Chapter Forty-Three
Instinct
Machi awakens to her head pounding alongside her heart. She's in a small, moist cell, hardly big enough for her. Someone like Hisoka probably wouldn't even fit.
Chains fasten her to a pillar in the center, though she is too tall to stand straight. A pillar that, from what she can make out, seems to represent a grotesque god with human physique, and a giant rotunda for a head. But most of the details have chaffed away.
"Ikalgo!" Machi hisses, spying the orange octopus chained to the wall, staring at the locked door. Her nen threads weave around her hands, strong enough to pick the lock on her cuffs.
Machi falls free. This is according to plan, but where is Meleoron? Where is Feitan?
She lifts her shirt. Her stomach is bruising, but she doesn't feel any bleeding. She must be okay, right?
Her baby is okay? Machi pokes her stomach, unsure how to ask an undeveloped human if they are still alive. Daddy and I expect you by the end of the year, okay?
"Machi!" As soon as he notices her, and her bruise, Ikalgo struggles desperately against his bonds. He is chained to the wall.
"Hold on." Machi crawls over and quickly dismantles the lock. "Where are we? Where's Feitan? Where's Meleoron?"
"We were blindfolded and when I came to, only you and me and Meleoron were here. Some ants came and said Meleoron's nen was important and hauled him off. They definitely wanted ants." Ikalgo shivers. He holds out a phone. "But I stole Feitan's phone when they took yours."
"Fuck." Machi is not impressed that she was right about Gyro's connection to the ants. Not now. She presses her ear against the cell door. "Did you see them take a particular direction?"
"No." Ikalgo looks ashamed.
"What is it?" Machi, ever astute, demands.
"I…closed my eyes." His eyes fill with tears. "So that I didn't have to see Gyro. Because I can't bear that the man I've served and dedicate my human life to – is our enemy."
Ikalgo shakes his head. "He saved my life. He encouraged me never to surrender. And now he's … a manipulative killer. I'm sorry; I'm so sorry. I'm a terrible friend."
Machi looks sad. "You're nothing of the sort. I understand."
"Truly?" Ikalgo is surprised. Most people don't even try to relate to an octopus-ant-human hybrid.
"Yeah. I think if Danchou ever did anything I disapproved of – really, truly disapproved – I would cover my eyes, too." Machi sighs. "Morality and immorality. They're complicated. Someone can be good to you and very, very evil to another."
Like Hisoka. He'd been both to the spiders.
Like Feitan. Her lover. A torturer.
Like her. Fierce and loving. She hopes a good mother to Kalluto. And still, she's a vicious mass murderer.
"Moral complexity." Ikalgo whines with relief. "I wish my friends could all be friends with each other."
"Don't we all. It's good to want that, I think." Machi offers him an understanding smile.
Though if her instinct on Hisoka's atypical reaction is correct, Gyro might have gone above and beyond moral complexity.
Machi shakes herself out of her thoughts. She's usually much more focused than this. Maybe it's the kid. Maybe it's ruining her brain.
Or maybe she's just accepting that she cares.
Machi glowers at the lock like it's her final enemy. She needs to open this door.
But once she does, once they escape, they'll have to move fast. To avoid detection.
And they have no idea what is outside. A labyrinth? A torture chamber? Bodies? Guards?
How can she move fast in two directions? To find her friends, and to notify Danchou of their position?
Can she entrust Feitan to himself? Can she allow Meleoron to suffer whatever Gyro has planned for his nen?
No, she thinks. She doesn't want to. But if she doesn't notify Danchou soon, if she razes this tunnel with only her and Ikalgo, their plan could fail.
Feitan would kick her for this. Of course you prioritize the Spider!
But what is the Spider, if not people she loves?
Chrollo's eyes sparkle in the dusty light. They struggle to hide the piles and piles of stolen fruit on the crumbling roof they've called their home.
"Good guess on the timing." Uvogin slaps Machi's shoulder.
"You have the best instincts I've ever seen." Chrollo smiles at her.
And twelve-year-old Machi nearly fell over, and not from the heavy bags. She just – she never thought anyone ever would compliment her.
"My instincts will guide us." Machi assures Ikalgo. "Trust me."
She's not sure she's only speaking to Ikalgo.
