Meteor City: The Orphan Hunt

Twenty Years Ago

Under the scorching sun in a city of trash, a curiosity captured a young boy's attention.

Formerly, he had been wandering through what passed as streets, scrounging for whatever interesting item he came across to either barter or keep. Also, formerly, he had been speaking with another resident: an eccentric old man, unnamed to his knowledge, that adored useless baubles to the point of trading away valuables- or so he pretended. They had been in the middle of making a trade, too, which was a shame. The dead crow in Chrollo's hand threatened to collect flies as the old man ignored him in favor for a stranger. Chrollo knew better than to interrupt, though. He watched the old man gut another for stealing one of his treasures- a silver locket, he thinks. He didn't want to cross the old man after just one lesson.

Anyway, he had wandered from his current interest: the stranger. The woman stood out from the piles of trash, both human and otherwise, as not belonging to the city. Stainless flowing clothes, pale dirt-less skin, and long unsnarled black hair, everything about her was too clean. Odd enough as she was, she also delicately held the handle of a large metal-plated box.

Like Chrollo, the old man's attention had immediately gone to the stranger when she had approached. Then the box. She had given them a pleasant smile- the type often reserved as a threat, not a greeting, in Meteor City. They spoke, voices too far away for Chrollo to hear without noticeably stepping closer. From their expressions alone, he learned.

The old man had been reasonably guarded at the beginning of the exchange. Reputable people did not visit Meteor City; the rare visitors were typically tied to mafia in some manner. She appeared confident even under the old man's critical stare, her smile never breaking. Then she said something that changed the old man's attitude. He became chatty, rambling in the way he so often did when excited about some trinket.

Just as quickly, the conversation ended.

She knelt, opening the box before passing the man a… Chrollo questioned his vision, fairly certain the woman had just given away a ripe apple untouched by bruises or rot and a cold drink in a dark bottle that immediately began to sweat in the heat.

While he ogled the bizarre nature of unheard-of luxuries, she closed the box. She walked towards him. His eyes shifted from the old man to look up at her.

The smile as she passed him, the way the air chilled and grew heavy, she exuded danger behind an unassuming mask. She wasn't someone he could challenge. The idea of stealing the case left his mind as fast as it appeared, replaced by something else.

Despite himself, he went to the old man's side, asking, "Who was that?"

Through the final hungry bites of apple, he said, "Fanghe Paijin. Human traffickers, I think." He tipped the bottle back, guzzling the rest, the smell alcoholic. He whistled through his missing teeth. "Pretty thing, wasn't she? About tore my head off when I thought of jumping her for that metal box." So even the old man backed down.

"She wanted information?" he asked, still too curious.

"Sharp boy! Looking for some kids to take with her." The old man's dry cackle turned to a croak before he coughed a dozen times. "I offered you up." Chrollo must have frowned because the old man cackled again. "Said she didn't want you, though. Wanted some weak runts not cut out for here. Told her to go see Half-face." The old man wheezed with laughter, although Chrollo had no idea who that was and failed to see the humor.

An odd request from a strange woman, though. A human trafficker surely didn't want such battered goods. In Meteor City, being weak equated to being dead or soon-dead. What good were dying children? Corpses? Organs? But with the amount of diseases and-

"Now, kiddo, what do you want?" The old man sat back down, waving his hand dismissively. "Reading lessons again? Take that to your mother first. I'm full."

Chrollo glanced at the dead crow in his hand, the creature alive with a flurry of flies. He shook it, broken neck flopping around as the flies scattered. The old man lied about being full. Helping children and invalids in exchange for knickknacks, turning away food, the eccentric old man… If he wasn't as strong as he was, his kindness would have gotten him killed years ago.

Chrollo wandered off.

Half-Face Joan Arkwright

Meteor City, in general, sucked. It stunk like the damn trash heap it was, food was scarce, and the people were varying degrees of nuts. Now, for someone not born in a garbage dump, the place sucked even more. Can't miss what you never had, but Joan had had a lot.

