To Acknowledge: The Curse Of Hatred

The sun was up that following week, however -tarnished, by the overcast which had made a greyed hue amongst the entirety of Konoha. Bleak, and blanketed by their clouds, Naruto was satisfied by the dull atmosphere as no sun burnt upon him under the tone left, rain snuck out by the endarkened area's and he found himself seeking the cooling sensation of precipitation encasing his curly hair, water running down his face as a balm, it made for an ease he would not have sought a year priour. Though, as he followed the unintentioned path of the puddles formed, downturned his eyes did gaze upward; therein, he did not take notice of the fact that they had brought him to the Konoha Hospital. For though it were a place of good faith, of persons surrounded by well made intentions and kind expressions; he as a personal fabricated rule, had a conjunction that wandering nearby the hospice was foolhardy. For though the cool water underneath his foot by the making of a mudpuddle was comforting, it would not in anyway make the area that had denied him service for the majority of his life a simplification to pass; as he remained, forevermore, a demon unto them. Especially, when upon him, though shielded well by the want of ignorance; was the continued weight of guilt ever resting within his chest and upon his shoulders for his friend's worthless death. To pass the hospital, came as a remembrance of Sakura's words; a continuous echo repeating in loud forced shouting upon his ears, never quieting.

~0~

They dropped nye upon him though by force, however, by sight alone he fathomed that the sensation of their sting hit him through every dip upon the soil below. He stood without a fathomable movement as his feet had no direction, his mind had not yet reckoned to action and inaction became uncompromisable; it were a solution. They stood together in the discarded battleground of rocks collided, with rivers unintentionally sown, fire burnt soil and chard remnants of what had been. Their feet implanted within the earth as if it were a balance holding them from a drastic fall, she screamed; to heavens, to holy, to hell, to Izunami herself. Naruto had kept himself by her side, knowing that the torrent was needed for her to be free from her burdening grievance, yet she had turned upon him, a vengeance, a fire alit within such previously tender emerald green irises and she had screamed frightful. The delicacy he had once beseen within her voice left in that moment, it became cracked, crooked, as had the very persona he had seen of her; as she had punched riveting the tree beside his face; breaking down the tree he stood near, it fell with the frightful crackling sound of wood collapsing behind him.

In watch, his eyes had blown wide, mouth agape, horror struck beneath his breast at her blunt action. Had she been merely angered by him, then it was a bile he was willing to harbour at least for a time of sensibility, though the resentment in her punch, the intent clear upon him as it would have shown plain by any eye, it grasped at every emotion he had already made stored in a sudden outcry of mood he could not contain. Tears fell fast and unrestrained; it were not the weakness that harboured the worst moment of that day upon him. It was her words, vengeful, unrestrained, and spoken as if she were carved from Sasuke's goal.

"Its your fault. You caused this. This war, this death, this devastation, the Akatsuki, Jiraiya- everyone, your very life is responsible!" A snarl formed upon her, it twisted her visage from pinkened hair, creamed skin and emerald charmed irises; to be a sight of hardened processed stone, congealed milk, tarnished hair to match the scowl she bore. Her teeth grit together. For but a moment, Naruto would have allowed his own death, for the agreement he held within, to her statement. He wondered if she had barred herself from continuing a list past Jiraiya because she had found it to be too long, or if remorse for all the war's fallen had overtaken her.

~0~

It was a detriment upon him to consider the validation behind her words, just as it were to look upon the villagers and wonder for their hatred; it was neither a reason he could change, nor one he could alter the perception of. In automatic, he tilted his head to gaze upon the buildings and people around him, there were many, often those who walked savouring the peace surrounding them, grinning and joyously conversing. Citizens who knew the calm among them was long lasting, perhaps some who had lost a family member to the fighting but whom attempted to find a calm in their deaths nonetheless. However, there were those he could see without seeking walking much as he did; head dropped to stare upon the ground, fists either clenched or concealed by deep pockets, a scowl or a frown covering their faces, an aura around them so poignant he wondered if he could ever wash himself from the one he carried.

