License to Kill

Genres: Drama, Suspense

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, mild body horror, adult themes, needles

Summary: There are certain things only a Hunter can do. Kill without consequence, enter the world's most exclusive locations, and earn access to the world's most secure and exhaustive information bank tops the list, but for someone like Illumi, his money and his name can buy most of those easily. For his clients, however, his license has become quite a valuable privilege. Illumi Zoldyck acquires his Hunter License for a job that takes him to an exclusive resort community to target a reclusive collector and eccentric during a grand exhibition.

Unbeknownst to him, several members of the Ryodan are planning to hit the resort in a sting operation. By the nature of each of their targets and the safeguards protecting them, both must work together to ensure they all get what they want and get out in time.

Hisoka tags along.

A/N: Written for the Hunter x Hunter Big Bang Challenge 2019. Takes place post-Hunter Exam arc, pre-Heaven's Arena arc. I hope you enjoy the story!

"I had no idea...I'd find you here, taking the exam. I'm here to get a license for a job that's coming up." - Illumi Zoldyck, Chapter 36

License to Kill

He can hear the sounds of footsteps, uneven and growing louder with each passing moment, cheap soled shoes slapping against pitted concrete and the crash of a toppled trash bin filled with glass bottles. He isn't even hearing the path from the report of one of his needlemen—the mission is not strenuous, or critical, or even risky—and he has not bothered to enlist the help of any creations of his Nen, not when he has all the strength he needs at his fingertips or in his body. The primary instructions he has been given call for speed and discretion, and while Illumi does not typically care for rush jobs he sees the value in indulging one of his most frequent employers.

He raises the knife, waiting. Below, his position hidden by the high walls and unevenly pitched rooftops of the surrounding buildings, Illumi's target darts forward, glancing over his right shoulder. He matches the description he's been given perfectly—sharply parted dark hair, small rectangular glasses, favoring one leg from an injury when he'd left the facility earlier with his prize.

The small satchel tucked under one arm matches the description, too, and as Illumi lets the knife tumble through the air, his breath held, his precision perfect, he is sure to time it so that when the man falls, he falls backwards. The stolen files are not to be damaged.

A glance to his left finds the space empty. A glance down to the ground finds the knife hitting brick and mortar, the target instead falling from the force of a sharp-nailed hand clawing his neck sharply to the side, broken so swiftly and suddenly that Illumi doesn't even have time to frown. Then the knife is grabbed out of the wall almost on a whim, and dashed across the front of the man's body. It catches in a vein on his neck, and blood sprays out in a wide arc, drenching the red shutters to his right.

Illumi jumps down, his first thought for the satchel. He scoops it off the ground before any blood can touch it, and opens it to rifle through the papers inside. Hard copies only, signed contracts, blueprints, and other confidential data stolen by a thief only hours before. He's lucky he had been in the area when he got the call.

A glance to the left, where Hisoka is stepping around a rapidly growing puddle of blood.

Perhaps not so lucky he had not been alone at the time.

"We had an agreement," Illumi says. "You were not to interfere."

"I couldn't help myself," is the answer, voice light and colored with spades. "Besides, I wanted to put that piece of plastic to the test, now that it's legal." A pout. "Doesn't feel any different."

"Why would it?" Assured that everything is intact and in order, Illumi steps away, heading back in the direction they'd came. The street is currently empty, but that could change in a moment, and he hates unnecessary complications. "I was instructed to leave the target alive. Apparently, he also owed them quite a bit of money."

Hisoka fishes his Hunter license out of a pocket. "Speaking of money, this can do that too. Not that I've been wanting, or anything."

"There are other things more important." Their pace is unhurried, and Illumi takes out his phone to text his client. A moment later, and a few texts back-and-forth, and he puts it away, satisfied.

"Like what?" Hisoka asks, curious.

"Professional reputation." His voice is deadpan, and Hisoka raises a hand to his mouth as if to stifle a laugh.

"Only you would take a job on your way to another job. You really know what to do with boredom, don't you? Mine, not yours." The plastic card vanishes—he'd been playing with it the same way he liked to play with his cards, and now his fingers itch and flex as if the phantom sensation persists.

"I had no doubts." None about his ability to complete the assignment, none about the likelihood of passing the Hunter Exam at all, and none about the upcoming job, the one his newest client had been so insistent about. He considers Hisoka, who had so easily upset his layers of plans.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Hisoka says.

Illumi's face remains as impassive as stone. "Like what?"

"That."

Illumi is familiar with the tone, and picks up the pace to provide an outlet for Hisoka's moods that doesn't involve any further indulgence on his part. His client had arranged a drop point, at the private terminal of an airfield several miles outside of town, and a man in a suit and sunglasses receives the satchel from the jetway of a tiny prop plane. The pay has already been deposited into his account, and the two newly-minted Hunters stand together at the very end of the airfield as the plane takes off once more into the sky.

"You still haven't mentioned," Hisoka says, after a pause, "where this next job of yours is located."

Illumi takes in the details far more than he usually would. An otherwise empty expanse of cloudless sky, the small but well-maintained building that served as check-in and security for any others accessing the airfield, the outparcel beyond that for plane repairs, the modest fence at their backs. The small runway, now empty, and a larger one across a field, serving traffic from the much larger public terminal in soaring glass and steel.

"I hadn't wanted to tell you. You'd want to tag along even more, and you've been enough trouble."

Hisoka's lips pull downward, the makeup on his cheeks still immaculately defined. "Me?"

"It's in Σiami Island." The words are out of his mouth before he can rethink the consequences of saying them, and Hisoka's expression turns delighted. "Ah. You know it."

"It's a beach," he says. Illumi acknowledges the understatement. "Let me come with you, please? I'll owe you one."

A pause, and a frown. "Promise me you won't involve yourself like you did today. You stay out of my business, and you follow my orders."

"Of course." The tone of his voice is full of hearts, now, and Illumi feels his own mood shift an inch at Hisoka's obvious enthusiasm. "Are we taking an airship? A private plane? We're VIPs now, right?"

Illumi thinks about his Hunter's License, and fishes it out from a secure pocket inside his shirt. It should be simple to arrange transportation—whether to hire an airship of their own or reserve seats on an outgoing flight later that same day—his plans require a fair amount of subtlety, but he knows that where they're going, such a thing will be difficult to maintain. Besides, he finds himself curious about the power his new title holds.

"I think we'll see what else this thing can do."

He has an image in his head. Of perhaps the two of them, driving over the three bridges that spanned the gaps between Σiami Island and the mainland, in a red convertible. One of the stylish, foreign ones, with the engine in the back and the trunk in the front, with fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror and the headrests low enough that he could sling the back of his arm across them. He's not particularly accustomed to luxury, but he is to frivolity, and the daydream is a pleasant way to pass the time.

Illumi pokes him in the side of the head.

"Do you mind?" Hisoka rolls over, the first-class seats wide enough to accommodate even his broad shoulders.

"We're about to land." Next to him, Illumi adjusts the window shade, lifting it higher to scrutinize the view below. He can see it, the three islands that make up the most exclusive residential enclave in the world, each linked by an architectural marvel of a bridge bordered by small fortresses of security checkpoints. And beyond, just barely out of view, are the tall buildings and gleaming white beaches of his eventual destination.