Before his face had been scorched off, and before he was dumped in this shithole, Joan Arkwright had it made. His father was a well-regarded bodyguard in Yorknew mafia circles, so much so that he married one of his client's daughters and climbed ranks. Even his relatives got in on this shit, making it rich. To say Joan lived a comfy life back in Yorknew might be a damn understatement!

Of course, working with the mafia had a price. Their cost came from the repetitive, ever-predictable feud between rival families vying for power. One "accidental" house fire later, his father, mother, and brother were crusty ash piles. Joan had the unfortunate luck of living. Disfiguring third-degree burns on his right side made him a walking freak-show! He had half a face, right eye a squinty sliver under thick skin rough with scars and unnatural wrinkles. Forget having an ear on that side; didn't even have a chewed-up stump left to pretend he could hear out of. His mouth pulled up to a forced smile too- that sucked as much as not closing his eye fully, cause flies and shit just loved to crawl into his mouth.

His fucking relatives decided it was too much a bother to pay for reconstructive surgery. Hell with that, they said. Instead they dumped him in this dumpster of a city. Didn't want to take him out themselves. Thought he wouldn't live long here. Well, fuck that, because he'd been here for three years!

He'd survived all the bull this rathole threw at him! He slept in a makeshift tent wrapped in a bloodstained tarp-blanket! He ate rats, he ate flying rats, a couple of times he ate dead dogs rotting in the sun! He lived through throwing up his guts for weeks and countless other illnesses! He beat the faces of brats trying to take his shit to a bloody dead pulp! Lord of this pile of trash he was! If he wanted to stay in this pit, he was sure he could someday take over the whole junk-lot that was Meteor City!

"Shit!" He repeatedly cursed as he scrambled to pull his rat skewer off the fire before it went from overcooked to inedible. "Damn it," he mumbled, turning the stick around to see the damage his delusions of grandeur had caused. A bit charred, but still loosely food. He leaned back, sighing heavily.

Shit like that is how people ended up dead in this place. Always needed to be aware or some asshole might sneak up on you and take you out. Survival basics, damn it!

"I see why he called you half-face."

Joan sprung to his feet, dropping his meal to the ground. His hand found the jagged metal knife on his belt before his eyes met the voice's owner.

Then she waved. She fucking waved!

Joan stared at the woman, waiting for an attack that never came. The more he looked, the weirder she got. Non-resident. Had to be. Clothing too nice, the rest of her too clean and well-nourished… Joan almost cussed out loud when he noticed how hot she was. Definitely not some Meteor City bitch. Makeup didn't exist in this pile to his knowledge. Still, even with her standing a foot away from him, he didn't sense her. It was like he was looking at cardboard cut-out instead of a person. That creeped him out as much as the friendly smile on her face. It came off as dangerously faked.

"You are Joan, yes?" she asked politely when he kept gawking at her.

"Y-yeah." The expletives in his head at the hesitation barely stayed mental. Something about this chick made his knees want to knock. That said a lot considering the shit he'd seen here.

"Very good!" She swung a giant case to the side as she shifted her weight. Joan's attention drifted to the metal box. Weapons? Money? Drugs? A case like that, mafia loved to carry illegal things in them. God, what if it was body parts and he was next? "Oh, but I see I have ruined your meal. I do apologize. Would you like a replacement?"

She seemed sincere enough, setting off more alarm bells. Resident or mafia, cheerful tones like hers were filled with ulterior motives. "What do you got?" he demanded, hiding away nerves. Can't show weaknesses at a time like this. So he'd just be pissed he'd be eating garbage covered rat when she inevitably… His grip on the knife tightened. "What's in the case?"

"All sorts of things, really," she said absently as she set the box on the ground, unlatching it. "You see, I wasn't sure what people here would value. Food has been most popular, I'm afraid, so all I have left is a sandwich I planned to eat myself."

"What-" He had to swallow back drool as his mind went wild. "What kind of sandwich?" The last time he had actual bread- not the crap this city tried to pass as bread- was two years ago, and it had been molding. Actual meat, three years ago. The saliva ran freely, making him swallow again.