Many places control their children's behavior with dark tales of monsters. Meteor City is different. Meteor City tells stories of the mafia.
Canary never met them herself, but they permeated her orphanage, permeated all the caretakers who threatened them and fed them. She used to wet the bed with nightmares of horned mafia demons, earning more threats and beatings.
But Silva selected her and assured her that the mafia wouldn't bother her any more, because she worked for the Zoldycks, the nightmares stopped.
And now she is here, facing her childhood nightmares as an adult. Amane, a granddaughter of the city spared its cruelty, sits besides her, with Tsubone next to her.
And Milluki Zoldyck, possibly the Zoldyck child with the least charisma, is negotiating with the mafia. A lone chimera ant woman stands as their guard.
"My father is missing," snaps one of the mafia wives.
Raissa Valdrada, daughter of magistrate Valdrada and wife to the son of Meteor City's chief elder. A small woman with evergreen hair and a youthful demeanor that belies her age. An infamous kid who, if the rumors are true, were it not for her father's devotion, should have wound up in a whorehouse. A defier of fate. "Unless you can determine his precise location, I have more important business to attend than schmoozing with rebel queens."
"Schmoozing?"
"That's all politics is, right? You make me feel good, so I help you. But with kingdoms and countries." Raissa wrinkles her nose. "If you want me to help, you'll have to try harder than lies. Tell me why the Zoldycks would approach me and not my husband, an actual elder."
Milluki looks back at the butlers.
Tsubone nods with all the encouragement she can muster. She's trying to like Milluki more, rying to guide him, but it's difficult.
"Your father," he says at last.
Raissa waits.
"You blame the Spiders for your father's disappearance," Milluki alleges. Milluki prays Alluka's assessment – that Raissa's love for her father is their key to manipulating the elders – is correct.
"Isn't it obvious?" Raissa settles back. "Vengeance. I just – I just want a ransom note. I'll pay anything they want; if you're working for them, tell them that."
"I can attest otherwise." Palm steps forward, holding her right hand over her eye. "I'm a clairvoyant, see."
"Where is he?" Raissa leaps to her feet, animated once more.
Palm winces. "Your father is in the harbor. Murdered by the man you support: Gyro."
"You're lying," Raissa growls, tugging on her green locks like a child trying to calm herself. "Liar. Liar!"
"I'm not." Palm holds out her hands.
"He was Gyro's ally!"
"No; he was an ally of Meteor City," says Tsubone. "Gyro is no longer."
Palm speaks quickly. She doesn't like divulging details, but what choice do they have? "I am a Chimera Ant. I can see the kidnappings Gyro has collaborated on. I can see the manipulation he uses right now, on another member of the Spiders he's caught in his own Web. If you care about loyalty to your city, you will arrange your elders to meet with the queens and summon Gyro before the council."
Raissa hates herself for weeping. "I'm not powerful enough."
"Guess again," Canary calls, speaking, speaking to her nightmares.
Palm grabs the woman's hands and peers deep into her eyes. "Oh yes, you are."
Machi races down the hall, Ikalgo on her heels, towards the sound. The sound.
The sound of dripping. Dripping water decides for her. Machi stops before a wide staircase, stops before a puddle of foul water dripping from a corroded pipe in the ceiling to this labyrinth.
Meteor City has no running water. Not unless they're below a mafia house. Machi frowns.
Perhaps the surface of this city…this forsaken city, is just an illusion. Perhaps here there was once technology and riches. Perhaps there can be again.
Subconsciously, her fingertips touch her belly.
"We're below the city…" Machi muses. Time to text Danchou and the others. Time to let her instincts take over.
"You fucking – you knew this piece of shit was here?" Leorio scowls at Cheadle as he dutifully blocks the towel-for-a-window so that Ging cannot escape.
"It's easier to yell at me than Ging, I see. How unlike you, Leorio." Cheadle looks disappointed as she remains by the door.
"Eh…maybe my friends are rubbing off on me." Leorio rubs the back of his neck and laughs sheepishly. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine." Cheadle has no time to dawdle on youthful insecurities. She never has.
"Are you done?" Ging asks with annoyance.
"Have you even begun?" Cheadle tosses back.
"I don't have time for vexing philosophy," Ging replies.
