A/N: Hiya folks! Hope you enjoy this new chapter! There's going to be a lot of talking because explanations are now being made. Warning though, there is gore and other disgusting stuff in here. Read at your own risk!
Disclaimer: Hunter X Hunter, Logic of Sense, and any other books/movies/songs etc referenced in this story (other than The Inaccessible Unconscious) do not belong to me.
At Last, a Clue
The apartment was empty and Kurapika could not be happier. There was already one man several floors up who was dead because of him; he would rather not have another.
Leaning against a sturdy, cream coloured wall, Kurapika closed his eyes and tried to forget the sensation of hot blood splattering onto his skin, tried to erase the memory of such an ordinary face made extraordinary by the shock of death. And that man… that monster looking so… so bored with that he had just done. So bored. So… normal.
A shudder shook his entire body badly enough that he ended up curled up on the floor in an exhausted, quavering pile.
He had ran. Of course he had ran. What else was he to do? Stay and risk being captured again? There was nothing more he could have done for that poor man, nothing that would have mattered anyway. So he had ran, bolted as the crazy, homicidal man advanced on him, fled with the kind of speed and frenzy only sheer primal terror could inspire. He had run out into the corridors of the building (thank god he was no longer in the 'elevator' access only floors), going into Zetsu, fleeing as fast as he could. Now, he was hidden in another apartment, hoping against hope that he had managed to lose him. That man. That murderous monster. Good lord, he did not even know his name and he was terrified of him.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Kurapika forced himself to sit up. Wiping perspiration off his forehead with his sleeve, he leaned against the wall and tried to get his mind to focus properly, to see past the fear.
What… what was he to do now?
Alright, assuming he had managed to escape his pursuer… What were the routes he could take? Return and try to free Midoya? Return and try to kill… that Spider? Call the police? Call Senritsu for help? Call… no, not them. He would not put them in trouble again. What should he do then? Was there a way of turning the tables on his enemy? He had seen enough of that man's skills to know he was at a level beyond what Kurapika could manage at the moment – especially since he couldn't use Chain Jail on him. How about Midoya? What should he do about her? Perhaps he should…
But no. He was going about things the wrong way. Action was not the first move. Knowledge was. The first thing he had to figure out was what the hell was going on in the first place.
Kurapika opened his eyes and stared fixedly at the wall in front of him. That was it. What on earth was going on? All he had wanted to do was come here to seek information from Midoya. Suddenly, he had been dragged into something he could not even begin to explain. Kuroro Lucifer was here, as was that… whoever he was. And those dreams. That strange dreamscape. What exactly were those? That man had called it D.I.P. and had described something out of a horror film, but that didn't even begin to explain exactly what was going on.
If he wanted to help Midoya, he had to know how to reverse whatever it was that had happened to her. How was he to find what he needed to know?
Her baby. Midoya's baby.
Kurapika tilted his head. That's what that man had said. Midoya's baby. Midoya had created it. That sounded... of course! Kurapika thumped his head against the wall. He had read about this before. Why had he not made the connection earlier? Midoya was really Dr Midoya Kito, wasn't she, even if she hardly used that prefix? She was, if memory served, a world-renowned Nen-technology expert. That was, for a field of science populated strictly by Nen-user, a surprisingly large community. Kurapika had once happened upon Midoya's CV and it had listed fields of study ranging from Biomedical Neural Research to York Shinian Nineteenth Century Literature to the Physics of Inter-dimensional Travel. However, what she was most well-known for was her research into and inventions of Nen Technology. At that time, he hadn't really looked into it, but if she was as famous as some sites claimed then…
She would be on the Internet.
Immediately, Kurapika leapt to his feet. The Internet! This was a modern apartment inhabited by modern York Shiners. There must be a computer and WIFI in this place. Feeling just a bit guilty, he started to throw open doors, struggling not to take in too much of someone else's private space but trying to look out for a computer at the same time.
Eventually, he located what must be a study room with sleek, black furniture and a very modern looking PC. Even better, it was a PC with no password on it. And it loaded like a dream. A good one. Not the nightmarish ones he had been kicked out of.
Typing in 'Midoya Kito and D.I.P.' into the search bar produced a whole slew of results, ranging from news reports of her latest exploits to what was obviously tabloid trash. Sifting through them gave him much more information about her private life than he would have ever wanted to know - including rumours about her alleged affair with Ging Freecs (good lord, he prayed Gon would never run across this; the details were just… no. No. Just no.) and a blurry picture that alleged to be Midoya skinny dipping in Urubia with Illumi Zoldyck (not that he could tell; the details were that bad). Well, he was obviously not going to find anything useful here.