"Hmm." She grabbed a plastic-wrapped square, holding it up as if to examine it. "Turkey, was it? I didn't much care when I bought it. Is that-"

He reached for it, forgetting everything at the call of real food. She drew back, slapping his hand away as she 'tsked' him. He felt a bruise forming under the sting; she hit him hard. If he had kept going for it, he'd have a broken wrist…

"Now, that was quite rude," she admonished him, tone motherly instead of threatening. Then she smiled.

The second she handed over the sandwich, he dropped his crappy knife to the ground, hands tearing away plastic. Half the sandwich was shoved in his mouth by the time he noticed it was pleasantly cold. Lettuce, tomato, meat, cheese, and fresh bread, he felt like he'd transcended to heaven. It was gone much too soon, leaving Joan to stare at the plastic at his feet.

"What do you want? Who are you?" The feast over and the woman still standing there, he came to his senses. He tore his eyes away from the taunting remains of his best-meal-in-years to glare at her properly. "Which asshole called me Half-face?" That was almost as bad as when they called him Jo; he hated stupid nicknames.

She giggled a few times, sitting on the now-closed case. She motioned for him to sit on the ground across from her. He didn't. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I was directed to you by a scrawny old man surrounded by piles of odds and ends." She pointed to her right, to the east. "About a fifteen-minute walk that way. Forgive me for not being more specific; I am unfamiliar with this lovely city."

"You mean shithole? Ain't much of a city." He ignored her, taking time to silently curse that old man for pointing her towards him. He didn't need his goddamn help. "You're mafia, right? Which family?"

"You are not be from here either, then," she mused, a few sentences enough for her to generalize his past. "Paijin, although I am here for my own purposes. My name is Fanghe." She shifted, resting one leg over the other, neatly setting her hands on her lap.

"Paijin, huh…" Joan searched his brain. The Paijin were traffickers, ones in Azia somewhere. "What sort of business you on that you're asking a teenager for help?"

"I noticed an aspect of Meteor City culture in my short time here. The adults prey mainly on adults, with the exception of thieves, and children prey on other children, with the exception of the sickly or foolish. One of your age would be more helpful considering I am looking for children."

Joan narrowed his eyes, wanting to pick his knife off of the ground, or grab the other tied to his leg. "What do you need kids for?" She may have said she wasn't on Paijin business, but a trafficker looking for children usually didn't end so well for the children. Hate it as he may, since he considered himself quite mature, he still fell into the 'child' category. It's not like he believed this Fanghe was telling the truth, either.

"I wish to help a few strays too weak for the pack. A weak wolf can be mended and trained into a deadly predator after all. In exchange for taking them off the streets where they were fated to die, I ask only for loyalty. I am not fond of the rest of the Paijin, you see, and need a group I can trust-."

"You're making kids your bodyguards?" Joan interrupted, doubt in every word. Lady had to be nuts or desperate to be staking her trust in some runts from this shithole.

"Why yes, I suppose that would be one way to phrase it." She reached into her pants pocket, retrieving a plastic card. Joan's jaw about dropped. A Hunter License. "I see, you recognize it. I am a Hunter. Trust that I can raise an army of child warriors if that was my intent. No, rather, I wish for but a small group. Would this interest you?"

So, it had been a sales pitch. A convincing one. Joan glared at her bright smile, thinking. Trust this crazy bitch and get out of this shithole, or stay and scrape by until someone else offered to ship him off elsewhere? Right now, the crazy bitch was winning the debate. She'd probably kill him if he refused anyway. He gained nothing by dying like a dog in the trash. She was a Hunter too; he'd be a damn idiot if he hadn't heard the tales of what Hunters were capable of. If she actually trained him, then he'd be strong enough to run away and do his own shit, right?

"All right," he said after thinking over the pros and cons once more.

