Pikachu and Rioleo hooray!

This one's a bit more lighthearted.

~\(^q^)/~

Trying to discreetly lug a metal torso on a bullet train was more than just a little difficult. The other parts were, thankfully, small and adjustable enough to fit in his little backpack, cushioned by his snacks. Sure, it was a squeeze, and he was pretty sure legs were NOT supposed to bend at that angle, but everything came together well, and it turned out just a little better than he predicted it to. He swept a glance around the crowded car, just to witness his personal bubble expand more and more with every breath he took. The poor students and workers heading home from grueling studies and shifts really did not need this sort of unsettlement from a blood-covered boy with a sputtering mess of wires and metal. (He had tried to give them just a little peace of mind by covering it with his hoodie, but quickly had to remove it when he started to smell burning.) He, however, could do without the syringe-sharp stare of that schoolgirl on his back, the little clicks of cellphone cameras from worried passersby, and the unsteady hover of many others with their fingers in position and ready to alert the persons proper.

But, this was the only way home from the preserve guaranteed to not have any Zoldycks within a ten-meter distance, so he would just have to endure the stares.

He dealt with the annoyances for a while, time speeding by when he had the fortune of zoning out, and slowly inching its way past for the rest. He never even noticed someone take up the bench seat just a few spaces away until the bastard went up and bugged him himself.

A hand waved in front of his face, snapping him out of his unfocused state, and he turned to find the source. A man sat there, obviously awkward, but somehow… intrigued? No, excited, was more like it. The accused opened his mouth to speak.

"Pardon me, kid, but you know what model this is?"

Killua was taken aback, this guy actually wanted to talk to him? Him? The oil and blood covered boy with the scrap metal taking up the bench space beside him? Obviously this dude couldn't read the atmosphere, or listen to the direction of the surrounding passengers, it seemed. Maybe if he just ignored him he'd get the message…

"Oi, kid, do you know?"

Mother of fuck. He looked away from him, and muttered out, "Uh, no, I just sorta came across this."

"I see." He said back, folding his hands behind his head. "Sorry, I'm just a fan of these kinds of things, ya' know? And might I say, that one right there is very fascinating, to say the least."

"Is that so." He was losing more interest with every syllable this guy spoke.

"Yep, ya' see, that body, albeit busted up, is distinguishable as a basic model from before pretty much the dark age of self-producing AI technology, where they receded from the idea of letting artificial minds learn…"

"Uh-huh." He didn't need to hear this.

"...fear of them rising to overthrow the human race instead of cooperating with it…"

"Yeah yeah." He didn't want to hear this.

"...set up a cap on what they could and could not learn, but this guy's obviously from before that- I mean look at it, still recording data on chips…"

"Sure thing." Hey, that lady was hiding a dog in her purse, is that allowed?

"...shucks that it's missing some of its parts, woulda been nice to see 'em all in action..."

"Cool beans." ...Wait, was he actually going through his bag? If he touched ANY of his chocorobos the dude better be ready to lose an ear. (How he was managing to hold up the decapitated head of a humanoid robot without flinching was another question entirely.)

"...wish I could take this back to shop, maybe fix it up a little, make it shine-"

HOH-HO-HELLO. STOP THE PRESSES- Killua immediately focused on the words, surprised by the sudden statement. He jerked his head to look at the man next to him. "Wait, you can fix this thing?"

The man's eyes brightened, "Sure I can! Or, well, try, at least."

"Really?"

"Yep! Grades weren't good enough to be a human doctor, so I became one for non-humans instead. I'm the best in the district."

"...Really?"

"C'mon now kid, don't doubt the word of Sir Leorio Palidiknight!"

"..."

"I'm serious! I'm good at what I do!"

Killua pondered. Did he really want to entrust something that could be so dangerous to this scruffy guy? He could be lying about this whole charade, could be some petty thief looking for some antiques to pawn, could be hiding one of his brother's pins under that suit of his- speaking of it, why would a mechanic be wearing a suit?

"C'mon, my stop's next! I needta get back before "the betrothed" rips my dick off."

Aw, fuck it. He was tired and this guy really wore him down. "Yeah, yeah, sure, ya can have a look." He was nearly interrupted by an enthusiastic cheer from his associate. "But, I have two conditions."

"Lemme hear 'em, pal!"

"One, I get to stay and watch the whole ordeal. Two, if you've lied about anything, I'll be the one doing the dick-ripping."

~\(^q^)/~

"Kana, eh? Figured you would've worked in this part of Anaberal." Killua said, re-adjusting his backpack to sit more comfortably on his shoulders.

"Well, duh, kid. It is the industrial district. Where else would you find a mechanic?" The other muttered with a sarcasm barely laced with lingering excitement. Leorio shifted his arms around his carry. The moron (as so Killua thought) had taken upon himself the privilege (read: arm strain) of holding the body, just as an excuse to admire the old hunk of junk more as they walked. "Ah, we're making a right here,then it's just a little farther 'till i can clean this baby up!"