Try the Hunter website, silly, a voice said in his head and Kurapika nodded absently in agreement.
The results were instantaneous.
The very first headline he saw read "The Inaccessible Unconscious" by Midoya Kito. The next, "D.I.P. and the Effects on the Traumatised Mind", also by Midoya. The third one was an internal Hunter Association newsletter that read "Hunter Research Facility on the Unconscious Closed". The last entry was not an article but a picture. It featured what appeared to be a man in a white laboratory coat. His face was twisted in agony, his eyes wide and staring, mucous and blood streaming out of his flared nostrils and snarling mouth. In his hand, he held a scalpel which he had driven into his skull as if he had wanted to saw the top half of his head off. On his torn and tattered T-shirt, someone had written, in what seemed to be blood "Here there be monsters".
Shaking off the chills running down his spine, Kurapika clicked on the first headline. An article, written by Dr Midoya Kito (M.A. Phi) jumped onto screen.
"Dreams are the royal road to the unconscious." That was what Freud wrote in the The Interpretation of Dreams. The Unconscious, our little store of dirty secret; a vault for every filthy, repressed thought we had never dared voice. Store. Vault. Road to - and presumably, road from. What exactly is the Unconscious? Is it an abstract concept or a physical entity? Is it literal or metaphorical? Did we even know it existed before Freud so cruelly popularised it? And does the knowledge of the Unconscious itself generate the Unconscious, forces it upon us, and demands we spend every waking hour imagining our minds being structured as such. Freud, Freud, Freud, I hear you deplore. Has he not been written to death? His corpse studied, scrutinised, dissected and put under the microscope? Has not every inch of his theories been beaten to death with a huge mallet?
Even so, it is curious, so very curious that I still wish to plunge into this particular pit of hell. For even as we are told we can never access it – nonetheless, deep in our souls (out Unconscious perhaps), we seek what must never be spoken, that which must be hidden and never recognised, never brought to light. So curious… that we always seek the dark and what we might find there. It is like we always search for that which would prove how truly terrible our minds are.
Kurapika blinked and shook his head. He hadn't read a book on Philosophy in a while and her writing style came across as awfully bizarre to him – not so much an academic treatise but the ramblings of a… well… a mad person or a pure genius – he could not tell which. So, he moved on to the next tab. An article, now written by Dr Midoya Kito (PhD Nen Nanotech).
"What happens to a mind that has witnessed too much trauma, that has seen more death and destruction than it can bear, that has felt so much pain and humiliation that it would rather die? What happens to a mind where horrors and desires, filth and pain, can no longer be contained? The Unconscious is full to the brim and spilling over into the Conscious, and slowly but surely, the Conscious starts to break down. Dreams become reality, and reality seems but a passing illusion. The mind shatters, and all that makes us human disappears forever.
Is that really so? Can the sane mind, the one that recognises rules and regulations, that understands laws and boundaries, be saved? Can modern medicine actually fix what technically can't break for it has no corporeal existence?
That is an intriguing question and one that can be answered only if the Unconscious can be found.
How does one find what is random? Multiple parts of the brain are implicated in dream-formation. No one knows where the Unconscious is or even if it exists. And even if it does, how is one to conquer it? The Unconscious does not obey laws, it does not obey rules, and it certainly does not obey commands. If Medicine is defined by logic, rationality and reason then the Unconscious is, by default, the embodiment of flux, chaos and irrationality.
Two opposite ends – with no compromise in sight.
Add Nen in though and you get something different. Now, Nen is a very curious force. We know how to bring out its potential, we know how to harness it and we know how to use it – often in ways that defy all laws of physics, biology and every other field of science you can think of. Yet, those who study it cannot really define it. Certainly, we understand it is a form of energy, one that is generated by the mitochondria in our cells. Yet, we cannot explain why all humans cannot use it innately. Nor can we explain why it manifests in such different ways for every individual. Though we roughly divide these manifestations into six different categories (i.e. Enhancers, Specialists etc), the truth is, unlike blood types, most people don't fall neatly into a single category. How each individual ends up developing certain categorical traits is also a mystery. Yes, genetics play a role, as does the environment the child is brought up in – but these factors are not always accurate in influencing a child's Nen development (studies done previously have put the chances of predicting a child's abilities based on nature and nurture at about 60% on average; ref. Dr Quincy "Genetic and Environmental Factors Influencing the Development of Specialist Nen"). In short, Nen is a mysterious random force.