She clapped her hands together, a genuine smile on her face. "Thank you, dear Joan! I am already quite fond of you, you see." She chuckled when he raised his one remaining eyebrow, wondering what he did. "You seem a well-informed boy, Joan. Both in Meteor City and the outside world. That will help the others adjust to such a drastic change in environment."

"Others?" Did she already have some gathered?

"No worries, dear Joan. You are the first I have spoken with regarding this matter. In fact," she said, standing, brushing off her clean pants, "I will need your assistance finding others. You must know some desperate souls seeking to leave their beloved city behind. The strong or intelligent, I would prefer, but anyone will do."

"Yeah, sure." He scratched the back of his head. How quickly her menacing aura disappeared, replaced with cheer and excitement. He couldn't tell which was an act. "So, you want some desperate shits," he mumbled, trying to put his unease aside. Despite the place being a dump, the residents held a ridiculous sense of pride in it. "Yeah, she might want to." The girl with the massive infection. "She has to be desperate by now." She'd screwed over that entire gang of kids a while back too; must be kind of smart. "Don't know much about her, but I think she's what you're looking for."

"Then lead the way, dear Joan."

Paperclips Minji

She let herself slide down the sunbaked husk of a car, paint flaking off to scatter in the breeze. The shade was a welcome relief from the sun. Regrettably, the fever made her continue to sweat out what little water she had. Venturing from her shelter had become too dangerous. What water she had stored was quickly used in a poor effort to keep hydrated. Her last meal also collected flies where she'd retched it up.

Her condition had steadily worsened in the last week. She would not last much longer. Fighting the infection herself became impossible; even medication and professional amputation might not be enough.

She distracted herself with that thought.

Medicine. Medicine of any sort was a rarity here. What was found was used by the lucky finder or quickly traded for immediately-gratifying items like food. The rare delivery came at a steep price. Some of the elders hoarded it, their connections and status allowing them the privilege. Very few healers existed in the city, the residents' prevailing belief that if you couldn't heal your own wounds or had nothing to useful to trade, then you deserved to die. It was better to die amongst the trash a proud person than a sniveling worm.

Medicine fascinated Minji. A myth, she first thought, hearing a woman describe what she saw during some mafia-endorsed activity. Beings that could hold off death through manipulating the body's functions and structures, their use of various concoctions poisonous if taken in the incorrect dosage, and their assemblages of pointy objects for slicing through skin and bone, doctors were a wonderful combination of fantasy and horror. Watching a surgery would be thrilling! But, instead, she had to make do with dissecting vermin and the occasional cadaver. That did very little to fulfill her curiosity.

A twitch of her arm made her draw a sharp breath. Before she passed out from fever for the day, she needed to check. Peeling away the filthy cloth on her wrist let loose oozing pus. Her attempt to stitch-up the cut failed. Flies flocked to it, forcing her to re-cover it before she had another batch of maggots- the first had been helpful, eating dead flesh, but that would now be most of her arm. From fingertip to shoulder, pale white skin twisted with hues of purple and green as it presumably rotted. Her leg was the same, probably. It would take too much effort to bend down and unwrap the wound just to see a nauseating mosaic of concerning colors.

If she had happened upon a saw or something similar, she might have tried to amputate the limbs. Of course, with one usable arm, gaining the necessary leverage would be difficult. She might pass out from pain as well. Blood loss would be a problem, too. If she could, then she would have cauterized the flesh to stop the bleeding. That was right procedure, right?

She delicately felt over the left side of her face, fingers slipping under the bandage. Blood and pus, again. The cut on her cheek had spread its toxins much like the rest. She could no longer see from her left eye. The last time she glanced at a reflective surface it had been glassed over, a few maggots writhing in the corner. A matter of time, she supposed, until the infection reached her brain.

Which limb would kill her first, she wondered with morbid curiosity.