There are certain things only a Hunter can do. Kill without consequence, enter the world's most exclusive locations, and earn access to the world's most secure and exhaustive information bank top the list, but for someone like Illumi, his money and his name can buy most of those easily.

For his clients, however, his license has become quite a valuable privilege.

"Ah, Illumi, can we take this one?" Hisoka points to a bright red sportscar in the airport rental lot.

"No." He doesn't even look up from the printed receipt in his hand. Their car should be a few rows up, on the left.

"Is that one ours?" Hisoka leans over the doors of a convertible, reaching for the steering wheel, patterned in white and yellow like the ones on a racecar.

"This one's mine." It's a black sedan of classic, if unremarkable styling, and he unlocks it and slides into the driver's seat.

Hisoka makes a noise of disapproval, but settles himself into the passenger seat, flipping up the sun visor and tucking a playing card underneath.

"You shouldn't complain," Illumi says. "You didn't have to come."

"I couldn't pass up a free trip to Σiami Beach, now could I?"

Σiami Beach, the last island in the group of three off the Yorubian continent accessible only by that single sloping bridge and a membership program with an entry-level price tag in the tens of millions, is a haven for the wealthy and privileged—and even with that there's enough of a waitlist that membership can take years, or even decades, without the proper connections.

The streets are well-kept and lined with boutique shops and tall white-paneled street lamps and neat green hedges. His car is one of many on the road, but the only one to take the most direct path, and after a few minutes of leisurely driving they arrive at the first gate to the broad smiles of at least three well-armed guards dressed in matching white regalia.

Illumi flashes his Hunter license at the checkpoints, and is waved in without any further delay than a polite query if he needs assistance with directions or accommodations.

He stares back with blank eyes after swiveling the skyline. "We'll be at that one. The tallest. Please call and let them know we will be arriving."

"A very good choice, sir," the attendant replies, even as Illumi rolls up the car window. "The hotel is in the very center of town, and has some of the best beachfront."

Hisoka perks up, flipping a single card between the fingers of his left hand. "The best beach? Will you come tanning with me, Illumi? It might be fun."

"I am here on business, Hisoka."

"And you've been awfully secretive on the details." There's a note of spades in his voice—sharp, but breathy.

"That's because it's my contract, not yours." There's the barest inflection of irritation. "You do remember what happened this morning?"

The second checkpoint progresses much the same as the first, although this time they have to wait a few minutes behind a glossy white convertible, taking it's time.

"If the island is so exclusive, why have hotels at all? Since you have to buy your way in and all." Hisoka doesn't sound interested, but Illumi can tell when he is fishing, and delivers a summary of his own research with a dry, continuous clip.

"Hotel is a bit of a misnomer—there is one building in the middle, with the casino and the event center, and there are rooms there for visiting family and dignitaries and those such as ourselves. The rest of the buildings are high-rise condominiums, although there is a second lodging alternative of bungalows on the farthest end of the island, for those who want a little more privacy. They say the Princess of Anholm was married there, many years ago, before the country's revolution. The towers suit our purpose much more, though."

"Which is?"

"I have been hired to assassinate a gentleman who has primary ownership of a rival corporation to my client. He wishes to overtake the company and take control of the industry, and with this man out of the way, he will be."

The car makes a turn, onto the main street, and they ease their way through the traffic towards their chosen resort. The crosswalks are wide and full of men and women of all ages, tanned and tall and healthy. Many clutch shopping bags or walk small dogs with jeweled collars. The number of guardsmen standing attentive at each corner does not escape their attention.

"An odd setting," is Hisoka's only comment.

"He is a recluse," Illumi adds, as if that explains everything. Hisoka raises an eyebrow.

"He never leaves his house. Like my brother. It has been over a decade since he's been seen in public, preferring to conduct all business and correspondence digitally or through proxies. However, the island is hosting a gallery of works drawn from his private collection, including some phenomenally rare artifacts. He is scheduled to make an appearance at the opening ceremony. Then, and only then, is my chance."

"You must have been preparing for this for quite some time, then." The car stops at another red light, and above them they can see the soaring face of a white plaster building, edged in balconies and faceted cantilevered windows like jewels. The building is connected on each side by glassed-in walkways, and wider windows on the level below place the event space Illumi had mentioned. It is lively and effortless, and absolutely none of it is to Hisoka's taste.

"I accepted the contract almost six months ago, although of course I could not have known I would have passed the Hunter Exam until a few days ago," Illumi answers. "I had no doubts. You spoke of it to me, after your failed attempt."

Hisoka frowns. "How unkind."

"The security systems here are state of the art and absolutely unlike those found anywhere else. Consider a venue like the Southernpeace Auction House—they hire hundreds of guards a year, and rely mostly on human effort to move and contain threats. Even my own family estate prefers more traditional means of security. Those here are more like window dressing—while there are staff present as both guards and attendants, the security is mostly entirely automated. Everything on the island runs on computer systems, which will make accessing the target more difficult."

"I haven't seen any cameras," he notes, craning his neck up at the next intersection and blinking through the harsh sunlight. "Are they hidden?"

"There aren't any. The residents here demand their privacy. That's why there are so many guards, and why the systems otherwise are so redundant. There are even laws against it—the public spaces have no cameras, but the belowground tunnels and vaults are full of them."

They pull into a long driveway and around a curved portico where Illumi hands off the car keys to a valet. A small black duffle bag, stored in the backseat, is his only form of luggage.

He eyes Hisoka, who has none at all. "I hope you're not going to wear that the entire time you're here."

Hisoka gives him an impudent smile, before saying, "I was thinking I might find some entertainment in going shopping. Can I charge everything to your room?"

Inside, they already have all the necessary paperwork ready and waiting for Illumi, who signs after showing his Hunter license again. When Hisoka walks towards the pool deck, Illumi heads in the opposite direction.

"You know where to find me, when you're ready," Hisoka says.

Illumi spends the better part of several hours casing the public spaces of the central buildings as well as he can, ducking inside a restroom in one of the shopping pavilions to change his appearance, jamming needles into the sides of his neck and head to adjust his hair to something short and blonde and give his face a blocky, square jaw and wide mouth. He changes into clothes from the duffle—reversible windbreaker and brightly colored shirt to more easily blend into the crowds here, styles that are adaptable and androgynous enough that they will not be out of place if he continues to adjust the pins—and uses the opportunity to study his surroundings. It is one thing to look at the blueprints on a map, and quite another to see it in person.

He is unable to access the gallery proper, preparing for the event the following day, but loiters around the lobby in two separate disguises, interacting with whatever attendants and maintenance staff he can find, asking questions about the history of the building—extremely new, although built to resemble older buildings in a style popular over seventy years ago, constructed by a famed, aged architect who died tragically a year later—and the exhibit, which the staff are far more willing to speak to him about.

The star of the gallery is not artwork, as Illumi had thought, but a rare gemstone, a blue diamond cut into elaborately notched peaks at each end, like a sunburst, elongated and faceted on the sides.

"They call it the Sorrow Diamond. It was said that the first time he saw it, when it caught the light, it sparkled so intensely that Mr. Vyse cried. It's one of the most exemplary examples of its kind," the guard says, a woman with braided hair and oversized eyeglasses. "The hardness and size of the material makes it difficult to cut, and this one is as long as your arm! It's never been on display before."