However, this randomness is precisely what the broken mind needs. To fix the traumatised mind, one had to enter the Unconscious. The problem is that the Unconscious cannot be accessed as long as the Conscious is awake. Everyone from Freud to modern Neuro-Nenists have agreed that the only way to access the Unconscious is through dreams. Unfortunately, that has never been successful. For the Unconsciousness cannot be controlled; it is random and hidden. Also, even asleep, the Conscious mind is awake and processing external stimuli, so every attempt to control the Unconscious is foiled by the wakefulness of the Consciousness. Nen bypasses that precisely because it is random. Its randomness prevents the Conscious mind from recognising it fully as it does not follow the logic and rationality of the Conscious mind. Its randomness also allows it to enter an Unconsciousness that can be controlled precisely because Nen's randomised 'logic'(for lack of a better word) is similar to the illogic of the dream world.
In short, Nen can be used to access the Unconscious."
Kurapika looked up from the screen, his eyes wide, as he uttered a loud curse that was a vulgar term for copulation (and which he then took back because it is not polite to say such things even when alone).
Even off the cuff, he could think of many implications for this study. A technology that could access the Unconscious could be used for so many things. Yes, as Midoya's research showed, it could cure the 'broken' mind, people suffering from PTSD and various other forms of emotional and psychological trauma. But… surely it could be used as a military weapon too. To alter the Unconscious meant being able to alter the secret desires that drove people without them realising it. It could be used to brainwash millions, influencing their actions in such subtle ways that they wouldn't even realise it. This research…
Kurapika scrolled down, scanning through the article which was filled with more scientific jargon until he saw pictures. The first was the picture of what looked like an insect… a tick of some sort, barely half an inch long as indicated by the ruler it was lying next to. Under it, the captions read 'Dream Initiation Programme – antenna'. The next picture showed another insect, about the same size but different in appearance from the first. Its captions read 'Dream Initiation Programme – controller'. Finally, at the bottom, a picture of Midoya. She was wearing a white lab coat over a black dress and appeared to be caught in a candid moment, bent over a table and discussing something with a man in a white lab coat. A very familiar man.
"Oh my god," Kurapika muttered. That was the blonde man who had attacked them! Apparently he was… Pariston Hill. Oh… familiar. Why was that name so familiar?
No, that was not important. He had to find a way to get Midoya out of the dream. He might not be strong enough to fight this Pariston Hill, but he was certain Midoya was. He had seen her fight, had seen her walk through death and fire as if it were nothing… had seen her rip the face off a powerful Nen-user with a smile on her face. If anyone could take this monster down, it was her.
Quickly, Kurapika scrolled down until he saw the caption 'Procedure'. This portion was much easier to read, especially since it came with pictures. The antenna was inserted into the person whose dream was to be accessed… it was possible to link dreams together by inserting another antenna into a person lying not more than 2 metres away. The dreams would be connected but if the disconnection was not done properly, the possibility of a mental breakdown by both subjects was close to 99%. It was also possible that someone without an antenna but standing within the 2 metre range to the subjects could get dragged into a shared dream. The link was more tenuous… could be expelled fairly easily from the dream, such as by experiencing a shock or dying in the dream… not applicable to the subjects with antenna in them. They might go into a coma if they die in the dream… right, so no killing Midoya in her dream. The only way to save her was to get that antenna out of Midoya. It must be on her somewhere.
There was more information he wanted to read, but there wasn't the time to do it now. He would have to print it out and read it later. Getting up from the comfortable chair, Kurapika fumbled with the fairly thick stack of papers, stuffing them into whatever empty pockets he had. The good thing about these suits he had taken to wearing – they had far more pockets than his traditional outfits did.
A footstep – soft and almost inaudible in the living room.
Kurapika froze in place, his heart pounding. He could not sense any presence in the room – yet he had heard that footstep clearly. There was a Nen-user in Zetsu in the living room.
Pariston Hill was here.
Struggling to keep his Nen and breathing steady, Kurapika started looking around for a window but couldn't find any. The attached toilet had a small window for ventilation, but looking out of it, Kurapika saw that there were no handholds at all.
Heart pounding with fear and desperation, Kurapika got off the toilet bowl and looked around urgently for a way – any way out of this room. But he was trapped. There was no way out but through the door. Could he run again? Could he be lucky enough to escape the man a third time?
No. He did not believe so.
There was nothing to do. He had to stand and fight.
