*HxH Disclaimer*

Author's Notes: Courtesy of Bai-Feng, I realized that I may be writing about a sensitive topic/s. :P Not cloning per se, but a whole lot of other things revolving around our beloved Kurata. ^^;; Apart from a (sort of) pre-planned plot, I also plan to address those topics somehow. 'Twill be a pleasure. :3

P.S. I also realized that this fic has gotten quite dark and then some (still is), so maybe I'll put in some humor in future chapters.

P.P.S. Let's try using more of Kurapica's point of view (third person) for this chapter. See how it turns out. ^^

Living Things
By: DW-chan

Four: A Fine Line

You haven't signed anything, the scientist named Barrow told him. You haven't set anything on stone. You're free to leave.

Kurapica was certain that while he had not written anything down, he had signed his name on a figurative book of demons, when he assented to take part of this project. One demon is a good as any; as he told Barrow, there was nothing to lose. Perhaps there was one thing left, and even that was elusive to him. He could still lose his sanity entirely. He glimpsed of a long, seemingly never-ending tightrope that connected him and his goal of getting his people's eyes back from these so-called "people of science." Barrow was wrong. He was not free to leave. He felt a weighty obligation fall on his shoulders. These clones are still living duplicates being toyed around with in this abysmal Project. He should not feel bound to them, and yet he did.

When this clone, this woman, this thing with his mother's face swept her gaze from the ground he stood on to the hair on his head, and finally when she met his eyes, he felt revulsion and a strange tenderness grow within him at the same time.

He was not entirely sure if his presence had any effect on the clone. He held his ground as the woman continued to scrutinize him. He flitted his gaze for a moment to the mirror where Barrow stood at the other side. He only saw a reflection of himself and how unkempt he looked, as well as the clone's reflection and how pristine she looked in contrast to him.

Kurapica had read many books, but he knew next to nothing about human cloning. He had held the notion in utter distaste when he first read about it, and avoided the subject altogether. But what does that matter now? Tournay and Barrow kept going on and on about how the Kurata clones could be an exception. Was he willing to test their theories? He had already agreed to step into their little playground. They had awoken a clone of his mother. They would wake the clone of his father. Forty other Kurata clones awaited their fate as they slumbered peacefully in their capsules. Would he just leave this accursed place to burn in hell? He knew the answer: there was no turning back.

He once more regarded his mother's clone. Kurapica felt a knot form in his stomach when the clone began to show visible signs of emotion. Her forehead wrinkled, her mouth slightly fell open. Her hands jerked slightly at her sides, as if she wanted to lift them but thought otherwise. Kurapica swallowed hard. Was the clone finally registering the memory of him into her mind?

Keeping his voice firm but only slightly gentle, he asked of the clone: "Do you know where you are?"

He felt like a fool immediately afterwards. Would the clone remember to speak? Would the clone remember that, in another lifetime, she was an adult who had learned many skills and gained many habits? Then again, what did he know? Why did he care? Yet he plowed through.

"Do you know where you are?" he repeated, more slowly. His eyes widened a little when the woman met his gaze once more. His mother's clear grey eyes stared back at him, but the furrow on her brow never left. To his surprise, the clone sluggishly but daintily shook her head.

He snapped his gaze to the mirror. If any of the scientists saw that, they were very close to proving their theory. He remained speechless for a while as he observed the clone follow his gaze until she glimpsed the mirror. She was puzzled for a moment when she finally did see herself on the mirror, but just as quickly as her eyes met her reflection, she darted them away again, back to him.

The knot in his stomach had moved to his throat. He knew it was a question he had to ask, theories be damned. He wanted to know for himself and himself alone. He felt squalidly selfish for a moment before he recomposed himself and found his voice.

He lowered it considerably, to mimic a whisper. "Do… do you know who I am?"

The woman did not seem to acknowledge the question. She stood there, almost unmoving, and then, to Kurapica's astonishment, she began to slowly walk forward.

Hold your ground, Kurapica thought to himself, even as he wanted to leave the ghastly room where the clone was, right at that moment. Hold your ground.

The woman finally lifted a hand; it stopped inches away from his face. Her outstretched fingers folded one by one until her pointer finger was the only one left.

"I—" the woman began.

Kurapica's heart fell. That was indeed his mother's voice.

"I kn-know you," the clone finally formed the words. She still looked confused, dazed, and more than a bit lost, as if discovering her newfound knowledge was strange to her.

"Who am I?" Kurapica found his voice again. Why was he urging the clone on? There was just an obstinate part of him that wanted to know.