"Have you seen it yet?" Illumi, dressed this time in a short black bobbed hairstyle, windbreaker flipped around, asks.

"On the monitor, yes. But none of us will see it until the exhibit opens tomorrow. We're just as excited as you are!"

Illumi is not one to act or play the part, but he smiles broadly and thanks the woman in a voice pitched high from the needles in his neck. He catalogues what buildings and passageways he can see—they are accurate to the diagrams he has been provided, which is convenient—and from his estimations not one other individual here possesses the ability to use Nen.

Even the doors are automated, sliding in an arc to admit only one at a time. The windows are pressurized glass, bulletproof and shockproof against threat of hurricane or earthquake, and when he enters an elevator in the gallery lobby he takes note of the two doors, and the two sets of buttons—one to the ground floor, which he presses, and the others labeled by letters, not numbers, and accessible only through a keylock that he obviously doesn't have. Fire safety controls above are accessed by a separate but similar lock, and when Illumi steps out of the elevator again it is to duck into the public changing area by the beach and remove his pins to restore his former appearance.

It is the height of the afternoon, and the pool deck is crowded, the pools themselves built in crescent arcs over three different stepped platforms, with fountains that feed into one another and wide angled sundecks with recliners and cabanas covered with gold fabric. Many of the chairs are grouped for conversation or shaded beneath umbrellas or overhanging palm fronds, but Illumi spots a section of chairs in a prime patch of sunshine, all unoccupied except for one.

Hisoka stands at the foot of one chair, a towel in hand, his hair damp and his makeup smudged from swimming. Illumi approaches, dropping his bag on the adjoining chair and stopping to regard him.

He manages to look completely dignified, standing with his bare feet and his wide shoulders, even as his aura and the look in his eyes is enough to send the few people walking the deck nearby to take a wide path around them.

"Aren't you worried about getting a sunburn?" Illumi asks. Hisoka beams with open delight, his voice a swirl of hearts.

"Illumi, my Bungee Gum has the properties of both rubber and gum." He hooks a thumb in the waistband of his swimsuit and pulls it to the side, just enough to display the lack of tan lines, even after hours in the sunlight. When Illumi enhances his eyes with Gyo, he can see the light wash of aura around Hisoka's entire body.

"Switch to Zetsu," Illumi tells him, disparaging. "There are none to sense us here, but you can never be too cautious."

After a pause, the aura vanishes around Hisoka's body, and those walking across the far sundecks still give them puzzled looks, as if they can't tell what exactly has happened but they still know that something has changed.

"I've been enjoying myself," Hisoka says. "How about you?"

"I still have more work to do, but I wanted to see how you were settling in." It is hard not to stare at Hisoka's body as he turns, and Ilumi copies his behavior as Hisoka sits on one of the deck chairs, leaning back on his arms.

"I'm quite at ease." There's clubs in Hisoka's voice now, and he frowns at whatever he sees in Illumi's face. "I might even like to accompany you."

"That won't be necessary," he says. If anything, Hisoka's eyes turn even more appraising, his analysis piercing even deeper. "I'll be returning to the room to prepare. You should know not to expect me later."

"Ah, Illumi. The island really is quite something. I've never seen it before, and I had thought that it would be enough to hold my attentions—and yet. I find that you're still the most interesting thing here, even surrounded by all of this."

It is as if he expects some kind of grand reaction to his speech. Illumi leans forward; his nose wrinkles. "You probably didn't try very hard."

He can already feel himself perspiring underneath his layers, with his hair down around his neck. Beyond the pools and the courtyard and the palm trees, a set of wide stone steps lead down to a stripe of white sandy beach, with an endless expanse of ocean beyond that. He thinks he understands, how the view and the surroundings that so easily captivate others have no effect at all on him. But then he looks at Hisoka again, at his steady, unblinking appreciation, and cannot imagine his own face ever looking like that.

A muscle in his cheek twitches, the same way it would when he shoves a pin in deep against the bone to warp and distort the flesh. Only this time, there is no pin, and no excuse.

"I must go."

Hisoka leans backwards. "If you must. I'll see you later."

Another strange expression crosses Illumi's face, but he collects his things and leaves, passing families at the pool's entrance and couples at one of the cabanas, surrounded by a group of uniformed attendants. Illumi looks at their faces, trying to memorize each in turn, and when he crosses the threshold of the door, automated like the rest, his fingers tighten around the strap of his bag.

He can't remember the last time he turned down a contract. It's his policy never to do so, unless there is a direct conflict—he cannot make an airship move faster, cannot re-route the continents to put them closer together, and he recalls going out of his way to deliver his promised cargo, even when he should have been heading straight from the Exam to Σiami Beach.

Inside the hotel room, he spots a series of bags and packages, clearly Hisoka's doing. A few have been opened, tags for swimwear left beside receipts with a number that raises his eyebrows. He rifles through one of the bags, and finds a few shirts and a pair of couture red-and-black pants in his size. How thoughtful of Hisoka.

His duffle finds a place beside the shopping bags, and out of it he removes a white shirt, jacket, and pants, the customary uniform of the staff across Σiami Beach. It had been difficult for his client to obtain, moreso than any of the other files and information, and as he lays them out he notes the too-long sleeves and the too-wide body of the jacket. He will have to use his pins, to add more muscle and lengthen his arms.

He dresses, leaving his old clothes folded next to the new ones, rolling his sleeves up and leaving the collar open to stand before the mirror, silver pins clutched tightly in each hand. They must be symmetrical, and perfect to his discerning eyes—creating a duplicate of an existing face is always so much more difficult than creating something new or merely something different, like playing a game of opposites. He sweeps his hair over his shoulder before inserting the pins into the side of his neck, slanted upwards, to change the bone structure and give him a flatter, wider face, with blue eyes and a more prominent nose. A second set of pins above the ears at an angle gives him blond hair to his chin, and a third set lower in the throat gives his voice a deeper, gravely quality. More pins take their places along his arms and body, changing his form just enough to be indistinguishable from his own by sight and comparable to the dozens of others that will be standing with him on the gallery floor.

When he stands back and looks in the mirror again, the shirt buttoned up and the jacket lying smooth across his adjusted body, he is satisfied with a job well done.

Blades are hidden on his person—plastic, not metal, and when he exits the room he takes a different path to the event space, down hallways of diamond-patterned beige carpeting and embossed wallpaper in golds and blues. He shares an elevator with another guard in the same white uniform, and gets off on a lower floor than they do, the second door in the back of the elevator sliding open into the staff-only sections of the building.

There are others, mostly catering staff, preparing what they can to set up for the exhibit opening the next day—tables and chairs, consulting lists and checking supplies. A man in a white button-up and black vest assembles rolls of silverware at a table against the back wall in a maddeningly slow cycle. Others move faster—some are adjusting the curtains over the rows of windows to best let in the light, and a few crowd around the display boxes that will soon hold the artifacts for display.

The diamond is set to arrive in a few moments, accompanied by the man himself, Mr. Vyse. This would be Illumi's best chance, when the gallery is uncrowded and the avenues of escape are so open. He pauses, creeping closer, his attention focused on the door that leads to the secure holding space where they would have gone to retrieve the diamond. A few men and women clutter around it, some holding radio communicators, some holding film cameras. A woman arranges a beautiful flower arrangement on a table in the middle of the room, spiky palm fronds sticking straight into his field of vision. A few doors open and close, his pulse drawn tight as a string.

