Darkness.
Not the comforting kind that comes with sleep, but a heavy, stagnant void that pressed in from every direction. There was no ground beneath his feet, no sky above his head—only an endless, gray-black nothingness that swallowed distance and direction alike.
Lock woke within it.
For a brief moment, he thought he was still dreaming. His thoughts were sluggish, scattered, as if dragged through mud. Then awareness snapped into place, sharp and cold.
…Where am I?
His eyes were open, yet they saw nothing. No light. No shadow. Just emptiness.
The last thing he remembered was painfully mundane. Sitting alone, half-asleep, watching footage from a newly released Naruto movie, fingers tapping absently as he typed out a review he wasn't even sure anyone would read. A normal night. A normal life.
And then—
Nothing.
Now he was here.
The silence was broken by a voice that did not echo, did not resonate, but seemed to arise directly inside his thoughts. It was emotionless, flat, stripped of any warmth.
A mechanical presence.
Lock stiffened.
Before he could react, a sudden, violent pain detonated inside his head.
It was as if something sharp had been driven straight into his mind and twisted without mercy. Lock cried out, clutching at his head by reflex—only to realize he had no body here. The pain was real all the same, raw and overwhelming.
Fragments exploded across his consciousness.
Faces.
Voices.
Memories that were not his.
A small apartment in Konoha, bare and cold.
Stares filled with open disgust.
Whispers that never bothered to stay quiet.
Monster.
Demon.
Stay away from it.
A child standing alone while others pulled their children closer, eyes sharp with fear and revulsion.
Empty cupboards.
An aching stomach.
Hands digging through dirt along the riverbank, searching for edible weeds, for anything that might keep hunger at bay for another night.
A bowl of ramen, treasured like a miracle.
Laughter heard from afar, never meant for him.
Loneliness so constant it became suffocating.
Lock reeled as the memories continued to pour in, relentless and vivid. He wasn't observing them from a distance—he was inside them. Feeling them. Enduring them.
Every slight. Every insult. Every look that cut deeper than any blade.
They weren't scenes from a story.
They were lived experiences.
It took a long time before the flood slowed. When it finally did, Lock was left adrift in the darkness, his thoughts ragged, his emotions tangled in a storm of fury and bitterness.
He breathed—if breathing was even possible here—and forced himself to think.
Konoha.
Naruto.
The realization settled with terrifying clarity.
"I… ended up in the Naruto world," Lock murmured.
But not as Naruto.
Not as a body, or even as a full consciousness.
He was something else.
The memories made that much clear.
Naruto Uzumaki—the orphan despised by the village, the jinchūriki burdened with the Nine-Tails—had survived by clinging to optimism with stubborn desperation. He smiled when he should have broken. He forgave when hatred would have been easier. He chased acknowledgment with reckless persistence.
All the emotions he could not afford to face had been pushed down.
Anger.
Hatred.
Resentment.
The urge to destroy everything that had hurt him.
Those feelings had not disappeared.
They had been buried.
And Lock had awakened inside that burial ground.
Understanding dawned slowly, accompanied by a creeping chill.
He was the suppressed personality.
The part of Naruto that existed only as an accumulation of negative emotion, locked away deep within the mind and drowned beneath layers of optimism and an inherited spiritual influence that constantly pressed it down. A shadow without thought. A beast without reason.
Until now.
That mindless darkness was gone.
In its place was him.
Lock—whole, thinking, aware.
A foreign soul inhabiting the deepest, most despised corner of Naruto Uzumaki's consciousness.
The irony almost made him laugh.
He examined the memories again, this time with deliberate focus. He could sense how rarely this buried self had ever surfaced. In moments when Naruto lost control, when rage and pain surged past restraint, this darkness had clawed upward—only to be smothered again almost immediately.
It had never thought.
Never planned.
Never wanted anything beyond destruction.
Which was precisely why Lock had been able to take its place.
Because a mind was required to occupy it now.
And he had one.
Slowly, Lock straightened—an abstract gesture in a place without form.