Drawing in a deep breath, Kurapika raised his right hand out and flooded it with Nen. Slowly, he exhaled, letting the Dowsing Chain drop at the same time. In that same instant, he felt the Nen-user outside turn his attention to him.
No point hiding now. "Come on," he said, loud enough that the person outside must have heard him. "I'm here. Come get me."
Footsteps, slow and steady, made their way towards him. The door knob rattled and started to turn. Kurapika took another breath and let his chain float to life. Very slowly, the door slid open – and yellow, baleful eyes met his. A large, cavernous mouth opened – and said:
"Sir, you called?"
There was blood dripping out of his ears, hair, nose and clothes. Coughing drew out blood-tinged phlegm as did blowing his nose. Even more disgustingly, none of all that blood was his.
"Oh, how foul," Kuroro muttered, trying in vain to squeeze blood out of his hair. "This is the grossest thing that has ever happened to me." Frowning, he looked around, trying to figure out where that unpleasant foetus had swept them to.
The first thing he noticed was that he was indoors but not in the convenience store they had been hiding in – he was in some sort of modern building that seemed to be made up of mostly corridors and doors. The carpet beneath his feet was lush and soft to the touch. The wallpapers were a rich burgundy colour, interrupted at regular intervals with lovely, delicate paintings of people in sensual positions. The doors lining the corridor, which seemed to run to eternity, were simple in design, white with gold trimmings, yet somehow they projected an air of elegance. The air was heavy with the aroma of sickly sweet roses and sex.
The second thing he noticed was that it was freezing cold. Quite literally. Every inch of the corridor was covered with a thin layer of frost. Large, sharp icicles thrust out from the ceilings and walls, turning the corridor into a beautiful but treacherous path. The slightest misstep would probably result in him being impaled on an icicle as thick as his thigh. And it was so cold.
"Brrr," Kuroro complained and wrapped his coat tighter around himself. Where on earth was he anyway? The décor looked like something out of a modern, expensive hotel. The climate was of the kind Kuroro had never seen outside of documentaries.
Cautiously, he approached a door and placed a hand against it. Immediately, he drew away because he hadn't expected the door to feel warm – not unbearably so – but enough to shock his frozen, numb fingers. With even more caution, he touched the door again – and pushed.
The door swung open easily and Kuroro peered inside.
At first, he couldn't see much in the room. It was dark, so much so that he only got the vaguest impression of the same icicles that spanned the corridor outside and the outline of furniture. A chair in that corner, a table in the other, and right in the middle of the room, a bed.
Someone moaned.
As if a switch had been flicked, a spotlight sprang to life, beaming down onto the bed where two figures lay intertwined with each other. Limbs tangled, naked bodies pressed together, red lips kissing and sucking, hairy, sweaty hands groping and squeezing. One form was female, supple and slim, all long smooth limbs and gorgeous breasts. Her face was beautiful, something out of a fairy-tale – complete with fang-lined mouth, forked tongue and silver eyes. The other form was male – hyper-masculine, all bulging muscles and hairy limbs – with the face of a snarling wolf. Wet, sucking sounds filled the room as they copulated madly, claws and fangs drawing blood, lips drawn back in screams of pain and pleasure. The air was filled with the sickening smell of sex and death as they splattered blood everywhere in their pursuit of greater sensations.
"Oh, do pardon me," Kuroro said politely and closed the door.
The next three doors revealed pretty much of the same: creatures straight out of fairy tales before they were cleaned up by modern day censorship. As far as Kuroro could tell, they were more interested in copulating roughly and bloodily than in chasing him, which was just as well. He wasn't that interested in them either.
However, based on what he was seeing and the décor of the place sans icicles and unpleasant smells, he could guess where he was. It would be nice if child-Midoya was here to confirm it for him though. Speaking of child-Midoya, where was she anyway?
Abruptly, a hand shot out of an open door and gripped his ankle tightly. Startled, Kuroro glanced down at the tiny hand clutching the leg of his pants.
"Help me," child-Midoya hissed.
"Hello Midoya, what are you doing down there?" Kuroro asked bemused.
She fixed him with a glare that almost rivalled her adult-self. "Getting… attacked!" she uttered through gritted teeth.
Finally, Kuroro realised that she was lying flat on the ground, one hand gripping his pants and the other the carpet. His eyes followed down the length of her body, still clad in his shirt, to the large, bloody, clawed hand wrapped around her knee.
A male face snarled at him; bright green eyes, a large, fleshy nose, fat lips and a heavy, bulldog-like face. Somehow, despite the glaring dissimilarities, Kuroro still managed to see the vague resemblance to Midoya.