To glance upwards, one could only see the low descended clouds, rain falling in syncronis as it fell from heavens to face, riveting down curvatures of scars or plain skin. Turning daffodil yellow to a matted ashen blond, and though it were a beauty to witness, cerulean tone became a navy dulled shade, all attributes; darkened. Naruto was trapped in position, staring upwards as if seeking a salvation he could not find; mainly memories cascading around him as if in a cruel taunt of all that might have been, well spoken words and ill-intentioned ones all in one. He tilts his eyes in a motion not explicit with depression; but inlayin, towards the cliffside of the Hokage Monument- a place of prideful loyalty, honouring generations of valour. The secretary of state still made guided visits to the carving for those still within the Academy, well ignoring the fact that there were several prisoners kept just within the rockface; Naruto could recall his own touring as a child, pouting for the other children feigning ignorance of his existence, and looking to the image of the first Hokage and wishing his village had never been contrived. Now, presently, he stared towards the area he knew to contain 'The Cellar;'and pondered upon his own mindset, as he could feel the waverance of his own morality alongside with the rain's gentle path downwards his face.

Words from friends and foe alike, the burning fire aching within his frame, the willing burning desire a lit within him; he could only find himself questioning that rationality. To be born within Konoha, raised amongst its walls as a potential shinobi for the Hokage and others to utilize as a tool of power, to have citizens quandre over his very existence and execrate him for that life; was that what he had been made to fight for? To stare upon the carvings upon the mountain, with the will of fire in mind. Only to find himself diverted in considering the last words spoken by a begone man 'a willful fire turned bitter.' Therein: To wonder if a man bound, chained to torment and stripped of dignity had a better comprehension of what a true loyalty and morality inlay. For as it were, if the will of fire was a scripture in advocating for the protection, love, and cherishment of everyone; then why had the Uchiha become excluded as once respected figures of the village, and made untrustworthy? -and upon the ideal to think for oneself in normal vanity,- why had it excluded him as a beloved citizen in childhood or adolescence?

He shook his head to free from precarious thoughts, a certain plague unto his head as they were. There was little to be done about a scripture already advocated into institutional belief, and recited as a pledge of oath unto loyalty once graduated as a shinobi. He managed to grin though taken by his own hesitation in walking nearby the hospice, his legs moved fast and his calm remained absent. Even so, he turned to the puddles and purposely made himself to splash within them, his trousers turning brown at the edges and water making his soles uncomfortable. It was a day within the week, no duties had come upon him in missions, and he was not permitted a recreational job -though he had obtained a voluntary position at the nursery for a time; he was no longer permitted inside the building in fear of his 'chaotic' chakra. A protest from local parents mandating such. There was nothing for him to entertain himself with other then training, or walking about in awaiting dusk; a time where perhaps one of his comrades would be available.

The dirt was an odd message unto his feet as he took his sandals off, digging into sensitised areas, but relieving in some. Imaging the brownness of his feet made him quietly titter to himself. Grey remained the sky, and the rain stayed heavy under the darkest cast clouds, no ease to the precipitation, though he could see -if he tilted his gaze, the areas where the clouds had broken and the sun shone as beacon, rays of lighter cast sunlight shining impressive around the rain in beams; he found no urge to walk over and stand in the glow. Instead, he found himself shrugging as he stomped within his puddles for a moment further, then with shoes in hand he continued his walk up to the olden staircase where he knew he could reach the cliffedge of Konoha; and there, the cellar he had want to visit. Not a strike of trepidation became him at the thought, not a twinge of normalized nervousness.

Everytime he opened his mouth a fresh seeping of water from the clouds he drank incidentally, and every blink he made was dulled as he passed by each person casting him a glare of begrudgement, it was his normality as it were. It was inherit, as he knew it well to be as children followed example and flinched away from his presence in a fright they truly knew nothing about. There were shinobi who he recognized from the field who gave him a nod or a lazed wave of acknowledgement, yet thinned their lips and looked away as he passed. In the sake of familiarity, though dower, as it were he crushed the emotional uprise of lonely attribution which should have been well familiar with at such an age, and swallowed it with the bitter tang left upon his mouth; as he remembered the optimism in which he had viewed the future of his own life when he had still seen with the ambition of a child. His shoes made a saddened, protesting, sound as they rubbed together in the fierce clench of his grip. He titled his gaze away, attempting in slight to ignore the familiarity surrounding him and instead tried to read the time without the shadows, his only guess being evening; as children were being picked up and his abdomen pains had become painful.

