EXPERIMENTS
A Hunter Fanfic by Yomi
Chapter Five
Summary: A chance meeting with a mentor from his past gives Illumi an opportunity to experience living a normal life and learn something his mentor believed all children are entitled to know.
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Hunter x Hunter is copyrighted by Yoshihiro Togashi, Shounen Jump Weekly, Shueisha and Nippon Animation
Ten Months Ago
The stench of stale alcohol and dried vomit pervaded the air of a dim-lit pub situate in one of the most disreputable parts of town.
It was compulsion, really. Illumi worked hard and earned lots of money precisely for avoiding dilapidated and run-down dumps like this, home to the junkies and dregs of society who had no place in the civilized world. The assassin stood out like a delicate black rose amongst an unruly swath of briar and prickly weeds and he was starting to attract unwanted attention.
Doubt gnawed at his usually pragmatic and calculated mind. He became increasingly suspicious that it had all been a trick of the light that triggered memories of the bushy russet hair and pine green eyes twinkling above a rueful grin that made him follow, trailing in the shadows like some dumb, lost kid.
His throat involuntarily constricted, choking him for a fraction of a second. Steeling himself clear of memory lane, he turned away from the disgruntled barman trying to deal with a hopeless smashed drunk and made to leave, convinced whatever lured him here was just stress and sleep deprivation doing the dodge to his orderly mind.
Then kitchen doors banged open. An old man dressed in a threadbare jacket and piss-stained pants was thrown into the middle of the room and half a dozen thugs all bursting with muscle formed a rough circle around the wretched figure.
Illumi caught a good look at the crippled old man and felt blood drain from his face. It was no phantom. It was hard reality that landed a blow to his gut harder than any he'd experienced since the final Zoldick test that catapulted him into the Zoldick Family Partnership. It took all his years of training to bite back the cry of surprise, but outwardly, his expressionless countenance spotted wide, incredulous eyes.
He'd aged – no – he was ancient. The gloss that once touched his hair now dulled and hung in clumps, riddled with wide streaks of dirty grey. Ashen skin mottled with age spots now clung limply to the cheek bones and hands once strong enough to break through a nen-enforced sternum to crush the heart in one fatal blow shook like moths near a fire.
"Another month," the old man blustered, a sliver of drool trickling unbidden down his chin. "I can get the money to you – "
The leader of the thugs snorted, swooping down to catch the hold man by the front of his shirt and dragged him two feet of the ground. The old man uselessly kicked and howled in pain as he was thrown back and crashed into a table.
"Me boss is sick n' tired o' hearin the same no-good excuse, Ritteneur, an' he's startin to think that you not ever gonna be able to pay."
In a useless placating attempt, the old man held up his arms and tried to stagger back onto his feet. "And I keep telling ya monkeys that I will get the money and –"
All the patrons of the pub turned back to their drinks, staring intently at their mugs. The more sober ones quietly paid and left and everyone else tried to avoid eye contact with Ritteneur in case the debt collectors thought to turn to them instead.
Unbeknownst to Illumi however, his fingers had curled into fists and nails dug their way past the calluses on his palms until fat drops of vermilion blood dripped steadily onto the floor. Next he knew, he was purposefully striding to the epicenter of the commotion and was engaged in a staring match with the leader.
Bullies made good debt collectors, and bullies by nature were good at scare tactics and intimidation in large groups, but weak and cowardly as an individual. When Illumi's stare stripped away the illusory sense of security the leader derived from his five or six other mates, his eyes darted from side to side and he reeked of fear.
Gulping, the loan shark seemed to recall his own checkered past and produced a snarl which wouldn't have perturbed a mangy stray dog. Illumi gave him points for trying.
"Who're you?"
The Zoldick answered with a question. "What business do you have with this man?"
"He owes me boss money and six months interest."
"And how much would that be?"
Slowly, the thug found his niche as he was back on familiar territory. Negotiations and bargaining. "The principal was six million jenis, and with compound interest, we're talking –"
Illumi had been swimming in the Underground ever since he was taught how to instantly kill a man by pressing his fingers along the pressure points on a person's neck. They expected him to make a counter to the ridiculously bloated figure presented. It was how things worked.
"I'll give you seven million. Take it or leave it."
Predictably, the debt collectors all made small noises of outrage. "That's not even the interest."
"Eight million."
"Twelve!"
Illumi let ice into his voice. "Ten million jenis, your boss gets principal, more interest than he deserves and the lives of six of his gang bangers."