The door opens, led by two uniformed guards, likely security for the diamond more-so than the man. Illumi steps around the flowers, his hand tugging free one of the knives secured inside his sleeve. He sees him, Vyse, in a blue patterned suit clutching a box of riveted gunmetal gray.

His files had included information about his target. Everything that could be collected had been included, and yet it had been so little that it filled only a few papers, printed on both sides, and all data ceased the year he had entered seclusion on this island. The only photograph available was taken several decades prior, and features an older man, tall, with blue eyes and thick dark hair, just barely silver at the temples. The figure in front of him matches the photo, but he looks startlingly older, as if it's been more than twice the time since it was taken. And he stares as if off into the distance, unfocused on anything or anyone, his steps slow and breathing slower.

The box is placed atop a table, three different locks are disengaged, and the lid flipped open to reveal a glittering chunk of blue diamond nestled in gray foam. There are too many people surrounding his target, all clapping him on the back or angling for a better view.

At that same instant, Illumi notices the silverware man has moved, to stand with the rest, his arm outstretched, his aura pulsing. He is reaching for the diamond.

It is as if time has slowed. Illumi's eyes shift left, faster than the rest of his body can move, to see someone else darting forward, Hisoka's sharp-nailed hand pointed towards the silverware man's heart. His arm falls and he dodges, falling to the side, Hisoka tumbling after him, dressed in more resort clothes Illumi recognizes, and then everything else catches up as the box lid slams shut and everyone turns to stare.

In less than a breath, less than a heartbeat, all this has happened.

Illumi recovers first and surges forward, picking Hisoka up by the arm. The other man is quick to climb to his feet and addresses the crowd in a loud, pleasant voice.

"This man is clearly drunk," he says. "Look at him, stumbling around like this! I'll see him outside, no need to worry."

Guards are whispering to one another, following protocol—will his target be ushered back downstairs? Will his opportunity be taken from him yet again?

Illumi sinks his fingers into the meat of Hisoka's arm, dragging with all of the strength in his own enhanced muscles. The other man follows, and they crowd together as best they can out of the gallery, out of the lobby, and onto an outdoor veranda.

"Ah, Illumi, I almost didn't recognize you," Hisoka says first, and tries to draw his arm away without success.

Sometimes, with his pins altering his features, he finds it is easier to let his face twist and flex into something normal and expected—a smile, a grimace, a sneer. Illumi's expression now is ugly and poisonous.

"What could possibly be important enough for—" Illumi is cut off by the easy smile of the other man, who reaches up and begins to unwind the bandage tied below his bangs. He rakes a hand through his hair, squinting into the sun, and Illumi thinks, once again, that he understands.

"Kuroro Lucifer." Illumi turns, to regard Hisoka, who still wears the same murderous, delirious expression. "I see."

"Do I know you?" Kuroro is apologetic and surprisingly easygoing, considering Hisoka has just made a very real attempt on his life. He appears completely relaxed, and Illumi remembers the diamond, and the opening gala the very next day, and how he had reached, with so much clarity and intention, towards what he wanted.

Illumi reaches up, and adjusts one of the pins at his neck. His appearance flickers, like a mirage, and for a moment it is as if both faces are superimposed onto one another. Kuroro's eyes widen in recognition.

"Illumi Zoldyck. How good to see you again."

His manners occur to him, briefly. It hasn't been all that long since Silva got back from his contract. "I regret the loss of your Spider. I hope you don't hold it against me."

"A job is a job." Kuroro's posture is still for a moment, and his eyes flick back and forth between Illumi and the gallery windows at the other end of the veranda, curtains drawn.

Illumi releases his pins, his appearance stabilized. "And what is this for you? Business?"

"I'm afraid not. I saw my chance, same as you. This is the first time the Sorrow Diamond has been aboveground in over a decade. I will not let it go so easily."

"You left the room quick enough." For the first time, Hisoka speaks. His voice is pointed like spades.

"I was not alone." The easygoing nature returns. "I always travel with two legs of the Spider. I was not alone in that room, and I am not alone now."

In an instant, Illumi catalogues everyone he has seen, but he can not place the members of the Genei Ryodan as easily as others can. It is Hisoka who answers, full of disdain.

"The woman, the blonde one." He next scans the courtyard, looking for whoever the last would be. His eyes settle on what looks like a young boy in streetwear, his gray hair covering his entire face, hidden behind a palm tree, single visible eye fixed on them.

"Pakunoda and Coltopi," Kuroro confirms. "I had planned to steal the item today, but it looks like that won't be so easily done. You see? Just as you won't get your chance while I'm in pursuit of the diamond, I will have a much harder time of things if you target yours. The elusive Mr. Vyse, I'm guessing?"

"What do you know about the security of the vaults?" he asks.

"My research is not exhaustive," he admits easily. "But I know enough that we would not want to pursue our prizes below. Each subsection, opened by timers, operated entirely by automated processes. Chambers that open upon chambers, with different keycards and passwords known only to their specific holder. Redundancies on top of redundancies. Not one person can make it from one end to the other on their own."

"So you did not prepare for this? You seem unbothered by failure." Illumi's borrowed voice is harsher than he intends.

Kuroro taps the side of his head, above an earpiece in his right ear. "I am in contact with Pakunoda. The diamond and its owner have retreated below, only a few minutes after we left. We have lost our chance for the moment. But I believe we can work together, tomorrow, to ensure we both achieve what we want."

"You're being generous," Illumi says. To the side, Hisoka pouts at being ignored.

"It's as you say." He turns, at last, to Hisoka. "And I would prefer we not repeat this situation. Promise me you won't attack me again while we are here. You'll get your chance, my new number four."

Illumi's surprise is short-lived; to his mind, to his muscles, he is still in the middle of a job and must be ready to move, to attack or defend, at any moment. He doubts he would have believed it from Hisoka, but from Kuroro's mouth it is undeniable.

"You joined the Spider? Why?"

Hisoka shrugs artfully, his eyes still fixed on Kuroro. "I wanted to fight him. I still do. But I agree to your terms. Help Illumi finish his mission—give him the aid of your Spiders, and I will not harm a hair on your head."

"You can leave the particulars to me. Pakunoda is getting all of the information we need. All you have to do is show up tomorrow—in another disguise or not, it doesn't matter—and we take them together."

Then, together, they both turn towards Illumi.

He stands with uncertainty, not sure how to accept whatever agreement the two of them had bartered over his head. "I can do it by myself," he finds himself saying. "I do not need your help. Either of you."

"You are unused to having a team," Kuroro says. "I depend on mine to accomplish my goals. We are old friends. You should know you can depend on me."

Illumi nods, the gesture easier in a face that isn't his. "Then I accept."

"We'll see you tomorrow. I'll be in touch."