In an idea of distraction, he forced a whistle, it was rather poor as he had never managed to learn the technique in proper- though Iruka had taught him to an extent.

~0~

At the time it had been an odd, even unwelcomed idea.

He had been depressed and desperately hoping for a meal. Yet, knowledgeable that he could not afford one for another day. Six years old and he had been sat at the swing of the academy, for once hoping to be kept unnoticed by any of the children around, or any of the teachers watching. He could recall, plainly, that his mood had been fowl and his mind had wanted at every given hour to give into temptation and cry for a hunger he could not solve. As it were, he had been swinging his legs, distracting himself by the motion of his own movements and avoiding watching any of the children so happily running around as if it weren't a privilege. He could recall glaring in intent, in a profound want to punch many of his schoolmates for their joy.

Which is when Iruka had found him, Naruto knew he hadn't been receptive to the man in a fear of retaliation, in profound fear of everyone if he were entirely candid. He had been six, as he recognized them, adults were people who were vindictive, awaiting for his eventual death; taking joy in starving him, glaring, and spreading amongst their children the ideal that he was unequal.

So he had shifted, uncomfortable, as a teacher had approached him. It was as if an enemy were coming near, anxiety had arisien and the need to flee had tensed all that he was at the time. Eyes away, body coiling in fright, by recollection he knew he'd whimpered shutting his eyelids to painful against his skin and merely wishing to be left alone, as the palms of his hands clenched into the rope of the swing- burning with his nails digging within his skin to draw blood. An intensity within his chest clamped down in a want to back away, scream, and cry for want of some type of comfort -but incomprehending how such a blessing was achieved.

"Naruto, why don't you join the others?" It was spoken with a kind enough tone, an even enough attitude, compassionate within its own boundaries; yet still, to look up he had seen that some expression maring his teacher's face, a type of scorn, a discomfort he could not comprehend. His hands had clenched fast upon the rope further again, just as Iruka's fists had begun to coil and shake- he'd watched as brown lips had thinned in staring upon him, seen as walnut toned irises had wavered, his eyelids narrowing. Naruto had made his own gaze focus onto the others, beseeching for an answer which silence would not gain him, scintillating irises as his own lips thinned in a determination and he forced an answer passed lips which could not yet properly speak.

"I can't." For his tongue curved around every sentence he made, and in a truth he still had no desire to admit; in looking upon the words of his textbooks he found scribbled skript he could not comprehend, and to listen when others spoke had been a task. For at that age he hadn't been able to read. Thus talking was merely a confusion, he only barely understood the basic words. However, he could acknowledge that were he to join the other children in a game of tag then he would merely be told to leave, or in worst, he would be welcomed and their parent's would later take an action. Kicking his legs out and wishing for his own comfort had been all he could do to avoid further hatred, avoidance.

"You know, when I'm sad, I sing a little song, or I whistle. It usually helps me." To turn, he had no expectation to see the man crouching down and offering him a smile, a kindness of which he was desperately unfamiliar. "Why don't I teach you?" It had been a simple offer, though as things had been, the breeze had blown through their valley in a warmth, and he had taken the chance- rare though presented, to be close to another. Skepticism upon his mind in a worry for a trick of sorts, for a laughter to follow, for a hit to stutter him backwards to falling upon the dirt with a stung cheek and begone trust; but that hadn't been what occurred.

~0~

It had infracted him in the future, as many persons found the idea, the sight, of him whistling audacious; as if the concept upon them of him harbouring a type of relief from depression was an uncouth thought. Naturally, they had made an action: Unto many it had seemed a calm resolution, unto others nothing had been fractured, and no rights of person had been violated. To whistle within Konoha had been made a 'civic crime' -a misconduct- by the Civilian Council- more particular. Though only when he made the attempt it was a violation; none other were reprimanded for the act, and though it had been written when he had been young and behath to all of the villagers ire in full, it still brought a discomfort whenever he whistled about the streets; making parents twitch in discomfort, some rare shinobi take to glaring, marketers scowl. However, and although it was a rare statement for him to make; unlike when he had been a child no one would take hold of his arm and throw him to the ground, and no fees would appear at his apartment door for the slight impedance.