The trick did the job, but the thug nevertheless put on a reluctant expression. "It's gotta be upfront."
"Give me the account number." Illumi whipped out his phone as a gesture of compliance. They exchanged details and the transfer of money was made without a word, only both parties traded looks of loathing, except the collectors seemed quite eager to file out of the pub.
Still crumpled on the floor in a graceless heap, spluttering and whispering one plea after another, Ritteneur was completely oblivious to what had just transpired. The anger flared up in Illumi again, and with no more tenderness than the thugs, he hauled the defeated old man onto his feet and dragged him out into the streets.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Ritteneur awoke six hours later when the sun was preparing its journey into the skies and the horizon was a massive swell of pink and gold and the pale amber rays of light filtered through the unblemished glass and warmed his cold skin.
He looked down at himself and realized that he was shirtless. What arrested his attention however, was the odd dozen or two gleaming pinheads studded all over his naked torso. His eyes widened in panic then settled into disquiet calm after he realized the needles weren't actually causing him any pain.
He warily studied his surroundings. He had been sleeping on someone's couch, and this someone owned a very decent, liveable home. Tapestries trapped in neat frames hung on the walls plastered with pretty wallpaper, and statues and figurines appropriately adorned the mantelpieces. Suddenly, he felt a presence, or someone let him know of their presence, and he swung around, only to gasp aloud as he found Illumi's unblinking gaze boring holes into his soul.
"Who – " he was about to ask of the man seated opposite him, and then cut himself off. Familiarity gradually dawned on his face and his mouth dropped open and Illumi gave him all the patience in the world. "Lulu?" he breathed, not even believing himself as he uttered the old nickname he had for Illumi. Quivering hands hesitantly reached out to cup that porcelain fine face and Ritteneur continued to stare in wonder.
But Illumi would have none of that. He irritably swatted aside the hands and allowed his anger to surface as his lips twisted into a snarl. "What the hell happened to you?"
Still confronted by the blank expression, Illumi expelled a frustrated sigh. "You look like shit. You should've been able to fight off those scum. Hell, you should have been able to scare them off with just a look!"
Ritteneur gave a hollow chuckle and slowly flexed his fingers, studying them as if he was only seeing them for the first time. "I'm old."
"Bullshit. My great-grandfather is old, and he still takes on commissions! You've let yourself go. Why didn't you stay at the Celestial Tower?"
The old man in front of Illumi looked down and gave a sigh of his own. "The Celestial Tower security system is not foolproof. I was sick of the assassination attempts and thought the best way was to leave the fame and fortune behind and disappear for good."
Illumi forcibly tilted the man's chin up so they were eye to eye and hissed out in contempt, "And I suppose you finally let the bottle get the better of you as well?"
"And what about you, Lulu? So hasty to judge others, but haven't you resigned yourself to the life of a killer as your parents had laid out for you long before you were even born?"
Illumi shrank back as if he was the one burned. At that moment, he didn't know if he hated Ritteneur for being vulnerable and old, or if he hated himself for who he was.
"Poor Lulu. You've lost your conscience. You've lost your individuality. You've lost your free will and I daresay they're trying to take your humanity away, or have they managed to destroy that as well?"
"I'm fit. I'm strong. I'm wealthy. At least I still have options left available to me. But you – "
A careless wave, a toothy grin full of yellow, rotting teeth, and some of the old playfulness ignited behind those dulled eyes. "My prime's long gone and we pretty much agree that old people don't have the privilege or time for options when we can hear the faint steps of the Reaper approach. But let's talk about you, Lulu – as you said, you're young and yes, you've got options. The real question is whether you're actually going to ever exercise it."
Illumi fell back even further and gazed at Ritteneur in growing dismay as the unlikable, yet all too familiar feeling of being corrected sank in and landed a resounding blow to his pride. He grit his teeth and shook his head hard. "Don't you talk to me as if I'm still a child –"
"Who hasn't heard of the eldest Zoldick sibling? He single-handedly wiped out the ten Godfathers of the Underworld without incurring so much as a scratch, and they say all his kills are all genteel, silent and bloodless." Ritteneur experimentally sat up, straightening his back. "You've abandoned everything I taught you?"
"They weren't suitable for me," said Illumi coldly.