Had she expected this to be the result of her trickery, she would have not gone forth with it. Befriending that gang of other orphans, living with them for a month to gain some semblance of trust, her plan had been simple and effective. She had stolen at least three months' worth of food and water, a variety of containers, a relatively new sweater, and two pocketknives. She only had to kill three others to escape with it all. What a lovely shade of green they had become as they vomited out their guts. She wished she could read the skull-and-cross-bone label on that bottle…

A wonderful haul, too, considering the time she spent with them included being fed- scraps for a new member, of course, but food nonetheless. It had been a fantastic idea, until the few remaining kids came after her with a nail-covered baseball bat. Even after crushing them beneath a precariously balanced car, the damage had sealed her doom. Small cuts from the bat festered in the burning sun and blackened with disease carrying insects.

"Goddamn, it smells like something died over here! Maybe she already kicked the bucket!"

Her eye flew open, brain suddenly cleared of fever delirium. Male. Teenager. Slightly familiar voice. Two sets of footsteps from the back right of the car. No time to run in her condition. Minji sighed, leaning her pounding head back onto the car, accepting her death with as much grace as the next Meteor City resident; as in she fished a knife out of her pocket, hand quaking as she tried to grip the handle and raise her arm. Throwing it may distract them long enough for her to stand to face her demise.

The moment someone stepped into sight the knife sailed through the air. Minji's eye widened as the woman held the blade between two fingers, examining it before looking to her. She had caught it, swiped it from the air with time to spare. The boy rounded the corner. Half-face, Minji realized. Immediately her attention returned to the woman as she handed the knife to Half-face. The smile pulling at her lips, it made Minji shift in her spot despite the pain it caused.

"What is your name?" the woman asked pleasantly, plopping a metal case on the ground to sit primly. Foreigner. To courteous and clean to be living here. She leaned forward, wholly interested in the answer to a bland question. Half-face rested against the hood of the dilapidated car with a look of satisfaction.

"Minji," she rasped after a long silence.

"My name is Fanghe. It is nice to meet you, Minji." She smiled again, the expression morphing from friendly to devious. "And may I ask, how close are you to dying?"

She refused to answer.

"From the way she smells, a few minutes." Half-face shriveled his deformed nose at her. Did he not understand that infections reeked of death? She had smelled like this for days and still lived.

"Now, Joan, do not be rude," Fanghe chided lightly, eyes never leaving Minji. "You have dressed your wounds quite well, considering what was available to you. Unfortunately, that does not appear to have been enough. How did you get infected, dear Minji? A scrape?"

"Baseball bat with nails," Joan- Half-face was a much more suitable name- answered for her. "Saw some kids chasing after her, screaming at her for stealing from them. Like I told you, she crushed them under a car somehow. Smelled like corpse by my place for days until scavengers picked them over."

"I see." Fanghe leaned back, looking to the sky for a stretch of unnerving silence. Joan began fiddling with the knife, spinning it in his hands as he kept an eye on the woman- he felt wary of her despite accompanying her, then. "Minji, I do not have much to offer to you immediately. A few painkillers, but nothing for the infection. I'm afraid;" her eyes went back to Minji, voice losing the fake pleasantness, "that you would need a number of surgeries to stop the progression of that infection. Your left arm and leg are lost causes. If your face resembles them, well, you will be left horrifically deformed. Does the slim chance of survival with a mutilated body even interest you? I would be able to obtain the most advanced prosthetics, but, if you have no will to live such a life, then there would be no point. If your pride demands you die here, I will not interfere."

Surgery? Prosthetics? Surely that would cost thousands of times the worth of her body. Strangers here were typically mafia. Odds were this woman was as well, so why invest so heavily in a near corpse? "What do you want?"

"If you come with me, I'm offering to save you."

"She's offering to get you out of this shithole," Joan added. Minji glared at him for insulting the city. True as the statement might be, it was home. "You'll be a pile of mush by next week. You'd think you'd just say yes."

"I need a group of loyal followers," Fanghe said once Joan noticed her eerie smile at his interruption. "In order to obtain that, I am willing to give you nearly anything you desire. Do you have something you desire, Minji? Besides life?"