"Oh well, you should have said so," Kuroro said mildly and kicked the face violently.
It roared at him furiously – and giant vines erupted from the room, whipping around Kuroro and the child lying prone on the ground. The weight of the vines, some as thick as his torso, was almost unberable as they slammed into him, grabbing what they could and crushing what they couldn't.
"Eew," Kuroro muttered and summoned his book immediately.
A vine whipped around his hand, twisting it violently and sending a heavy jolt of pain up his arm. His book slid out of his suddenly lifeless hand and disappeared. Another much bigger vine wrapped around him, forcing his arms to his side.
"Uh oh," Kuroro managed to mumble before a third vine encased his face, cutting off his oxygen. "Mmpf," he protested, and was tempted to panic a little. But it seemed without the help of Midoya's half-insane mother, he couldn't really summon the needed energy to do so.
Suddenly, a loud, guttural, and definitely male scream ripped through the air and the vines lifted off him. Oxygen, rancid with the smell of decay, rushed into his lungs and Kuroro coughed violently. Before he could recover, a vine knocked him over and he fell to his knees. He rolled away to avoid being trapped again, but the vines didn't seem inclined to be clingy any longer.
Through the dim of the screams and the thrashing vines, Kuroro heard the distinctive pop of a low calibre gun being fired.
Cautiously, he looked up.
A figure stood over the monster, one expensively-heeled foot on its back. His eyes went up from the fashionable shoes to a definitely female, deliciously curvy body clad in a perfectly-fitted lilac-coloured suit, and a small, pearl-handled gun in one manicured hand.
"Oh for goodness sake, Father," a cold, clipped voice said. "You've always been a stereotype of patriarchal violence but this form you're in now is just too clichéd. Go back to where you come from now. Go on. Shoo." The last word was punctuated with a bullet through the head.
The monster roared and tried to reach for her– and she fired again, calmly and coolly and repeatedly until she ran out of bullets. Then with the same nonchalance, she flicked the spent casings out and slipped fresh bullets in. Yet again, the monster screamed in agony when she resumed firing. On and on, she continued, only pausing to reload her gun. Eventually, despite the low-calibre of the gun, the monster stopped moving. With magnificent, gorgeous cruelty, she wiped her foot on the monster's face and turned around to face Kuroro. Then her eyes flicked to the side as child-Midoya emerged from the lifeless pile of dead flesh on top of her.
"Wh… who are you?" child-Midoya gasped, her eyes wide with shock and her face drenched with blood. "Are you… are you me?"
"No," Kuroro said, getting to his feet. "Not you. Not precisely at least." Making sure to keep his hands by his side and visible, he gave the figure a cool nod. "Hello," he said. "It's good to meet you again."
The figure pointed the gun at him and tilted her head in what could have been a reciprocal nod or a grimace of disgust. "Good to see you too," June Kito said – and gave a smile as cold as death.
Normally, a pistol with a mother-of-pearl handle and a barrel the length of a dainty lady's purse is not much of a threat. When you're staring down the business end of one though, it can look a lot more intimidating. That is especially the case when the person wielding it is the head of a powerful and rich family with a reputation for cruelty and ruthlessness. Her stare was enough to put even a hardened killer like Kuroro on edge.
So, he deliberately looked past the gun to stare at the woman wielding it.
In the real world, June Kito looked a lot like Midoya – a cleaned up, neater version of Midoya. After all, they shared the same body and any alterations Midoya made to her appearance when she put on her mafia-face had to be done through make-up, discreet, supportive under-garments and acting skills so brilliant it had developed its own personality. A corset gave her a smaller waist and bigger breasts. Layers upon layers of foundation and concealer hid her naturally acne-scarred face. Subtle eye makeup and contouring altered her face, making her eyes appear naturally bigger and her face naturally slimmer.
Here, in the dream world of Midoya's unconsciousness, none of that was necessary. What should have been foundation-covered skin was perfect, pore-less, snowy skin covered literally in frost. The long, dark lashes were natural and adorned not with mascara, but with a light dusting of snowflakes. From the way she walked, Kuroro knew she was not wearing a corset around her slim waist. In fact, even her limbs were slimmer than Midoya's normally were. This was the June Kito of Midoya's imagination – the June Kito that the real world would see if Midoya wasn't constrained by her own physical appearance.
How surprising that she resembled her Mother so much – except for the eyes – cold, black eyes, like beetles sitting within her sockets.
"So," Kuroro said finally. "I suppose I was expecting to run into you eventually. After all, we are in Midoya's mind and you are an integral part of who Midoya is."
