An Amusing Interlude: Part 16: Carnage – Of which there is much.
By
Deborah (Kosagi) Brown

Hunter X Hunter is copyright Yoshihiro Togashi. Quoll and Kurapika aren't mine more's the pity.

KURAPIKA:
I lash out with my chains, tugging my enemy out of its tree and flinging it to the ground. This one looks like a mix between a mantis and a penguin, a combination that I'd find hilarious if it weren't for the gravity of the situation. As I knock the Chimera Ant out with another chain, I hear Nobunaga swearing. A quick glance his way shows the swordsman barely evading being bashed over the head by a huge club. His opponent is big, the size of the elephant whose genes must somehow have found their way into the mix. It swings its club with its trunk.

Before I can move to his aid, Nobunaga dodges sideways, arms and sword a blur as he slices. A moment later the Chimera Ant screams, its trunk cut off at the base. Nobunaga comes to a halt and flicks blood off his sword, looking pleased with himself. Before he can move again, though, another blur of motion rushes past him and with a final shriek the Chimera Ant drops back, dead. Feitan pauses briefly in his rush through the yard and glares at his compatriot. "Don't play with them. We don't have time."

Nobunaga has no time to issue a complaint. Feitan is gone, returning to his own battles. He's taken down scores of smaller ants already, though exactly how he's doing it is something I have yet to work out. Nobunaga turns a sour look at me. "What are you looking at, Kurota?"

I sigh. Working with these people is damned hard. Harder than working with Quoll, in fact. Of course, Nobunaga has the biggest reason to hate me. My own hatred has been – not erased, never entirely erased – but quieted by what I've learned. It's harder for him, I didn't mean Ubogin to die the way he did but I did want him dead. "Nothing," I tell him finally. It's futile to suggest these two take a less final, less destructive, path to rescue their Danchou. They are what they are, and while it rankles I knew what I was getting into when I asked for their help. "Let's get inside, quick."

QUOLL:
The noises somewhere above us are very familiar. The staccato beat of Franklin's bullets, interspersed here and there with the bass drum of an explosion. There are other threads in the melody that I cannot hear but my imagination provides anyway. The soft hiss of Nobunaga's katana, perhaps, or the thrum of Machi's strings as they strike – depending on which of my Spider have joined Kurapika on his rescue mission. Then, of course, there is the jingle of my brother's chains. All counterpoint to the sounds of death and dying. I could almost find it in me to feel sympathy for our enemies were it not for the fact that they are our enemies. They would take our lives as readily as my Spider takes theirs.

"Enthusiastic," Arrissen murmurs as a particularly loud explosion rocks the hallway and sends dust scattering around us. I shrug in response, focusing my attention on getting our asses out of this place. Arrissen's shields can only do so much to protect us from notice. "Are they always this way?"

"When it's appropriate. I try to choose the right one for the right job," I answer, examining the lock on a metal cabinet and deciding it isn't worth the time it would take to pick. Instead I blow a small hole in it with my newest Skill and pull it open. Inside are our things, my benz knife, my coat and a dark blue tunic, a long pair of wrist blades and several bags of assorted candies. I raise my brow at the last as Arrissen straps his weapons on and he gives me a shrug not far different from the one I'd just given him. "Low blood sugar," he tells me.

I grin as he puts his sweets away and head for the door. "How much longer can you maintain the shield?" I ask, "Our rescuers are doing a good job of distraction but sooner or later someone is going to realize just what's up."

Arrissen's frown of concentration is very like my own and I have a moment of double vision from those all too short weeks I'd spent in his company as a child. Somewhere in the back of my mind, that child wants to scream at him for leaving me but I force it to be silent. He had done the best he could for me and I knew it, even if I didn't like it.

"Another thirty or so minutes of full shielding," Arissen tells me finally. "After that, we'll have to fight."

I nod. "Then drop it for now. Save it for when we really need it." I shrug into my coat and tighten my self-control. "Let's go."

KURAPIKA:
I can feel him, somewhere ahead and below, the link between us growing stronger as the distance decreases. Around me are the sounds of explosions, the screams and gasps of the dying, grim counterpoint to the silence of death. I have to admit one thing about the Spider. They are dreadfully efficient when they want to be. Ahead of me, Nobunaga is cutting our way past a door, while Franklin guards our backs. Feitan has chosen to stand beside me, dark eyes unreadable as I look at the destruction we've wrought. None of the dead are mine – I still cannot bring myself to kill, even under these circumstances – but that doesn't matter. I am responsible for bringing the Spider here. I feel sick.