"Can I watch the surgery?" Oh, how badly she wanted to see the methods of these doctors. She wanted to watch as they attempted what she considered impossible. And, truly, what did she have to lose? As Half-face so kindly pointed out, she would die- although, she bet sooner than by next week.

"You want to watch them chop off your arm and leg?" Fanghe asked, breaking her smile to look at Minji with wonder instead of the confusion she expected. "Curious thing, aren't you? I doubt they will operate with you awake, but I could have it recorded for you to watch later. Are you interested in the gore or the process?"

"Process." A lie. She didn't mind the gore.

"Then, Minji, what if I told you I could have you trained as a doctor?"

Stink-Bug Virgil

Legs and feelers tickling skin, Virgil swatted a bug from his cheek before it made it to his mouth or eyes. Stupid things loved to gather there. He wrinkled his nose, trying to pick out rotting flesh from stink bugs. In his ears, he could hear the familiar hum of nearby flesh wasps.

A hunk of carrion with a few eggs, that's all he needed. The reek of stink bugs and being extra careful not to bother the wasps was usually enough for him to sneak away with his new favorite weapon. When the eggs threatened to hatch in a couple of days, he'd use the rotting meat as bait, hopefully get the timing just right. A dozen or more stings to bring down an animal, and then a fire to cook the meat and break down the venom; he had this down. Last time he got a starved dog. The time before, a vulture.

He'd survive this place. The filth, the bugs, the struggle, he'd survive to someday escape it.

The buzz louder, dead flesh writhing with monstrous wasps, Virgil crouched down. He squinted, and squinted some more, trying to figure out what sort of corpse the swarm found. Best to find something easily removed than linger too long. One sting was horrifying and painful and he never wanted to do that again.

He edged closer.

"That's him!"

A shout, and hell broke loose. Virgil snapped his head to the side before freezing. The hum of angered wasps failed to overpower the "Shit!" the same boy screamed. The boy shoved the other kid as he barreled away. The downed kid tried and failed to stand.

The buzzing in his ears grew louder, his heart pounding louder. A wasp separated from the group, a flying blob zipping towards him. He couldn't outrun them. He couldn't see the ground, he'd trip over debris, and he'd be stung by the whole swarm until he became their next nest and meal. He froze, now out of fear instead of strategy.

A flash. Silence. Virgil's shaking legs gave out, and he landed in front of knife-impaled wasp. The sudden loss of wingbeats and buzzing… He looked up. In under a second, the whole swarm… With reverent fear, he stared at a third figure clad in black.

"How the fuck did you do that?" the boy yelled, jogging back to the figure's side. "I wanna do that!"

"I didn't see her move," the other kid mumbled, finally forcing herself back to her feet.

The figure approached, steps jolting his heart to his throat. The confident walk of a predator, the display of power, the air seemed to chill as the woman advanced. She crouched down, eye level at his, close enough that he could see brown irises bright with curiosity.

"Those insects, do you know what they were?"

The question made him blink. She wasn't from here. She attacked them without knowing, without caring. Who…?

"They're called-"

"Joan, be quiet, please." The boy snapped his mouth closed at a polite order, the woman's attention never leaving Virgil. "I assume, whatever they may have been, that they are dangerous. Let me ask something else: why were you approaching them?"

"I told you! He throws hunks of rotting-"

"Joan," she said again, a glance over her shoulder driving her point home.

Virgil narrowed his eyes, remembering the other boy now. He thought the screaming had been familiar. This was the idiot that stepped on him as he slept and freaked out when his stink bugs scattered to coat him in putrid spray. He was also the same idiot that tried to poke at one of his rotting meat traps. And the same idiot that had barfed his guts out on his feet after an attempt to eat putrid meat meant as bait.

"The young wasps are good at killing stupid things," he grumbled, glaring at Joan's blurry form. "They don't fly for a few days after hatching, but their venom still works."

"Interesting." The woman leaned closer, eyes flickering about like she was analyzing him. "The stink bugs cover up your scent, allowing you near. Cutting away carrion without disturbing these rather large wasps, that is quite bold of you." He nodded absently, unsure of what to do with her praise. "This is a clever method of obtaining food given of your poor vision." She smiled, making him shift uncomfortably. "May I know your name? Mine is Fanghe."

