hit. Soot caked one corner where Iruka had failed to wipe it off.
The light in the room shifted and Iruka looked up, mouth opening. On a drum not far away knelt a shadowed being, only the bony white of his mask easily recognisable in the flaring light. Assassin's squad. He reached out, taking the buckled piece of metal out of Iruka's violently shaking hand.
"Thank you. I dropped that."
In the next moment, he was gone.