The expression on the woman changed. There was a light that danced on her face somehow. It was as if a veil had lifted itself from her mind. And that was when Kurapica really knew that whatever Tournay, Barrow, and the lot of them had been trying to prove about their theory on memory, had been proven.

"I… remember." The clone intoned. Her voice was airy, but there was a traceable happiness in it. Her outstretched arm retracted only so that she can level her hand just a little below her shoulders. "But… you… used to just be this high."

It could have been a funny turn of events, but only a coldness crept into Kurapica's insides. Hold your ground, he repeated to himself.

He had been speaking the Kurata language in all that time. And the woman understood, and she spoke it herself.

This was too much.

"You…" he began. "You're not my mother."

He knew he had failed himself when he turned away and walked out of the room, and did not stop until he was back in the area where Barrow and the rest of the scientists were. When he finally reached the now more crowded room behind the one-sided mirror, he grabbed at the wall to steady himself. Barrow warily walked to his side.

"It was more than you can handle," he said quietly. This man had grown a level of sympathy for him, Kurapica knew. This man seemed different. He hadn't entirely trusted Barrow yet, but there was something about the man that was warmly forgiving, and he quite reminded him of Senritsu. When he confided in Barrow, it had been a risk. But the loneliness had won over.

"You saw what happened," Kurapica stated.

Barrow nodded. "Everyone saw what happened, Kurapica."

"Indeed, that's quite true!" Tournay's voice filled the room. The older man walked up to them. Kurapica tried to glance at the mirror-window once again, but he noticed that the lights had been turned up brighter, so that he barely saw the other room and the occupant inside it. "Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Damn you, Kurapica wanted to say, but instead he answered with a, "Yes." He gritted his teeth. Will Tournay ever wipe that damnable smile off his face?

"It seems that you've found your footing in the grand scheme of things, eh?" Tournay dribbled on. "What you did there turned out better than I could have imagined. You even spoke in your native tongue! Music to the ears. That was good work, my boy!"

"Zan, Kurapica looks tired. And I think he is, considering that he hasn't given a damn about you keeping on with this 'my boy' business," bantered Francis Barrow. He was only half-joking, but it was true. Kurapica was tired, and he hadn't felt so tired in days. He felt drained that he even thought that the rage had drained out of him as well. Just this morning, he wanted to cut all their throats. Now he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep a deep, dreamless sleep.

"Ah, that's why I'm reserving tomorrow to wake Dad up, huh," Tournay quipped animatedly. "See, there you go—waking one had already been a riot. Think about how things could've turned out if we've waken a dozen of them in one go."

"Zan, that's enough. Please," Barrow insisted.

"Francis, you're a hopeless bore," Tournay continued to jape. "All right, I guess that's enough excitement for one day. Kurapica, if you now had given up the notion of killing us all in our sleep, you can stay in the facility for as long as you like!"

"And you're still an incorrigible ass, Zan," Barrow retorted lightly. He turned to Kurapica, and the boy acknowledged the man, though he felt that he had wandered into a state of being near-catatonic once more.

"You know, he's right," Kurapica uttered. "I can still very well wipe you all out in your sleep."

"Then do us all a favor and kill Tournay first," Barrow suggested. Kurapica stopped short. Was the man joking? But Barrow had turned to him and he smiled, a smile of jesting and warmth.

For the first time since Kurapica can remember, he felt a sliver of a smile form at a corner of his lips. He felt like a simpleton when he found himself at loss for words.

"The men who escorted you down here would most likely be the same men who'll escort you to your quarters, Kurapica," Barrow said. He moved to check his watch. "It's nearing ten in the evening. Call it a day."

"Will you really be waking my father's clone tomorrow?" Kurapica sputtered before he could stop himself. He inwardly cringed with how so much he sounded like a child.

Barrow's expression changed, then he shook his head and sighed. "Frankly, I'm still against it. But it's really up to you, Kurapica, even when Zan thinks he can always get his way for being a senior member of the Project."

"It is," Kurapica acquiesced. "It us up to me."

Kurapica knew that he had left Barrow wondering about his words when everyone turned in for the night.

However, even he himself wondered about his own words.

Francis Barrow was one of the last men who left the underground facility. Only Dr. Rinder and five security agents had to remain in lab, among the recuperating rooms, where they contained the clone of Kurapica's mother. The boy had long gone from the facility; Barrow was surprised with how the boy took off with the men who escorted him, without protest or hesitation. Did the boy want to put as much distance as he can between himself and the clone? Or was the he too lost in his meanderings to care about his surroundings?