When she held out her hand, he almost laughed. Handshakes were for fancy business people, mob bosses, and the elders. Not a kid covered in bugs and garbage. And names! Names meant about as much as the trash surrounding him. "Virgil." He was just another piece of trash that would never leave-

"Virgil, would you be interested in leaving this place?"

Chrollo stood in place.

On one hand, he was disappointed that he had been caught trailing the odd woman and her collection of ragged teens. On the other… The pin-prick of needles in skin, the heaviness choking the air, the weight of something unseen pressing down on him, he was absolutely fascinated. The closer the woman came, the more tangible her strength felt, and Chrollo could be too curious for his own good sometimes. Whatever this was, he wanted to understand it. He wanted to possess it. His eyes were round with possibilities.

Uncomfortable, but not overwhelming, the moment she crouched in front of him to meet his eyes, the aura surrounding her stabbed him like a million knife tips, something in him screaming to run. Unfortunately for her, his mind overruled the urge.

"How long have you been trailing me?" she asked sweetly, hiding any irritation or concern. The question, she already knew the answer.

"Since you met with the old man." A lie. He had only recently found her again after a painstaking search. He couldn't help himself. When he wanted something, he took it.

She smiled knowingly, placing a hand on the top of his head. The weight of it felt crushing even when she made no effort to press down. He looked death in the face without flinching. Her face became cemented in his mind. "You are the exact opposite of what I am looking for. I also do not appreciate being followed, nor being lied to." She patted his head before standing. The air cleared, the pressure disappearing, the phantom sting on his skin fading. It was something controlled. Had to be. "However, I am in a forgiving mood today. I suggest you learn to behave, or your life will be cut short by someone less kind than I." She turned, walking away with the knowledge he wanted.

"What sort of power was that?"

She dead-stopped, a laugh under her breath as she glanced over her shoulder. "Observant, aren't you?" Softly, words kept between them alone, she said, "A shame that you would only become a problem if I brought you with me. I might have answered your question, if that were not the case." Broken eye contact, amusement dead in her tone, a knife spilling from her sleeve, the truth came forth. "Following us is no longer without consequence. Be glad Virgil noticed you before I acted."

Chrollo took a slow step back. He understood his chances were poor, and he had no reason to die over a phantom feeling. She walked towards her group while he stayed in place, his eyes narrowed with a slight pout. He might understand, but he still wanted it.

As they disappeared from sight, he walked the opposite direction, curiosity still burning.

A/n: So here it is, the random -filler- chapter I spoke of. I miss Joan, guys, his perspective was fun to write. Also, though, have young Chrollo! I've been working on more backstory for the boy because sometimes you just have to write a sociopath a past for him to ignore. And about Meteor City- because I'm personally a sucker for people fleshing the place out.

Thanks for reading!

HeavensScribe- Oh, I shan't deprive you (and me) of the boys for long, lol. Lan ain't need no man is right! She's going to go put herself back together without the devil whispering in her ear and the magician playing tricks on her. How that turns out, well… :) I'm happy you like Hisoka's frustration- and ignoring her somehow being the 'nice' thing for him to do? (I'd been mean enough to her, lol, she didn't need Hisoka 'forgetting' to correct her no matter how much that oh yes, he totally would do that. Also sort of 'leveled the field' as you said since Lan said go away to both.) I imagine that's what happens whenever Chrollo and Hisoka are in the same room but unable to fight it out. Just endless passive-aggressive jabs because neither wants to lose the mental for reviewing again, I love hearing your thoughts!

Luminaaa- Yeah, the cute was the touch of therapy we all needed after ch36 (as in even I was relieved to write something less depressing after the Fan Shi's fall). I'm glad you liked the twist, though! It took a lot of planning to reach that point. I can only hope the next big mess the crew is in is just as good or better. Thank you for reviewing!