The glint of the sunlight reflecting off the windows of the tower blind him for a moment, and when his eyes clear Kuroro is gone. The other Spider is gone, too, and Illumi feels something inside his stomach twist at how easily things have fallen out of his control. He cannot recall ever taking a mission that has given him trouble—he plans every detail, leaves nothing to chance. And he remembers meeting the Ryodan leader, years ago, when he attended to some unfinished business of his mother's and several of their staff from Meteor City. He never made it that far, but Kuroro had interceded on his behalf, taken care of things for him then. Illumi had admired him, for his strength and the way he so easily drew others to him. Illumi has always found it difficult to display his passions so openly.

"Let's go back," Hisoka says, and they do.

"When were you going to tell me you had joined the Spiders?" Illumi asks, seconds after they enter their room. He crosses to the mirror, focusing on his appearance for only the brief time it takes to grasp the pins by their heads and pull them free. Like a balloon deflating, his skin shifts and changes before returning to normal.

"I'm not sure," Hisoka says, with delicacy. He examines his nails. "I was waiting for the right time."

"He said you were number four? Did you kill your predecessor, I wonder?"

"I did," Hisoka answers.

He remembers what he'd said, about Silva. "You didn't apologize for it."

"I did not." He crosses the room, watches as Illumi stores the pins on his person, watches him discard the white jacket and kick off his shoes. "They value strength. And Omokage was weak."

Illumi hesitates. He knows the moment that Hisoka sees it, too. "Show me."

Hisoka obliges, tugging away the layer of red floral-printed fabric to reveal smooth skin. And on his back is a tattoo, dark and stretching across his spine. Illumi doesn't know how he missed it, earlier.

There's an expression of private amusement on Hisoka's face, but he obliges further as Illumi reaches out, to set fingertips against the number in the center. His skin is warm, and just slightly damp with sweat.

"I don't think my pins can mimic tattoos," he says, almost idly. "I've never tried."

The impulse becomes very strong, to grab one of his pins—the small ones, for smaller details—and try to make black marks bloom over his skin. He used to try, when he was young, weaving patterns over his body with pins set at different angles to mix with his unique Manipulation Nen to practice and experiment. He would see what each could do.

The longer pins changed the bones, adjusted his features. At an acute angle, sometimes shallow, he could change smaller details—eye color, hair growth, freckles. Mostly, he was successful. He only ever got it wrong once before he learned what needed to be changed.

"Is there anything they can't do?" Hisoka regards him openly, props a hand on his hip and watches the way Illumi's eyes trace the motion. "Can you replicate a pre-existing person? What about a photograph?"

Ilumi blinks. "I tried to, today. I copied one of the guards I'd seen, while I was out. Why? Did something look off?"

A frustrated look crosses Hisoka's face. "Not really."

"It's not something I make a habit of." He's talking more to himself than to Hisoka, wandering the space, walking past the sofa and table littered with bags. The blinds are closed, and the room is darker for it, with only a few lights by the door and above the mirror to illuminate the space.

"I suppose it helps to examine your subject closer. To know them better."

"It's not about feeling," Illumi says, as Hisoka steps closer. "It's about detail."

There's a playing card in his hands. He brings it up—a joker—and when he brings it towards the seams at Illumi's shoulder as if it were a knife Illumi fixes him with a look. "I need this shirt. You can't rip it."

The card disappears with a flick of the wrist, and then Hisoka is leaning back on the bed, watching him as Illumi removes his shirt and folds it with mechanical efficiency.

Without an outlet for their earlier energy, and Hisoka's bloodlust, they find themselves tangled together, Hisoka paying particular attention to his neck and shoulders. His pins do not leave any marks, but Hisoka's mouth seems determined to find any, and if not, create them. It's not unusual that Hisoka is so forward, so attentive, and he continues to move his hands up Illumi's sides, pushing away Illumi's arms when he tries to reciprocate, to pull him closer.

He presses a kiss to the center of Illumi's chest. His breathing is elevated, his eyes dark.

Hisoka walks his fingers in a line up Illumi's body. "I have an idea."

It's phrased as a question, and it takes Illumi a few seconds to even register, his attention fixed elsewhere. "What?"

"I want you to do something for me."

Illumi leans up on his arms, watching Hisoka. He grins, confident.

"What is it?" Illumi asks.

"Use your pins. Change your face. Turn yourself...into Kuroro." He spends his time, savoring each word, watching for Illumi's shifting reactions.

Illumi stares at him for a long moment. Then, he reaches over, long hair swaying, and plucks a pin from his pile of belongings. A second follows, held between two knuckles of his right hand. He studies them, considering, and pulls his hair away from his face.

He looks at Hisoka again. His desire is almost tangible.

His hands are steady as he angles the pins, sliding them into his face above his ears to mimic Kuroro's high cheekbones and wide eyes, to shorten his hair and elongate his nose. He feels his face swell and flex, then contract, and when he blinks to clear his eyes he is left with Hisoka's open appreciation.

Hisoka turns his head to press his mouth against Illumi's sternum. "Your ability truly is spectacular."

"I'm glad you think so."

Hisoka's expression flatlines at the sound of Illumi's monotone voice coming out of Kuroro's mouth.

"Y-you didn't change..."

"I'll need a second set of pins to change the throat. These only change my face." He blinks, the expression owlish. "Should I get more?"

Hisoka recovers, his voice flush with diamonds. "Please? But I wouldn't object if you felt differently."

A second set of pins follows, inserted at a shallow angle at the very back of his throat. When he breathes, as if testing the air again, his voice catches. "It's difficult to get an exact match. It's why I don't like making copies."

The voice isn't Kuroro's, not exactly, but it's close enough, higher and sweeter, like a sigh.

Illumi reaches down to tug on Hisoka's arms, but gets a handful of red hair instead. He tugs anyway.

"Then you should get in some more practice," Hisoka says. "I'll do what I can to help."

Illumi has nothing to say to that.

The party is about to begin and Illumi can feel the barest of nerves fluttering like butterflies in his stomach. He attributes it to the face and form he wears, a different copy of a guard he'd seen while out shopping that morning, and he's made sure to pack extra weapons, study the maps and diagrams extra closely, and consult, however briefly, with their two new team members in what little time they had to work with earlier in the day. Kuroro's easygoing cheerfulness is alternatively irritating and reassuring, and when they meet at the gala, standing shoulder to shoulder, it is sour and burns in his mouth like an apple bunny coated in cinnamon.

Kuroro wears a suit, no tie, the top button undone. On his other side is Hisoka, in what might be called formal resortwear, something expensive and no doubt on Illumi's bill. He has forgone his usual facepaint at Illumi's request, and they watch the crowd together. The artwork in the exhibit hall is modern and colorful, mostly paintings, but a few sculptures in twisted metal or glass stand out, beside the cases of faceted minerals and gemstones.

Kuroro inclines his head. "Jenni for your thoughts?"

"Your associate is late."

Both the woman and the diminutive silver-haired man are missing, working on acquiring some things with a conspicuous and irritating lack of details. Their abilities, he'd been assured, had something to do with both the secrecy and their confidence, but it's not enough, for him.

"We do this all the time," Kuroro says. "The three of us. This is the third such heist we've engineered just this month."

Hisoka reacts to that, leaning in as if to listen better.

"And all successful," Kuroro continues. "You will see. We work very well together, the three of us."

It doesn't escape his attention that the Ryodan Leader talks not about the three of them here, but about himself and his two subordinates. Illumi doesn't have much faith in others, but he does tend to take a man at his word.