June Kito smiled humourlessly. "I wouldn't flatter myself into thinking that I matter that much," she said, her voice clipped and harsh, "though I would loathe to imagine how disorganised the Kito Enterprises will be if Midoya was the one in control."
"Ah," Kuroro said knowingly. "Well then. So here you are now. Where is 'here' exactly?"
"Where else would you find me? The Velvet House, of course." June Kito tilted her head at him. "Before it got blown up."
"Hey, that wasn't my fault."
"Oh, of course it was. Imbecile."
"It certainly wasn't. You might accuse of me blowing up the Rose Petal, but the Velvet House was…"
"Erm, excuse me," Midoya said, stepping between the two of them. "Who… who are you?"
The woman looked at her. "June Kito. Head of the Kito family, owner of over half the red-light district in York Shin City and a very, very successful entrepreneur. Well, Midoya would claim credit for all of that and though I would protest, ultimately, I'm just a front, a mask for her to wear, a little doppelganger to do the jobs she doesn't want to do."
"Like what? Patricide?" Midoya asked faintly, her eyes wandering to the monster sprawled across the corridor.
"Like paperwork," June Kito replied without a trace of irony. Her eyes flicked down the child's length again and she scowled. "I half-expected it would be you."
Midoya blinked and took a step back. "What?" she asked hesitantly.
June Kito leaned over and smiled cruelly. "For all her brilliance and strength and power, the one thing Midoya will never be capable of is getting rid of filthy scum like you." She leaned back on her heels, her eyes chilly with cold malice. "But then, the most difficult parts to remove are always the foul, rotten, gangrenous parts."
Midoya immediately dodged under Kuroro's coat and he smiled genially. "Yes, as I must have mentioned, she is also a very pleasant lady," he added wryly. "Come now, June. Almost everything we've met in this dreamscape has tried to kill us. You, astonishingly enough, have been the exception. So what are you doing here?"
"What I've always done," June Kito replied sharply. "Cleaning up Midoya's mess. You didn't think I've come to see you for fun now, did you, Toy?"
"Toy? My, how flattering." Kuroro quirked an eyebrow at her. "Frankly, I have no idea what you think of me," he said curiously. "I know you are not Midoya, but at the same time you share the same body as her. Given that emotions are but the product of hormones going through the body, does that mean you hold some degree of affection for me?"
At that, June Kito fixed him with a glare that almost turned the blood in his veins to ice. "What do I think of you?" she demanded. "I think you are an absolute twat. You have a perfectly sound brain but you waste it running around with a bunch of misfits and outcasts, and spending your limited lifespan robbing fools. You were, admittedly, granted the gift of natural good looks but you ruin it by dressing like that. All those inverted crosses just scream of adolescent rebellion. And that tattoo. Goodness gracious me; how immature are you? I dread to find out how it would look when you're old and your skin starts to sag. Fore-planning is obviously not your forte. Personality isn't either, since you have the emotions of a rock and the impulse of a caveman. It kills me to have to sit in here and watch every time the two of you have sex which is as often as you reading a book by some out-dated philosopher who thinks he knows how the world works because he reads about it. Boring. Dull. Midoya would have done better dating a sex toy. She could get all the satisfaction she wants from that and she wouldn't have to listen to it dribble."
"Well," Kuroro said, mildly taken aback, "that certainly clears the air. So. About cleaning up Midoya's mess…"
"Have you figured out what's happening?" June Kito asked bluntly.
Kuroro blinked again as he forced his mind to change track in mid-thought. "Somewhat," he answered. "We know that we're in Midoya's dream. Somehow. We're not too sure why though it seems to me that Midoya has been providing some clues along the way. Her past. This woman named Leora. Her mother and father." He paused. "You."
"Huh. Not as stupid as I imagined."
"Why thank you."
"But not as smart either." June Kito smirked at the look on his face and continued. "Three guesses why I'm here, Toy. A clue: they all start with a reference to how incompetent and ignorant you are."
"Yes, thank you, and stop calling me 'Toy'." Kuroro took a deep breath, reminded himself that Midoya needed June Kito to run her economic empire, and tried to put his Benz knife back in his belt. "So, you are here to help. That's good. Help is good. Therefore I shall not kill you or maim you in an unpleasant way."
"And I shall try not to point out how you are not as impressive in the pants as Midoya tells you that you are. Silly girl. She only thinks that she likes what you have because she's fond of you in general. From a more objective perspective – mine – she has had far more impressively endowed sex partners in the past."