So he took the opportunity in gladence as he walked up the cliff. There was little to bring him to joy as it were. Discrimination upon him was the greatest bane he had known, and it was the worst one he could have faced while within a village that already considered his skin tone a 'malformation.' It weren't as if taking up arms against the being inside of his skin were a large leap unto social hatred; but it was discrimination by every account of his measure, despite that Tsunade said it were nothing of the sort. Under his own vision as it were, he was under the warped sight of seeing a familiarity with the once threat Uchiha Madara then those of his own classification within the village, which was sad within itself; by mere margin of his ability to simply state the fact, as it were. Priour to entry, he had to gain a pass to enter the cellar, it was a measure for the safety of shinobi, however; by being who he was he was granted entry without a question, and as he had already gained a certification to enter by the Hokage- it weren't as if it was a surprise to him that his protection was not considered a risk to any of the guards.

Still, by his own manner of persona, he gave a wave in kind gesture as he opened the door; and was thus given a scowl in return. He did not bother to twist his own expression to match, in knowledge that it would only lead to a negative reaction upon him. It was by a rationalization he had been contemplating for many weeks now, through the thought and logical explanations he could force within his head, all the reasonings he could make, even as a man who's opinion was invalid; he believed, with a vigorous knowledge of societal torment, that everyone currently serving sentence within 'Death's Waiting Room,' did not deserve to face the torture they did there: It was a grotesque sentencing and no human-being deserved to face such treatment regardless of crime, and he believed such even knowing that some of their crimes were horrid as well. Yet, it was as his belief that he was not a coward that he stood willing to free everyone imprisoned and put them into a kinder, better, prison that did not practise torture, but as it were Naruto knew he lived in a village of cowards; and he had known that since he was seven years old and unable to read by a political mandate.

The passage was dark, unlit and carried the still aura of a tormented void; he did not grab a torch by the side to take for his own illumination, under the hope that the one he had left remained by the cell of the man he was to visit. That came to not be the case, for while the pebbles crunched under the worn soles of his sandals; he walked only to run into the imposing figure of his Hokage as she finished her interrogation of the man in question. The torch light reflected, ominous, upon her skin to create a glow against the colours of the prison and endarken her hair to an ashen blonde that shone against the light, while making shadows over her eyes; and in general merely causing her face to appear threatening. Nearby, Suziane was writing notices upon her clipboard, a purposefully blank face kept on her for the sake of neutrality. His attention was only caught by incident, as Tsuande made to force her impression upon a man whom obviously did not care for her methods, without staring at the circumstance one could gain the impression that the powerful woman was irate, that was merely in the blazeful glare she cast his way as he interrupted her -he presumed- interrogation. It was an odd situation unto him, as she hardly gave him a maliceful look, though, in luck, she quickly shifted her demeanor so that she was pinching the bridge of her nose instead; a large sigh escaping in tandem.

"Naruto, now is not an appropriate time." Rather ignoring her statement, he was startled by the amount of shimmer her lip gloss appeared to cast whence in minimal lighting, for as it were, entering upon an interrogation was in fact the perfect time to interrupt, indeed especially as he had decided he was opposed to any prisoner torment- regardless of apparent crime. She was far less likely to continue while his presence was imposed; for the sake of political secrecy and governmental necessity she was not entirely allowed to preform torture sessions in view of the public or shinobi under chunin rank, the public believed that no such grotesque methods were implemented by their shinobi, while genin were typically -meant to be- ignorant of the 'Intelligence & Interrogation Unit,' as they were commonly viewed as children, despite being trained as warriors of sorts.

"Oh, sorry Obaa-chan, did I interrupt you?" In asking, not a care was given by his mind, though his express could easily make a fool of the women before him as he feigned it without a true attempt; experience guiding from his years of knowledge with the village and jounin who cast him aside for their own bias, not that she could truly understand, and Naruto knew she would not.

As it was, the man shackled inside a cage could comprehend his life-style far better than any of the friends he knew within the village, ostracisation was a familiarity. Though to acknowledge that similarity with the same shinobi who had calously killed the man he loved was still a trial unto his mentality in thought. It came as a further recollection however, as Naruto could not place an exact reasoning for the steering in his gut, or a even an understanding as to why the nerves in the edgings of his seal turned, his eyes wavered in memory as he faced Madara's presence; yet he had been ignoring the sensations since they had caused Sasuke's death upon the battlefield during the war. A moment of incomprehension, of feelings and sensations taking reign over his logical mind -what sections he had devout to such- and Sasuke had been forced to make cover for his moments of in-action. Now, it was time for him to stop his avoidance of the fact, for distancing himself from Konoha meant retracting from his own innate cowardice.