"So this is what you did," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the turbulence beneath it. "You threw everything you didn't want to feel down here."
There was no answer.
Only silence.
Naruto's main consciousness was far above, basking in fragile hope and naïve dreams. He didn't hear this place. Didn't acknowledge it. Could afford not to.
Lock felt something cold settle in his chest.
He had lived Naruto's life through memory alone, and that had been enough.
The hunger.
The isolation.
The way kindness was so rare it felt like a debt.
And yet Naruto had still chosen to forgive.
Still chosen to smile.
Still chosen to believe.
Lock found the thought revolting.
"Repaying hatred with kindness," he muttered. "What a convenient philosophy… for everyone who benefited from your suffering."
His lips curved upward, but there was no warmth in the expression.
"This world didn't show you mercy," Lock continued. "So why should you show it mercy in return?"
Something shifted.
The darkness trembled, as if responding to his thoughts.
Then the mechanical presence returned—not as a visible panel, not as glowing symbols, but as structured knowledge unfolding directly within his awareness. Concepts. Functions. Rules.
An internal framework took shape.
Lock absorbed it quickly.
This presence existed to support him, to help him grow stronger, to help him move closer to the surface of Naruto's consciousness. It fed on emotional turmoil—specifically, the intense fluctuations of Naruto's own heart.
Every spike of rage. Every moment of despair. Every crushing disappointment.
All of it could be converted into strength.
Not freely.
Not without consequence.
But efficiently.
The deeper Naruto's emotions ran, the more Lock could draw from them.
And the closer Naruto grew to relying on that buried voice—trusting it, leaning on it, even unconsciously—the more influence Lock would gain over the body they shared.
Eventually, control could be contested.
Eventually, control could be taken.
The implications were clear.
Lock exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
"So that's how it works," he said.
The presence did not praise him. It did not argue. It simply existed, silent and precise, awaiting use.
For the first time since awakening, Lock felt something close to amusement.
"Fine," he murmured. "If this is the role I've been given, I'll play it properly."
Just as he finished speaking, a sudden surge of emotion slammed into him.
Raw.
Violent.
A tide of fury, humiliation, and helpless rage rushed through the darkness, far stronger than the lingering echoes from before. It was sharp enough to make Lock stagger.
This wasn't memory.
This was now.
Naruto.
Something had happened on the surface.
Lock clenched his teeth as the emotions poured in. The hatred wasn't his—but it resonated with him all the same, striking a familiar chord. He could feel the rhythm of Naruto's heart racing, the confusion, the anger boiling just beneath the skin.
The internal framework responded instantly, absorbing the surge, translating it into something tangible within Lock's awareness. Power, waiting to be shaped.
When the wave finally receded, Lock remained still, thoughtful.
"That wasn't just frustration," he said quietly. "That was the kind of anger that pushes you to the edge."
He paused.
"…Not the academy incident," he concluded after a moment. "If it were, I'd feel the pull of forbidden chakra techniques already."
Which meant this was earlier.
Earlier than the breaking point.
Interesting.
The darkness around him began to thin.
Light—dim and distant—filtered down, as if a veil were lifting. Lock felt a strange sensation, like rising through deep water, pressure easing with every moment.
Then he saw it.
A mental image, sharp and painfully familiar.
A small clearing within Konoha.
A lonely swing tied to a thick tree branch.
A boy sitting on it, shoulders hunched, goggles pushed up onto his forehead, hands gripping the ropes tightly as if they were the only things keeping him grounded.
Naruto Uzumaki.
He stared down at the dirt, eyes hidden by shadow, pretending not to notice the families walking past. Pretending not to hear the whispers.
Pretending not to care.
Lock watched him in silence.
So small.
So isolated.
So unaware of what lurked beneath his own consciousness.
A slow, deliberate smile spread across Lock's face.
"That's you," he said softly. "And I'm already here."
The light stabilized, leaving Lock hovering just out of reach, a presence at the edge of awareness—unseen, unheard, but no longer powerless.
For now, he would wait.
Observe.
Learn.
Naruto still believed he was alone.
That would not last forever.
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