"Shall I change my mind about not killing you?"
"So touchy. Have I hit a sore spot? Don't worry – I've been told size is not as important as technique. Oh, but wait, you're not the most technically proficient lover she's ever had either, Mr Premature-Ejaculation-On-The-First-Date."
"Alright," Kuroro said loudly. "I'm going to have to talk to Midoya about doing something about you watching us have sex. This is far too disturbing for me to even feel insulted about."
"Don't flatter yourself. It's not that entertaining watching the both of you. I've seen better performances in old people porn. I mostly stay as far back from the front-line as possible and try not to vomit over my shoes."
"Uh… excuse me?" Both Kuroro and June Kito turned to glare at the child hiding behind his knees, and she cringed. "I get that there's a lot of unresolved tension here," she said, her voice slightly shaky with false courage, "but could we get back to hearing an explanation about what's going on? I think… I think J… uh… June knows."
"Of course I know," June Kito said, scowling. "That's what I'm doing here. Has no one been listening? My god, you're even dumber in person than you are in Midoya's memories." Kuroro opened his mouth to protest but she swept past him to stand in front of the child. "Dream Initiation Programme," she said sharply.
The child somehow managed to retreat several steps without letting go of Kuroro's coat. "What?" she demanded, sounding terrified.
"Oh come on, don't be daft. You've already started daydreaming about this. Dream Initiation Programme. Fixing the broken psyche. You know what I mean."
Midoya's eyes widened. "Oh," she breathed. "I… I succeeded? How?"
"With what drove you insane in the first place of course," June Kito replied. "Nen and your Father's money." She paused. "Well, to be fair, it's mainly money that I made for you so it's technically not your father's money; it's mine, and by default, yours. Huh. I don't quite like being fair. What an unpleasant feeling this is. Ignore what I said." She turned to regard Kuroro. "Dream Initiation Programme, or D.I.P. is one of Midoya's inventions. One of her more infamous ones too and you must have come across it the last time you were looking her up so you can blow up my buildings to show her how much you care."
"Oh for goodness sake…"
"It is mind-control," June Kito said bluntly and Kuroro fell silent. "Oh, in Midoya's mind, I have no doubt she thought of it as something else. But at a very fundamental level, that's what it is. Mind, she started out with the best intentions. You might have heard of those. They're what line the path to hell."
"Yes, I've heard of…"
"She just wanted to know if it was possible to cure insanity. Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. Phobias. It didn't really occur to her what she was messing with. You know how she is; always jumping into the brawl and ending up with a pregnant chamber-maid and a whole new religion dedicated to worshipping her toenails after."
"Yes, yes, I know about that cult. They learned about me and tried to add me to their pantheon of gods that include Pepeka as well. I was forced to wipe the whole lot of them out because I am not donating toenail clippings for them to dance naked around. So you're really preaching to the..."
"I know," June Kito said, her voice calm, and Kuroro blinked when he realised she was smiling a very faint smile that was… well, not friendly, but not… not unfriendly.
"Alright," Kuroro said slowly. "Mind control. Trying to cure insanity. Let me see. Knowing Midoya, it must mean she tried something valiantly, stupidly, arrogantly brilliant. Ah, she tried to access the Unconscious."
"No, she didn't try. She accessed the Unconscious. Successfully. Too successfully. Her test subjects went insane. Her scientists joined them. Some of them at least." June's smile turned into a smirk. "You know how insanity is like – so very contagious."
"It spread?"
"Like wildfire." June gave Kuroro a look. "I'm an entrepreneur; not a scientist. I'm not sure how to explain it. The way Midoya thought of it though was like Wi-Fi. Stick an antenna in one – watch it spread through invisible waves. Either way, people went insane. Many of them died. Those that didn't… well, they ended up like this piece of scum here." She nodded at the child.
"I don't like you," Midoya protested fearfully from behind Kuroro's knees.
"That hasn't changed in over two decades. Now be quiet – the adults are talking."
"Alright, alright. Stop arguing." Kuroro scrutinised June Kito. "You are saying…?"
"Midoya got hit by an antenna," June Kito said frankly. "You and that boy, that disgustingly moralistic filth, got dragged in as well through those… invisible waves… thing. You killed him so he's back in reality. That means he is your best hope of getting out of here."
"Oh heaven's, no. Wait a second. Let me commit suicide and go back to the…"
"You can't." June eyed him. "Not if you want to save Midoya."
"Ugh, a catch. Why is there always a catch?"
"You don't whinge so much when Midoya gets you to do things."