"They weren't suitable for your profession," Ritteneur candidly corrected, now tilting his head from side to side, surprised not to hear the joints crack. "And I thought that you weren't suitable for your profession either. Too exuberant and bubbly you were – "
" – that was only due to your influence – "
"And a head full of wild dreams and ideas coupled with an shakable will to realize them. Floor Master of Level 213 at the age of fifteen, envy of all veteran fighters, I honestly believed you had the strength to disown the Zoldick tradition and build your own paradise filled with colour and wonder. What happened?"
"I left the Tower. I went home. I had responsibilities." Bitterly, Illumi folded his arms across his chest and breathed in deeply. "I have four brothers to take care of. You don't know what my parents are like. They don't forgive weakness, and all my brothers were so young and helpless. I couldn't abandon them and let my parents drive them down the same path as they did with me." He gave a humourless laugh. "But by the time they were strong enough to decide what they want to do with themselves, I was too old to learn a new way of life."
There was a long silence, dominated by a wistful smile brimming with fondness. Eventually, Ritteneur reached out and tried to ruffle Illumi's hair. "I knew they couldn't take away your soul. Why else would you pull a worthless old coot like me out of the sewers and heal me of my hunch and arthritis?"
Illumi sniffed and warily glanced at the steadily rising and falling chest. "You should try not to move much for the next few days. Your organs, like your liver, have suffered extensive damage from your stupid self-destructive behaviour."
Ritteneur raised an eyebrow. "You're not the reinforcement type. Healing shouldn't be your forte."
"Repairing internal damage is more control than reinforcement. I manipulate muscles and organs, just as I'm feeding nen into you and ordering your body to heal itself."
"Ever thought about being an acupuncturist?"
Illumi's blinked. "Come again?"
But Ritteneur was now swept away by the idea and continued to build upon it, ignoring Illumi's growing unease. "Think about it, Lulu, you could probably shrink tumors and cure cancer just by sticking your needle into it and killing the cancerous cells. You could probably mend ruptured organs without cutting someone open."
"So?" Illumi muttered uncomprehendingly.
"So?" Ritteneur rolled his eyes, exasperated. "You could make millions!"
"I'm already earning millions," the assassin informed, voice hard.
"Legally! You won't even have to risk your life, and people will love you instead of loathe you, send you cards at Christmas each year too – bet you don't have this type of relationship with your clients. Heck, you can work your standard nine to five and have weekends off to do stuff."
"If you keep flailing your arms about like that, I'm going to have to reset the tendons, and this time I'll make sure it hurts." Illumi growled, his harsh warning immediately sobering the older man. But it didn't wipe the smirk off his face.
"How about it, Lulu," Ritteneur's voice dropped to a whisper and he threw the young man a secretive wink. "Give yourself a chance, use the opportunities you still have to do something in life that's of meaning and value to you. I taught you your nen ten years ago; maybe I can teach you how to live your life."
Illumi bit his lip and swallowed a lump of anxiety. "That's rich, coming from someone's who's given up."
"Let's make a deal then." Ritteneur edged to the side of the sofa so he could lean forward and clasp Illumi's hands in his own. The assassin looked down and almost quailed in horror – these were hardly the hands he'd remembered; they looked shrunken, shrivelled and frail, bones as brittle as dried twig. "I'll lay off the booze, stop gambling, stay clean and you give the acupuncturist career a shot."
Illumi didn't pull his hands away and merely revelled in the human contact that served no purpose other than to reassure. He often killed his targets at a distance or controlled others to do his bidding and it had been a while since he and Silva had crossed swords, so to speak. It was such a foreign sensation, and it was quite enjoyable.
"You're an alcoholic and gambling addict, but you still manage to give me lectures and make me feel like the same stupid kid trying to break through Floor 200. I don't get it. I've seen more deaths than you would in ten life times, and I've been exposed to cruelty and terror beyond your imagination. How do you do it?"
Ritteneur gave him the all too familiar pinch to the cheek, pulling until it hurt and bought Illumi back to his senses. "What a twisted world," he muttered, more to himself than addressing Illumi. "Some people wish they could be a good father to their children and watch them grow but lose their family. Others have all the children in the world but are never there as a father for them. I might not have much left to offer that you couldn't buy with all your blood money, Illumi, but let us experiment, pretend to be the family we never had."
How long they were lost fathoming the consequences and possibilities, Illumi did not know. Finally, he rose to his feet with his usual implacable grace and brushed his pants free of dirt.
"I'm going out to buy us some groceries for breakfast and lunch. You stay on the couch and don't move around."