"It gets easier," Feitan says quietly beside me and I can't help but glare at him. Easier? Who says I want it to be easier? Something about my expression causes the Spider to smile wryly. "Hiding the nausea, that is." As my eyes widen, he adds, "It's even easier when it's your life or theirs." He spins, then, rushing at some chimera ants that had managed to find their way past Franklin and I stare after him. Did he mean what I think he meant? I force the thoughts away as the doorway opens and we are caught up in yet another fight.

"Damnit! Where are they coming from?" Nobunaga's complaint echoes my own feelings. It's getting harder and harder to fight without killing anyone. I almost envy the Spider for their ability to set aside morals in favor of getting the job done. What am I thinking? I demand of myself, wondering if Quoll had ever felt the way I do now, if he had – in the end – fallen or jumped?

::Fallen? Hell! We were pushed!:: Quoll's voice in my mind startles the hell out of me. We're getting closer and the link between us must be getting stronger. I'd been so busy trying to stay alive to notice. ::Never mind that, Kurapika. In about twenty feet you're going to be coming to a corridor our father has shielded from view. Take a left into it. You'll find things a lot quieter.:: His tone is tense, and I realize the effort to use this form of communication is a drain on his resources. Along with the 'sound' of his voice in my mind are other sounds. Howls of rage, howls of hatred, the cries of my peoples' stolen memories. Then the link fades back to its normal level.

I gesture at Franklin, telling him, "Clear things up the hallway. We need to be out of sight."

He nods, not bothering to answer as he sets up a covering fire for us. As the Chimera Ants are forced back I search along the walls, feeling for the entranceway. I'm strangely loathe to do so, a part of my mind insisting that there's no point, that there's nothing to see there. At last, though, my hand goes through an apparent metal panel and I stumble forward into a much quieter hall. "This way!" I grab Nobunaga and pull him in. A moment later Feitan, then Franklin, join us.

"The hell?" Nobunaga blinks, staring at the corridor. "Where'd this come from?"

"Answers later," I tell him grimly. "Come on. Your boss is waiting for us." Running down the hall, we come into a large room filled with computers and other machines. Sitting slouched forward in a chair is a dark-haired figure whom I momentarily mistake for Quoll. Except there's grey in that black hair. He doesn't lift his head as we enter, just makes a welcoming gesture. I stare at him, hardly able to breathe. It's been years since I saw him last. Father.

"He's putting everything he has into keeping the shield up," Quoll says from one side of the room. "We don't have much more time." He nods quickly to his compatriots then gestures for me to join him, his eyes on something in a monitor. I follow his gaze and stare, barely able to breathe.

Rank on rank of glass bottles. Floating in each are two round red gleaming objects. My people's eyes.

QUOLL:
Somewhere in the back of my mind my victims are screaming. The image of their eyes, row upon row of them, exacerbates their rage, inflames their hatred. I want to grab my head and crouch into a corner. I want to scream and howl in response, to ask the one question I have never been able to answer. What in the name of hell could I have done differently? WHAT?

I force the thoughts of those others back again, though it's desperately hard to do so, looking at their eyes. My hands are clenched in my pockets and I can feel sweat pouring down my cheeks. I can hear my Spiders' voices, speaking my name worriedly, but I can't afford the energy needed to answer them. Only Kurapika's voice, echoing in my mind and sharply annoyed, ::Stop that.:: I'm not sure if he's talking to me or to the voices in my head but his aggravated and very down-to-earth tone cuts through the static readily.

::I don't know if you're torturing yourself or if they are, but stop it. Now. This is not the time.:: At last I manage to open my eyes and look at my younger brother with a mix of exhaustion and gratitude. Both of which I quickly cover up with a wry smile. He rolls his eyes at me as he speaks aloud. "We're taking them with us." There is no room for argument in his tone and I smile a bit more wryly. I'd already seen that one coming.

Nobunaga makes an angry noise. "You don't get to boss the Danchou," he growls, stepping up so that his face is in Kurapika's. My brother ignores him, though, in favor of looking at me with a raised brow. When I nod in return, Nobunaga blinks at me. "But Danchou!"