Hisoka holds out his arms, turning his palms up, as if to placate them both that he isn't holding a playing card or two. Illumi knows where he keeps his decks; he'd watched Hisoka dress, after he'd made a climbing tower on the coffee table and another on the countertop by the sink. Pointless habits.

Koltopi returns, moving quickly and with purpose. He stays barely long enough to slip a stack of cards into Kuroro's hands, then vanishes again into the crowd. Kuroro studies one for a moment, then hands it to Illumi.

"For you. Security clearance—the best we could obtain, at such short notice. Are you ready? I think your man is about to make a speech."

He switches the card to his left hand, flicking a pin between the fingers of his right. One of the longer ones, meant to serve more as a weapon than a tool.

"I'm going to find a better vantage point." Kuroro steps down, towards a railing, past a cluster of people clutching champagne flutes and laughing loudly. Hisoka takes the opportunity to move into the space he just vacated.

"If I had finished my contract yesterday, I'd be home by now," Illumi says, more to himself than to the others. Still, Hisoka answers.

"And miss out on the beach? The sunbathing?" He clucks his tongue in disapproval. "What is there for you, Illumi? Another contract, the demands of your family? What is it that you want? You have your license now—if you wanted, there is nowhere you could not go or nothing you could not do."

He stills. "I had not thought of it like that."

"Of course you hadn't. Did it ever occur to you why I got mine?"

"You were bored," Illumi answers quickly. "And you were bitter that they kicked you out last year, for killing that examiner."

"Yes, but—"

"And you wanted legal protections against murder." Illumi taps his chin with one finger. "And—"

"Besides all that." He speaks with an effusion of clubs. "Freedom, Illumi. It is so troublesome, to keep track of contracts and appointments, to be at the beck and call of another. The Ryodan send me on missions, keep me busy, string me along. But I anticipate things will be so much better now than they have been before. You'll see. It will be the same for you, too."

Illumi stares at Hisoka, then at the gold curtains behind him and crystal chandeliers above him, in mod, geometric shapes, and the tailored cut of Kuroro's tuxedo coat as it frames his shoulders as he stands before the crowd as if it were a sea. More crystals, hanging from the ceiling, more gold, more company, more smiles.

Next, he looks where Kuroro looks, at a podium before the doors to the gallery hall. It is empty, but enough guards in white jackets stand at attention beside it that he knows his time is close. He rotates the pin in his hands, a habit he'd thought he'd long outgrown.

Surrounded by a cadre of guards, the same man appears, Vyse, tall and slight with white hair and a suit of dove gray linen. He steps up to the podium, clasps his hands together, and begins to speak.

"Welcome, everyone—"

Illumi throws the pin, quicker than anyone can blink, angling it just so that it bounces off a column on the man's right to strike him in the neck, so when anyone looks for the source they are pointed in the wrong direction.

The man moves.

He twists his head, masking the gesture as if making an even deeper appeal to the crowd before him, and the pin sinks harmlessly into the wall at his back. Then, his head rises, seeking a face in the crowd.

Illumi is still, frozen on the spot, and Vyse's eyes sweep right over him, past them all, and if a small frown appears on his face as he continues to speak, it can only be because he has found no one at fault.

He had been told nothing to indicate that this man knew anything at all of Nen. Nothing in his research, nothing in his personal or professional relationships, but here is something he has not anticipated or accounted for. There is a second pin, easily freed from its place in the cuff of his jacket. He prepares to throw again, from a different direction.

The pin bounces off one of the crystal baubles in the ceiling, and again Vyse dodges with the barest of motions, so subtly interwoven in the gestures of his speech that Illumi has to wonder yet again if he noticed at all.

But then he looks down, at the pin bolted to the top of the podium. He traces it with a finger, and for a moment his eyes are much sharper, and so much brighter. Even bluer than Silva's.

Illumi turns, not to Hisoka, but to Kuroro, who is by his side in a similar act of orchestrated composure.

"Easy now," he says, taking Illumi's elbow, and leaning to the side to hide his mouth. "Keep your Zetsu. This is most unexpected. What do you suggest we do?"

Undeterred, Vyse acts as if the threat is over, and swings into the meat of his speech, thanking donors and offering a brief history of the diamond and some of the rarer artworks.

"I suggest," Illumi says, "we target someone instead who can't as easily defend against our attacks. Protocol will dictate they all return to the underground vaults, and follow a strict series of orders. We were already planning on stealing the diamond from there. They will move exactly as we want them to." His eyes glint, dark. "They will have no choice."

Kuroro nods, still facing away. With a flick of the wrist, Illumi sends a pin not towards Vyse, but the senior donor he has just recognized. The pin embeds itself into his throat, and he collapses instantly and without even so much as a cry.

By the time the guards reach him, a thin stream of blood has begun to coat his neck and the front of his clothes. Someone in the crowd screams, and then there is panic. The guards rush forward in a line, to better assist in the evacuation, and only a few are left to escort Vyse, through a side door and into the maze of staff corridors beyond.

Immediately, Illumi and Kuroro move. Hisoka is slower to catch on, but Illumi grabs him by the arm, tugging him through the gallery doors and onto the exhibit floor. It is empty, but they can still hear the voices and shouts from the other room. Koltopi joins them as if a shadow. They approach the diamond.

"The glass is unbreakable," Kuroro reminds them. "Although very sensitive to heat."

He extends his right hand, and in the instant it takes Illumi to engage his eyes with Gyo Kuroro is holding a book. He flips the pages, settling on one, and after a moment of concentration a small flame blazes between his thumb and index finger. He brings his hand down, the effort blatant, as if such an ability is more suited towards creating a far mightier blaze and containing it at all is a far more difficult task.

On contact with the glass, a series of sensors in the corners of the case start to blink red, and then the entire section of floor begins to descend. It is barely enough for the four of them to stand around, each placed on one side of the case like the points on a compass, and as they drop it picks up speed, falling some ten stories at least before they come to a stop in the middle of a vault of gray concrete and the ceiling closes over their heads. A clicking noise, and the case begins to retract on its own, carried away somewhere even deeper underground.

Kuroro fishes around in the pocket of his clothes before removing the same earpiece he'd worn the previous day.

"Paku has been at the surveillance consoles for hours now," Koltopi says in a harsh, chiding voice. He taps the side of his head, beneath a curtain of hair, where Illumi can only assume is a second, matching device. "She has a lot to say about what we're doing."

"Which is?" The look of disdain on Hisoka's face is soon swallowed up by curiosity as they examine their new surroundings.

"Vyse is with three men, moving west. We've got to move fast if we want to intercept him," Kuroro says. "However, each chamber is set to open on timed locks. The idea is that guards would have time to assemble and get in position before exposed to any threat. And any thief would need multiple rounds of clearance just to get through one chamber."

He shrugs, and the book disappears. "Luckily, we have Koltopi."

"It's nothing." He holds up another card, this one different from the others. "I've copied the security clearance badges of a number of employees, just as Paku was able to get inside their heads to learn their passcodes and their secrets."

A pause, while Hisoka's face contorts into a grimace. "We all have our uses."

Koltopi turns to him. "So what is it your ability does again?"

"My Bungee Gum—"

Kuroro is already by the door, swiping his own keycard. It opens, and Illumi is behind him a moment later.