"Nor your son, right?" Leorio growls. "He's here, you know. Risking his life for his friends. Actually, do you even know how many times he's nearly died? Do I need to remind you that his name is Gon?"
"Yet he hasn't died," Ging says simply.
"And if he does, what, you'll cry by his grave?" Leorio shakes.
"Graves are pointless." Ging shifts uncomfortably.
Leorio throws his hands in the air. "Cheadle, can I punch him?!"
"Not right now. Later," Cheadle promises.
"Okay," Leorio mumbles, like a sullen child.
"Ging, where is Pariston." Cheadle bites off every word.
"He was right under your nose."
"I'm not talking about the Black Whale." Cheadle taps her fingers on her crossed arms. "I'm talking about now."
"If you're so smart, figure it out yourself." Ging hates Leorio's presence. It's hard enough to talk to Cheadle. Two people at once is torture.
"I could say you're on orders from the Hunter Organization, which you are," Cheadle begins, "but you've never been keen on orders."
Ging shrugs.
"What you have been keen on," Cheadle continues, eyes glowing, "is your own adventure. "Well, here's one for you: the Zoldyck family, the Chimera Ants, the Queens of Kakin, and your son all collected. In a bomb ready to explode called the Hall of Elders. I mean 'explode' metaphorically."
"I know it's a metaphor," Ging snaps.
"You like chasing things, but not answers. That's why you avoid your son," Cheadle sings. "Because you shun certainty for possibility."
Her voice darkens. "That's the key difference between you and Pariston, isn't it?"
"Pariston wants to be the one to hold the puppet strings while the world collapses into chaos. An odd form of control," Ging admits. "He's thriving here, unchecked, among Meteor City."
"Like you?" Leorio tosses.
Ging hands him a dark look. "No. I don't thrive in chaos. I thrive in freedom."
Chaos, now, that was Gon's mother. Ging rarely thinks of her. It's better this way.
"What does Pariston want with the ants?" Leorio demands.
"You're a doctor. Think."
Leorio glances at Cheadle. "E – experiments?"
"Human experiments. The idealism to Gyro's nihilism. Both wish to end humanity. Gyro, in massacre. Pariston, by a superior race."
"What selfish bastards –"
"Are they, Leorio?" Cheadle tilts her head. "Do either of them wish to live? Do either of them do this for themselves? It might be easier if they did."
Ging smirks.
"Whatever." Leorio's head hurts. "Ging, you're coming with us. You're helping stop them."
"Why should I? Cheadle's right. I shun duty."
"It'll be fun?" Leorio scratches his head. He speaks as though he just swallowed a lemon.
Ging points at Leorio. "Now you're catching on."
"Good. Now come with us." Cheadle turns towards the dilapidated door. "Oh, I forgot. Leorio. You can punch him now."
Captain Baha and Gittanracker mill about the Hall of Elders, which has begun filling with a variety of self-important people. Luckily, both have laid enough distractions for a disguised Chrollo and Kurapika sneak away as per Machi's suggestions.
"I've been here before," Chrollo says as they enter the private Elder chambers, where the elders allegedly decide on laws and rulings – code for drinking and choosing nothing. The faded mossy carpet is even more grotesque than he remembers, the stench of mold stronger. But there's also the nine ornately carved chairs and the frozen Grandfather clock against the wall, exactly as he recalls.
He smiles wistfully. "We snuck in as a teenagers…Uvogin and Feitan and I. Uvo convinced us that they would have good liquor here. He was determined to teach us how to increase our alcohol tolerance."
Kurapika focuses on the temporary chain ring he's conjured for Chrollo. If he had been a teenager with Pairo, he may have done the same.
So he focuses on the ring, the symbol the Chrollo has forgiven him, and that he has forgiven Chrollo. "Was it worth it?"
"No. I felt something enchanting, sitting in the First Elder's chair, sipping what tasted like liquid fire, and I was just beginning to relax. And then Feitan vomited on the floor and we ran." Chrollo grins despite the situation, and Kurapika has to laugh.
"Pakunoda and Franklin nearly whipped us for that…" Chrollo trails off as Kurapika's dowsing chain sways.
Kurapika. His intended.
Despite the tension, despite their predicament, his heart is warm.