"It isn't a problem, Nobunaga. And he's right. I'm not particularly comfortable with those who own this place having access to Kurota eyes. There must be a reason they're here and – whatever that reason is – I'm not inclined to permit them to have their way." I glance at Feitan, who is examining one of the computers with interest. "Do you have an idea of where that room is?"

"Already on it, Danchou." That's one of the things I appreciate about Feitan. Once it's obvious I've made a decision he doesn't waste time acting on it. "I'm printing a map now." As the nearby printer clatters I glance over at my father. He's sweating, obviously exhausted and close to the end of his rope. "You want their files, too?"

"As many as you can copy in the next ten minutes." Arrissen had told me the maximum time he could hold the shield. I'm pushing that time close, but we need whatever Feitan can get. "No longer. Franklin and Nobunaga get him" I point at Arrissen, "out of here. Where is your transport, in case we're separated?"

Nobunaga is making fish faces but I ignore him as Feitan answers. Once he's done I turn to Kurapika. "Feitan, you and I will get the eyes. I'll need you in case I have problems with my companions. Feitan is back up for those robots. Any disagreement?"

"None." Kurapika looks at our father with an expression of regret. It's obvious he wants to speak to him, to say everything he feels, to hear Arrissen's voice. He knows, as well as I do, that he cannot. To interrupt our father in his effort to keep us safe would be disastrous. He glances at Franklin. "Please. Take care of him."

I take Nobunaga aside. "If we don't come out in two hours leave. Drop Arrissen off in Comet Star City, get the others and come back. If the place is still standing, destroy it." As he stares at me, I continue, "It goes deep, Nobunaga, and the Queen of the hive is probably at the very bottom. She cannot be allowed access to Kurota genes – mine or Kurapika's. Understand me?"

Grimly, he nods and I turn to Kurapika and Feitan. "Come on. Time's wasting."

KURAPIKA:
We make our way down a labyrinth of metal corridors in a welter of flashing lights and wailing sirens, our ears plugged and eyes covered by dark shades. Both light and noise are Feitan's work, set off to provide confusion to our enemies. That it's confusing to the three of us as well can't be helped. Sooner or later someone's going to figure out how to shut it all off. I half wish it would be sooner.

Feitan pauses momentarily, glancing at the map in his hand, then pointing down another corridor. We're getting deeper into the complex and the walls are taking on an organic appearance, metal and stone being sheathed in thin layers of a varnish-like substance. It looks wet but is dry to the touch. Not that I want to touch it. There's something very unpleasant, very wrong about the stuff.

Suddenly silence reigns. The bright, red and blue, flashing light is replaced by a steady dark red. There is a hum in my ears created by the absence of noise and my entire body feels shocked by the change. I remove my ear plugs and glasses, looking at the others as they follow suit. "Time to start running," Quoll comments, using a finger to rub at an ear that must feel just as traumatized as mine. "Feitan. How far?"

"Two more floors down, it looks like." Feitan points down the corridor as we quicken our steps. Then he pauses, eyes alert as he glances down a corridor. I can see nothing, but his expression tells me that either he does or thinks he does.

"Kurapika" I'm already moving as Quoll speaks, chains flipping out as they cross the hallway, forming an elaborate pattern from wall to wall, ceiling to ceiling. If there's something down that way, I'll feel it through my web. The thought makes me pause as I realize yet another parallel between myself and Quoll, or at least his spider. It's a parallel I'm not at all sure I like. I certainly don't like admitting to myself that there are any similarities between the two of us. But there are, and more than just my use of chains in a web.

A tug on the chains pulls at me and I move as quickly as possible, jerking backwards to drag whatever it is towards us. Feitan is dashing forwards as I do so, dodging around my chains and running along the walls to flip over my capture and behind it. A second later he has a long blade aimed at the throat of a very human woman.

QUOLL:
I can see it in Kurapika's stance, in the expression on his face. He's torn. He knows perfectly well that our captive is a danger to us, that we may well have kill her. Yet his need to avoid killing is strong, desperately needed in this time of self-doubt. He has worked hard to force himself to be fair and balanced, even with me. Yet it cannot be easy for him. In just over a month and a half he has gone from total loathing and hatred of me, my spider and all he thought we stood for, to an understanding of the forces that drove us to do what we have done. Emotion and logic are at war and leaves him confused and unable to think clearly.