Koltopi reaches out. "Ah, wait—"

The door closes, followed by a mechanical whirring noise. His visible eye blinks furiously, his head downturned as he listens to the earpiece. "Ah, yes. We can take the second door. They will only open one at a time, so we'll have to take a different path. They will meet up eventually, though. If you were worried about such a thing."

Hisoka's gloom is expansive and all-consuming. "...rubber and gum."

The room they find themselves in is constructed similarly to the first, in the exact same dimensions, with walls and a roof of steel beams interspersed with smooth gray concrete. He turns, expecting to see Hisoka, but instead a door of metal separates them from the others.

"They're not usually so slow," Kuroro says, studying the shelves built into the walls, empty. It looks like they might be used as a staging point, to hold things in transit from the more secure vaults to the gallery floor.

"They do not care as much about our goal as we do." Illumi holds up the card he was given. It feels like plastic, looks like the real thing, but knowing it is created by Nen makes him distrust it, if only in the vaguest sense.

"After you," Kuroro says, pointing towards one door, set against the far wall. A series of lights above it blink in alternating yellow flashes. "Once the timer clears, we'll be able to leave. There's nothing to do until then."

Illumi suggests, "We could play a game of shiritori, to pass the time?"

Koltopi flips through the stack of cards in his hands, finally selecting one and swiping it. The door opens, and he is through it in an instant.

"I wouldn't linger," he says, to the empty space Hisoka has already vacated. "If you fall behind, you won't be able to keep up."

"I'm aware." It's accompanied by a frown as he pulls out a deck of playing cards, shuffling them and selecting one with the same flourish as Koltopi finding the proper clearance keycards. "At least this room seems to have some entertainment."

The door closes behind them, the new room revealing a vast array of equipment and bric-a-brac. Most of it seems to service the building around them—there are no fewer than three extra podiums of different styles, folding presentation screens and stacks of chairs, shoved against the back wall. A few projection monitors, still in their boxes.

There are three other doors to choose from, and after a moment of deliberation with Pakunoda in his earpiece Koltopi points towards the door on the left.

"This one will not reconnect us with the others but it will get us to one that can." He glances over, to where Hisoka is tucking a joker against the lucite top of a podium desk. "At least the targets cannot move any faster than we do."

"Nothing you can do about that?" Koltopi isn't even looking at him, despite the way Hisoka looks at him down the length of his nose, with visible dismay.

"No." He goes to stand by the door.

Hisoka digs into a box, finds a remote for one of the projectors, tosses it aside. "I wonder what the others are doing right now."

"Interaction."

"Onerous."

"Usually."

"Lying."

"Ingrained."

"Educate."

"Terminal."

"Aldehyde."

"Destroy."

"Oyster."

"Error."

"Ordinance."

"Answer."

Kuroro scratches at his chin. "Is that a valid response? It matches the sound, but not the spelling."

"Ideally, it should be both. But we never specified the exact ruleset." Illumi sits cross-legged, an arm's length away, his posture beginning to slouch.

"You're very quick at this game." The lights still blink yellow as the minutes tick on. "Shouldn't be too much longer now."

"I like it a lot," he says. "Shall we continue?"

"Very well. Ermine."

"Nesting."

"Ingot."

The lights switch to green.

"Ah!" Kuroro is on his feet in an instant, moving to the door. "Swipe your card, Illumi. I want to get to the diamond first."

Illumi is sullen, moreso than he expects, at the suspended game. "You don't play games like this, do you?"

"Not really," Kuroro answers readily, as Illumi swipes his card and the two move into a new room. "And not often. But I am enjoying myself, this time. Are you?"

Illumi could say that he has been, and then he was not, and now is unsure. When he speaks, it is after carefully considering his words.

"I think I will, once this is over. When the job is complete."

Kuroro's face falls a bit, but he recovers quickly. "You win, by the way. I concede."

It does not work like that, but he says nothing. It does not feel like a victory, and he wants to say in that moment that he knows what that feels like. But then, without knowing about defeat to compare it to, can he really be sure?

"Ah, the others will like this room," Kuroro says, and for the first time Illumi notices its contents. Kuroro's eyes gleam, as if the prior conversation is already forgotten; as if a simple loss meant nothing at all.

Even the possibility is much harder for Illumi to let go of.

When Hisoka and Koltopi enter the vault, they see Kuroro and Illumi bickering in front of a bright red sports car, one meant for racing with a fluid, sculpted roof and angled doors. Illumi has his hands on his hips, staring, as Kuroro touches one of the side mirrors.

"It's almost as beautiful as the diamond," he says, with both appreciation and regret. "But infinitely harder to smuggle out of here. This is one of the nicer models, too."

Almost on a whim, Koltopi stretches out a hand, and with a glow of Nen suddenly there is a second car beside the first.

"I can hotwire it, if I can get inside," Kuroro says. He looks younger like this, the lines on his face smoothed away by excitement. "I'd rather not break the door if I can help it."

"How do you even know if it'll run? Maybe it just copied the framework, but not the gas." Hisoka tries to peer inside the darkened glass.

Koltopi sounds insulted. "It copies everything perfectly. If I copied a body, there would still be blood inside it, right?"

Illumi stares at the car, and his reflection in the mirrored shine of the paint. "You say that like you know from experience."

"Of course."

"The vault door is going to open, soon." This one is wider, meant to store and convey vehicles like the one before them—and others, from golf carts to black unremarkable shuttles to a similar racing car in a bright, unfashionable purple, set at angles from each other in the hangar as if on display. "We should be ready."

"I hope there's more than just the one," Hisoka says. "It's been so long since I've had a good fight."

Kuroro pauses. "Weren't you supposed to be at Heaven's Arena right now? I thought I saw your name on the match schedule."

Hisoka makes a pretense of bashfulness. "Oh, was I? I forget."

There's the sound of twisting, grinding metal and then Kuroro pries the door of the conjured car open, the hinges broken and useless. Inside, he pulls wires free and studies them.

"Do we really have time for this?" Illumi asks.

Kuroro's head peeks out from behind the wheel, smile winsome. "We had time for a game."

He is still working on the wires when the light changes from blinking yellow to solid green, and Koltopi leaves them to fuss with the door and his stack of cards. When the door opens, a group of figures come into view—the white-jacketed guards, standing at a perimeter, and the gray-suited figure of Vyse, standing in front of a machine set into the center of the floor. From within it rises a box of glass, itself containing within it the gossamer-blue Sorrow Diamond.

Illumi feels as though his perspective has been tilted, like the borrowed face and eyes are having an even stronger effect on his mind and his nerves. But he steps forward, past the others, and lets the field of his Nen expand.

This is when Hisoka chooses to throw the detached car door over their heads and into the path of the guards. It takes down at least two, and then he is charging towards the rest.

Illumi keeps his distance, coming no closer to Vyse than he had in the gallery lobby. He throws a pin, and as if rehearsed, the man dodges with a confounding ease.

"I used to stare at my artifacts," he says, gesturing towards the wall at his left—a wall, that Illumi can now see, is peppered with similar cases full of various trinkets and oddities. "None were as precious to me as this gem. But there were others—and I would stare, and stare, wishing each hour was longer in the day so that I would have more time to devote to its contemplation."