"Well Midoya always asks nicely. Often while performing fascinating sex positions." Kuroro sighed. "Why can't I leave?"
"Because of her good intentions of course. She tried to protect you, even tried to protect that boy, but she didn't have enough time to do it properly. You're entangled in her mind now. If you die in here or in the outside world, a part of her mind dies with you."
"Oh… well. Alright. Fine. What do I have to do then?"
June Kito smirked, obviously taking pleasure in his discomfort. "Come on. It is obvious. You know Midoya is trapped in her own mind."
"Indeed I do."
"Well, then what is trapping her here?"
Kuroro opened his mouth then closed it again.
"The nightmares?" the child ventured hesitantly. "Those… monsters we see around. They've been attacking us."
"No," Kuroro disagreed. "Those monsters are bad, yes, but if I can deal with them, so can Midoya."
"Well… I suppose that is…"
"You can't leave just like that," June Kito sighed. "Really, has anyone been listening at all? You can't leave unless you are killed in this dream or unless Midoya is free to let you out. Get it? Free? She's a prisoner here. A prisoner. So…?"
"So who's the Warden?" Kuroro finished.
"Ah," Midoya said.
"Ah, indeed," Kuroro agreed. "So. Who is the Warden?"
June Kito gave him an irritated look. "The one you have to kill of course," she said. "The controller, the one who put Midoya in this state in the first place, must have an avatar of sorts in here, an anchor that keeps him or her in Midoya's mind."
"I see. So what I have to do is get rid of that avatar."
"Precisely."
"Well," Kuroro said, putting his hands in his pockets, "that doesn't sound so difficult."
"Really? Well, here's a kicker. The avatar could be anybody. It could be, and is most likely, camouflaged perfectly to look like it belongs in the mess that is Midoya's mind. There is only one sure way to get rid of it. You must reveal its identity to Midoya. Once she knows for sure who the avatar is, she can expel him from her mind."
"It still doesn't sound difficult," Kuroro said stubbornly.
"Oh," June Kito said with a chilly smile, "it really isn't going to be easy at all. In fact, I believe it will be quite painful indeed."
"And how would you know that?"
"Because," she said pointedly, "there's a vine wrapped around my ankle."
"Urghg," Kuroro uttered and made a grab for her – but he was too late. In a rush of air, June Kito was swept off her feet and almost smashed against the ceiling as the vine shook her violently by the ankle.
"Oh goodness," Midoya mumbled and stumbled backwards. "Alright, I'm getting out of the way."
"Yes, yes," Kuroro said absently, drawing his Benz as the strange creature that had attacked Midoya roared back to life, filling the entire width of the corridor with powerful, lashing vines. Quickly, Kuroro darted forward in an attempt to reach the surprisingly limp woman but the vines forced him back. "June!" Kuroro shouted as he dodged the vines whipping around him. "You have to help me get an opening!"
"Opening?" June Kito asked, arching an eyebrow at him. "Whatever do you mean?"
"I mean, do something to attract its attention!"
"What? Like fighting stuff?"
"Fight… what? Fighting stuff? What on earth are you talking about?"
June Kito crossed her arms and somehow managed to look down her nose at him even when dangling upside-down. "If you mean you want me to do something rough and violent to this monster, you're asking the wrong woman. I'm June Kito, entrepreneur, rich heiress, and not a filthy blacklist hunter like my alter ego. I can't tell the difference between a Ko and a Go."
"I think you mean 'Gyo'," Midoya volunteered helpfully.
"Oh no, this is ridiculous!" Kuroro protested, dodging under a flailing vine. "You… you have the same… muscles!"
"But not the same memory," June Kito said calmly. "Especially not in this place. No matter, love. I'll see you in a bit. Go to the top floor."
Kuroro stared in horror. "Did you just call me 'love'?" he demanded, looking appalled.
"Focus, Toy." She pointed a finger. "Top floor. In the meantime…" She pulled out her gun. "Daddy and I are going to have a little talk."
And in amidst the flashes of gun powder, the monster disappeared, surging back into the room and taking June Kito with it.
"She does not know it but she is easy to fall in love with. Oh, don't get me wrong; she is very happy with who she is, but she does not know there are others who share that sentiment. That is not a bad thing; it gives her the courage to do what others might balk at. It gives her the courage to die if she needs to.
I, on the other hand, am incapable of being loved. Nor am I capable of loving. I know this, not because I know who I am, but what I am. I am a puppet created solely to fulfil one function and that is to love, protect and die for no one but myself, and thus by default, her."
The Musings of a Figment of the Imagination