Feitan is looking at me, waiting for my orders. There is nothing in his eyes, no judgment either way, and I know all I have to do is nod and he will slit the woman's throat for her with barely a thought. It took him a long while to form that mental barrier between the cruelty of what he does and does so well and the inner Feitan, the boy who hated the sight and smell of blood. Kurapika does not have that shield and, somehow, I am glad of it. There are times when I wish Feitan hadn't turned out to be so very good at it.

And this is not the time to regret what has brought us here, I point out to myself with asperity. Aloud, I mutter, "I wish Pakunoda was with us. It would make this simpler." Kurapika glances my way, wincing, and I manage a smile. It wasn't fair of me, really, to remind him of that particular death. "Sorry. That was a cheap shot."

"Yes. It was. What do we do?" Kurapika is forcing himself to speak levelly, to maintain his calm despite everything. "I'd rather not kill But then, you know that."

"Mmmm," I agree, moving forward to peer into the terrified woman's face. She's older, in her late fifties, though if she's a nen user you can't always tell. There's something familiar about her. A memory flickers, a voice in my head. 'Numbers 6, 12 and 13 are beginning to show improvement after the first appearance of the Eye. Of those three, number 12 is fighting training, possibly to the point of damaging herself beyond recall. Number 6 is responding quite well and number 13 is cooperative, but only average in ability. We should focus on number 6 and keep number 13 for backup.' I shudder uncontrollably, hearing the trace of pride in the voice as it mentions number 6, and the disdain for all the rest.

"Quoll?" Feitan's voice holds a faint questioning note and I realize I've been silent for almost a minute. My brother and comrade are both looking at me, worry in their eyes. From Kurapika's expression he fears I'm going to lose control again. Feitan's expression is less readable, but I can tell he's tensing for action, preparing to do something, anything, if I go berserk.

KURAPIKA:
Quoll gazes at our captive thoughtfully, his expression shifting from lost emptiness to the old calm mask he usually wears. I've seen behind it too often now, though, not to know that it is just a mask, a near perfect self-control. I am suddenly very glad that my Judgment on him before had specified nen only, that it had not prevented him from maintaining his self control with ten. A sophistry, perhaps, but one that probably saved our lives. Inwardly, I shudder at the thought of his Eyes going out of control. If they had that night I'd captured him the death toll would have been horrific.

"You," Quoll says softly, "were one of the researchers when I was here before." His words tell me why he is so tense, why I feel the faint edge of fear and anger and hatred along the line of our link. "Correct?" His tone is so mild that one would think that he were discussing the weather, not a childhood of abuse and torture. In the dim light his face is pale, his dark eyes huge and intent, black and fathomless.

She is stiff with fear or anger, eyes wide as she tries to back away, only to stop when Feitan's blade cuts, ever so slightly, into the skin of her throat. Her white hair is tangled around a face that might be attractive if it weren't twisted by emotion. I can't blame her for being afraid – if she is – she is facing the end result of her handiwork and I have no doubt that she has more than earned the death she fears. I force myself to stay silent, this is not my grievance. Except, perhaps, in how it has affected me and mine.

When there is no answer from our captive, Quoll's lips quirk slightly to the side. "No need, really, to confirm it. I remember you well enough." He looks at Feitan. "She could be useful. Keep her under control and bring her with us." Feitan nods, adjusting his position slightly to make his task easier and I relax ever so slightly.

My relief is short-lived as the woman laughs harshly. "Number 13. You always were the weak one." I give her a look of sheer incredulity, unable to believe that she is truly so stupid as to tempt fate by mocking someone who owed her nothing but contempt and loathing. She continues, " I still don't know how you lived when the others all failed."

A small chuckle escapes Quoll's lips as we continue down the hall and into a stairwell. "Number 6 always was your favorite," he murmurs softly, mockingly. "Maybe that's why she tried so hard she burned herself out?"

QUOLL:
The memories are coming fast and thick, the deeper we get into the complex. This was the place, I realize, my childhood home. The woman Feitan is guarding figures large in those memories, a hard and unforgiving voice, a stern and demanding figure that brooked no nonsense and permitted no disagreement. If there is any reason I lead my Spider the way I do, it is her. I lead because someone has to, but I leave the rest to their discretion, let them be themselves, no matter how aggravating they may be.