Barrow finished the last sentences of his log, where he had taken down notes of the earlier events. His encounter with the last naturally-born, living Kurata was far too complex to just put in mere "observational data." If the log enabled him to make imprints of his emotions rather than his thoughts, it would have been far more accurate. As it is, he had to do with simple words.

He decided to work under the light of the reservatory's viewing room; somehow he felt a definite, odd comfort of having the Kurata clone capsules in his sight. At a far end the capsule of Kurapica's father's clone remained suspended in a half-lying position, definitely standing out among the identical rows of silver, dimly-lighted capsules. The place looked dreary, cold, and lifeless. The clones slumbered on; in the days to come, which ones would next be subjugated to the fate that the first wakened clone had and will continue to undergo?

He shook his head briskly to get rid of bothersome thoughts. He saved the log with a tap on his tablet and was about to leave when the door of the viewing room slid open. It was Tournay, and Barrow gave an inward sigh of minor irritation.

"Francis, loosen up. You've been acting like a beleaguered little owl ever since the Kurata kid came in," Tournay exclaimed before Barrow said a word, remaining in one of his good moods.

"Kurapica."

"What's that?"

"The 'Kurata kid' has a name, Zan."

"Hmmm," Tournay held his chin for a minute, while his other hand was slid in one of his coat pockets. "Are we being quite sentimental about the boy, Francis?"

"Well, it was Dr. Henri, after all, who did name this the 'Sentiment Experiment,' once upon a time," Francis replied. "And Zan, while I can't stop you from treating the boy like some mere fragment of your research, you can at least try to be concerned about his welfare."

"Touching," Tournay chuckled. "I do admit; I'm quite fond of the youngster. Spirited, highly intelligent, calculated yet impulsive—"

"Would you rather write the log?" Barrow offered. "Zan, the boy could very well be your grandson. He could very well be my own son."

"I've always admired the paternal streak in you, Dr. Barrow," Tournay returned. "If I recall, you're only about fourteen or fifteen years older than the boy. You could, then, have been his teenage father."

"Lovely joke, Zan."

"Many thanks."

"Now, Francis," Tournay went on, reverting to a more serious, even hushed tone, but a shard of amusement still shone in his eyes. "I've seen you treat the boy. I've heard the words you said. I'll let them pass for now since I did practically give each member of the team free reign over their own behavior in the Project."

"What would be your point?"

"Piece of friendly advice, Francis," Tournay said. "Don't get too attached to the boy. It would be to your own disadvantage."

"Now you're telling me to do, you cunning, old bastard," Francis remarked. In better days he would have said it with more affection.

"You're welcome." Tournay then grinned. "Well, looks like you were wrapping up. I leave you know to your own devices, Dr. Barrow." Tournay set to leave. "Have a good night."

"Good sleep?" Barrow asked of the young man. Kurapica made a face for a moment before returning to his breakfast.

"Me neither," said Barrow to Kurapica's unspoken reply.

Kurapica had been invited to have breakfast with them, and the boy unceremoniously joined the team in their gathering, stony faced, but with a small amount of uneasiness. There were five new faces apart from the five scientists he first encountered the day before. Tournay mentioned that there were "about sixteen of them." The huge pantry contained ten.

From the corner of his eye he could see how the five new faces often stared at him and talked in low, excited whispers. Rinder, the man who had the jitters in his presence, was eyeing him nervously from his coffee cup. Introductions have been made; the scientists tried to be friendly, but he brushed them off. He did not feel at that moment to be ascribed to any of them. But Barrow, the persistent one, took the liberty of sitting by his side, with, of course, a considerable distance away. Tournay, on the other hand, casually read a periodical on his tiny laptop on a far end of the table, detachedly humming an obscure tune.

Against his will, that night, images of his mother's clone played in his mind. He should have known better than to shut out the very reason he lost control of his level-headedness the day before. He was never good at shutting out any past occurrences. He fiddled the scrambled eggs on his plate, not really in the mood to enjoy any of the food. Save for one instance, he never wore his Nen chains in the facility. Somehow he felt that there was no need to use them, at least for now. They also seemed so out of place. Nen may not be a strange phenomenon to these people of science, but they'd rather focus on more tangible, measurable subjects.

Like me, he thought. He marveled at how he regarded the matter casually.

"Don't worry, they treated her well," Barrow said, out of the blue. Kurapica knew he was referring to the clone.

"I wasn't asking."

"I made a good guess that it was in your mind." The voice was gentle.