"Here." Kurapika leans forward and grabs a pen off one of the chairs. He clicks the pen, and to Chrollo's intrigue, the wall begins to open.
"I didn't know Meteor City had such technology," Chrollo says coldly.
"I'm not surprised. Mafia." Kurapika can nearly hear the names of those Chrollo has watched die from poverty. All while potentially life-changing technology was hidden from them.
Chrollo extends a hand to Kurapika.
As Kurapika takes his fingers in his, he feels their rings brush each other. A thrill shouts through his body.
They step into a staircase, a wide, wide staircase that glows with greenish light. Lines, queer, delicate green lines, almost like spider webs, run through black stone, giving off the light.
"It's beautiful," Kurapika says, puzzled, as they move slowly down the stairs. His dousing chain indicates they're close.
"Much better than my condemned accommodations were," Chrollo says wryly.
Kurapika's eyes soften. "I still wish I could have rescued you."
"Hmm, that would make a second rescue if we count Morena's gas. It's a bit unfair, don't you think I ought to have the chance to rescue you?" Chrollo's eyes crinkle.
"You did…with the Zoldycks. With the trial." Kurapika clasps his hands. "I don't like accepting grace I haven't earned."
"You can't earn. Isn't that what you told me once? Atonement is impossible." Chrollo sighs.
Towards the bottom of the stairwell, a dripping, rusted pipe runs along the ceiling, blocking the greenish glow.
Kurapika stops.
"Took you long enough." Machi rolls off the pipe, Ikalgo in her arms.
Chrollo grabs her shoulder. "You're okay?"
Machi nods. She has half a mind to deck him for babying her. But also. It's kind of sweet that Danchou cares so much.
"I'm certainly angry enough for two." She shrugs.
"And Feitan was frightened enough," Ikalgo says seriously.
"Feitan didn't know you were planning on getting captured?" Kurapika asks.
Machi dips her head to hide the fact that her cheeks now match her hair. "I didn't want to worry him. And now I haven't found him."
"We will." Chrollo turns to Kurapika. "Can we…can we find Feitan before the Ants?"
"What of Meleoron? They wanted to use him," hisses Ikalgo.
"We'll see which is closer," Kurapika says firmly. He lifts his chain again.
Machi narrows her eyes. "Danchou, why the hell are you two wearing matching rings?"
"Do you think this will work?" Milluki asks feebly as they enter the Hall, a lengthy, sprawling structure with crumbling pillars outside and stale air inside. It may once have been fancy, but it has long since passed even the days where it would be a valuable relic.
The butlers have been sent to assist Raissa gather the rest of the mafia, while Milluki and Palm support Hisoka and Illumi.
"I find it better not to ask," Palm says slowly. "Just to act, until you're certain it will."
"Have you ever had to?" Milluki asks, shuffling further the stifling building, which is crowded. "Just rely on actions, rather than calculations?"
He likes calculations. Calculations, and technology – they're safe.
"Haven't you heard of NGL?" Palm focuses on her hands. She stops just over the threshold.
"The Ants, yes, obviously. How well did that work for you?" Milluki doesn't speak with disdain. Just curiosity.
"Not well, for any of us. But in the end, we succeeded. We traded in a massive slaughter of humans for a minor slaughter of ants, as if numbers were the only hope we had to gauge success." Palm looks at the ground. She still cries for Komugi at times. Somehow, she thinks they would have been friends. "And I was critical to that success – the only thing I ever wanted."
Palm tosses her hair and forces levity into her tone. She does not want to think further on this. "Though at the time, I believed I wanted the love of my teacher."
"Oh." Milluki reddens.
"Knov," Palm says.
"Isn't he old?"
"He looks older than he is! NGL was traumatizing." Palm shakes her finger in Milluki's face. "Ha, it turns out I didn't need him after all. I just needed to believe I mattered."
Milluki sighs. "I know how that goes."
"Oh?"
"My family doesn't much like me. Too fat. To agoraphobic. Too ugly." Milluki sighs. "This is – this is the first time I haven't felt like my siblings disapprove of me. My parents, I think I've always disappointed them."
He cackles. "I'm almost enjoying being here. Because of that. How sick am I?"
"I think you're very…not human – personal. You don't even have to be human to be a person, I suppose I've learned that, too." Palm laughs a little. "I think you're special the way you are, Milluki Zoldyck, and I'm happy to be working with you."