She growls a curse at me and I smile sweetly at her. It has been long time since anything she said mattered. "Of course," I add, throwing salt on the wound, "I can't blame you for preferring her over the rest of us. She was your daughter, wasn't she?"

Beside me, Kurapika jerks to a halt and stares from me to our captive with a devastated look. "Daughter?" His shock flickers at me through our link and it occurs to me that I'm not being very smart playing this game of cat and mouse with the good doctor. It's upsetting my brother, who has no defenses against the cruelties the world plays upon itself, particularly when it involves family. "She used her own daughter in the experiment?"

"I'm not sure love played much of a part in the relationship," I say finally, "I rather doubt that she was the one who actually carried the child." He still looks upset and I can't help but touch him through the link. ::We already know they were doing something cruel.::

"THE HELL I DIDN'T, YOU MISBEGOTTEN BRAT!"

I'm startled at the rage and sudden sharp anguish in the woman's tone. I'm being cruel too. I feel I have reason to be, but this is not the time, or place, to strike back at the things she did. I speak, slowly. "If I was wrong that you didn't care about her at all, then I apologize. She did want to please you, I remember that much at least. But there is little reason to argue about it. That the others died and I lived may have been merely a matter of chance." She gives me a startled look, her own anger and fear fading a bit.

Almost grudgingly, she mutters, "Your genetic background was as good or better than hers. I was actually surprised that you didn't do better." That was because I'd been doing my best not to do better. Fighting the training had killed one of my 'brothers', but the harder number 6 had worked, the more was expected of her and the harder she'd had to try. I rather suspect a natural laziness lay at the back of my disinclination to follow the other paths.

Kurapika makes a small, incredulous, noise. "I don't understand this," he whispers. "I don't know how you could have done such a thing. Used your own child in these experiments mothered her just for the experiments Why? WHY?" His anger and passion is plain to see and I can feel his effort not to release his Eyes. It's a good thing that what little training he'd given me has – at least – made it easier for me to bear their presence.

"The improvement of the species I don't expect you to understand."

"YOU'RE DAMNED RIGHT I DON'T!"

KURAPIKA:
Fury rages through me and only the realization that I could be attracting our enemy's attention quiets me enough to turn my shouting back to a whisper. "I don't understand at all."

"The human race is weak," Feitan points out quietly. "We break easy, both physically and mentally. We are argumentative, divisive, selfish and weak. We do terrible things and make up reasons for doing them that have nothing, or little, to do with the truth. We lie, cheat, steal, murder – all to satisfy our own needs."

I can't help but turn on him. "And you, no doubt, are better?" I ask sarcastically.

"No. I kill, quite a bit more easily than some, and I have come to enjoy the satisfaction of killing someone who desperately deserves it." Feitan's eyes are dark and unreadable as they meet mine. "I lay no claim to superiority. But don't judge me before you judge yourself."

The words sting. I already have judged myself and found myself desperately wanting. I wanted death and destruction and shame for the Spider, all without knowing, or really wanting to know, why they did what they had done. Even now, knowing that my people's insularity, their refusal to accept the concept of inter-breeding, was at much at fault as Quoll and his spiders doesn't make me feel any better. My people are still dead and they are still living. A small, guilty, part of me hates that fact, even while it knows it's wrong.

::No. What you feel is not wrong,:: Quoll's thoughts disagree with me. ::They are what you feel and they are perfectly understandable. That you are willing to set them aside, to acknowledge that their source is based on misunderstanding, may well make you better than many.:: He looks at the woman, whose expression is confused and a little lost. "Humanity has its weaknesses. It also has its strengths. It is, basically, what it has become because it has been shaped by its environment. Shaping it to some specific definition of strength may well weaken it all the more, because those strengths may not be suitable to the world at large."

"Meecham's theorem." A thoughtful look crosses the woman's face. "An interesting contention, if obscure. You have surprising depths."

"You taught me to read," Quoll points out, shrugging. "I just happen to have had access to a larger curriculum than you originally provided."

Feitan makes a disgusted noise. "Can't count the number of jobs we've done where we had to drag home a boatload of books."

I would roll my eyes and make a comment of my own on the subject, but there is something else I have to know. Something I desperately want to understand. "How does stealing my people's eyes relate to improving the species?"

"Oh, those?" Our captive glances at me with a surprised expression. "Isn't it obvious? We were going to clone them."

To Be Continued.

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