The man blinks, and when Illumi focuses with Gyo he can see the lightest wash of aura surrounding him, and, even stranger, many of the objects on the shelves around him.

"You know Nen?" he all but shouts. To see it confirmed provokes feelings he can not quite describe.

"What is Nen?" His voice is placid, and he moves like lightning, dodging each subsequent attack as Ilumi gets closer.

"A Nen genius," Illumi says, more to himself than to Vyse, "of perhaps...Enhancement Nen, it would seem. You enhance your senses—your eyes, your ears, your body—to be able to move much faster than the average person. But that is not it, is it? We all must look so slow to you."

"You do. You all do." His entire body shifts, out of the way of a playing card thrown at a guard attempting to cover him. Vyse turns his head, thick white hair shaking. His eyes are pinpricks, moving in patterns like a swarm. "Everyone was slow. Business was fast, for awhile. But not enough. Not until..."

Illumi takes the chance to dive closer, a group of pins clutched in his hands, held between the knuckles. He swipes, and Vyse moves again, quicker than Illumi can follow, his breathing and motions unhurried even as guards fall all around them, some to cards, others to a segmented knife in Kuroro's hands, and others still to conjured copies of their own weapons.

Vyse strikes, for the first time, and although there is less strength behind the attack than a traditional Enhancer he bats the pins out of Illumi's hands, and Illumi lets them fall out of shock, still to some level full of disbelief that all of his research has been flawed, his expectations reversed, and even with his target standing right in front of him he cannot seem to deal the final blow.

Illumi reaches for another pin and finds his sleeve empty. He reaches for the other one and finds it empty too.

He stands still for a moment, his own perception heightened as he imagines it is for Vyse, and reaches up to pull the pins from his face free. As his skin shifts, his eyes clear, returned to his normal form, and as he raises the pins like weapons he wonders what reaction Vyse will have to such a clear presentation of the reality of Nen.

Vyse isn't even looking at him at all.

His attention is caught then, by the artifacts on the shelves, some glistening with artificial light, and then he is turned towards the diamond, his movements just as quick and efficient as they'd been dodging his attacks, and he breathes as if with reverence, as if he has completely forgotten all other constraints and he has all the time in the world.

The diamond named Sorrow glows blue with aura and some kind of sediment or geological impurity, and Illumi sees it reflected in Vyse's eyes for the moment before he brings the pins down, impacting solidly into the back of his head and sliding without resistance into his brain. The moment he falls, Illumi is crushed by relief.

Kuroro's steps are measured and heavy as he approaches the case, lifting one of Vyse's limp hands and using his fingerprints to open the mechanisms on the case. He removes the diamond, studying it for a moment with a similar care and appreciation, before he covers it with a small black sack and stows it on his person.

"I will see it in the light," he says to Illumi, as if to explain the lack of ceremony. "Not like this. This is...nothing."

Illumi nods, and Koltopi is beside him in an instant, discarding spent gun clips. The room is remarkably silent.

"We can leave by this path," he says, and points towards one of the hangar doors on the farthest side of the room. "The boat I copied still has another five hours on it. Plenty of time to get to the mainland."

"And us?" Hisoka approaches, discarding a pair of aces covered in blood. "I hadn't wanted to leave so quickly."

A moment passes, while Kuroro listens to the earpiece. "Pakunoda will cover your involvement, and your escape. I think it's best if we part ways here, but I will see if I can find you another card."

Illumi approaches the prone body of a guard he recognizes, the most senior of their number, and after a quick search he removes an elevator key from his pocket and holds it up. "I don't think we'll be needing it."

"We worked well together," Hisoka says. "I hope it won't be too long before we see one another again."

"Perhaps I will hire you." Kuroro laughs as the idea comes to him, and holds out a hand. Illumi grasps it, and Hisoka reaches out to place one of his hands atop their closed fists. "Would you like a job?"

Illumi thinks of his schedule; it is not as clear as he would like, and not as clear as it will be. "Of course. I'll keep my calendar open for you."

"Perhaps this September, in York New City. I have several plans that are all starting to come together."

"September," Hisoka echoes.

"I'll enjoy working with you again," Illumi says. They drop their hands, and then as one they turn, heading in separate directions. Illumi does not glance back, and as Hisoka falls into step beside him he notes that Hisoka's aura has receded into something subdued and simmering.

"I haven't booked flights," Illumi says, and when that is met with silence he expands. "I thought we could stay here a little longer."

"Oh, Illumi," Hisoka says with a smile, his voice full of hearts. "You have the best ideas."

The deck chair on Illumi's right is empty. He glances to his left, at Hisoka, wearing a matching button-up beach shirt to Illumi's own and a pair of designer sunglasses, his head propped on one raised arm.

Even through the dark lenses, he knows he's watching him.

"It suits you," Hisoka says. His own is unbuttoned. "I knew you'd end up needing one."

"I got blood on my other shirt," he says, as if he requires no further explanation or excuse.

"This place has a few lovely restaurants. I've made a reservation at one. Is seven good for you?"

A pause. "I have no more plans," he says. He'd already sent confirmation of the kill to his client, and his salary has already been deposited into his bank account.

Hisoka beams. "Good, good!"

He continues to talk, about the casino this hotel shares with the adjacent one, and how maybe they could visit it, after dinner and drinks of course. Illumi thinks about the type of missions he usually takes—easy, quick ones, with the salary the only deciding factor. Any job Hisoka pursued would be a challenging one, something that pitted his strength and resources against those of others. Any monetary reward was inconsequential, especially when other rewards were worth so much more.

"Perhaps, Illumi," Hisoka says, and Illumi sits up to look at him more clearly, "you can plan to take a job this winter? Maybe at a ski resort?"

End.

Notes:

1. Sticking to Hunter World naming conventions, Σiami Beach is pretty obviously inspired by Miami Beach. In canon, we know that Illumi got his license because of a job, and out of all the tenets of what a Hunter license can be used for (killing, which he can already do as a literal assassin; financial credit, which he doesn't really need more of; access to facilities/locations typically restricted for general population, etc), I figured 'access to exclusive locations' was the reason his client would have had him get one. Everything else about the setting and characters was fictionalized, although there is precedence for items housing some subtle Nen the way the Benz knife and Zepile's creations do. While this story stands independently of the others I have written in my personal canon it takes place between OBELUS and TRILLIUM and contains an oblique reference to DESIDERATUM in the flame ability from Kuroro's book.

2. If this setting sounds at all familiar, this story was expanded upon a gift for hxhsecretsanta [mymisguidedfairytale. tumblr post/106149650305/fanfiction-hunter-x-hunter-license-to-kill] I wrote about four years ago. Back then, I didn't have the time to write more than a few hundred words, but I'm so happy now to have the chance to do it to my satisfaction.

3. The 'red and black couture pants' are a reference to Illumi's flame pants from the Chairman Election Arc, AKA my favorite outfit of his ever. I wanted to give them an origin story lol. Apple bunnies are Illumi's canonical favorite food. Shiritori is a game of matching words from their ending sounds; the Zoldyck siblings names all progress according to shiritori. The Sorrow Diamond was inspired by the Hope Diamond. As far as the antagonist in the story goes, you might say his name was inspired by...Miami Vice lol

4. Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your reviews.

~Jess (My Misguided Fairytale)