"It doesn't matter. I'll be seeing two clones today, am I not?"

"When you're ready."

"Nothing to lose."

"I'll have to say, that's quite a strange mantra to keep," Barrow admitted. "But if that settles you down…"

"It does."

Barrow smiled. "Very well."

A new face—a certain Dr. Rasken Henri, approached them, gave a nod to Kurapica which, naturally, the boy did not acknowledge, then bent to speak to Barrow in a low whisper. Henri then wordlessly left.

"This is quite sooner than we thought," Barrow muttered.

"What is?" Kurapica's curiosity moved to the forefront.

"Your mother's clone," Barrow said. "She's finally asked for you by name. She seems to have now remembered a great deal about you."

Kurapica dropped his fork.

"And she wishes to see you."

The boy was silent. It seems like a few of them knew, or had a faint idea, of the Kurata language to have understood what the clone spoke.

"Will you go?"

Kurapica quietly stood up, lightly brushed his tunic and turned to Barrow. "Take me to her, then."

The walk to the containment facility wasn't as arduous as he expected. Tournay, of course, was with them, then Barrow, the scientist named Monroe, and Henri. When they reached the recovery rooms, the security agents seemed to hand each one of them a suit, and attached to the white suits were hooded masks, with dark eye visors.

"What are those?" the boy asked.

"Ah, these?" It was Tournay to brightly reply. "Well, you're not wearing one, my boy. Only we are. You see, it's to make us all look identical. We've been looking like this every time we went to your Mom's clone in person."

"New faces will faze her," the man named Monroe volunteered. His voice was rough but like Ryger, soft-spoken. "At this point your face is the only one she needs to see."

"Interesting way to test your theory," Kurapica remarked.

"Well, as you've heard, it's been most effective so far!" Tournay beamed.

This time, none of the scientists went to the surveillance room where the one-sided mirror was. They all stopped in front of the door of the clone's room.

"Ready, gentlemen?" Tournay said from behind the white hooded mask. He slid a pair of white latex gloves on his hands.

So precise, so methodological, it was almost a farce.

The door slid open and sure enough, the woman was there, and she stood up in unison with the sliding doors, and when Kurapica stepped in, she placed her hand just below her chest, on her abdomen—Kurapica noted that it was a habit his mother had when she was nervous or anxious.

"Kurapica?" The woman finally called.

Kurapica cringed; he swallowed hard. The clone did indeed remember his name.

"Yes," he replied.

"Who are these people? Where am I? They won't speak to me," she said, a bit alarmed, but she stood where she was, as if unsure whether or not she would approach the boy. There was reason for her not to. Four masked and suited figures, all looking identical, were behind him.

"You're in a laboratory." He was determined not to call the clone by any name, least of all his mother's name. Least of all, to call her mother. "These are scientists."

The woman frowned, seemingly taken aback by his coldness. "I don't understand. I wake up and here I am…"

Kurapica wondered, how far back does she remember? What were her memories before she woke up to this little nightmare?

"And where my clothes?" the woman asked. "I don't like what I'm wearing. Your father says that grey doesn't become me. Too dull."

Kurapica was not sure how to react or what to say to that comment. So she's remembered his father as well—even as she had not seen his father yet?

One the masked scientists walked forward to hand her something: a bundle of traditional Kurata garb, judging from the colors and patterns, even as they were neatly folded.

"Oh…" the woman said, reluctantly taking the bundle. "I don't really know who or what you are, but thank you."

She's taking this too calmly, Kurapica thought. Then again, his mother loved novel experiences.

"You think I could change alone?" the woman requested, sweetly, tranquilly.

Kurapica inadvertly turned to the nearest figure beside him. It nodded. It gave a signal which Kurapica guessed was, Give her privacy. They all marched out, and before Kurapica left the room, the female clone called him again.

"Kurapica, are we in the outside world?"

Kurapica partially turned to her, but his back was already towards her. "Yes."

"Don't tell your father," she suddenly quipped. "He'll be furious, you know."

The boy tried to steady his heartbeat. So much like his mother, indeed. When the door slid behind him, and the scientists had finally taken off their masks—they were saying something, but he was too bemused to make out what they were telling him—and he took a deep breath.

At the back of his mind, a fine line stood before him. He was not certain if he should cross it.

A/N: The fic seems to be going slower than I thought! Harrumph. :( Oh well, just keep writing, just keep writing… :P

I'd be glad to know what you guys think so far! Do leave reviews, comments, reactions, greetings, etc. :D Drop a word or two! :)

Cheers!

DW-chan :3