"Fine, fine!" Her shout came to startle him out of his mentality, bringing focus upon her once more, as it came to abrupt attention that she appeared fully prepared to punch through the stone wall by her own assistant's head. Irritation shone upon her as if it were a casually formed decoration, mind, it were to his own confusion as she had been the one to grant him a permit to visit their most 'grotesque' prisoners. Though, to glance, her hazel irises had turned to sparkle in their intense burning illuminance to the captive she had previously been questioning; that was Madara, naturally, he was the remaining target for ire within Konoha -that is, apart from himself; if the village had the knowledge that the man lived, violence would follow swiftly and though it was doubted, Naruto could state it within a certainty of his own experience:

~0~

The bench was a quiet, peaceful, escape of what chaos he had grown to adapt unto. Shikamaru was asat near him and they had begun a calm conversation of no particular thing. Nary seven and excluded, he had found a solace within the company of the genius boy within his class and Chouji who mainly sat to eat; it wasn't as if he had a care for their habits, Naruto had come to find himself more interested in each their own particulars then discriminating prejudice against them.

Unfortunate, that to look around, to gaze in the surroundings and the many eyes which stared upon them three one would only find a judgement- a discrimination, a statement. It was a recognizable factor of life unto him, and he had no obligation to find a wrong with the glares cast their direction. However, Shikamaru did, and thus, he made his mentality showcase itself as he forwarded his own ired stare upon their onlookers; seven years old and already angry at a prejudice he had no proper comprehension of. Chouji, for his part merely cast Naruto a smile, offered the gift of a snack and unto those who were staring upon them, he waved in a genuine kindness. Naruto took the food with a weakened gratitude -for he could not articulate proper words as it were and he wished no further embarrassment to humiliate him in front of those who were willing to speak to a beast such as himself. Yet, still, he took the show of the example and forced himself to grant a wave onto those who were glaring upon him.

The adults surrounding grasped their children firm and moved them a portion away from his position, while the children; such as himself, flinched in a fright he could not comprehend.

Then by incautious voices, by his own careful hearing, he heard a whispered fright; "we should get rid of it permanently, its too dangerous to have it wandering around. I heard Mari suggest a riot, protest it?" They were soft spoken voices, and in his own youth he had no understanding of what they had intended by their words. He turned his irises down, and lowered his hand; for now he was the one frightful. Thus, in logic he looked to his friend whom seemingly swung his legs outwards of the bench in boredom.

"Shika- what's a riot?" In fear, he spoke quiet so that the crowd that passed would not hear his words. Though he gained a questionable stare from his friend, as he paused in his motions to gaze upwards at the Hokage Monument. A sigh escaping the genius boy, and he scratched at his head as if there were an answer locked away deep; though Naruto could not fathom what it was. Chouji, rather uncomprehending of the conversation's twist, turned his attention to an astray cat that was prowling closeby.

"A violent disturbance of peace- usually in protest for or of something." Not knowledgeable, Naruto only found himself tilting his head to confusion, blinking large eyelashes for want of further explanation. He remained sat at the bench however, as both his friends got up to leave for their homes. "Naruto, don't worry about it, okay? They're cowards." That was the end of their peaceful conversation, before they left and he stayed at the quiet bench. As it so happened, he retained the logic that had unintentionally been expressed upon him; he had no home to return unto. So in the dusk of a heated summer he did not move from the bench and he slept upon it.

Unfortunate, that his apartment had faced a violent riot that night, divinity, that he had chosen not to return home.

For though he was far, and allowing himself the relaxation of a calm evening of privacy, he could smell the depthening scent of smoke arisen from the centre of the village. To glance, he could see; from the park, the flames alit and arising from where he lived. Even hear the shouting, yells from shinobi and citizens alike in protest of his very existence. It were a saddening statement unto his own ears; that violence was the only method deemed appropriate to deal with a child unable to perform self-defense. Weakened by the standards of his own age, and indeed by the vision of the world which he was granted; he found himself shrinking in upon his own figure and tucking his head into frail knees, sobbing for an escape.