"Really? Even though you kicked my ass?" Milluki feels flutters in his stomach when he looks at her. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Everyone, sooner or later, whether powerful or weak, will have their ass handed to them. I'm certain of it." Palm snorts, and Milluki can't help but laugh with her.
They round the corner, just outside the assembly hall, only to bump into a suited man with preposterous white eyebrows.
Milluki isn't sure the reason, but the next thing he knows, Palm and the man both scream.
"I small enough for you?" Feitan snaps around his gag, struggling against his restraints. He's been stripped of his shirt, chained and shackled three times over.
How many times has he done this very thing?
The waiting. It's a mind game. A game he always won before.
Begin the torture already. He deserves it. But he also knows the rumors on Gyro's tendencies, and he's not about to be broken by a man who rapes children. Paku hated him.
"No." Gyro begins to roughly examine Feitan's bare chest. "You're quite strong for someone so small."
"You only prey on weak?" Feitan wants to scream for Machi's location, but he can't. He can't let this man know –
Feitan, he always found out. He always found the name of the person dearest to his victim, always twisted their pretty names into threats.
He will not give Gyro Machi.
Gyro's grubby hands land on the discolored spot on Feitan's shoulder, right below his neck.
It's shaped like a rose. Machi likes to kiss it.
Feitan truly has no idea what is happening. Is he about to be skinned?
Pretend you're somewhere else. That's the key. Not to care about your body, or yourself. Just your secrets. Just the people you love.
Is this family?
Gyro curses. "Damn Illuna. I'm guessing you're around twenty-six?"
"I don't know." Feitan just wants this gross man's hands off. And who the fuck is Illuna?
Gyro chuckles, but he releases Feitan from his touch. "I was always small for my age, too."
Feitan stares at him. "You can make sense any time you want."
Gyro yanks down his shirt.
"Oh fuck no," Feitan mutters, pressing himself back against the cold wall.
He's not going to scream. For Machi. Don't hurt Machi.
But instead of disrobing, Gyro reveals a dark, rose-shaped spot at the base of his own neck. "My father had this, too."
Feitan gawks at him. His heart chills. No.
No. He is not – this man has Machi. This man killed Danchou. This man hurt Pakunoda. Feitan hates him.
"Frightened?" Gyro asks smoothly. "You could kill me, but that wouldn't make it less true."
"I not scared." He is, though.
What is family?
Not Gyro.
What is family?
Feitan has never wanted to think about his mother or father. They were likely addicts who died shortly after they left him on an orphanage door. Well, most likely his father wasn't even with his mother for long. Perhaps she was a prostitute. Perhaps she was a kid, too. He doesn't like to think about it, okay?
"I just received word. Indeed, it seems my dalliances with that girl produced something of value."
Feitan wants to vomit.
What is family?
Gyro strokes Feitan's face. A father to a son. "I'm honestly surprised she didn't stab her own stomach when she conceived."
My… Feitan struggles against his chains. He wants to be absorbed into the wall. My mother…
She was victimized by this man. Feitan is a byproduct of something heinous. He should not exist.
"Are you evil too?" Gyro murmurs.
"You know it." Feitan closes his eyes, willing him to go away, go away, die and never have existed.
His mind wells up with unbidden answers.
This is why I torture kids.
This is why I skinned a child.
This is why I mock them as they die.
Because I should not exist.
"Open your eyes, or I'll gouge them out like I've heard you've done." Gyro has heard of many things evil, but surely killing a son is worse than a father.
Feitan forces his eyes open, though he avoids Gyro's gaze. The world whirls before him.
"I should kill a dangerous man such as yourself, but this is fun, no? I'm selfish." Gyro laughs at the wet sheen appearing on Feitan's eyes. This will be marvelous.
Feitan is selfish too. He wants to stay with Machi and Kalluto. He wants to be a better father than Kalluto has ever had. He wants to kiss his baby, a baby that should exist, a baby created with violent passion between both him and Machi.
"You're just like me, aren't you?"
What is family?
"I don't know," Feitan answers himself aloud, answers himself and not his father, as the troupe's face float before him, Machi and Kalluto at the forefront. "But it's not you, Gyro."