After the aforementioned turn, the atmosphere dissolved from the sweet streets of Kita, with its bustling travelers and tourists, and into the smog-filled understreets of Kana. Factories and warehouses controlled the district, with those living there almost certainly working at one, sparing the few who set up individual shops along the densely populated streets. Every breath one took would be one full of pollutants and smoke, leaving the public adorned with masks covering their mouth and nose, in some sort of a safeguard. Children's street culture ran rampant across the wide blacktops that serviced as dated roadways, leaving kids to run into at every other step, all of them jumping about on projected holo-hopscotches and virtual four-squares.

Killua thought the place to be barbaric.

The two stopped at an clear, outdoor elevator, and, with Leorio hitting the button with his foot, proceeded to get on it. They rode up to the third floor of the rows of hanging streets, designed to take up less ground space and accommodate more storefront real estate, to which they made their way towards a signless little storefront practically oozing motor oil and live electric currents.

"Here, hold this-" was the last thing Killua heard before a body was forced upon him, knocking him halfway back and into the railing. "-I need to get my keys real quick." Leorio rooted around in his pants pockets, then his jacket pockets, shirt pockets, inner jacket pockets, socks, shoes, and that little pocket that wasn't actually a pocket but was treated as one anyway, before turning towards the boy, grinning in embarrassment, and nervously belting out "J-Just a moment, please!" and running to the glass door of the shop next door.

He then proceeded to rigorously pound his fists on it.

"Oi! Kurapika! Open up! I lost my keys again! Oiiiiiiiii Kuuuurrrraaappiii-"

With a startled 'GUHWOHPF,' Leorio was sent flying back onto the pathway, and all that was seen in the (now wide open) doorway was a bare foot and the cuffs of some very nice, albeit very old fashioned, white pants.

The foot came down graciously and brought forward a lithe body, dressed in a very traditional and native (though Killua could not place where it was native to) tunic, lined in gold piping. His eyes were sharp and angry, his blond hair well kept, and a nonplussed pout seemed to be his natural expression. As Killua watched, he slowly parted his lips, sucked in a sigh…

And in the smallest voice, barely riding on his breath, said,

"Leorio, you better start running."

"Wh-Wha-?"

"Because I will not get you my key. I will not get you the spare either, because you lost. The spare. And if your flat ass is not back here in 20 minutes with that key or at least a bobby pin to pick that shitty old lock with, I'm cancelling the wedding."

Leorio sniggered, "You wouldn't, not after all the planning you've gone through-"

The blond turned his head and called into the room behind him. "Senritsu! Do you mind getting the planner on the phone? I think I'd like to make a few changes."

The 'Senritsu' person replied with a light and soft "Sure thing!~"

They waited.

The little beeps of numbers being punched in on the phone echoed through the store behind them.

And just as the polite "hello!" left her lips, Leorio was hightailing it out of there, at speeds somewhat akin to Sonic the Fucking Hedgehog.

"Godspeed." Killua said, a tear welling up in his eye.

All that could be heard in the city silence after that was Senritsu's chattering on the phone, joking to her friend about how silly her bosses were.

~\(^q^)/~

Approximately sixteen and a half minutes later, the lock had been picked with one of the many paperclips Leorio had forgotten he had kept in his suitcase in the event of this happening again, and Killua, Kurapika, as well as all the pieces of previous-robot, had been ushered in the store, the mechanic bouncing with excitement once again.

As the giddy man cheered and set to work examining the remnants, Kurapika turned to his white-haired companion, a now-softened expression settling on his face. "Sorry about this, he's a little uncontrollable when it comes to old-fashioned robotics."

Killua smiled at him. "Nah, its no problem, really. Kinda want him to fix it, anyway." He stuck out a hand, "Probably should've said this earlier, but I'm Killua Zoldyck."

"Oooh, a Zoldyck." Kurapika raised his eyebrows, "A little out-of-our-district, aren't we?" He brought up his hand to meet the other's. "I'm Kurapika. I co-run the bookstore next door and this shop with Leorio. He's my fiancé."

"Bookstore? But, aren't books, more…-?"

"Out of date? Old fashioned? So much worse than the digital copies you kids read these days?" Kurapika chuckled at Killua's wide eyes. "I get those complaints a lot. But I just want to keep the family business running, you see?

"The Kurtas were a large clan of talented researchers, choosing to live life in the forests of old and document their natural lives and progressions. All their works were only to be published on paper, only to be bound by hand, and only to be read by those who had the village leader's permission to do so. But…" He sighed. "Copyrights do expire 10 years after the author's death now, and the records were printed and sold off before I could get my hands on them. I only have 16 original copies at the moment. The rest are just butchered duplicates."

All was quiet between them, only interrupted by the whoopings and banging of metal from the back of the store.

Kurapika sniffed and shook his head, "Pardon my seriousness. I guess you could say I just want to keep the family alive. But I do love the smell of old books, and so do so many others…"

Killua was silent. What a tragedy, having no one left like that. "How…" He asked "How did they di-"

A sudden eruption came from the back of the store, followed by a squeak of a "Ooh, that's not good."

The boy froze in his words. He then spun on his heel and headed to the back, pupils small and his shoulders stiff.

I am going. To kill that man.

He looked over to where his friend stood… or fumed, actually. There was red tinting the edges of his iris' and the guy looked to be about five seconds from exploding.

...That is, if Kurapika doesn't get to him first.