~0~

"-do you comprehend the principal concept of dance boy?" Came the sound of a grasping sentence, a man dehydrated to the point of torment unretractable unto the idealizations of Konoha's morality. Naruto turned his attention to the shackled villain of their war, his eyes scintillating within the firelight; both sets refracting the dawning colours of the torch: One made a pair of midnight glazed stars bathed within the darkness of the night sky, sparkling inside the depths of eternity as ideals danced within their miniature skies: While the other pair of irises were pools scintillating underneath that same darkness of night, lakes with stars trapped within. Yet, as the stars were entrapped during the night, the day crested the beauticious blaze of dawnbrake and dusk over the lakes of turquoise, shimmering. To stare, Naruto sat, allowing himself to be overlooked by the blazing gaze of the Uchiha perched above him, marveling within his own measure of the strange ability Uchiha irises possessed to appear reddened in the glaze of fire, especially whence poised above and surrounded by darkened shadows; Madara was situated in such a poise that the chains withholding his arms and baring his ankles came to present as a further ominous factor unto his appearance rather than an assurance of safety, his hair cast over his visage in a shadow aided unto that factor Naruto found.

Though, he truly had sat himself down in comfort to contemplate the question he had been asked; for though his Hokage had previously been in presence, the young questioning Uzumaki doubted her ability or indeed, want, to ask or respond upon interesting philosophical quandaries presented forth- or indeed to make her own. However, to consider dance gave Naruto pause; as it were a prospect he had previously heard Madara make mention of whence speaking with the First Hokage; and thus he wandered at the significance implanted. In his own consolidation of the concept, it was a freedom from the prospects of cruelty that the villages could present forth in their moments of riot frothed anger and violence: By what he had been taught, it remained a precious grace that the Uchiha had once gifted him the lesson of, once, before eight, when the village had been both halves of a whole and not divided by the bias of one idealization.

Within the depths of his memory came the simple recollection of a festival. A basic celebration of traditional taught concepts and recognition of revolutionary altercations bringing a better change. A moment's pause in seeking his answer, and he found the words necessary to express the right answer just as he had learnt by those few Uchiha men and women who had taken to teach a demon. "Dance is the right of freedom; of mind and body, expressed outwardly. It is emotion, it is sensation, it is pain, and it is ideals. Both within battle and in the arms of a partner." He spoke as candid as he might, taking from memory all that he had acknowledged while dancing with the Uchiha in the festival of tradition, for though it had been years ago the recollection had remained so vivid it could not fade. It was peculiar to look upon a man inbound by the shackles of his crimes, and consider, in mentality, that he may have been the one to have invented the conceptualization of dance in itself unto all shinobi- for it was known to be an Uchiha principal.

By a method Naruto had not foreseen occurring, he watched as Madara pulled all strength from his abdomen, triceps, biceps, and seemingly his neck, to pull himself upwards for a moment; before dropping back down into the slouch the chains had him bound unto. A scoff escaped the Uchiha as he rolled his head in a stretch -and a display of all the musculature he had yet to lose even whilst being inside an imprisonment.- "Indeed, you have been taught well, I grant." Within a moment, he became uncertain of his answer, though he knew that it was as the Uchiha had said; for he had never forgotten. "Did you learn from that boy upon the field?" It were a simple question, and even so, Naruto felt his muscles twitch at the implication of Sasuke's name, his mind already prepared to respond in an outcast violent methodology not suited to circumstance.

"His name was Sasuke... And no." Madara made no effort to give a response, and their silence lingered as it had previously. It was a familiarity unto both of them and neither attempted to disrupt the abrupt quiet. To sit under the silence they'd both made in the comfort they both experienced under the impression, Naruto remained kempt within himself, only his glittering irises focused upon the man beholden by chains, a ponderance upon his mind; who were the true villains within their invisible war? However, in misfortune unto himself, he could not manage to distinguish an answer appropriate to himself or any of those he knew, for they were those who invoked a wrong: Fraudulent victory indeed. Whispering, by the feeling of an imposing necessity; "his clan did." He heard the deep inhale that brought upon from his companion, then watched as Madara lent his head back as if to rest it against a wall that did not exist near enough to him, seeing his arm muscles twitch at the body's reaction was odd- for it portrayed the movement as a regretful one by the view of a lost gaze such as his own. 

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